“Would I be expected to dance?”
Kit looked hopeless down at Elsie. He had not considered this, but presumably that was something that was expected of a young lady of Flora’s position. Certainly prior to their parents’ deaths Flora would have learnt. Yet, would the traditions of mourning prevent such occurrences? Society’s expectations pulled at him, and Kit’s frustrations twisted through him at anything that might hinder Flora’s desires.
“Given the circumstances, it would be your choice,” Elsie said. “I am given to understand the guest list will be small, intimate—only close acquaintances, and therefore unless Flora should suggest…”
“I read about a dance,” Flora said. She had leant forward, her expression wrapped, and bright with an interest that surprised Kit for it hinted at a previous aspect of her character which had been hidden for months. A glimmer of the girl she had once been—the little sister he remembered, who liked hearing of society, who giggled over fashion illustrations and would read poetry, giggling over the contents. Their mother had called her a romantic, and his father had laughed indulgently. “I’ve heard it is a very scandalous dance, but nonetheless, it is very popular in Town. It is called the waltz.” She looked at Kit and then to Elsie expectantly. “Do you know it?”
It was not the sort of thing that Kit had given much credenceto, and yet this was the most engaged he had seen Flora in months. There was a returning warmth to her wan features. Suddenly he had a great desire to learn as much as he possibly could about the waltz and regretted that he had not read anything about the latest blasted fashion. “Well Miss Keating, I assume you know something about this wondrous dance?”
He fully expected her to say no, but to his surprise a spot of colour blossomed on Elsie’s face, and she said, “I have read about it. I regret to say it was considered a little scandalous.”
Immediately Kit felt quite certain that Elsie had done a great deal more than that. Even if the dance was considered risqué, he felt fairly certain Elsie was not the type to shy away from the temptation of learning as much as she could—as one of the perpetually curious, she was the type to read of something scandalous and wish to try it. He cocked an eyebrow at her expectantly and his suspicions were rewarded when she ducked her head in acknowledgement.
“It is allowed in Almack’s,” Elsie said, she drew a step closer to Flora, who leant a little forward in rapt attention. “The music that is played is much slower than…”
“Have you seen it danced in London?” Flora asked.
Kit wanted to know too and was a little sad when Elsie shook her head. A vision of him insisting they attend the elusive club together flashed through his mind, but how could that ever occur? Despite being a duke now, Kit was not sure he would be prestigious enough to be granted entry to such an establishment.
“I did practise it though, with my sister playing the music.” Elsie cut into Kit’s train of thought, and her admittance made Flora smile. His sister was still stroking Lancelot, seeming to gain much reassurance from the little spaniel. Then to Kit’s surprise Elsie started humming what sounded like a piece of music, low and melodic, it was certainly as different as could be imagined from the high paced country dances that both Kit and Flora were familiar with. It was hard for him to imagine quite how this musicwould fit with a fast-moving set of dancers. Clearly Flora had a similar idea because she frowned.
“Do you move between other dancers?”
“No,” Elsie said, “it is all danced with just one partner.”
“Show me,” Flora commanded. Her feet dropped to the floor, and her earlier fears seemed to have vanished, although he feared this might just be a temporary phase. “Use Kit.” She gestured towards her brother. “He won’t mind. He is quite a good dancer.”
On that point, Kit had his doubts. After the carriage disaster, he had not danced once, in part because he never had the opportunity, and with his injured arm, it would be unwise.
Two pairs of eyes turned towards him, and Kit felt a growing desire to protest—that he did very much mind being “used.” And yet the temptation of witnessing, of dancing, of touching Elsie intensified, and before he entirely knew what he was doing, he stretched out his hand with a mock little bow towards his partner.
Elsie eyed him dubiously, the chamber they stood in was messy, crowded with loose bits of paper, discarded clothes, and general debris, certainly not an especially opportune location for practicing dancing. Yet it seemed to be the thing that was motivating Flora and with a judicious eye, Elsie nodded and took his outstretched hand.
“Of course.” She looked at Flora. “You will have to mimic the sound so I can teach His Grace the steps.”
For a moment Kit felt sure that Flora would flinch, or resist given the use of his title, but his sister started copying the sound that Elsie was making. It took a few moments, but it seemed that Elsie was satisfied because she turned back to Kit and lifted her hand onto his shoulder. Her expression was set, immovable and were it not for the noticeable swallow she made, Kit would have felt sure she was not affected by him.
“We would, of course, be wearing gloves. And permission needs to be granted to ladies before they can take part,” Elsiesaid. Her voice was loud, carrying as she attempted to reduce the informality of how close she stood to him. “You need to place your hand on my waist.”
Stepping nearer, Kit did as he was told. Her back was warm, and he felt the gracefulness of her figure through the day dress she wore. Undoubtedly, her loveliness would be magnified, if she were dressed in a dazzling evening gown, but Kit rather liked the simplicity of what they were doing—perhaps artifice would draw away from how earnestly appealing Elsie was.
“Now normally you would lead,” she muttered.
Kit followed her steering as she manoeuvred them through the chamber, attempting to miss the larger items that blocked their way. Whilst it certainly was a far more intimate dance than Kit had engaged in previously, it was however a darn sight easier to learn than some of the country sets he’d been forced to memorise in his youth. His hand curled more closely around Elsie’s waist as they moved, bringing her nearer to his chest, her body swaying in deliciously close contact to his.
As they neared a discarded and overturned footstool, Kit took charge, overtaking Elsie’s lead, feeling that he now understood the one-two-three step well enough. He could hear Flora’s attempt to keep the pace as he started to control and swing Elsie through her steps. His dance partner lifted her eyes to his, and there was merriment there as he swung her more fully through the paces—she clung to him as they moved.
“Should we not go slower?”
“We are not in Almack’s yet,” he teased. For a moment, he feared she would be disheartened to hear this, as it was likely they never would be, but Elsie smiled instead, and tipped her head up as he pivoted through the room to the most uneven of beats. She, as Flora had done beforehand, laughed with true abandonment and went even further by angling her head back as if she was truly enjoying the movement of the dance. Laughing and losing the sway of the dance.
It seemed to Kit that he could hardly feel his injury when he looked at her upturned smiling face—there was such a possibility within this Elsie—true delight, and for him the chance to lose every bad memory. It shook Kit to his core, and he was grateful to end the dance so he could slip away from both his sister and the terrifying if tiny Miss Keating.
CHAPTER 13
Elsie was pleased to report, if only to herself, that over the next two weeks she had managed to grow closer to Lady Flora. Which was not an easy task since the young girl was still almost entirely silent, refusing much in the way of conversation. However, Lady Flora clearly felt comfortable with her and hung around, clinging to Elsie’s elbow on occasions. The girl’s confidence seemed to be growing by the day. His Grace was not to be seen—since that moment of dancing in his arms, the duke had rarely been in Elsie’s presence—their deal, if still in place, seemed forgotten. Every time she went to look for him—to ask about the post, returning to London, the plans for the party—the duke would be busy or away from the manor. She knew she could no longer call him Kit.
There were, however, a few signs of progress around the manor. Not so much in terms of how many cobwebs there were,or dust covered surfaces, but Elsie had received several bolts of material and patterns to make up dresses for both Lady Flora and herself. With little else to do—except stifle a mounting feeling of annoyance—Elsie had set about creating two evening gowns for the pair of them.
