by Sarita Leone
“Well? Do you really know the latest dances or were you simply trying to bribe us to behave?”
Diana’s dark eyes bored into hers. Thankfully, she met the child’s gaze without worrying she was not concealing the truth well enough, because her dance skills were flawless.
But first, discovering just how much the girls knew about governesses. No doubt more than she did.
“What do you know about bribery?”
Amanda bounced up and down on the bench, rumpling her dress even further. She didn’t let her sister get a word in, answering almost immediately.
“We know it all. It is what adults do when they want us to behave. They bribe us with something scrumptious, hoping we shall be good.”
Smart child.
“Does it work? This bribery technique?”
“Sure.” Diana shot a sly look, silencing Amanda. “It works well enough for us, that is. We behave until we have been given the bribe. Then…” She shrugged.
“Then we are naughty again!” Amanda proclaimed with a mischievous giggle.
As if she hadn’t already figured that one out.
Wishing for council from her own governess was no use. The no-nonsense, loving-but-stern woman was a saint, gone to her heavenly reward years earlier. Jane was on her own, with no one to turn to for anything, advice on childrearing included, so she took matters into her own hands. Her own clumsy hands.
“And you think that is a good thing?”
“It gets us what we want.” Diana didn’t meet Jane’s gaze when she spoke, choosing instead to study the toe of one boot.
“That’s right, it does,” added Amanda. “So it must be a good thing.”
Jane chose her words with care. She might not have long to stay with the girls, considering her failings as governess, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to leave at least one good impression on their young minds, one thing that might sway them somehow into being less horrid. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t give up without trying.
“I don’t agree,” she said quietly. One thing she had learned was that the loudest voice is the one no one hears. Both girls sat up straight and kept quiet, so she proceeded. “It is my experience that what comes through deceit can never be a true joy. Better to be good for the sake of increasing one’s character rather than to increase one’s holdings.”
Silence.
And better to quit while one is ahead, Jane thought.
“So, would you care to learn a few dance steps? Or were you being dishonest when you acted as if you were excited to dance?”
“Not dishonest, Miss Halifax.” Amanda’s lower lip quivered. “Truly, I want to learn.”
She waited a few seconds and was rewarded with a second earnest appeal.
Diana wasn’t on the verge of tears, but she did look contrite. A start.
“I meant it. I would like to learn to dance, that is, if you are still willing to teach us.”
Jane smiled, hoping the truce between them could last. And that an honest relationship could be forged.
“I am very willing.” Standing in the center of the shady area, she motioned them forward. Both girls rose and joined her. “I love to dance, so this shall be both illuminating as well as enjoyable.”
Diana kicked the grass. She met Jane’s gaze with an apologetic smile.
“I’m not sure you’ll feel that way after we begin. I should tell you the truth about me and dancing…”
Amanda jumped in place, her full skirt filling and deflating like a balloon as she went up and down.
“She’s not very good,” Amanda said, clapping her hands together. She looked at her sister, got a fiery glare and shrugged. “But it’s true, Diana. You know you have two left feet. Melody says so.”
“Melody doesn’t know everything. She is not even smart enough to apologize, is she? Right now she is stuck in her bedchamber while we are outdoors. How much can she know? Really, you put too much faith in her, sister. Learn to think for yourself…you’ll thank me someday.” Diana’s words didn’t match the trepidation in her eyes. She was nervous, there was no mistaking that look. Jane had worn a similar one many times recently.
She rushed to move the lesson forward.
“Anyone can participate in a waltz, which is, as I’m sure you know, all the rage at Almack’s this Season.”
“How do you know about Almack’s?” Amanda wrinkled her brow. “I didn’t think governesses went into the rooms at Almack’s.”
“They don’t, silly goose.” Diana’s tone was smug. “Miss Halifax probably heard about it in the servants’ quarters. Ladies’ maids are notoriously loose-lipped. They talk about us below stairs. That is where the help gets their information. Isn’t that so, Miss Halifax?”
What could she say? Admitting she had taken more than one turn around the famous rooms would surely cause a commotion. And lead to another round of questioning her honesty.
“Yes, that’s correct.” It was getting easier to fib. Every time she told a half-truth or a blatant lie made telling the next one that much less stressful. It was almost fun to conjure a series of falsehoods. Keeping them all straight in her mind, however, was no easy undertaking.
“Told you.” Diana smiled—a self-satisfied expression, but a smile nonetheless. A welcome change from her usual pout.
“The French waltz is comprised of a number of postures. Each posture has a place in the dance, and follows in a logical, orderly manner the prior posture. Moving from one pose to the next gives a fluid, synchronized dance which is not only amusing to participate in but also pleasing to those who watch the performance.”
Jane held her arms up at shoulder height in preparation to demonstrate, but Diana interrupted the lesson.
“Performance? How so?”
Lowering her arms, Jane gave the questions careful consideration.
“Every artistic venture should be not only for personal satisfaction but also to enrich the lives of those around us. So, anyone not engaged in the actual dance should at the very least expect the dancers to perform gracefully. Understand?”
“I suppose,” Diana said. “But I wish no one were watching.”
“Pretend no one is, and you shall be fine. That is, I think, one of the key points about dance. You must attempt the steps as if no one looks on. That way, you are sure to enjoy the movements without feeling stifled. So, the first part of every waltz is the promenade. Hold your arms like this and follow my lead.”
She arranged her arms in the proper form and took several turns back and forth in front of the oak tree. Her charges followed, their own arms, posture and steps mimicking hers.
“That is called ‘the marche’,” Jane said. She stopped to explain the dance. It pleased her that both Diana and Amanda paid close attention while she spoke. “It is a short section of the dance, to be certain, but it is very important. It is the portion where the dancers get a feel for each other, a taste of how they move together. And it shows onlookers what a dashing couple they make on the dance floor.”
“Now what? Don’t stop there,” urged Diana.
Jane grinned, happy to make a connection with the girls. Finally.
“The next part is called ‘the pirouette’ and is a slow, smooth turning step. Ah, couples sometimes…well, they can…” There seemed no way to explain the often suggestive, smoldering eye contact partners made with one another.
“They often turn more than once,” a voice behind her finished.
Jane whirled and came face to face with the duke.
It was his turn to grin—which he did. The effect was dazzling. His handsome features, freshly combed hair and a smile so wide and intriguing it could make angels laugh gave her a start.
“I did not know you were here. I did not think…that is, I did not know…”
The duke motioned for his nieces to partner up. Then, he held his arms in a circle, an open invitation for Jane to dance with him. She looked at the children who, for once, were doing what was expected of them.
The duke did not give her an option, however. She fell into step quite naturally and allowed him to whisk her across the grassy spot not once or twice, but three times.
Finally they stopped dancing. He looked up at the sky, then pulled his pocket watch from a vest pocket.
“Almost dinnertime, girls. You may continue your dance lessons another day. But now, hurry along and wash up, please. I shall escort Miss Halifax back to the manor.”
He held an arm out, and Jane did the only thing she could do: She accepted his hospitality and allowed him to walk her back.
Chapter 5
A young maid followed the girls upstairs with an armload of freshly washed linens as Jane paused with the duke at the foot of the wide staircase. The entry hall was empty, quiet enough that had there been a mouse in residence, they would have heard his small feet against the polished floorboards. The maid would draw baths for the youngsters, so Jane was not compelled to rush up behind them.
Lingering in the presence of such a dashing man wasn’t a burden, but she couldn’t afford the luxury. It might become a habit—and any habit involving a man was one she planned to eschew. Absolutely. And forever.
“If you will excuse me,” she said, placing a hand on the newel post. The round wooden ball, the size of a muskmelon, felt cool beneath her palm. “I must go see to the girls.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, your Lordship, for…”
For what? For walking her back to his home? For dancing with her beneath a tree? For what?
Anything she might say would make her sound like a ninny. The last thing she needed was to look even more incompetent, so she closed her lips and put a foot on the bottom step. Better to leave the sentence hanging than look ridiculous.
“I would like to see you later tonight. After the children are in bed.”
Jane stopped three treads up from the floorboards. She kept her eyes down as she contemplated his words.
It was not a request. He was the man in charge. A peer. No one to be dismissed.
She was the one on the verge of dismissal, wasn’t she?
She turned her head, looking at him over her left shoulder. A stray curl had escaped its pin, probably during their enthusiastic dance practice. Huffing at the curl only pushed it temporarily from where it clung to the edge of her lip, but she did not move to tuck it back into her up do. It seemed too intimate, too revealing, to fix her hair under his intense stare.
The duke’s irises were as dark as the night, with miniscule gold specks dotting them like stars against the sky. His gaze did not waver, and she wondered how long he would stare at her before looking away. The thought crossed her mind that she might test him, just because she could, and wait to see how intense the man really was. But the thrill that shot up her spine when his gaze dropped to her lips, where the curl wafted with each exhalation, brought her to her senses.
Playing with the duke was like playing with fire. She was going to be burned, she knew that, so she backed off. Both figuratively and literally.
Jane climbed one more step, putting an extra few inches between them, before she answered.
Of course, she agreed. There was no other choice available to her.
Even if there had been, she wasn’t sure she would have taken it.
“What time?” She had no clue what sort of schedule the man kept. He had ridden from Town in the morning, done whatever it was that dukes did all day, and would, perhaps, make it an early night.
He shrugged, pulling the dark gray jacket he wore tight across his shoulders.
“Whenever they are in bed for good. I don’t want to be interrupted when I speak with you, so be certain they will not bother us until morning. Then, come to my study, please. I have a proposal to discuss with you, Miss Halifax.”
She nodded, turned, and climbed the stairs.
With every step she rose higher, moving away from him, but the man’s words traveled with her.
A proposal. The last time a man had offered a proposal, someone had died. More to the point, had been bludgeoned to death.
Jane didn’t care if she never heard a proposal from another man for as long as she lived. Not even from a duke who made her heart race. No, not even from a man like him.
****
There was no putting off what must be done. She had fiddled with her hair, dawdled over tidying up the nursery, and procrastinated as long as possible. The two youngest girls were sound asleep. Presumably Melody was, as well, but since her door remained firmly closed and there was no sound coming from behind it, there was no way to know for certain. In any event, Jane’s duties for the day were over.
That is, all but one.
The one that involved the duke. His proposal. And, certainly, her refusal for she never, ever intended to accept any proposal from a man again.
No sense making him wait any longer. Jane rose, left the room, and headed downstairs. Treading softly, she inched down the staircase, hoping she might find the duke asleep before his hearth, dreaming of whatever dukes dreamed of instead of ready to proffer a proposal.
No such luck. When she reached the open door to his study and peered inside, the man sitting beside the fire was fully awake. A brandy snifter sat on the cherry wood table next to his chair, the half-empty decanter of amber liquid beside the glass. A second snifter, empty, rounded out the table setting.
“Your Lordship?”
“Ah, Miss Halifax.”
The duke stood, buttoning his smart gray jacket’s lowest button and smoothing a hand down his sleeve. There were no wrinkles on his ensemble, so the gesture was unnecessary but oh, so beguiling. Dressed as he was, neither overly informal nor ballroom ready, made him seem very approachable.
So, Jane approached. Cautiously, as one would a brilliantly beautiful bird that was known to nip. She nodded when he indicated the chair across from his.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She sat, resisting the impulse to perch on the edge of the low seat. Instead, she put her bottom onto the cushion and rested her back against the tufted backrest, hoping she looked relaxed.
He sat, tapping out the bowl of his pipe into an ashtray and tamping the smoldering tobacco until it was extinguished.
“You needn’t do that on my account.” She observed the precision with which he accomplished the minor task. Every shred of tobacco was flattened, not once but twice. “I rather like the aroma of a man’s pipe.”
He turned to face her, and then looked between her and the ashtray. A small smile. “I wish I had known that before I snuffed out my pipe. Well, no matter. I shall file the information away and be all the more prepared the next time we meet over brandy and my pipe.”
She had no doubt he would, indeed, remember her preference.
“Brandy?” He offered, but didn’t wait for a response. Pouring a generous splash into the empty snifter, he went on, “It is imported from Dublin. I daresay they know how to concoct a fine spirit there. Here, you must give this a taste.”
Jane accepted the snifter. She swirled the thick liquid against the glass’s sides, noting the way it clung gently to the curve of its container. A sweet scent rose to her nostrils, and she pulled it into her lungs, savoring the aroma of oaken casks, fine grain and subtler enhancements. She caught a whiff of something earthy—mint or ginger, perhaps—and smiled.
“Ah, you approve.” He winked. “Even prior to tasting, that is?”
Recognizing—and appreciating—the finer things in life was a birthright. Not just his, but hers as well. Of course, she could not admit that so Jane merely fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to look demure and unschooled. Best to act the part of servant if she wanted to keep the position.
She lifted the glass to her lips, conscious of
his gaze upon her. Suddenly she knew this moment was all part of a carefully laid plan. She felt it in the way he watched her, as if one swallow would bring them to the next point in this late-night meeting.
Why, she wondered, would the duke orchestrate such a cozy moment? For a governess? It was preposterous—that is, unless his proposal was succinctly less than genteel. That had to be it…
She swallowed the brandy in a gulp as heat rose to her cheeks over the realization he wanted her body. She choked and sputtered, tears pooling in her eyes as her nose ran. Gulping, she stood, pushing against the man who tried to assist. She didn’t want any help from him—not if it meant she would pay so dearly for it.
Chapter 6
Had Miss Halifax been astride a runaway horse or stumbling over an intricate dance step in a ballroom he would have known how to help her. But nothing prepared him for the bout of choking the badly swallowed brandy wrought.
Should he smack her smartly across the back? Shake her shoulders until normal respiration resumed? Turn her upside down across his shoulder and run for help?
Damn, but he hated feeling useless.
“Here, let me help you,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulders. The hand landed, but she twisted out of his reach, so he did not attempt to touch her again. Evidently that was not the remedy for choking females.
A minute passed, and the sputtering slowed. Her face was beet red, beautiful eyes trailing tears, nose slightly runny…and yet she was still gorgeous. The fearful gaze she gave him made him want to reach out and fold her against his chest, but he had already been rebuffed, so he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and waited.
A lace handkerchief appeared from inside her cuff. She wiped her eyes and nose, took a deep breath, and managed a smile. It was a wobbly one, but at least she was breathing again.
She cleared her throat. “I apologize, Your Lordship. I…it…well, I must have swallowed too quickly. Forgive the spectacle, please.”
“There is nothing to forgive. We are human and subject to the body’s foibles. I am sorry, and you must forgive me. I did not know what to do under the circumstances.” He paused, took his hands from his pockets, and spread them wide, palms toward the ceiling. “You see, I have no experience when it comes to things like this. No time spent with children or in a sickroom, so my skills are lacking. I will prevail upon you, not now, mind you, but in the future. I shall need lessons.”