With an almost insolent curtsy, she excused herself. "I'd best be doing
my duties. Perhaps I'll mosey by the ballroom this evening to see how
your lessons are going."
" 'Tis not necessary, Betty," Graham said.
"I wouldn't do it because it was necessary, Mister McNab. I'd do it for
you." The maid disappeared down the hall?leaving Sarah behind slightly
rattled.
Graham sensed her thoughts. "Don't mind her, Sarah. She's a haughty puss
and too full of herself." He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
"But we'll show her. We'll show all of them, including Blair. You'll
teach me to be the finest dancer in Edinburgh."
"And you will claim Miss Whitlow's hand." The words sounded hollow in
her ears.
"Yes," he agreed with a smile. "I'll see you this evening. And thank you."
"For what? We haven't started the lessons."
"For the friendship, Sarah. For the friendship." He left the room.
Sarah stood quiet for a moment listening to his footsteps go down the
hall. His parting words disturbed her as had most of what he'd said this
afternoon. In less than an hour, her life seemed to have been tossed
upside down.
She then turned a full circle taking in her surroundings as if seeing
them for the first time ... no longer certain of her own mind. "A teacher."
No one had ever suggested she was lacking before. They'd all assumed she
was happy with her life and /she thought /she had been until Graham
asked her to teach him to dance.
Her gaze fell upon a slim red-leather book beneath the slates. Her
present for Graham. She had forgotten to give it to him. 'Twas a copy of
Nicolo Machiavelli's /The Prince./
The book had belonged to her father. Graham had borrowed it when she'd
first arrived at Sir Edward's. Their lively argument over the moral
implications of Machiavelli's theories had been the start of their
friendship.
Now, friendship didn't seem enough.
Chapter Three
The upcoming dancing lesson lurked on the edge of Sarah's mind for the
rest of the afternoon, making it hard for her to concentrate on Jean's
cross stitching and Janet's music lesson. She sent the twins back to
Nurse for their supper with a touch of relief.
Walking into her private quarters, she headed straight toward the
looking glass hanging over her washstand and studied her reflection.
Carefully, she removed her glasses.
Betty was wrong. Sarah might love books, she might have chosen a chaste,
academic life to Betty's earthy pursuits, but she was still a woman.
And yet, she had the sudden sense she'd been living her life in a cocoon.
At one time, she'd loved to dance. At one time, she'd been courted and
worn bright pretty colors instead of dove gray or lavender. At one time,
other women considered her a worthy rival. The likes of Betty would
never have laughed at her.
Sarah tugged on the black velvet ribbon holding her topknot in place.
Her heavy hair fell down past her shoulders and she saw in the looking
glass a hint of the girl she had once been.
Where was that girl now?
She lifted her hair with her fingers and turned her head this way and
that with a critical eye. Perhaps, it was time for a new style. Maybe
she had gotten into a rut.
Sarah reached for her comb. A half hour later, she wore a style very
much like her topknot although tidied up a bit with tendrils curling
down around her ears and neck.
A new hairstyle demanded a change of dress. Thoughtfully, she inspected
her meager wardrobe. The dress she thought best for dancing was the
robin's-egg blue one she saved for Sundays, a dress bosomy Betty would
turn up her nose at.
Boldly, Sarah pulled off the demure lace ruching decorating the edge of
the bodice. Now the dress looked a touch more daring . . . and Sarah was
surprised by how anxious she was to try it on. She even preened a bit in
front of the mirror, an indulgence she would have chastised the twins over.
Of course, she couldn't avoid noticing her bosom needed a bit of uplift
and she knew exactly what to do. She stuffed the lace ruching in her
bodice and was quite pleased with the results.
She pinched her cheeks and her lips to bring out the color and she
remembered an old trick. Picking up a tallow candle, she attempted to
use the wick black to darken her lashes. Her movements were awkward.
Years ago, she'd been more adept at this process?
"What are you doing with that candle, Miss Ambrose?"
Sarah gave a start at the sound of Jean's voice and almost poked her eye
out with the candle. She turned, surprised to discover the twins in the
doorway connecting her quarters to the schoolroom.
"Um, yes, what can I do for you?" she said, hiding the candle behind her
back. Her lashes on one eye felt heavy. She blinked several times.
"We came to say good night," Janet said. She entered the room. "You look
so pretty, Miss Ambrose."
"Do I?" Sarah said. She ran a hand over Janet's shiny carrot-bright
hair. "Thank you."
"Are you going to teach Graham to dance?" Jean asked, following her
sister. "Nurse says you must."
"I'm going to try," Sarah answered. She dropped the candle on the
washstand and held out her arms to give the girls a hug good night, a
ritual they observed every evening.
However, this time as she kissed their downy cheeks, she found herself
wishing they were hers. For years, when people had asked, she'd insisted
she was happy enough taking care of others' children.
Now, Graham's unexpected romance had given rise to all sorts of feelings
she'd refused to recognize. Feelings she'd denied.
"Come along, Jean, Janet," Nurse said. She always hovered on the other
side of the door while the twins wished their governess a good night.
But tonight, she'd opened the door wide. "And you, Miss Ambrose, you
teach Mister McNab how to cut a fine figure on the dance floor. I put a
bit of money on him myself. 'Twould be a fine thing to see him married
to the Garrison Commander's daughter."
"Yes, it would," Sarah agreed with less enthusiasm.
"He deserves the best. He's a fine man." Nurse held out her hands to
lead the twins to their beds for the night and Sarah realized the
appointed hour to meet Graham was close at hand.
Sarah turned to her reflection in the mirror. She put on her eyeglasses,
then took them off again, then put them on. She really didn't need them
except for close reading, but they made her feel mature, dignified.
"You're in danger of becoming a fool," she warned herself. She'd just
stuffed her bodice and yet worried over eyeglasses.
With those words, she left her room, eyeglasses on her nose. A second
later, she returned, set them on the washstand, and dashed out.
Downstairs, all was quiet. Bailey, the butler, usually lingered
somewhere close to the front door when Sir Edward was out but not even
he was to be seen. Curious how deserted the rooms were but it was not
Sarah's problem.
She hurried to the ballroom in the back of the hous
e overlooking the
garden, pushed open the door, and froze, dumbfounded by the scene in
front of her.
The high-ceilinged room was ablaze with light and full of people. All
the servants were here?Cook, Bailey, the downstairs and dairy maids, the
scullery girl, and the ostlers, too.
Graham stood at the forefront. He'd loosened his neck cloth and taken
off his brown wool coat. Betty nudged his shoulder with her beehive
breasts as she moved closer to tell him something. She'd changed her
hairstyle, too, so that it hung freely down to her waist in a shining
curtain.
Fortunately, when Sarah entered the room, Graham sidled away from
Betty's pushy breasts and called a greeting, "We have quite a crowd
here. They've come to watch me learn to dance."
"Watch?" Sarah frowned. As governess, she rarely mingled with the other
servants. It just wasn't done. "Well, they can't," she decided firmly.
She addressed Bailey. "You must leave immediately. After all, what will
Sir Edward say when he sees every candle in the house lit?"
"We're burning candle stubs," Cook said with her broad Northern accent.
"Been saving them. Besides, the master will be gone for hours. We can do
what we wish till then." She paused. "I say, Miss Ambrose, have you
changed something about yourself?" Her eagle gaze honed in on Sarah's bosom.
"I'm not wearing my eyeglasses," Sarah replied primly, turning slightly
to avoid "bosom discovery." Perhaps she had overdone it a bit.
"Your hair," Graham said warmly. "You've changed it. I like the new
style, Miss Ambrose." He addressed her formally in front of the others.
"But I miss the eyeglasses," he added quietly.
His response touched her. She wondered what else he might say if they
were alone.
The moment was spoiled by Betty's brassy, "I think she's changed a bit
more than her spectacles."
The other maids giggled. They'd noticed the bosom, but suddenly Sarah
didn't care. "How did you all know we were holding a dance lesson in here?"
Betty answered, "You told Mister McNab in front of me. I told Cook, Cook
told Mister Bailey, Mister Bailey told the others."
"I see," Sarah said. "Well, I don't think Mister McNab needs an audience
for the dance lessons. Bailey, would you please see everyone out?"
Bailey was a white-haired gent who had been trained in London. His
opinion carried a great deal of weight in the household. "Miss Ambrose,
with all due respect, what harm can come of it? We want to help Mister
McNab."
"Don't tell me. You've wagered money," Sarah said.
"Aye, some have. But not myself. I'd support anything Mister McNab
does," the butler said proudly. "He saved me niece who was dying of a
fever. I want to see him win his lady love."
"Your niece was young. She would have recovered," Graham said modestly.
" 'Twas not another doctor in all Edinburgh who would come to see her
without coin up front," Bailey replied. He looked to Sarah. "Me
brother's family is poor and I know the girl was very sick. Mister McNab
has a gift. A healing gift. We are all proud of him."
"Aye," Cook agreed. "He saved my sister's eye. She would not leave the
house. Now, she is the merriest of souls. He didn't ask a penny for it
either."
"I couldn't," Graham stated. "I didn't do that much."
"You cared. Sometimes that is enough," Cook countered.
And there were stories from the ostlers and other servants, too, all
tales of Graham's generosity while he stood in the center appearing
embarrassed by such glowing testimonials.
Their tales humbled Sarah. In the three years she'd known Graham, they'd
rarely talked about his medicine. She knew he'd worked with Mr. Fielder
late into the night but she hadn't really grasped the physical reality
of what he did, what it meant to others. Now, surrounded by lives he'd
touched, her selfish denunciation of Miss Whitlow seemed petty.
Betty's claim that Sarah lived in a tower away from everyone and
everything took on a ring of truth.
The time had come to make amends. Sobered of her vanity, Sarah wished
she had her eyeglasses.
"Sarah, what do I do?" Graham leaned toward her, his face pale.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at them. They expect me to win the wager."
/Because you are a hero in their eyes, /she wanted to tell him, but the
words would only embarrass him further.
"You'd best learn to dance," she replied in her brisk "governess" voice.
She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and took charge. "And we must make
him the greatest dancer in Edinburgh," she said to the others.
"In Scotland," one of the ostlers corrected and everyone cheered.
Sarah rubbed her hands together in anticipation, feeling a bit like a
hero herself. "Let's get started. Form two lines." They moved to her
direction.
One of the ostlers had brought a fiddle. She motioned for him to stand
in the corner, saying, "Excellent. With music, the lesson will go
quickly. Now, Mister McNab, We're going to teach you the quadrille since
the ball will probably open with one. You stand beside me and watch the
first time. Does everyone know the quadrille?"
Heads nodded.
"The first step," she said to Graham, "is the /chaine anglaise."/
"The what?" 'Twas Nate, one of the ostlers, who spoke.
/"Chaine anglaise," /Sarah repeated. She demonstrated.
/"Ach," /Nate said with recognition. "You mean, the Cat's Chasing the
Ladies."
"What?" Now it was Sarah's turn to be confused.
Nate performed a perfect /chaine anglaise. /"Yes, that's it," Sarah
said. "Follow it with a two /chassis, /one right, one left, while you
lift the right hand of the opposite partner."
Again Nate spoke up, addressing the others, "I think what Miss Ambrose
means with her fancy Frog words is that she wants a 'Fiddle Your Feet'
right, 'Fiddle Your Feet' left while the lasses do the same in the other
direction." Immediately people attempted the step and he was right.
"Why thank you, Mister Nate," Sarah said. "I appreciate your help."
"I'm happy to oblige, governess," the ostler responded with complete
seriousness and Sarah felt her lips twitch. Beside her, Graham covered
his own smile.
She didn't even mind the ostler's impertinent use of her title
governess. He made her feel one of them . . . and she'd never been
included before.
Funny how good it was to be a part of this small community.
"Let's try the dance, if you already know the steps," Sarah said.
"Mister McNab can watch and pick up the dance as we go along."
Everyone agreed to the idea. Sarah tapped a beat and, on the count of
three, the fiddler started playing a sprightly reel.
Feet began moving, hands clapping, and the first couple?Bailey and
Cook?stepped to the center. Sarah was delighted at how well everyone
danced. With their help, teaching Graham would be easy.
He was clapping, too . . . but she noticed he didn't keep good time to
the music. His hands were a beat off and he couldn't seem to move them
and tap his toe at t
he same time. She watched, fascinated. Graham was so
perfect in every other way, this small flaw made him human.
Her thoughts focused on his hands themselves. She'd seen his fingers
stained with ink from accounting books and observed him hefting bags of
grain or spices from the Orient or kegs of molasses, but she'd not seen
him heal.
She leaned closer so he could hear her over the merrymaking. "Why didn't
you mention whenever you doctored to the servants?"
"I'm a doctor. Tis what I do." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't think you
were interested."
The response surprised her. "Why not?"
He shot her an amused glance. "Sarah, you have the twins to worry over.
You would not want to hear me fretting about a child with a fever."
Details fell into place, times when he'd seemed preoccupied. "I would
have listened," she said. "I'm your friend."
He lifted an eyebrow, but she didn't elaborate. Somehow, her words
hadn't come out exactly the way she'd meant them.
Fortunately, she was saved from examining her motives too closely by the
last measure of music. The dance ended. The time had arrived to throw
A Man Who Can Dance Page 3