Nine Ladies Dancing

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “So, would you care to help me fly again?”

  He shook his head with delight. “You are simply begging for punishment, my friend. But I promise to not spin you so greatly this time.”

  They skated toward the center of the pond, but before they could circle once, Matthew heard Louisa calling his name from behind.

  He turned to see her pointing toward the bank opposite them, and Matthew followed the direction before his eyes settled on Mother standing at the edge of the ice with Mrs. Michaels and Miss Michaels at her side.

  His neck tightened, as if the comfortable scarf was now stuffed down his throat.

  “Is that Mrs. Michaels and her daughter?” Meg asked.

  “Yes. It most certainly is.”

  Why was Mother bringing number three on his list to the pond, encroaching on his time of comfort? Did she not know how exhausted he was from the night before? Was it not up to him when he would see each woman?

  He couldn’t wait for his list to be completed. He would finish off one final term at school, then return to Hollridge to live out his days comfortably with his family and friend—and without Mother’s constant meddling.

  “I wonder what they can want,” Meg said.

  “I haven’t a clue,” he lied, then he skated forward, knowing full well what his mother wanted of him—and what he truly did not wish to do.

  * * *

  Meg stared after Matthew as he skated skillfully across the ice. She wondered why his mother’s presence had induced such a reaction from him, his shoulders falling forward, the smile fading from his lips. Unless, of course, it wasn’t Mrs. Pratt who had elicited such a reaction, but Mrs. Michaels and her daughter, instead.

  She puckered her brow. The timing of their arrival was certainly not ideal. Things had been going so well between her and Matthew, despite her falling on the ice.

  “Are you hurt very much, Meg?” Louisa asked as she skated toward her, glancing at her departing brother. “I saw you’d fallen but thought Matthew could take care of you far better than I could.”

  The twinkling in her eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to Matthew’s. “He was rather attentive,” Meg said with an airy sigh. “Though I can feel a bruise forming already where I fell.”

  “Surely the wound was worth it?”

  “Of course it was.”

  They shared a knowing smile before they both turned to watch Matthew reach the bank. Meg and Louisa had hatched a plan the night before to go ice skating this morning, as Matthew had never been able to say no to the activity. But it was Louisa alone who had decided to ask after Miss Paulson. His denial of seeing the woman again had given Meg the hope she’d needed to invite him along with them. Though, she still wondered why he’d paid such close attention to Miss Paulson in the first place.

  “What is she doing?”

  Meg drew her mind back to the present, following Louisa’s line of sight to Matthew, who was skating toward them, Miss Michaels at his side.

  Miss Michaels and her family had just moved to Haxby last spring to open an apothecary shop. Meg didn’t know much about her, only that Miss Michaels was rumored to have a large dowry funded by a doting grandmother—and that the young woman could often be seen pressuring customers to purchase more than they needed. Those customers were seen more often than not bending to her ever-convincing will.

  “This is my mother’s doing, I’m sure of it,” Louisa said quickly under her breath.

  Meg’s concern grew. She knew all too well of Mrs. Pratt’s desire for Matthew to settle well and to take his place beside his father at Hollridge. Meg also knew how resistant Matthew was to her pressuring. So why was he accepting her coercion now?

  Before Meg could think further on the matter, Matthew and Miss Michaels were upon them.

  “Good morning, Miss Baker, Miss Pratt,” Miss Michaels said, skating toward them.

  After half-curtsies were given—Meg wasn’t stable enough to give a correct one—Matthew spoke up.

  “Miss Michaels and her mother were calling at Hollridge. Mother told them we were here, and she—”

  “Oh, yes!” Miss Michaels interrupted.

  Meg jumped, starting at the loud voice that exuded from her small frame. The woman’s head barely stood taller than Meg’s shoulders, yet her voice croaked louder than the toad Matthew had brought into church as a child during a silent service.

  Miss Michaels continued. “When I heard you were out here ice skating, I simply begged Mrs. Pratt to allow me to join you. I love ice skating! I was not even aware such a pond existed. Mind you, I shall be out here every winter now.”

  “Wonderful,” Louisa muttered with a strained smile.

  “She let me borrow an extra pair of skates, too,” Miss Michaels continued, pointing at the skates strapped to her boots. “I do love the sport. Oh! Mr. Pratt, I saw you just earlier spinning Miss Baker round and round. I think I should like to give that a try, as well.”

  Annoyance poked at Meg. She glanced to Louisa, whose half-hooded eyes revealed how unimpressed she was with the woman. Meg wondered what had come over her friend. Perhaps all of her politeness had been used up with Miss Paulson the night before.

  “Oh,” Matthew replied with a glance at Meg, “I fear I’m a touch too dizzy from the last turn. Perhaps later?”

  Miss Michaels folded her arms and looked away.

  Meg tried not to feel too pleased with Matthew’s decline. She fancied he did so because he didn’t wish to fly with anyone other than Meg, though it was rather more likely that he was too dizzy.

  Miss Michaels’s pouting did not last for long as she turned toward them with a brightened smile. “Oh, I know! Let us have a race then!”

  Without awaiting a response, she cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted toward the group of children. “You, there! Can one of you count for us?”

  Meg jumped again at her brash tone, grasping onto Louisa’s arm to steady herself on the ice.

  The tallest boy skated toward them. “I’m happy to count for you, miss.”

  “Excellent, my good sir. On three, we shall go. Well, come on then, let us not wait for the ice to thin.”

  Meg exchanged looks between Louisa and Matthew before they hesitantly lined up beside her.

  Miss Michaels pointed to a cluster of pines. “The finish line will be just beyond that tree there. Begin counting, young master.”

  She hunkered low, one arm in front, the other in back. Meg would’ve been entertained with her enthusiastic behavior, had not it interrupted the pleasant moment she’d been having with Matthew.

  The tall boy raised his hand overhead. “One, two—”

  Before he finished, Miss Michaels shot away from the others with a cackle. “Come along then! You must move faster if you wish to beat me!”

  “I didn’t say three yet,” the young boy said with a perplexed brow.

  Matthew shrugged, thanking the boy anyway, then sailed toward Miss Michaels with his long stride.

  “Cheater,” Louisa muttered. “We should’ve known. Aggressive, little…”

  Meg held her own complaints, Louisa doing enough for the both of them as they moved slowly forward. There was no reason to increase their speed, what with no chance at winning.

  “How could mother even think this woman was right for Matthew?” Louisa asked, shaking her head before they reached the others.

  Meg’s good mood sunk further. Indeed, how could Mrs. Pratt believe such a thing? More importantly, did she not think Meg was good enough to marry her son?

  Miss Michaels reached the trees, turning around at once with her hands in the air. “I am victorious! Not even the great Mr. Pratt could defeat me!”

  Matthew skated up beside her. “Well done, Miss Michaels,” he said as Meg and Louisa reached the both of them.

  “Yes, well done,” Louisa mumbled. “If that were a fair race, of course.”

  Meg’s eyes rounded. Louisa was never one to confront another on a delicate matter. She was far more comfortab
le speaking courageously in a whisper, with no possible chance of being overheard. What was she doing now, calling the woman out on her misguided actions?

  Miss Michaels set her hands on her hips. “That was a fair race.”

  “Was it? Because I was certain—”

  “Louisa,” Matthew interrupted. “Perhaps you and Meg ought to skate together for a moment.”

  Meg froze. She and Louisa stood by in stunned silence.

  Matthew’s signature smile was gone. His tone was short, and his eyes held a subtle warning to them. His gaze flitted to Meg for a single moment before he held out his arm toward Miss Michaels. “Shall we?”

  Miss Michaels looped her hand through his, and together, they skated away from Meg and Louisa.

  What had come over him to behave in such a way, and to choose Miss Michaels’s side over his own sister’s? She glanced to Louisa, noting the tears in her green eyes.

  “Perhaps you are better off without my brother for a husband, Meg. Especially if he chooses that woman over either of us.”

  A cold draft seeped through Meg’s pelisse and bonnet. Was he truly choosing Miss Michaels, or was Mrs. Pratt choosing for him?

  Meg folded her arms. “I’m certain he’s merely tired. That is why he is behaving so strangely.”

  Her words were hollow, even to her own ears. She looked over her shoulder to see Mrs. Pratt still standing at the edge of the pond, Mrs. Michaels at her side.

  Mrs. Pratt waved toward them with a smile, and Meg weakly returned the gesture before Mrs. Pratt returned her attention to Matthew and Miss Michaels on the other side of the pond, the smile on her face telling Meg everything she needed to know.

  Mrs. Pratt wished for her son to marry.

  But she didn’t wish for Meg to be his wife.

  Chapter Five

  Matthew had never been more relieved to see Hollridge House, even when he and Meg were children, being chased to the door by two crazed hounds. That experience, at least, had been exciting, once they were safely indoors. What he’d just gone through with Miss Russell had been mind-numbingly dull.

  Miss Russell, number four on his list, was similar to all the women Mother had chosen for him—pretty, kind, and inherently good. But just like with Miss Paulson and Miss Michaels, Matthew had nothing in common with Miss Russell.

  He was only supposed to have called that morning for a half hour, yet somehow, Miss Russell had convinced him to tour around the old churchyard in Haxby, close to the Russells’ small cottage near the edge of town. Matthew had spent over an hour in the bitter cold and the freshly fallen snow, listening to the woman blather on about her relatives buried in the churchyard, quoting scripture after scripture about life and death.

  Matthew didn’t recognize half of what she recited, though that may have been more a testament to his own lack of knowledge of the Bible rather than the woman creating her own verses. What he’d really wanted to do in those moments was call for Mr. Kempthorne to join them. Most women seemed to think the vicar was attractive, and he would certainly have appreciated Miss Russell’s knowledge of the scriptures far more than Matthew had.

  He tightened his scarf around his neck to keep the wind from chilling him further, passing by a milkmaid bundled from head to toe in a ratted cloak and warn boots. She smiled as she walked on, humming a tune despite the cold weather.

  Matthew could never understand how people—Meg included—could enjoy themselves in such bitter cold. Even as much as he enjoyed riding, he couldn’t wait to be indoors, to sit before a blazing fire with a cup of piping tea, and to finally receive a break from crossing the women off his list.

  After having a much-needed word with Mother about her ambushing him on the pond with Miss Michaels, Mother had agreed to take a step back, so long as she could simply suggest the activities and when to do them. Matthew had accepted, heeding her recommendation to call on Miss Russell that morning. To combat his fatigue over socializing, however, he’d decided to give himself time away from the bargain until New Year’s Eve. That gave him three days of blissful peace and freedom to do whatever he wished and be with whomever he wished.

  At the thought of his newfound liberty, though temporary as it was, his shoulders straightened, and the saddle he sat upon didn’t feel as cold as before, nor did the wind biting his cheeks.

  In fact, the snow looked rather pretty falling down around him, especially up against the backdrop of Hollridge’s red bricks. The tops of the ivy leaves on the house were iced with flakes, as well as the bushes near the landing.

  He should really find Meg and bring her outside. She always enjoyed the beauty of falling snow. In truth, he was surprised she was not out there already with her—

  The front door opened, and a smile pulled across his lips. There she was.

  Meg slipped out of the house, moving across the landing with her eyes cast toward the clouds so Matthew remained unnoticed.

  When he’d spoken with his mother the day before, he’d asked what had possessed her to place Meg on her list.

  “I simply needed an extra young lady, and Meg was the first to come to my mind,” she had said. “Better her than your sister.”

  She’d laughed at her own teasing, though Matthew couldn’t help but wonder if Mother still suspected him of having feelings for his friend. What gave her such an idea was beyond him. He and Meg had both remained unchanged over all these years, as had their friendship.

  Even now, Meg looked and behaved just as she had when she was a child. She wore no covering other than her long-sleeved dress, evidence that her impulsivity from childhood had not yet faded away. The snowflakes floated around her, her hand stretched toward the sky before a smile graced her lips. She still had that ability to enjoy simple matters, to find beauty in everyday moments—an ability that brought joy to those around her. Matthew was sure he’d even enjoy the graveyard if Meg joined him there.

  His horse snorted beneath him, jingling his reins, and Meg looked toward him in surprise. “Good morning, Matthew. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Apparently.” He pulled his horse to a stop and motioned to her shoulders. “Where is your cloak?”

  She looked down at her dress, as if only aware in that moment that she wore nothing else. “Oh, I didn’t have a moment to spare to retrieve it. I wished to see the snow falling before it stops again.”

  Just as Matthew had suspected.

  A groom approached, and Matthew dismounted, handing the reins over with a nod of thanks before removing his hat and walking toward Meg. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Not yet.”

  His eyes wandered toward the door. The blazing fire that was sure to be burning in the drawing room hearth was calling for him, but he was fairly certain if he left Meg alone, she’d remain out of doors until she caught a cold.

  He removed his coat and ignored the chill instantly enveloping him as he wrapped the cover around Meg’s shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, her fingers curling around the lapels as she pulled the coat tightly around her. “Won’t you be chilled though?”

  “I assure you, I could not be any colder than I already am. I may as well give you my jacket, gloves, and scarf.”

  “Well, what did you expect, riding in such weather? To return home stifling hot, breaking a sweat? Gaining a freckle or two?”

  “I’ll have you know, I had planned to be in the warmth of the Russells’ home, but for some forsaken reason, Miss Russell preferred spending an eternity in the churchyard with the headstones.”

  Meg dropped her eyes to her boot as she pressed it in front of her, creating a small indent in the snow. “You called on Miss Russell?”

  “On her family, yes,” he corrected. The last thing he wished for was for Meg to think he was interested in Miss Russell. She would undoubtedly tell Louisa, and he couldn’t have the two of them scheming together about him with yet another woman. “My mother was not feeling up to calling in this weather, so I offered to go in her stead.”
/>   There, that wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “Does your mother like Miss Russell?”

  “I would think as much as any young woman.”

  “What of Miss Michaels? And Miss Paulson? Does she like them?”

  “I suppose.” He lowered his brow. Meg couldn’t know about their agreement, could she? “Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged, holding out her hand as the snowflakes speckled her palm. “Merely curious.”

  She seemed innocent enough, but perhaps that was due to the cold preventing his mind from working properly. He rubbed his hands together. Perhaps he’d be better off deducing the answer in front of the fire. “Are you ready to return indoors now?”

  She tilted her head back, squinting as the snowflakes fluttered around her face. “No, I think I’ll enjoy myself out here for a moment longer. If you wish to return indoors, though, do not let me stop you.”

  “Can I not even tempt you with cakes and tea?”

  “Mmm. Indeed you can. But in a moment.”

  He folded his arms, his fingers beginning to ache from the cold, despite his gloves. Perhaps they could both last outside longer if she had her cloak, then he could ask for his coat back.

  “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

  He turned on his heel, making for the door, but before he could even reach the landing, something hard crunched against the back of his jacket.

  He whirled around as Meg shook her hands free of the excess snow she’d used to create her snowball.

  “What did you do that for?” he asked, peering over his shoulder at his back sprinkled with icy snow.

  Meg shrugged, his coat sleeves flapping back and forth at her sides. “To repay you for leaving Louisa and I alone at the pond yesterday.”

  Matthew scoffed. Along with his mother the day before, he’d also spoken with Meg and Louisa, apologizing for dismissing them as he’d done on the ice. How he wished he could share with them the bargains he’d made, how pressured he’d felt with Mother’s eyes on him from the banks, how he wished to remain with his sister and friend.

  Instead, he’d blamed his shortness on a lack of sleep. Louisa had taken a bit of convincing, but Meg had forgiven him instantly. So how did she now think she could get away with throwing a snowball at him?