Dancing On Air

by Hurley-Moore, Nicole

  Dancing On Air

  Nicole Hurley-Moore

  Dancing On Air

  Nicole Hurley-Moore

  Cinderella meets Swan Lake in this Victorian-era set story about a ballet dancer, an aristocrat, and their class-crossing romance...

  Lisette yearns for freedom, security and love, but none are offered on the run-down stage of The Imperial Theatre. Instead she has hard work, a tyrannical aunt, and the hope of one day becoming a prima ballerina. Dancing on the stage she catches the attention of two powerful men: Lord Gainsworth and Lord De Vale.

  Lord Evander Gainswith never expected to fall in love, let alone with a woman so wholly unacceptable to his family and his peers. The sinister Lord De Vale covets Lisette’s youth and strength, and is willing to pay well for it. Lisette may dance roles in fairy tales and fantasies, but the real world is about to intrude, bringing with it the harsh realities of life for a young girl with dreams of rising above the demimonde.

  About the author

  Nicole has always been a lover of fairy tales, history and romance. She grew up in Melbourne and has travelled extensively, whilst living her life through the romance of books. Her first passion in life has always been her family, but after studying and achieving her BA Honours in Medieval Literature, she devoted her time to writing historic romance. She is a full time writer who lives in the Central Highlands of Victoria with her family, where they live in the peaceful surrounds of a semi-rural town.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to my family – Christopher, Ciandra, Conor and Alannah for their love and support.

  For my mother – who once danced on air.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowlegements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, 1884

  Lisette was weightless as she leapt into a grand jeté across the stage. She was free and in that moment her heart soared past the walls of the Imperial Theatre. She landed lightly and began the fouetté en tournant, whipping her leg from fourth position to behind her knee; she created impetus to spin on pointe. After the eight revolutions, she planted her feet and lifted her hand in the air, stopping in front of her aunt. There was a slight wobble in her legs and she tried not to wince. Fixing a smile on her face, she prayed that her aunt had not noticed. Lisette had wanted perfection but had fallen short. A trickle of sweat slid its way down the middle of her back. Her heart beat rapidly and she tried to catch her breath as her aunt stepped forward.

  Marie Devoré regarded her niece for a second. Her eyes bore into Lisette’s before she raised her hand and slapped her across the face.

  Lisette’s head jerked to the side as the burning sting radiated over her cheek.

  ‘What was that? A farce...? A comedy, perhaps?’

  ‘No, Aunt Marie, I am sorry that I wobbled,’ she said as she looked at the well-worn wooden floor and resisted the urge to cradle her cheek.

  ‘When you finish, the movement must be sleek, clean and set in stone, without any trace of a tremble.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt.’

  ‘Go, out of my sight. Prepare the costumes for tonight’s performance,’ Marie said with a wave of her thin hand. ‘You will practice again tomorrow. Without the wobble.’

  Lisette bowed her head before running off into the wings of the stage. She ran as fast as she could past the burgundy velvet curtains, beneath the scenery fly and the rigging, down the narrow flight of stairs that ran beneath the stage, until she was in the cool and narrow corridor, which led deeper into the bowels of the theatre. Her cheek burned but it was the sting of failure that hurt all the more.

  Some of the company called the backstage the rabbit warren but Lisette always thought of it as a maze. It seemed a jumble of doors, stairs and walkways. She stepped into the large dressing room, the one she shared with the rest of the chorus. There were several rooms beneath the stage: one that housed the wardrobe from past productions, one for the musicians, and several just for storage, but the chorus room, also known as the girl’s room, was by far the biggest.

  She made her way to the very back and past the rack full of assorted costumes. Lisette ducked behind a large screen and sat down on a rickety wooden chair. She winced, leaned forward and stared at her reflection in the long mirror that ran along the wall. She turned her head slightly and saw that her cheek was still red from her aunt’s slap. She placed the cool back of her hand against her cheek and hoped that it would take away a little of the heat. With luck, it would disappear before anyone could see it. Her cheek hurt and so did her head.

  Deftly, she withdrew the pins from her tight bun and let her long, wavy brown hair fall. She leant her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands. She rubbed her fingertips through her hair and across her stinging scalp. Her headache eased, as did the sting. She sat up and saw that, with her hair down, the redness of her cheek was less noticeable.

  Lisette bent over and untied the satin ribbons of her pointe shoes and slipped them off. She took off the wadding and, unbinding her toes, wiggled them and felt a mixture of pain and relief. She removed her pale dancing skirt and slipped into her day dress. It was plain, grey and reminded her of a stormy sky.

  ‘Lisette? Lisette, are you here?’

  With a sigh, Lisette briefly closed her eyes as she heard the voice of her dearest friend in the corridor.

  ‘I’m in here, Sally,’ she called as she peeped around the rose-painted screen. She watched as the striking redhead made her way through the long dressing room. Sally was dressed in a dull green dress. The colour seemed to emphasise the girl’s pale skin and the fiery copper of her hair.

  ‘I tried the stage first. I thought you might still be practicing, but...’ Sally’s voice trailed off when she saw Lisette’s red cheek. ‘She struck you again?’

  ‘I had a clumsy finish,’ Lisette said. Her lips twitched into an embarrassed smile.

  ‘There is no excuse. Dear God in heaven, one day you will be free of her,’ Sally said as she leant down and hugged Lisette.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Lisette said quietly. She lingered in her friend’s embrace for a moment before pulling away. ‘We should prepare for tonight’s performance.’

  Sally straightened up and looked at Lisette. ‘It’s not right. She should not treat you this way.’

  ‘I know and I find it hard to forgive her. My aunt is a hard woman — brittle as ice — but for all her faults she has my best interests at heart.’

  ‘Lisette, your aunt does not have a heart,’ Sally said with a shake of her head.

  ‘She trains me to be a great dancer. It requires discipline.’

  ‘You are a great dancer and she has beaten you ever since she took you in. She is a brute and one day you must stand up to her and hold her accountable for her actions.’

  Lisette starred at their reflections in the large mirror. Two best friends. No, the bond was even stronger. They were sisters in everything but blood. Lisette reached up and took Sally’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘You are right, but for now we should check the costumes.’

  ‘Very well,’ Sally said as she took off her hat and placed it and her reticule on the table. ‘I shall help you with the costumes and then we will have something to eat.’

  ‘Before the performance? I mean I usually eat after. Besides, I’m not sure there is enough time,’ Lisette answered.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’

  ‘Um... I...
’

  Sally cut off her friend. ‘That’s what I thought. How do you expect to dance, if you do not eat?’ She took Lisette’s hand and pulled her up from her chair. Sally then snatched up her reticule. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Put on your shawl, we will eat first and then attend to the costumes.’

  Knowing that it was futile to resist, Lisette draped her tatty woollen shawl around her shoulders and followed Sally. Besides, now that she remembered she hadn’t eaten, her stomach growled and she realised just how hungry she was. Catching up with Sally, she linked her arm through hers as they made their way through the labyrinth.

  ‘Where shall we eat?’ Lisette said as she reached into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a penny.

  Sally looked down at Lisette’s penny. ‘Hmm, the Hearth Fire. Where else?’

  ‘Madame Devoré, were you not too harsh on poor little Lisette?’ a disembodied voice called out in the half dark theatre.

  Marie’s spine stiffened at the words but she stifled her first response as she recognised the voice belonged to Tinder Michaels, the new owner of the Imperial Theatre.

  ‘No, Mister Michaels. Lisette must learn.’ She watched as he walked down the aisle towards her. He was of average height, pleasant face and light brown hair. Marie arched an eyebrow. He looked too young to own the theatre.

  ‘Lisette was...sublime. I saw no mistake,’ he said as he looked up at her from the edge of the stage.

  ‘You are not a ballet mistress,’ she answered with a twitch of a smile. ‘I am hard on the girl because one day, very soon, she will be a great ballerina. However this will not be achieved without discipline.’

  ‘Discipline without cruelty.’

  Marie’s eyes narrowed as her hand flexed over the silver ball on top of the black walking cane she always carried with her. ‘You think me cruel. Well, perhaps I am. But what I do is for her own good. Lisette has great talent and will be a prima ballerina.’

  ‘I do not doubt, Madame, but I daresay Florentia will not be so pleased.’

  ‘Florentia is a good dancer but a demanding one. She nears the end of her career and will be toppled from her pinnacle soon enough.’

  She could see that Tinder was taken aback by her words and a tiny seed of worry was planted in his mind. He had just sunk every penny he owned into the slightly shabby Imperial Theatre. He needed the place to be packed to bursting and Florentia was the draw card. For almost a decade she had been the prima ballerina and her talent was unsurpassed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tinder asked as his eyebrows drew together.

  ‘A dancer cannot dance forever, no matter how much she wishes it. Florentia is at the height of her career but soon another will take her place,’ she said with a shrug.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, I do not know, maybe six months; a year. Possibly two. Soon age or injury takes us all. That, of course, does not mean Florentia will be destitute. She is a great dancer, so there will be a chance she could make a fine ballet mistress’.

  ‘Hmm, I see,’ Tinder said as his hand rubbed his chin. ‘Thank you, Madam Devoré, you have given me much to think about.’

  Marie inclined her head and watched Tinder walk up the aisle and disappear into the front of house. She bit back a smile as she started to walk off the stage. How dare he try and undermine her authority. He may own the theatre but there would be no ballet without her.

  A stab of pain shot through her knee and she was forced to lean heavily on her black cane for a moment. Yes, soon age or injury takes us all.

  Lord Evander Gainswith cradled a brandy balloon between his elegant fingers as he stood in front of a cheery fire. This room — the study, with its dark panelled walls, large fireplace and long windows — was his favourite. Not that he didn’t like the rest of the house. On the contrary, he loved it. He would be forever grateful to his grandmother, who had not only bequeathed him this house in Pimlico, but also a large enough inheritance so that he would never have to depend on his brother or, more to the point, his father. At twenty-four years of age he was his own man with independent means, as long as he didn’t lose his head. It felt good not to be beholden to his Father. In fact, for the first time in his adult life, he actually felt free. However, the small bubble of euphoria was fleeting. Evander may be his own man but his Father, the Duke, still managed to manipulate the family to his whim and will.

  Evander turned to his friend and shook his dark head. ‘Truly Anthony, go on without me.’

  ‘Never. Besides, the evening is planned. I will not take no for an answer. We are meeting Harry and Simon at the club. Then it’s on to the Imperial Theatre for a taste of ballet before a late supper at The Griffin.’

  ‘I must be away in the morning...at first light.’

  Anthony Sinclair lolled his thin frame over the silk covered rosewood chair and gave Evander a questioning look. ‘And where is it you go in the morning, at first light?’

  He gave an exaggerated shudder. He was almost the opposite in build and appearance to Evander. Anthony was fine boned and had almost feminine features. His appearance had hounded him ever since school. He made a point of always dressing in dark colours. His clothes were generally without embellishment and, as soon as his hormones had allowed, he had grown a beard. Anthony did everything he could to look more masculine.

  ‘First to Gainswith Park and then on to Temperly, with Alistair,’ Evander said as he leaned elegantly against the marble mantle.

  ‘Good Lord, why?’ Anthony’s eyes rounded in horror.

  ‘Alistair says that he needs my help with overseeing the estate. He says it is time that I took my position in the family seriously.’

  ‘Whatever for? Besides, the estate belongs to your brother. He is the Marquess of Coltswood, not you. Why should he drag you away from all the fun of the city? They are his problems, not yours.’

  ‘I believe that is the point of the exercise: to take me away from the evil of the city and the corruption of my dearest friends,’ Evander said with a smile that reached his sherry coloured eyes. ‘Of course, the entire idea has father’s stamp of approval.’

  ‘The Duke!’ Anthony looked around nervously and straightened up in the chair out of habit. Anthony was Evander’s oldest friend and, being the third son of a disinterested father, had spent much of his time in the Duke’s household. Not that the Duke was particularly interested in Evander or Anthony either. ‘Oh, you don’t suppose he found out about Lizzy —’

  ‘Yes,’ Evander cut him off. ‘Which is why I am summoned to the North Country and will be detained for at least a fortnight. Perhaps even longer. Oh, and if you want to keep your head, do not mention Harry’s name in his presence. Or Alistair’s for that matter.’

  ‘Well how were we to know that it was a private affair? Harry said he knew the girl. You know he’s always talking about Lizzy.’

  ‘But who would have guessed that “Lizzy” was actually Lady Eliza Beckworth?’

  ‘Don’t look at me that way, Evander. I didn’t know. I was just as surprised as you were. He kept saying he knew her and that we would be welcome.’

  Evander arched an eyebrow. ‘Was that before he implied to everyone in the room that he knew her in the biblical sense? Or before he tried to kiss her in front of Lord Dickson, her fiancée?’

  ‘You know Harry always leads with his heart.’

  ‘Duchess Fitzgerald fainted.’

  ‘He can be a little hot-headed.’

  ‘There’s talk of a duel and the engagement is off,’ Evander said as he threw back the brandy, and felt the warm burn slide down his throat.

  ‘Duels have been banned for years.’

  ‘And when has that ever stopped a gentleman seeking satisfaction? I do believe Lord Dickson was overheard saying that he would seek his with a foil.’

  ‘Good God, it makes me shudder at the thought. Perhaps Harry should lay low and keep his head down until all of this blows over?’

  ‘Perhaps indeed,’ Evander said flatly.

&nb
sp; ‘Anyway, my dear fellow, you must look on the bright side. I believe Lizzy is better off without Dickson — we all know what a brute he is,’ Anthony said, a smile spread across his face.

  Evander gave him a steely glare.

  Anthony drained his glass before setting down on the nearby table. ‘Now, now…there’s no need to get het up. I’m quite positive that everything will work out. So let us make our way to the club.’

  ‘Anthony, I leave at dawn.’

  ‘By carriage?’

  ‘Of course, but I do not see what importance my mode of transport has to do with anything.’

  ‘Of course it’s important. You can come and worship at the pretty feet of London’s Prima Ballerina, Florentia, and then sleep in the carriage all the way to Gainswith Park. If your brother insists on exiling you, you had better make tonight’s festivities count.’

  ‘Florentia, you say?’ Evander watched as Anthony nodded his head. ‘Well, I suppose I could tag along. Who knows what sort of trouble Harry is likely to get in if left unchecked.’

  ‘Exactly, Evander. A man can always count on a friend such as you.’

  ‘Why are we stopping? I thought that we were going to the club,’ Evander asked as he watched his friend bang the roof of their carriage with his stylish walking stick.

  As Evander sat back against the padded leather seat his stomach rumbled. Hunger stabbed at his insides and he wished he had remembered to eat before they had left. Dinner was hours away and he wondered if he would make it.

  ‘We are, but I was thinking since you are going to be exiled for God only knows how long, we should truly make a night of it.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’ Evander asked as he leant forward.

  ‘You wanted to see the magnificent Florentia. Well, I thought that I should ask Michaels to reserve us the best seats in the theatre,’ Anthony said as he opened the door and stepped down from the carriage.

  ‘Michaels?’

  ‘Really, Evander, I truly despair for you. Do you not listen to the gossip and tales that circulate the club on a regular basis?’ With an exaggerated sigh, Anthony leaned against the carriage door. ‘’Tis common knowledge that a certain Mr Tinder Michaels has just purchased that slightly down-trodden Imperial Theatre.’