A Christmas Dance

by Alissa Johnson

  The mild unease she’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the wave of panic that washed over her now. “I. . .”

  “It was impossible to miss your discomfort at his behavior, or that it preceded your premature departure from the ball.” He bent his head to catch her eye. “You left before our waltz.”

  There was a teasing tone in his voice, but she found it impossible to smile. “Yes. Yes, I know. I’m terribly sorry.”

  He straightened again. “I’d rather have your reasons than your apology. Who is he, Patience?”

  She wanted to tell him. He’d given her a beautiful day--a day of firsts, and quite possibly onlys. Her first flowers, her first stroll with a gentleman, her first visit to Hyde Park.

  Before she’d come to live with the Meldrins, she’d been able to do little more than run the occasional errand outside the rooms she and her father shared in London, and never then without worrying what havoc her father might wreak in her absence.

  The Meldrins had taken her off to Europe almost immediately after she’d gone to them for help, and since that day, she’d been eager to return and discover everything she had been missing in London. All the things she’d only heard of, or caught glimpses of through grimy window panes, or--

  William drew her out of her musings by reaching out to gently still the fingers plucking at the lace on her cuffs. She stared down at the large hand covering her own. “I didn’t realize I had the habit until Mrs. Meldrin pointed it out,” she said quietly.

  “We all have our foibles. Like your. . .grandfather?” he guessed.

  She shook her head. “If I tell you, will you give me your word to keep it secret?”

  “If you like,” he said and cocked his head. “Why do you think it necessary?”

  She very nearly gaped at him. Why was it necessary? She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “His behavior was scandalous. It would be a scandal, if anyone knew he. . .knew who he was.”

  And her father’s behavior not only held the potential to bring embarrassment on himself, but on the Meldrins as well. He was in London as their guest, after all.

  “A scandal?” William looked momentarily perplexed before shaking his head. “You’ve worried yourself over nothing, Patience. Your. . .” He raised his brows and tilted his head in a prompting manner. “. . .uncle?”

  She shook her head.

  “Father?”

  She was tempted to deny it, almost as tempted as she was to confide in him. In the end, her hesitation answered for her.

  “Right.” William gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Your father is hardly the first man of his age to overindulge, fall asleep in front of the fire, and wake up disoriented.”

  “I. . .” Overindulge. Patience felt a tremendous wash of relief, immediately followed by a heavy weight of guilt. William assumed her father had been in his cups. . .and she hadn’t enough courage left to enlighten him. She’d used up her meager store of bravery in the first attempt to tell him the truth.

  She might have come up with the courage eventually, but Mr. and Mrs. Meldrin chose that moment to arrive and suggest she return home with them for tea.

  Worse, as William handed her into the Meldrins’ carriage and expressed a hope to see her again soon, she felt more pleasure than she did guilt.

  Just a little more time, she told herself as the carriage rolled away. She only wanted a bit more time to keep the truth to herself, to pretend everything was as it should be. Or perhaps more accurately, how it could be. . .if only things were not as they were.

  Chapter 5

  William straightened his cravat as he strode down the second-floor hall of his townhouse. The damn thing always went awry on the fifteenth of the month. It was the day he met with his man of business to discuss the running of the estate, a task that often had him pulling at his constricting neckwear.

  He’d known very little about the management of an estate before gaining his title, and he couldn’t say having spent the last few years educating himself on the matter had done much to improve his opinion of the responsibility. Fortunately for the estate, his good opinion wasn’t necessary, just his participation.

  He’d been sorely tempted to excuse himself from that participation that morning. There were a thousand other things he’d rather have been doing, and at the top of that list was spending time with Patience Byerly. It was a little unnerving, how much he wanted to spend time with her.

  Her laugh, her smile, her quiet wit and open heart, all pulled at him. It was impossible not to be drawn into her enthusiasm for life--impossible not to be drawn to her.

  And his growing admiration was not limited to the merely platonic. He wanted her. Every small aspect of her teased and tempted him—the ivory skin he imagined would feel soft as silk, the thick hair he thought would look delectable spread out on his pillow. He was fascinated by her dark green eyes, intrigued by her haughty brows, and captivated by the soft curves he’d felt a hint of beneath the palm of his hand when he’d helped her into the Meldrin’s carriage.

  But nothing enthralled and tormented him quite so thoroughly as her lips. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to be so utterly undone by a woman’s lips. Certainly it was natural for a man to notice and appreciate a well-formed mouth, and there was nothing unusual in wondering what that mouth might be like to taste. But as a rule, a man’s attention was eventually drawn elsewhere and, as a rule, that elsewhere was located a bit further down.

  Apparently, he was the exception to that rule, because as much as he noticed, appreciated, and wanted the whole of Patience Byerly, it was her mouth that had kept him up the two nights since Lord Welsing’s ball, tossing and turning like a damn green boy.

  He hadn’t yet decided if he was more irritated by the recent obsession, or intrigued.

  He reached the top of the stairs in time to hear a knock on the front door, and he reached the bottom of the steps in time to see, of all people, his sister being ushered inside.

  “Virginia.”

  She looked up from pulling off her gloves, her cherubic face lit with a mischievousness he knew all too well. Those blonde curls, rosy cheeks, and innocent brown eyes were capable of hiding a wealth of trouble. “Hello, William. You look surprised to see me.”

  “That’s delight,” he corrected and crossed the room to place an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Surrey.”

  “Change of plans,” she said as he led her into the parlor. “We’ll be spending the holidays in London. I’d have sent a note in advance, but this way is so much more fun.”

  He sent a wary glance over his shoulder at the mention of “we.” “The little demons you pass off as my nephews?”

  “I left them in Mayfair, plotting to roast their nanny over an open pit. I can’t stay long.”

  “Ah. All is as it should be, then.”

  “Well I do like to keep things predictable for you,” she replied, taking a seat on the settee.

  “I am not predictable,” he argued, sitting across from her.

  “Not as of late, else I wouldn’t have come to London.” When his only response was an arched brow, she sighed impatiently. “It has come to my attention that you’re in search of a wife.”

  As there was no point in denying it, he merely said, “Has it, indeed?”

  “Yes. It has also come to my attention that you have a particular young lady in mind for the role.”

  He stifled a groan and leaned back against the cushions of his chair. One bloody day and the woman had already learned of it, packed up her family and made the hour long trip to London. “I should have known you’d hear of it. Though I hadn’t expected the news to reach you so quickly.”

  “Not so very quickly,” she countered and gave him a curious look. “Was it meant to be a secret?”

  “It isn’t meant to be fodder for gossip, though I suppose that was inevitable--” He cut off, noticing for the first time that her expression was one of worry rather than hum
or. “You don’t approve.”

  She shifted in her seat. “It’s not that I don’t approve, exactly. It’s simply. . .I wonder if the two of you should suit. Physically, she is a lovely girl, and her dowry is most impressive but—“

  “Patience has a dowry?” How had he not known of that?

  “Patience?” Virginia opened her mouth, closed it, sat very still for several long seconds, and then simply repeated. “Patience?”

  “Miss Byerly,” he prompted.

  Her eyes grew round. “Miss Byerly? That’s who you are courting?”

  He straightened again in his chair. “Who the devil did you think I was courting?”

  “Caroline Meldrin, of course.”

  “Miss Meldrin?” He frowned thoughtfully. “Who gave you that idea?”

  “It’s been all the talk in London.”

  “You’ve only just come to London,” he pointed out, struggling with a laugh.

  She waved the comment away. “I’ve loyal correspondents.”

  “You have ill-informed correspondents.” Though not as ill- formed as he would have her believe. Someone had clearly noticed and informed her of his earlier attempts to engage Miss Meldrin’s attention. “I am not courting Miss Meldrin, nor have I any—“

  “But I don’t know anything about Patience Byerly,” she broke in, sounding nearly as put out as she did stunned. “I’ve never met the woman.”

  “You’ve never met Miss Meldrin, either,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but I’ve heard all about her, haven’t I?”

  “Invite Patience for tea, then,” he suggested. “I suspect you’ll get on well enough. She says she likes children.”

  Virginia shook her head dismissively. “Much too obvious. I don’t want the poor girl to think she’s on trial.”

  “I should think it obvious any way it’s done,” he commented.

  She ignored him completely. “I shall have to give a dinner party.” She pursed her lips and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Night after next, I think. Something with a Christmas theme—or is it too early yet? Perhaps a Harvest--”

  “You can’t be serious.” He gave her a pitying look. “A dinner party in two days?”

  “I shall keep it small, no more than a dozen guests.” She tapped her chin again. “Maybe two dozen.”

  “Your staff must abhor you.”

  “My staff is exceedingly well compensated for their troubles.”

  Because he knew it to be true, he merely shrugged. “You may very well find yourself disappointed, if it turns out Miss Byerly has other plans.”

  Virginia smiled at him pleasantly. “Unless those plans include a single, wealthy, and handsome gentleman who outranks an earl, I imagine she’ll find a way to attend.”

  * * *

  Patience did not, in fact, have other plans. A circumstance she was still debating the merits of as she rode to the townhouse of Mr. and Mrs. Higgs. The notion of seeing William again was, without doubt, something to look forward to. The notion of meeting his sister, however, was considerably less appealing.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. She liked the idea of meeting William’s sister well enough. It was just the reality of meeting her that put her stomach in knots.

  What if she made some terrible faux-pas? What if she bobbled a curtsy, or used the wrong utensil, or addressed someone incorrectly? Or worse, infinitely worse, what if she did everything quite perfectly, and William’s sister decided she simply didn’t care for her brother’s taste in ladies. Perhaps the woman would think her too plain. There wasn’t a thing Patience could do to improve the woman’s opinion of her in that case. One could practice curtsies and table manners. One could not practice being less plain.

  She shifted on the carriage seat, then threw a wary glance at Mrs. Meldrin, who twice already had admonished her for fidgeting. Fortunately, Mrs. Meldrin was too busy fussing with Mr. Meldrin’s attire—much to the apparent annoyance of Mr. Meldrin—to notice.

  Patience rubbed her fingers against a velvet ribbon at the waist of her gown and turned to Caroline. “Does this gown make me appear plain,” she asked in a nervous whisper. “Or perhaps plainer would be a more accurate description.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes as she dug through her reticule for something. “I’ve told you no twice all ready tonight.”

  “That was for the green gown.”

  Caroline looked up. “Oh. . .so it was.” She gave Patience a thorough, if brief inspection. “You look lovely in the blue as well, but out of curiosity, what were you planning on doing if I said you looked dreadful? We’re nearly to the party.”

  Patience had no idea.

  A hopeful gleam entered Caroline’s eyes. She shot a cautious glance at her parents. “Perhaps you’ve developed the headache?”

  It was awfully tempting. “No.”

  “Pity.”

  A half hour after their arrival, Patience decided it would have been a much greater pity if she had given in to temptation and returned home. True, there was a moment or two of terrible nerves upon her introduction to Mrs. Virginia Higgs, but the discomfort was blessedly short lived. It was difficult to be ill at ease in the company of such an affable woman.

  As soon as Patience had arrived, Mrs. Higgs had ushered her to a settee where she, and a good number of her friends, proceeded to ask a long series of friendly questions. Though it put her in the awkward position of having to parry one or two inquiries into her past, Patience felt the amicable interview was preferable to being snubbed. Shame it had the unfortunate side effect of making it impossible for her to ever so casually cross the room to where William was speaking to an entirely different group of ladies. It was even more unfortunate that several of those ladies were young, attractive and unmarried.

  “Is something the matter, dear?”

  Patience snapped her gaze away from William. On the settee next to her, Mrs. Higgs fluttered her fan below a small, knowing smile. “You look rather. . .distant.”

  “Oh, no. No, I. . .” Patience scrambled for a plausible excuse for her distraction, only to be handed one by the sight of Caroline motioning for her from across the room. “I believe Miss Meldrin needs me, that’s all. Please, do excuse me.”

  She hurried away quickly on the slight chance Mrs. Higgs would be so bold as to point out Caroline was standing a significant distance from where Patience had been gazing.

  Caroline gave her a rather distracted smile as she approached. “Patience, I seem to have torn my gown. Do you--”

  “Caroline--”

  “I have.” Caroline lifted her arm to display a loose seam at the cuff of her gown. She stared at it with a bemused expression. “I’ve actually torn it.”

  “Oh.” Patience blinked at the loose material. “Well. . .how unexpected.”

  “Yes, rather. . .” Caroline’s brow furrowed further. “I suppose it needs to be mended.”

  “Yes. I suppose so. . .Did you bring needle and thread?”

  Caroline looked up and dropped her arm. “No. Didn’t you?”

  “No.” Amusement tickled the back of her throat. “I never thought we’d truly need them.”

  Laughing softly, she took Caroline’s hand and led her out of the parlor to the ladies’ retiring room some distance down the front hall. She sighed when they discovered the room empty.

  “I’d rather hoped to find assistance. No matter. Wait here, and I’ll fetch a needle and thread from a maid.” She remembered the last occasion in which either of them attempted to wield thread and needle. Mrs. Meldrin had insisted they practice their stitch work in the creation of a sampler. The results had been grisly. “Perhaps I’ll just fetch the maid.”

  She left Caroline still scowling at her marred gown, and took no more than a dozen steps away from the door before coming knee to face with a small dark-haired boy with enormous brown eyes, drying tear tracks down pink cheeks and a thin line of blood dripping from his mouth.

  Her heart turned over at the sight.

  “Oh, y
ou poor dear.” She crouched down in front of him. “Darling, are you hurt?”

  To her astonishment, he answered by grinning broadly and pointing to a bleeding gap where his front tooth ought to have been. “I’ve a hole!”

  She reared back a solid foot. “Good Heavens, that’s ghastly.”

  Apparently well over the pain of his injury and delighted with her assessment of his wound, he giggled and prodded the space with his tongue.

  “Oh, dear.” Her stomach did a slow, nauseating roll. “Don’t do that, I beg you.”

  “Why?”

  She stood up and grimaced. “It’s. . .unsightly.”

  A familiar male voice sounded from behind her. “Unsightly? That’s no way to speak about one of my nephews.”

  The rolling sensation was immediately replaced by a jittery one at the sight of William striding down the hall. He stopped in front of her to smile. “Gruesome is generally a better choice. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Oh, the things that smile and those simple words did to her. She hadn’t a name for most of them, but thought perhaps bliss summed up the whole rather nicely. She stammered, swallowed, and felt herself blush. “I. . .I was just. . .” William’s lips twitched at her reaction but she thought it best to pretend she didn’t notice. She stepped aside to gesture at his nephew.

  “He’s hurt,” she said, sounding rather lame even to her own ears.

  “Ah. . .So, he is.”

  Chapter 6

  William eyed the little boy before him with something akin to alarm tickling along his skin.

  He loved his nephews, each and every one of them, and he would freely admit as much to anyone who might care to listen. He would also admit that, if it was at all possible, he would prefer to express his devotion from a healthy distance. The younger the nephew, the healthier the distance.

  Small children were such unpredictable little blighters--giggling cherubs one moment with happy smiles and big eyes, and then the next thing a man knew, they were screaming at the top of their lungs, producing vast rivers of tears, and demanding you fetch them something called “bwon won,” or “gwaba,” or another equally incomprehensible object.