I took another long sip of soup.
Another giggle escaped Anna. Another belting laugh came from Mr. Gregory. Mr. Sheffield mentioned as many of the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs as he could within the shortest amount of time possible. I withheld the urge to simply stand and leave the room to find a quiet place to read.
Did anyone speak of the details of their life which were important to them, or was company always to be a series of commentaries that could somehow relay our social status?
I let my eyes drift to the candlelight in front of me, allowing the room to fall out of focus. Mr. Somerville made a brief comment, which sent Mrs. Somerville into light laughter. Anna’s voice carried clear and strong on this end of the table. Mr. Sheffield’s attention had turned from me to her. When I blinked and re-opened my eyes, Miss Kinsley’s gaze caught mine.
A lump formed in my throat, which I attempted to swallow down.
Grandmother tugged at my sleeve. “Will you accompany me, Simon dear?” she asked quietly.
I rested my hand over hers. “They have not yet served dinner,” I replied.
“To my rooms?”
The chance at reprieve was most welcome. I stood, and helped Grandmother stand as well. “I beg your pardon.” I placed Grandmother’s hand over my arm. “I believe my grandmother wishes to be settled. These past few days have kept her quite busy.”
“I wish to be in my rooms,” she said with more authority than I’d heard from her since her arrival.
The walk to her rooms proved painfully slow, but I reminded myself that the slower her walk, the longer it took to have a maid or several settle her in, the more time I would be permitted to be absent for dinner.
Sadly, all good things must come to end, so I wished my grandmother goodnight, and was promised my mother would receive word once Grandmother had dined and gone to bed.
I made my way back to the dining room, hoping that the main course might possibly be finished. As much as I hoped for time with Miss Kinsley, I hoped for time away from Anna. The sooner the women retired from the dining room, the sooner I might persuade a few of the gentlemen into a game of billiards or cards. Anything to divert my mind from my impossible situation.
As I stepped back into the dining room, Miss Kinsley was in an animated conversation with Mr. Gregory, and Anna had taken Grandmother’s place next to Mother.
Blast. Tomorrow would be spent with Napoleon in the countryside, and no one else.
Chapter 23
Isabelle
Leaves rustled over my head, the treetops tangling together in the breeze. The sun streamed through each space, light spinning like a kaleidoscope upon the mossy ground. I turned in sync, watching as the flickers of sunshine danced over my bare arm. Alone outside—I had not been alone outdoors since before London.
I spun on my right foot, twirling until I met the thick trunk of a tree. Laughter found its way to my lips, and I gasped for breath. My dancing debut to Mrs. Somerville’s house guests would be a disaster if I did not take care.
Although the waltz had spread throughout high society, Mama still deemed the dance improper. She did not like the idea of dancing while embracing another person, and, truthfully, neither did I. The thought of being so close to a stranger seemed dreadful indeed. A gentleman might dine on roasted duck or swallow a glass of port before dancing. I detested both smells. Worse, many men perspired with great enthusiasm, as if sweating were a sport. Sweat-soaked gloves were to be tolerated—but a sweat soaked back from their moistened hands? No, thank you. I had gladly, gratefully refrained from waltzing. Mama’s directives served my own.
However, as I glanced at the scribblings on the paper in my left hand, I rather wished I had gathered experience in the waltz. I leapt to one side, attempting to glide my right foot back to close. Mrs. Somerville’s love of the Sauteuse Waltz would expose me as the fraud I felt.
I tugged at a pin near the nape of my neck. Rules and order often felt as restricting as pins and dresses. If dancing held less rules, I might enjoy spinning about or curtsying to handsome gentlemen. Yet, the entire affair felt like one more symbol, one more reminder of my position in life. I had a part to play, my steps already laid out before me.
Again, I traversed the twisted roots and moss, moving in 2/4 time. Leap. Glide. Close. Over and over, I moved my feet to an imaginary orchestra, until the sound of clopping hooves roused me from my practice.
Mr. Windham sat atop Napoleon, staring down at me with undeniable curiosity. “Miss Kinsley…”
I inhaled sharply and tucked the piece of paper into a closed fist. “Mr. Windham.”
His brows lifted. “What on earth are you doing?”
Instantly, I became aware of my burning cheeks and the perspiration running down the back of my neck. I had not realized my enthusiasm for exercise rivaled that of Almack’s perspiring men. I swallowed hard, but nervous laughter made its way up my throat. “Anna assured me I should learn the Sauteuse. I have not danced a waltz, not outside the walls of my own home with a sister as a partner. I thought I should practice before tomorrow.”
“In the woods, unaccompanied?” He grinned.
“Yes.” The absurdity of my appearance was enough to startle a person, but surely my telling him of my inexperience and consequent rehearsals only furthered his opinion. “I did not wish for a soul to witness the atrocity of my dancing, not until I could learn. The woods seemed the safest place.”
“Safest?” Mr. Windham dismounted and knotted the reins around a low branch. “I do hate to doubt your judgment, Miss Kinsley, but dancing about rocks and roots cannot be entirely smiled upon. You do not worry about twisting an ankle? Do not all women worry of such things? I have heard Anna profess those exact worries.”
I pursed my lips. Perhaps I should have taken more care—Mama would have cautioned me to, but my ankles had proven as solid as the ground I stood upon. “An ankle is furthest from my worries at present. Actually, I should prefer a twist to that of being forced to dance with strangers.”
“Oh?” He scratched at his cheek with a gloved hand. “You consider Elliot and me strangers, do you?”
I sighed. “No, not Elliot, but you, Mr. Windham, are as near a stranger as the amateur poet, Mr. Gregory.”
Mr. Windham chuckled, and he offered his hand.
I shrugged, glancing around the grove. Not another soul was in sight, and I was not about to accept his arm. “You fancy unchaperoned walks, Mr. Windham?”
His eyes narrowed, but his lips lifted. “I offer my assistance. If you are to learn the Sauteuse, you’ll be needing a partner. Shall we?”
“You wish to dance…here…”
“The safest place.”
I craned my neck, surveying his playful glance. “I suppose I shall, but only because I need tutelage. Otherwise, I would never agree to such a thing.”
“Naturally, Miss Kinsley.”
I accepted his outstretched hand, swallowing hard when his other hand met my back. Goodness—to be so close to a gentleman was extremely unnerving. I ran my tongue over each of my teeth, suddenly self-conscious. I did not wish for him to see a crumb of toast lodged between two teeth or a raspberry seed ornamenting an incisor.
“On my count, then. The Sauteuse had only two beats.” Mr. Windham’s voice rang differently, quieter yet deeper. Perhaps the change in sound was due to the close proximity, for he stood only six inches above me. “1, 2, 1, 2—”
The pace was far too fast for my elementary beginnings. My feet were stubborn, an unruly army—one I could not order into a simply synchronized march. I cleared my throat. “And why must it be your count? Why cannot I set the pace?”
“Pardon?” His chest lifted with an audible inhale. “If you would prefer to, I give you full permission.”
“Thank you,” I said, glancing at my feet. “1…2…1…2…”
Before I finished my first step—my loveliest leap yet—Mr. Windham chuckled. “No, you mustn’t jump.”
My brows drew closer. �
�My leap was as graceful a leap as ever I have seen.”
His chuckle grew in depth and duration. “Yes, graceful indeed, though I should tell you: the Sauteuse requires more of a bounce than ballet leap. And more, your pace is far too slow. We shall have to go faster if you have any hope of succeeding with a partner.”
My chest burned in humiliation, and I was severely tempted to abandon my practice altogether. Ladies were not required to perform every dance at a ball, and I might as well elect to sit out the Sauteuse.
“Forgive me.”
“Oh?” I said, not bothering to lift my eyes.
He adjusted his hold on my back, and he bent to the side in an attempt to meet my gaze. “I fear I have offended you. I should not have teased you.”
Restraint fled for a moment, and I happened to look upon his face—a face that was far too near my own. A shadow of a beard ran along his jawline and above his upper lip, and the effect startled me. Whereas facial hair aged most men, it did not age Mr. Windham. On the contrary, the auburn facial hair—contrasting to his brown hair—only highlighted the angles of his cheeks.
“Can you forgive me?” Mr. Windham’s expression grew serious.
His earnestness startled me, softening my pride. My cheeks burned again, this time for appearing as silly and trite as a child. “Yes, but only if you can do the same for me. I am not accustomed to the waltz and even less accustomed to failing.”
“Well then, I am glad I am here to help you.” Another brief pause. “As inappropriate as this meeting may appear from the outside.”
We began once more, slowly and with much less enthusiasm on my part in leaping. The movements were painful at first, and Mr. Windham struggled to lead me around the floor of the forest. I stepped on his toes and elicited more than one grunt of pain.
However, his patience soothed my anxieties. His concern melted my humiliation into comfort, and in time, I began to succumb to his lead and trust my stubborn feet.
“There,” he said, after speaking only 1-2’s for some time. He continued to lead me around our mock-ballroom of grasses, rocks, and branches. “You have got it at last.”
“We mustn’t stop yet.” My voice shook from the exercise, but I did not wish to lose this rhythm and progress. “Another round and I shall…”
Yet, Mr. Windham’s feet slowed, and he dropped his hand from my back. “I think we should stop, Miss Kinsley. We’ve been dancing around that tree for nearly fifteen minutes, and you can hardly catch your breath.”
He was quite right; my pulse raced from the heat and exercise. Sweat dotted the back of my neck and along my hairline. I crinkled my nose, hoping the aroma of the woods was enough to counter any stink.
“And I’m quite sure we have been unchaperoned for far too long.” He swallowed. “Elliot and Mary are riding together for Windham Manor, and I wish to catch them before they arrive.”
Understanding dawned, and my eyes widened. “Yes, far too long.”
“No one will suspect you haven’t danced the Sauteuse.” Mr. Windham took a step back and handed me a handkerchief.
I took it, dapping the fabric across my burning cheeks. “Thanks to you, Mr. Windham, I shall not seem such a fish out of water, though I cannot claim to be proficient. At least I will not make a fool of myself, leaping across the room.”
His eyes glimmered in the flickering sunlight, and that, coupled with his gentle smile, snatched me from all comfort. His glance rivaled the force holding me to the ground, and I struggled to maintain balance under such a pull. My mouth ran dry, and I pressed a hand to my chest in hopes of curing my shallow breaths. What was this madness he elicited with a single expression?
“I am happy I stumbled upon you,” Mr. Windham said. “My father requested my presence at home to help with some estate business. I was just leaving.”
“You live that close then?” I asked.
A slight shake of his head was his only response.
His glance flitted about me, and he seemed to sense my altered state. That, or I was still perspiring. His face hovered only feet from mine, his lips pursed into a curious manner—a manner which caused my heart to flutter all over again. I begged my body to calm itself, and I pled with my cheeks to refrain from the abominable act of blushing.
Yet, my cheeks were as rebellious as my feet were stubborn.
Soft laughter spilt from his lips. “Miss Kinsley, are you well?”
I hardly knew. I shook my head, and allowed his question to spark an excuse, however absurd it appeared. Anything was preferable to him thinking I was a silly, blushing girl. “Perhaps the spinning proved more tiring than I first realized.”
“Do you need to sit? Shall I offer you a ride back on Napoleon? I’m not quite sure how to situate you on my saddle…” he trailed off as his attention went from his horse back to me and then toward his horse once more.
“I’m quite recovered.” I collected my bonnet from beside the tree trunk. I lifted my arm to return his handkerchief but thought the better of it. “I shall have it washed and returned before the day’s end.”
“Do not trouble yourself for the sake of a patch of fabric. I shall not mind its absence.” He continued to watch me. “I would like for you to have it. Consider it as repayment for the ribbon.”
My mouth hung open, awaiting my lips to make a reply. Nothing sensible came. Perhaps I was overheated and overexerted as I claimed, but I suspected something far worse, for I supposed the sensation to be the same one I had witnessed beset so many ladies of London.
I was not so naïve as to believe blushes to equate with love, but I was also keenly aware that I had never once had such heat creep across my face, nor had I ever felt so weakened by a single glance.
Love—perhaps not. Yet, there was something of substance behind the sensations overwhelming me.
Another emotion enveloped me, nearly as quickly and with almost as much force as the first. Guilt. Was I so weak as to allow a gentleman to persuade me out of a promise? Did a handsome face have enough power to alter my character? I winced; I had assured Anna more than once that I would not allow any feeling toward Mr. Windham.
Mr. Windham shifted his weight, his boots knocking against a patch of rocks. “A penny for your thoughts?”
I swung my bonnet by the strings and shrugged. “Nothing of consequence.”
“I have a hard time believing that. You do not seem the type to think on the inconsequential.”
I bit my lip and lifted the bonnet to my head. “You are quite mistaken, Mr. Windham. I think on the inconsequential far too often. Why, just before you came, I debated with myself about an assortment of inconsequential things—what position in the sky makes for the perfect picnic, the pattern of dandelion patches just over there, and whether the hollow of that tree across the way would make a suitable home for some woodland creature. Can you imagine sillier subjects of thought?”
He retrieved my scrap of paper, with my dance diagram, from the ground and handed it to me. “I disagree. Your stream of thought is interesting. I have never thought two seconds about dandelions. My gardener assures me they are as noxious as the ivy climbing those tree trunks. Further, the position of the sun for a picnic is not one I often consider, at least not until the heat is bearing down on me as I sit amongst my friends.”
I swallowed and shook my head. He was far too kind, a quality I was beginning to detest. Could he not be irritable or as particular as Mr. Braithewaite? Such faults made other charms easy to overlook—and I desperately needed to overlook Mr. Windham’s charms.
“I suppose I ought to bid you good day, Miss Kinsley. I am sure we shall cross paths soon, but, all the same, good day.” He dipped his chin. “I do not wish for us to be discovered here alone, lest someone believe we had planned to meet. It would appear…”
“It would…” I faltered, and my mouth hung open for a moment too long. “Yes, good day.”
He mounted Napoleon and took to the dirt path once more but not without sending me that same mysteri
ous glance from earlier, a look that piqued my own curiosity and left me wondering what opinion that man had formed of me.
Chapter 24
Simon
Miss Kinsley had to feel the ease that I did when we were together. I could not imagine it otherwise. Not wholly an ease...an excitement as well. My heart thundered as I rode away on Napoleon. Could she not have walked back with Napoleon and myself? Could I not have explained that I’d found her lost in the woods? This was when her background, her family, created a sense of prejudice against her character.
If I’d walked back with Anna and mentioned her lost, I had no doubt that we would be believed. The same act with Miss Kinsley would more likely be perceived as something scandalous. And was it not? My heart had been turned toward her once again. I’d felt every moment of her person close to mine. Thought of what it would be like to dance with her at the ball, and that moment could not compare to our brief dance under the trees.
There had to be a way to spend more time with her, to learn more of her character and her family, her home...the expectations of her family, her sisters...I’d never traveled to Bridlington. The ocean was always a welcome respite.
The moment I reached the road, I paused about to turn back to Haven’s Landing when my actual purpose once again clarified itself.
Elliot and Mary! Surely, they’d reached Windham Manor by now, and would be waiting.
I turned toward my parents’ home and urged Napoleon into a gallop. I had meant to leave them to walk the horses together—both for Mary to feel more at ease doing something Elliot loved, and to allow them some privacy not easily acquired at Haven’s Landing with the party. Napoleon and I also wished for a bit of time away from distractions—which had backfired in the most delightful way. I had not intended on abandoning them completely.
Of Twisted Fates (Kinsley Sisters Book 1) Page 19