The Dancing Master

by Julie Klassen

  “You are too kind, sir, but no,” Aurora answered. “We will not overstay our welcome. Our mother is expecting us.”

  “Perhaps another time, then. And your mother would be most welcome as well. Do tell her so.”

  “We shall. Thank you again.”

  Julia said, “I will take my leave as well.”

  “Perhaps the Valcourts would be good enough to walk you home? I don’t like the thought of you walking alone this late in the day.”

  “Of course,” Alec blurted. “Our pleasure.”

  A few minutes later, the three of them walked up the Medlands drive and through its gate. Aurora, Alec noticed, trailed several paces behind them, casually gathering early wild flowers along the way, probably giving him time to talk to Miss Midwinter in relative privacy. Was his interest in Julia so painfully obvious?

  “I enjoyed hearing you play, Mr. Valcourt,” she said. “You are quite accomplished. Reminded me of Barlow. Many a Sunday afternoon I sneaked out to the stable to listen to him play when I was a girl.”

  “I should like to hear him sometime,” Alec said, then asked, “Did you enjoy yourself today, Miss Midwinter?”

  She gave him an amused, sidelong glance. “Fishing for compliments, Mr. Valcourt?”

  Embarrassment rushed over him. “No, I—”

  “I am only teasing you,” she said. “It is what you get for asking an obvious question. I had a glorious time, as well you know.”

  Alec nodded in relief. “Good. I am glad to hear it.”

  “And you, Mr. Valcourt? Did you enjoy yourself?”

  He smiled. “Above all things.”

  Alec rode Apollo around and around the Buckleigh paddock.

  Mr. Barlow, arm still in a sling, looked on encouragingly. When Alec rode by the fence, he called out, “You’ve got the way of it now, Valcourt.”

  “Or Apollo has,” Alec called back.

  “You make a good team, the two of you. As it should be.”

  Alec signaled Apollo to slow from a canter to a trot, and the horse obeyed. “Good boy, Apollo,” Alec murmured, for the horse’s black ears only. For it seemed the horse liked hearing his own name, or at least that particular fond tone of voice.

  When he again approached the gate where Barlow leaned, the manager said, “I think you’re ready for a ride out in the open. What do you say?”

  “The open?”

  “Around the manor grounds. You and Apollo need to grow accustomed to riding outside the protection of this paddock—he must be able to trust you and learn not to bolt when a pheasant flies up or a dog barks.”

  Both sounded like prospects better avoided. Perhaps Alec and Apollo would remain in the paddock for the time being.

  But then Alec recalled something Tommy had said earlier when helping him saddle Apollo. The young groom mentioned that he had just returned from escorting Miss Midwinter over to Medlands to ride with Miss Allen.

  Alec considered this. Might he cross paths with the ladies if he rode out now?

  He decided it was worth the risk and willed all flying and scurrying creatures to keep their distance from Apollo’s hooves.

  Barlow opened the gate for him, and out into the open he rode. Around the paddock, past the kitchen garden and flower gardens—beginning to green up and sprout—past the outbuildings and over the gently rolling lawn until he reached the manor’s long drive. He trotted through the gate, tipped his hat to the scowling lion, and crossed the Buckleigh Road.

  When he neared the Medlands gate, he saw Patience and Julia, as he’d hoped, but they were accompanied by James and Walter.

  “Hello, Valcourt,” Walter hailed. “It’s good to see you in the saddle.”

  “And staying there,” James teased.

  “How is he handling?” Julia asked.

  “Better. Barlow judged us ready for a ride beyond the paddock today.”

  At the moment, however, Apollo pranced and jigged, perhaps nervous around the unfamiliar Medlands horses. Alec tried to keep him still with steady pressure on the reins.

  Miss Midwinter smiled. “Well . . . the horses are anxious to go.” She kindly refrained from pointing out it was only his horse who refused to stand still.

  “Join us, Valcourt,” Walter invited.

  “No, thanks. I’m due back at my desk in a few minutes. Another time?”

  “We shall hold you to it!”

  The four turned their mounts south and rode off together.

  Something about the sight—the four well-dressed ladies and gentlemen of leisure riding off on their well-trained horses—formed a lump in Alec’s stomach. Distracted, he forgot Barlow’s instructions and jerked the reins, startling Apollo. The horse shied and reared up, and Alec found himself thudding to the road with an umph.

  Picking himself up with a groan, he noticed with relief that Apollo had trotted a few yards ahead and stopped. He now gazed back over his shoulder at Alec with big brown eyes, patiently waiting for Alec to catch up. With a sigh, Alec walked over, grasped Apollo’s reins, and walked the animal back to the paddock, where he belonged.

  When Alec left the manor that afternoon, Miss Midwinter followed him into the churchyard.

  “I wish I’d known you planned to ride Apollo today,” she began. “I would have ridden with you.”

  “The ride didn’t last long,” he said. “But longer than usual before it . . . ended.”

  “Oh no. Sorry to hear it.” She caught up with him on the churchyard path. “I have invited the Allens on a little adventure. And I’d like to invite you as well.”

  She pulled something from the reticule hanging from her wrist and unrolled a printed notice. “There is to be a public ball in Holsworthy.”

  She handed him the notice and he briefly glanced at it. “Yes, I’d heard about it. I was thinking of borrowing my uncle’s carriage and taking Aurora.”

  “I think we should all go together. You, me, your sister, the Allens . . .”

  Alec tried to ignore the flash of excitement that leapt in his chest at the thought.

  “But I feel ill prepared to attend without another lesson,” she continued. “I am happy to pay you for your time. What is the going rate?”

  She again reached into her reticule, but he stayed her with a raised palm. “No, Miss Midwinter. I will not accept money from you.”

  She fluttered her lashes, looking at him in wide-eyed innocence. “Then what reward might I offer you?”

  Alec clenched his jaw. Had the woman no idea how a lesser man might take advantage of such an offer? “That is not necessary,” he said.

  He steeled himself and began her lesson, which progressed for several minutes without mishap. Then he began to demonstrate the allemande position. Keeping hold of both of Julia’s hands, he turned her under his arm until they stood side by side—her shoulder tucked to his rib cage, hip to leg. Was it his imagination, or did she press against him? Heaven help him. He had danced with dozens of females, but this position had never felt so intimate before.

  He glanced down at Julia, hoping to see simple concentration or even blank indifference. Instead, she looked up at him, lifting her chin to gaze into his eyes, leaning more firmly, more warmly into his side. Her eyes were soft, her lips curved in a slight smile. Was she inviting him to kiss her? Did he want to? Of course he wanted to. And he was sorely tempted to do just that.

  Irritation and longing vied within him. He inhaled through his nose, telling himself to remain calm. He was the instructor, after all. The master to her pupil.

  “Partners must keep a proper distance apart,” he primly intoned. “Bodies must not actually touch.”

  “Pity,” she breathed, her face tipped toward his.

  Oh yes, she wanted him to kiss her. His heart pounded at the thought.

  Instead, he unwrapped her from under his arm and cleared his throat. “All right. That’s . . . plenty. You have clearly mastered that maneuver.”

  She looked up at him steadily. “Thank you again for lending me yo
ur grandfather’s book on the German waltz,” she said. “I have been struggling to grasp position four, and hoped you might help me.”

  He watched her cautiously. What was she up to?

  Miss Midwinter raised her left arm over her head, and he reluctantly did the same.

  She grasped his uplifted hand in her own, creating an arch above them. “Position four requires, I believe, the man to place his hand about the woman’s waist. And the woman to place hers about his. Is that not correct?”

  He swallowed. “Yes.”

  Alec kept his expression neutral but relished circling his arm around her small waist and drawing her close to his side. Regarding her under their upraised arms, he noticed her cheeks blush becomingly. It was all he could do not to kiss her then and there beneath the arch of their entwined arms. . . .

  This was Lady Amelia’s daughter. A pupil, he reminded himself. What was he doing? He had promised himself to keep his distance—never to become involved with a student again.

  “No.” He released her hand and stepped away from her.

  She faltered. “Don’t you want—?”

  He shook his head. “Not like this. Not sneaking around and playing games. It is beneath you. Beneath me. You, Miss Midwinter, are a lady. Don’t allow any man to treat you as less than you are.”

  Dancing was the recognised way to meet young eligible partners and escape for a moment from the watchful eye of their chaperones. The great country houses held lavish balls and every middle-sized town with any pretensions to gentility had its own Assembly Room.

  —Jane Austen’s House Museum

  Chapter 13

  As Julia walked to Miss Llewellyn’s school the next day, she thought about the scene in the churchyard. The lesson she’d asked for, and the very different lesson she’d actually received. She flushed in embarrassment to recall how she’d tried to work her charms on Mr. Valcourt, to chip away at his self-control, to find a chink in his armor. How different Mr. Valcourt was from the fawning, flirtatious officers she’d met. Not as much fun, perhaps, but certainly more noble.

  On the other hand, Alec Valcourt was also different from James Allen, who embodied restraint and propriety. But, she thought, it was easy for James to behave like a gentleman, because he wasn’t attracted to her. She believed, or at least hoped, Alec was. She had been so sure he’d wanted to kiss her, but he restrained himself. She’d been disappointed even as she begrudgingly admired his stance. His words echoed through her mind and warmed her heart, “You, Miss Midwinter, are a lady. Don’t allow any man to treat you as less than you are. . . .” The less he gave in to her, the more it seemed she admired him. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give up.

  Reaching the school, Julia spent an hour reading with the two youngest pupils, visited with Miss Llewellyn, and then began the walk back.

  On the way, she stopped at Mr. Ramsay’s house to see Aurora Valcourt and relay the plans and departure time for the following evening. She knew she might not have an opportunity to see Alec all day, because he and Barlow had gone somewhere on estate business. Ah well, she would see him tomorrow. She couldn’t believe she was going to her first ball. She could hardly wait.

  When Julia returned to Buckleigh Manor, she was surprised to find James Allen sitting with Lady Amelia in the drawing room. He rose politely as she entered.

  Her mother beamed. “Look who has come to call.”

  Julia glanced about the room. “Where are Walter and Patience?”

  “Must we always travel as a pack?” James chuckled self-consciously. “I thought I would call on you ladies myself. It has been some time since I have done so.”

  Lady Amelia rose abruptly. “Well, I shall leave the two of you to talk.” She smiled at one, then the other before departing the room.

  Oh no. Julia felt her palms begin to perspire. Was she reading too much into his formal call and James’s nervous demeanor?

  “Shall we ride?” she blurted, eager to escape the sudden tension in the room.

  A little frown line appeared between his golden brows, marring his otherwise angelic face. “Not today, I don’t think. And not just the two of us.” He gestured for her to sit in the chair her mother had vacated.

  Julia sat on a different chair, a little farther from his. “We have done so before, when your siblings were unable to join us.”

  He reclaimed his seat. “When we were children, yes. But we are not children any longer.”

  Julia swallowed, then laughed nervously. “I am told I still act like a child some days.”

  He did not disagree. “But you are young and, yes, sometimes a bit . . . foolish, but you will settle down, as we all must eventually.”

  “That sounds dire.”

  He crossed his legs and entwined his hands over his knee. “Miss Midwinter . . .” he began.

  The Allens usually called her Julia, but she was in no hurry to encourage him by insisting he use her Christian name.

  “You . . . like Medlands, don’t you?” James asked.

  “Of course I do, but—”

  “And you are fond, I think, of . . . my family?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “And we are both aware, I trust, of the . . . expectations surrounding our futures.”

  “James,” Julia interrupted, longing to dispel the stilted, stifling atmosphere. “May I ask, how you envision your future?”

  He brightened at this apparent opening she’d offered, but she hurried to continue.

  “I mean, as far as Medlands is concerned?”

  Again that little frown line. “Well, I am Father’s heir, as you know. I shall be master of Medlands eventually.”

  “Yes, and in similar fashion, Buckleigh Manor shall someday come to me.”

  “I am aware of that, yes. But your mother will live here for decades yet, Lord willing.”

  She nodded. “As your family will no doubt live in Medlands for many years to come.”

  He nodded as well. “And if we . . . That is . . . were you to marry, you and your husband might go on living here for a few years, if you liked. But eventually, you might, mm, give the place to a second son, for instance.”

  Julia felt her neck heat to hear James speak of their future offspring, even in such an indirect manner. Goodness, he had certainly given this some thought.

  Or had he? A sudden suspicion pricked Julia. “Did Lady Amelia put you up to this?”

  “No.” James uncrossed and recrossed his leg. “That is . . . She may have encouraged me to begin . . .”

  “Negotiations?” Julia suggested.

  “To clarify my . . . feelings.”

  “What are your feelings, James?”

  “I . . . I am very fond of you, of course,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. “We’ve known one another all our lives.”

  “That is hardly reason to marry.”

  “There are many worse reasons.” He pressed his lips together. “Do you wish me to express my ardent love for you? It is not within my nature to do so. How foolish I should feel. We know each other too well.”

  She said gently, “James, I have seen how you look at Aurora Valcourt. You do not look at me that way.”

  He blushed and ducked his head. “Miss Valcourt is just a girl. A pretty girl, to be sure. But not someone I would seriously consider as my future wife.”

  He looked at Julia earnestly, almost defensively. “Is that why you hesitate? Because of how I look at Miss Valcourt? I could say the same of you—I’ve seen how you look at her brother.”

  Julia suddenly recalled his concerned expression when she’d danced with Mr. Valcourt two days before. Had that precipitated this call?

  “Yes. I admire him,” she said. “I make no secret of that.”

  “No, you don’t. Discretion has never been one of your virtues, Julia. And no doubt that is why your mother thought it time to exhort me to action.”

  Julia sighed. “James, you are a good friend. And I am well aware of the honor you do me.” Even
if the manner in which he broached the subject was less than flattering or romantic. “You have done your duty, and I promise to consider what you have said. Why do we not leave it for now—both of us think on it further. And in, say, six months or a year from now if we are both unattached and ready to consider matrimony, we raise the subject again then?”

  He looked about to object, then seemed to think the better of doing so. “Very well.”

  He rose, and she followed suit. He regarded her, made a halfhearted move as though to embrace her or kiss her cheek, then paused, uncertain.

  She held out her hand to him. “Thank you, James.”

  He bowed over her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick, chaste kiss.

  Later that day, Julia breezily entered the library, hoping her mother would not interrogate her about James’s call, but at the same time thinking it might facilitate her plan. “Mamma, Patience has asked me to go with her to visit her grandmother tomorrow.”

  “Mrs. Hearn?”

  “Yes.” Julia hoped her mother had not heard about the public ball to be held the next night in Holsworthy, near where Mrs. Hearn lived.

  “With her parents?”

  “And both of her brothers,” Julia hedged. Sir Herbert and Lady Allen knew about the excursion but would not be joining them.

  Her mother’s brows rose. “Their chaise shall be crowded indeed.”

  “I believe James and Walter intend to ride alongside. If the weather is fine.”

  “Is Mrs. Hearn ailing?”

  “Not that they mentioned. I gather they haven’t seen her in some time and wish to pay a call. Patience thought the drive would pass more quickly with me along.”

  “I have not seen Mrs. Hearn in years,” mused her mother. “Do be sure and pass along my greetings. Oh, and have Cook send along a jar of her rose hip jam. I remember Mrs. Hearn being especially fond of it.”

  Jam? Must she? Julia forced a smile. “Very well.”

  The next afternoon, Julia asked Doyle, her mother’s lady’s maid, to dress her hair. The woman then helped her on with a soft green evening gown with embroidered flowers, ribbon sash, and short puffed sleeves. Her cameo necklace and long kid gloves completed the ensemble.