Chapter 8

"I can't! I won't!" Lilly shouted, her feet echoing on the stone steps as she ran. Anastasia, standing on the stairs just above the entrance-way, felt a frown wrinkle her forehead.

"Lilly?" she called. She hurried down the cold stone steps, her feet feeling the hard edges through the thin indoor shoes she wore. She still felt tired and a little dazed following the ball the previous night. Lily's shout had shaken her out of a daydream, and she ran to find her. "What grieves you?"

"Anny!" Lilly sobbed, running to her.

"Shh...what is it?" Anastasia murmured, holding her sister tight. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs, her long honey-brown hair falling loose over her shoulder from her run.

"It's...it's Mr. Halloway." Lily was sobbing, now.

"What happened?" Anastasia asked, her back tensing at the name. "Whatever did he do?" Mr. Halloway was the dance instructor. Anastasia had learned mostly from Miss Prestwick, their former governess, and then a little from Mr. Halloway, after Miss Prestwick retired into the country. She had not liked him. He was cold and disinterested. His criticism had always seemed arbitrary, as though he enjoyed being critical rather than because there was truly a reason for his censure.

"He...he said I'm clumsy. That I'm not ever going to be a good dancer. He said he would give up right now if Papa wasn't paying him as much as he is." Lily sobbed and Anastasia held her tight, anger rushing through her like a wave of heat.

"I am going to give him a piece of my mind," Anastasia said grimly. She stepped back from Lily, who stared up at her, hazel eyes round.

"You are?" There was a look that was part delight, part fear in her eyes, as though she wished Anastasia to do it, but was scared of what would happen were she to do so.

"I am," she replied. "I suppose he is in the ballroom?" She walked steadily, Lily following her.

"He is. Oh, Anny...don't do it. He'll be so angry that I told you, and..."

"Ah. Mr. Halloway." Anastasia's voice was cold as the dancing instructor walked briskly out of the ballroom. His prominent blue eyes were cold. He reminded her just a little of Lord Ridley, except that he was lean where Lord Ridley was not.

"Lady Anastasia." He sketched a slight bow. He was an expert in all matters of dance and movement, and he could have bowed as low as he liked, but the brief inclination of his torso was meant to insult; she was sure of it.

"I understand you had words with my sister?" Anastasia said, barely able to hide her rage.

"Now, my lady, do not take such matters to heart overly much. I..."

"Why not?" Anastasia countered coldly, interrupting him. "My sister informed me that you told her she was clumsy and would never be a good dancer."

"Well, I didn't say exactly that. I was..."

"My sister does not lie," Anastasia said in a tight, hard voice. "I am sure that is exactly what you said. I do not take kindly to insults to my family. And how is she meant to learn, when you have already informed her that it is impossible? That is no way to teach." Her eyes held his. She saw rage flare in their flint-blue depths.

"Do you presume to tell me how to conduct my trade?" the man hissed.

Anastasia looked at him in disbelief. She allowed all the coldness and anger she felt to infuse her stare. She saw his eyes widen and his posture change from aggressive to fearful. She paused.

"I presume to tell you that your manner of conducting your trade is not welcome here. If your means of conducting it is to insult and belittle, then there is not much merit in it."

"But...but..." the man stammered.

"I will see to it that other employment is found for you," Anastasia soothed. She was stunned by his rudeness, but she could not bear the thought of throwing the man onto the street empty-handed. "But your services are not needed here."

"But...but how is she to learn dancing?" the man demanded angrily.

Anastasia just looked at him. "I will instruct Lady Lily."

"You?" He sounded outraged.

"I am well-versed in dancing, and also in etiquette. It seems you do not know much of that."

"I have never been spoken to like this!" he raged.

"Nor have I."

It seemed that he finally realized he had taken matters too far, but he shot her a hate-filled blue glance and walked to the door. Anastasia waited, watching him exit. Lily gasped.

"You threw him out!" She was ecstatic, her small, soft face transformed into a picture of relief and joy. "You really did! I really won't have to have him insult me anymore?" Lily asked, gazing up at her sister longingly.

"You most certainly will not."

"Thank you!" Lily clapped her hands and then ran to Anastasia. "Thank you, Anny! I'm so happy. And you will teach me! That's grand. I can't wait to start."

Anastasia hugged her and smiled. "We could start now," she suggested, looking down towards the ballroom. "I have no plans this afternoon except playing the pianoforte." She grinned at her sister. She was tired, if she was honest—probably too tired to dance. The ball had wearied her since they had returned home just after midnight. But she could not resist Lily's smile.

They went inside the ballroom.

"All right. Now, let us begin with a waltz," Anastasia suggested. It was easy in terms of steps to remember, but difficult in that the beauty of the dance came from how one performed it, rather than the sequence of steps itself.

"I don't think I can do it," Lily stammered. Her hazel eyes were filled with doubt, and she looked almost scared as Anastasia held out her hands.

"Of course you can. If I can, you can," Anastasia assured her. "Now, allow me to place my hand upon your shoulder, and take your other hand, in this manner. Let us merely step forward. It matters not whether it is executed perfectly; we shall simply embrace the experience of it."

"I can't..." Lily said, sounding frightened. Anastasia started counting.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three..." She sang the notes to the tune of her favorite waltz as they stepped. Lily giggled as they stepped into a turn, her fear starting to dissipate.

"Whoops!" she called out, missing a step and narrowly avoiding Anastasia's toe. Anastasia just chuckled.

"There! You're doing it. Now, let's go down the length of the ballroom. One, two, three! One, two, three!"

Lily was clearly frightened, her steps stiff and uncertain. After two or three whirls, though, she was laughing, her steps wider and more relaxed.

"There! I did it!" she shouted, triumphant and amazed, as they whirled the length of the ballroom and came back again.

"See?" Anastasia said with a smile. "It's not so bad, is it?"

"No! It was quite diverting! I like dancing."

"As you should," Anastasia assured her. "You'll have a grand time with it, I am sure. You're good at it." She felt sure that, with support and the right sort of teaching, her sister's natural gift would blossom.

"Oh! Anastasia! I'm so happy. I can't wait to try it in a proper ballgown." She looked down at the pink muslin day-dress she was wearing.

"You'll be doing that very soon," Anastasia said with a grin.

"I can't wait!"

Anastasia smiled and watched as Lily ran to the door. She let her go. It had been a long afternoon for her—first she'd had the instructions from Mr. Halloway, and then after all that turmoil, more instructions. She needed to rest. She walked to the door herself and tensed as she almost bumped into Papa. Mama was behind him and her gaze was wide and seemed troubled.

"Hubert don't..." she began.

"I need to address this!" her father said self-importantly. He lifted a newspaper in his right hand and glared at Anastasia. She had been about to ask him what the matter was, but the anger in his gaze made her fall silent. "You, daughter, must not be the subject of scandal again." He shook the newspaper and glared at her; his chest puffed out. Anastasia felt her brow crease, a deep frown there.

"I did nothing," she began confusedly.

"You danced with that odious, miserable creature!"

"I beg your pardon?" Anastasia said with a frown. She glanced at Mama, who shook her head as if to advise Anastasia to remain quiet.

"You did! They all saw you. Even I saw you. It's a disgrace! It must not happen again. The Duke of Willowick might be a duke, but that is all. He is badly thought of, and his reputation will disgrace us. You must be careful," he concluded, gazing at her as though trying to convince her with his stare alone.

"The Duke of Willowick?" Anastasia gaped at him. The man was kind and friendly. He was not miserable, nor any of the things that her father suggested. And scandalous she could barely imagine him to be. He had scars, that was for certain, but if society was shunning people simply because of a few marks on their faces, then she was sure she would rather have no part in it. "He is..."

"I don't wish to know!" her father interrupted. "You will not dance with him. The scandal sheets are full of it. It's hard for our family."

Anastasia felt her heart twist. She gazed up at him and her mother gazed back.

"You did not mean it," she said gently. "Just be careful, dear. This man is not someone safe for us."

"But Mama..." Anastasia began. Her mother was not like that. Her mother never judged any person by their outer features, and she cared not a jot, usually, for what she called the wanton cruelty of society's scandal-spreaders.

"I have spoken!" her father said pompously. "And that should be sufficient. Now, you need to prepare for this afternoon," he added, his tone softening somewhat.

"Why?" Anastasia asked.

"Why! Because the viscount, Lord Ridley, has expressed a wish to call on you. He will escort you to Hyde Park to take a stroll at four o' clock."

"At four?" Anastasia blinked. She was sure it must be past three already. She had likely just half an hour to prepare. And besides, at four o' clock, the park would be full of people, those going to the tea-shops or those coming from their meetings or appointments. Everyone would see them. The whole of London would be gossiping about that.

"Yes. I am sure you wish to dress appropriately."

Anastasia looked at her mother, who looked back at her, her expression sad. Anastasia gaped at her father. He had not mentioned a word of the invitation, which she was sure was issued the previous evening at the ball. He had kept it from her, perhaps knowing that, had she known, she would have found a way to get out of it. Lord Ridley repelled her.

"I will come with you, dear," Mama said gently. Beside her, Papa was standing; a slight indulgent look on his wide face as though he was proud of what he had accomplished. He had clearly been involved in encouraging Lord Ridley to call and she shot him a look of pure disbelief before her mother came and led her upstairs.

"Your father has high hopes in Lord Ridley. He sees him as an asset," Mama murmured as they reached her bedchamber. "Not only is he involved in plenty of investments with your father, but he is also very wealthy, if rumour is to be believed. Your father sees him as an advantageous match," Mama explained.

"Him?" Anastasia said in a small, high-pitched voice. "But he's horrid. He can't dance and he has no manners—he either gawps at me or ignores me. And, as far as advantages go, he's a viscount, Mama." She gazed at her mother and wished she could somehow make her understand. The Duke of Willowick might be scarred, but Papa could not complain about his social standing—he was a duke. He was much higher in the ranks of the peerage than Lord Ridley, so why did Papa not see the advantages there?

"Lord Ridley is wealthy," her mother explained, as though that was the most important thing about him. "And your father has invested with him in several important enterprises."

Anastasia just looked at her mother. This was not like her at all. Her mother looked at the floor, her own soft brown eyes sad.

"I want you to have a comfortable life, my dear," her mother commented as Anastasia drew breath to protest. "One filled with good things."

"But Lord Ridley..." Anastasia began. She let out a sigh. "I will accompany him to the park," she assured her mother, who seemed instantly relieved, her chin lifting and her eyes shining. "But I cannot do more. I cannot even speak to him."

"I know," her mother assured her. "I do not know if I can tell your father, though. He is...much taken with him. He is a major investor in the ventures your father supports."

Anastasia drew a breath. She knew her father well enough to know that such a recommendation was all somebody needed. Money was very important in his world.

"He may well be," Anastasia agreed. "But he is...not pleasant." She swallowed hard. She did not want to share her real opinion—which was that he was repellent and horrid.

Her mother nodded. "I know, my dear," she agreed gently. "I will try, but..."

"I know, Mama," Anastasia said gently. "And I will try to do as Papa wishes, but..."

"You shall exert your utmost, dear heart, and I shall do the same; however, I cannot pledge that success shall be our reward."

Anastasia sighed and went to summon her maid, Rachel. She glanced over at her wardrobe before her maid arrived.

"The green dress, please."

"As you wish, my lady," Rachel answered.

Anastasia went behind the screen to change into the dress, standing for Rachel to fasten up the buttons behind her. The high collar of the dress reached her neck, the long skirt falling from a fashionably high waist to her ankles. The sleeves were long, despite the heat and the fabric heavy. The dress was the most formal, least revealing one she owned. It was the only thing that would let her feel comfortable in proximity with Lord Ridley in the coach.

I don't know what is worse, she mused as she combed her long hair. His stare or his indifference.

She watched as Rachel styled her hair, and then they headed out to the coach.

"Ah! Lady Anastasia!" Lord Ridley called as he alighted from his coach with its coat of arms emblazoned on the door. His booted feet crunched the gravel.

"Lord Ridley," she murmured, dropping him a slight curtsey.

"I will return at six o' clock," Lord Ridley assured her parents, who were standing on the step. Anastasia glared at him. He barely even spoke to her.

Her father waved and her mother waved too, and then Anastasia let Lord Ridley help her into the coach. His touch was warm and peremptory, and she tensed. Rachel got in next, as they decided she should chaperone instead of her mother and then Lord Ridley swung up and sat down opposite them.

"To Hyde Park," he called out of the window, sounding pleased with himself.

Anastasia gazed out of the window, trying to ignore the fellow. She would usually try to make conversation, but he had proved himself so rude the previous evening that she did not wish to attempt to talk. She stared at the bushes and realized that he was staring at her as she did so.

"Do you like flowers?" he asked her as the coach rattled and bumped down the street towards the park.

"I do," Anastasia replied. It was an odd question, and she felt her frown return.

"Good," he said, sounding pleased. The coach had stopped at Hyde Park, and he jumped down and reached to help her. "Because Ridley Hall has extensive gardens, and I believe you will like them well enough."

"Your home has extensive gardens?" She stared at him. He was speaking as though she was going to accept his hand. He had not even exchanged ten sentences with her in her life, and yet he seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion that she would, sooner or later, reside at his house.

"Yes. Yes. Of course, some of the grounds are woodland, but that's to be expected," he said lightly.

"Do you have stables?" Anastasia asked as Rachel walked with them down the path. She tried not to catch Rachel's gaze, as she was sure her maid looked as shocked as she felt. She had hardly talked to this man, and yet he was already talking as though they had permission to court from her father.

"Oh, we do. You have no need to miss your little lady's pony, should you have one." He smiled condescendingly at her.

Anastasia blinked in shock. Again, his tone was as though he expected them to be living there in a matter of days. She could not believe it. His patronizing manner was a stinging affront, yet she resolved to disregard it.

"Do you ride?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Not often. I assure you, I am often at home," he replied, giving her that same smile.

"I imagine you do not conduct much business when at the estate," she murmured. She did not want him to think she imagined, as he did, that she would live there.

"Oh, now and then," he replied lightly. "But I try to stay at home—especially if I am expected to." He grinned.

Anastasia looked at the path and wished that her father would explain to her exactly what was going on.

When she returned home, after the walk that must have lasted barely an hour, but which had felt as though it lasted for the rest of the century, she walked briskly to her chamber.

"Sister?" Lily called. "Pray, might you assist me with a passage from my French tome? I have perused it no fewer than twenty times and find myself utterly confounded by its meaning. Would you be so kind as to lend your aid?"

Anastasia smiled. "In a moment, dear," she managed. "I just wish to rest for a moment. It's so hot out in the park," she added, fanning herself and trying to make Lily smile.

Lily grinned. "I'm sure! "I shall await you in my chamber. I am most grateful for your kind offer of assistance!"

"Of course," Anastasia said wearily. She went into her bedroom, shut the door and sat down heavily on her chair by her desk.

Her father's plans for her were frightening, and his insistence on Lord Ridley nauseated and scared her as much as his unfair judgements of the Duke of Willowick hurt her and she prayed silently for guidance, for help out of the intolerable situation in which she found herself.