Chapter Nine

In Which we Conclude That Some Gentlemen can, indeed, Dance most Creditably

Garret found himself praying that this would be the last country dance. In fact, he made a silent promise to himself to never dance one again.

Not that his partners had been unpleasant; on the contrary, they had been—overall—quite charming. Especially the one who wasn’t looking to attract his attentions in that way, having a perfectly adequate husband of her own. She’d been an interesting conversationalist, although they’d had very few moments to actually converse. But it had been an all too brief respite from the giggles, alluring smiles, lingering finger brushes, and those damned fluttering eyelashes. One young lady had also lisped. However, halfway through the measure, she’d forgotten to, which made his lips twitch.

Being a gentleman, he refrained from mentioning it, just added it to the list of absurdities building up from what was turning into a generally amusing, if somewhat tiring, evening.

He’d caught a glimpse of Cherry as she’d walked along the balcony, finding her mother and having her gown repaired. She wasn’t the only one, of course, lace being a well-known ballroom casualty. He’d caused a few fatalities himself in his early years.

Now, however, he was a tad more adroit, and no amount of shyly inviting smiles could distract his attention from his footwork, as most of his partners this evening could attest.

Whether Cherry had suffered from the same litany of problems he had just recited to himself, he had no idea. Not that he was watching her, or anything.

He had noticed her chatting with an older couple, and laughing with two white-haired ladies at the far end of the hall. She’d accepted a glass of punch from an elderly man who looked as if he would be happier in his fields than here in his smart evening jacket. But she’d said something to make him smile.

Garrett mentally scolded himself for what he discovered he was doing—keeping an eye on her—but he felt a measure of responsibility, since he wasn’t sure she’d be here if not for him and his mother.

Where would she have been? Would she have gone with her Mama to wherever it was that they were doing embroidery? He managed to hide his unexpected snort of laughter, turning it into a clearing of the throat as he performed the next change with grace and dexterity. Or hoped that he did.

His thoughts had drifted and with a slight start, he realised that the final turn was at hand, praise the Lord. He bowed politely to his curtseying partner, damned if he could recall her name, and half-led half-followed her to where a large woman sat smiling from ear to ear.

“A lovely dance, Ma’am. My thanks.” He bowed correctly. Before the lady, betraying obvious “mother” signs, could utter a word, he took a step back. “Forgive me, I must attend to my parent. Good evening.”

And he was gone, with a speed that would have surprised some of his friends, especially those more accustomed to his leisurely way of ambling through things like this.

Arriving at Lady Henrietta’s side, he snabbled an empty chair and pulled it near hers. “I’m getting old, Mama. No doubt about it.”

She laughed. “Nonsense, Garrett.”

“You have put many of the gentlemen to shame, Garrett,” added Hazel, grinning. “I believe we will see more than a few of them present if Mr Ganymede offers dancing lessons this autumn.” She looked at her friend. “He’s a former dancing master from London, you know. But he fell into disfavour amongst the Ton for telling a very high-born lady never to take to the dance floor unless she wanted to be mistaken for a donkey having a convulsion.”

“Ouch,” Garrett winced. “That is harsh indeed.”

“Knowing Mr Ganymede, it was probably true, but anyway it resulted in Lesser Banthorpe acquiring a well-trained dancing master. And I think our lads have appreciated it. I know the girls certainly have.”

Garrett nodded, his attention slightly distracted at the sight of Cherry chatting at the edge of the dance floor with two gentlemen. Young gentlemen.

She was smiling and laughing.

“Oh, look,” said Lady Hazel innocently. “There’s Cherry with the Stonebridge lads.” She glanced at her friend. “Brothers, you know. Excellent stock. Their Papa is a well-known farming expert. Several books to his credit, I understand.”

“How fascinating,” Lady Henrietta leaned forward to get a better look. “Handsome young men, aren’t they?”

Garrett sighed. “Well, this brief interlude has been quite delightful, but I think it’s time for me to do the necessary and wander amongst the throng.” He glanced at Lady Hazel. “We must be nearing the end, are we not?”

“Garrett,” scolded his mother. “Anyone would think you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“How wrong they would be,” he replied dryly, an eyebrow quirked in her direction. “Stop trying to manipulate me, Mama.”

“Go, dreadful boy.” She waved him off with a gesture and sighed, shooting a quick look at Hazel. “He is so stubborn sometimes.”

“And at others, the best man in the world.” Lady Trease reached out and patted Lady DeVarne’s hand with all the affection of a long, but interrupted, friendship. “You wouldn’t change a thing about him, would you?”

Henrietta shook her head. “No. Not a thing.” She looked out over the floor, her gaze resting on a certain young woman. “Well, maybe one thing…”

“There’s hope yet,” said Hazel, nodding at the orchestra where a gentleman had stepped onto the dais and was clearly about to address the crowd.

“ My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen ,” he said loudly, his rich and cultured voice echoing to the rafters, and heads turned as silence rapidly fell.

“Teacher?” Henrietta shot a quick look at Hazel.

Who nodded. “Thirty years.”

“It shows.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you please.” The man spoke again as the room quieted. “It has been a delight to see you all enjoying this evening’s festivities, but as we know, all good things must come to an end. So it is my honour to announce the last dance. And also to announce that the Committee has approved it.” He took a breath. “The last dance is to be a waltz .”

*~~*~~*

Cherry’s indrawn breath echoed just about everyone else’s. This was exciting and absolutely top-notch, since the waltz had barely managed to gain approval in the London salons, and was—by many—still regarded as not quite the thing. Holding or touching hands during a sedate measure was one thing. A lady being clasped close to a gentleman’s chest? Well, that was quite another.

The level of conversation rose rapidly, excited laughter rippled through the attendees, and many a girl shot angry looks at her parents, who had held to tradition and forbidden their daughters the joy of waltzing.

Thus it was a smaller crowd that moved to the edge of the floor, composed of the more experienced, those who had spent time in town and had learned the dance, and those who were already married and presumed to be well acquainted with their husband’s chests.

Cherry knew how to waltz, thanks to lessons from a dancing master who loved the dance. He’d passed his enthusiasm along to his pupil, and now she loved the lilt, the sway, the smooth dips and turns. When with a partner who matched her steps, it was a complete and utter joy. She’d experienced several moments like that in town, but they had been few and far between. Her partners had given every appearance of enjoying their dance, but she’d not cared particularly for any of them, and had made that clear in her own polite way.

So she blinked as the musicians tuned up, and almost jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

“I probably don’t need to ask, but do you waltz?”

Garrett was standing a little behind her, an amused smile lighting his eyes.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes, Lord DeVarne. I waltz. And I presume you do, as well.” A wicked imp of mischief took over her tongue. “But can you match my expertise?”

“Let’s find out.” He extended his hand formally, allowing her to put hers in it, and lead her to join the others at the edge of the floor.

It took no more than a minute or so for Cherry to discover that yes , Lord Garrett DeVarne could waltz. And he did so extremely well.

Their respective heights allowed for a comfortable position, and Garrett’s firm touch was all that she needed to begin the leisurely traverse from one end of the room to the other.

“You are allowed to look at me, you know,” he said quietly, leaning toward her just a little to make sure she could hear his words.

Her gaze darted up. “Of course. I’m simply enjoying this unexpected pleasure.”

He chuckled and pulled her just a little closer. “As am I.”

They circled the floor, which seemed full of swirling couples, the colours of the gowns contrasting beautifully with the sober tones of the gentlemen’s evening attire.

As if by mutual accord, they turned, swayed, reversed and slowed; Cherry’s heart beating faster each moment as Garrett led her effortlessly through the measures, and she matched him step for step.

Daring to glance at his face, she saw something in his eyes that almost made her miss a step, something that sent a shiver of surprise down her spine and a bolt of something else through her body.

The heat, the emotions—she felt them physically, and caught her breath as he swirled her once again, their movements as well timed as the rhythm driving the dance itself.

She couldn’t help her smile, and relished the warmth that spread as she an answering smile curve his lips.

“So am I a match for your expertise, Cherry?”

She paused, staring into his eyes, ignoring the Village Hall and the rest of the guests as they whirled by.

“I rather think you may well be, Garrett.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Something to think about, I would say.”

She swallowed, realising that the end of the dance was near. All she could do was nod, since her feelings were threatening to choke her, and she couldn’t seem to think of the right words, anyway.

Her final curtsey matched Garrett’s formal bow, even though her knees were shaky beneath her skirts. “Thank you, my Lord. A lovely dance.”

His smile was quite acceptable, his hand formally extended to help her rise. “The pleasure was mine, Miss Trease.”

How she managed to walk steadily beside him, smiling, laughing a little as a few friends complimented them on their waltzing skills, and brushing off the curious glances while ignoring the few censorious ones. Not all who had come to the evening’s event approved of such a blatantly sensual display.

“My goodness, you two certainly showed them how it’s done,” said Lady Hazel, eyes wide. “Garrett, you are a perfect example of why gentlemen should always be taught to dance.”

“And to think you protested, said you hated every minute of it, and never, unless there was a pistol to your head, would you take to the floor.” Lady Henrietta grinned.

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Mama, I was fifteen.”

“Nevertheless…” she replied, with all the confidence of someone who had swaddled him. “You did the family proud, darling. I’m not sure who else could have possibly matched Miss Cherry’s grace and elegance.”

Cherry, who had watched this exchange with amusement, barely managed not to roll her eyes. “I agree, my Lady. It is always a pleasure to find a well-matched dance partner, be it waltz or cotillion.” She turned to Garrett. “That was indeed most pleasant, sir.”

Any further conversation along those lines was interrupted by the ringing of a large bell, signifying the end of the festivities.

“And so we must leave,” Lady Hazel gathered her belongings.

“Indeed.” Lady Henrietta collected hers. “I’m sure it’s cooler outside. Here…” She handed Garrett her wrap, and turned her back so that he could drape it over her shoulders.

Cherry took a second or two to appreciate the casual care with which the son looked after his mother. He’d clearly done the same thing many times before.

How many men would do that? In a very public place, where eyes would be watching? And yet Garrett moved calmly and without any fuss or bother, offering his mother his arm once she was ready, and also casting an eye on Lady Hazel as she rose and shook out her skirts.

The conversation was casual and most of it went over Cherry’s head as her thoughts whirled a lot faster than the dance she’d just completed. Silently, she followed her mother.

“We must say good evening here,” Lady Hazel sighed as they stepped out into the cool night air. “And goodbye as well. Our carriages await.”

“A shame, but yes.” Lady Henrietta hugged her friend. “It has been so much fun, my dear. Now that we have re-established our connection, I am determined not to let it lapse.”

“As am I.” Lady Hazel’s eyes shone with a few tears.

Cherry frowned. “Will you not be visiting each other again?”

“Dear girl,” Lady Henrietta dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “Didn’t your Mama tell you I have to leave tomorrow?”

“What?” Garrett stared at his mother in surprise. “I thought you were staying longer…”

“No, darling. Goodness, did I forget to tell you as well?” She shook her head. “I’m getting old.”

Cherry glanced at Garrett. Indeed he looked quite shocked.

Lady Henrietta sighed. “I must go home, darling. At the end of next week, Higgins will be finished with our quarterly papers. You know how he gets as that deadline nears.”

“Drat. Our estate manager,” explained Garrett on a frustrated sigh. “And yes, it’s an important time which I had completely forgotten.” His gaze drifted to Cherry. “I apologise.”

They moved outside and found the throng of guests, carriages, and horses milling around in what seemed like chaos, interrupted with laughs and farewells.

She walked beside Garrett behind their parents.

“Will you be leaving, then?” The words spilled unbidden, but she could not hold them back.

He slowed their progress a little, letting the mothers move ahead. “I don’t want to.”

Something caught in her throat. “I wish…I wish you didn’t have to.”

His hand brushed hers and instinctively their fingers tangled, making her shiver. “I wish I didn’t, as well.” He tugged her to one side. “I want to know you better,” he murmured. “There’s something here, something I found with you. Something I didn’t expect…”

Cherry gulped down a huge lump in her throat before it choked her and fought for composure. She needed to stay calm and say something sensible. She wasn’t looking to find anyone, needed nobody to make her life complete.

Or did she?

“I think…I think I know what you mean,” she answered, looking up at him, and clutching his hand tightly. “I wish we had more time to explore what’s happening…”

But there was no more time. The mothers were beckoning.

“Will you write me?” Garrett squeezed her fingers. “Please?”

“Will you write back?” asked Cherry.

“I promise. Yes.”

“All right. Then…until we see each other again…” He raised her hand to his lips. “Farewell, Miss Trease.”

“Goodbye, Lord DeVarne.” She sighed, then dredged up a smile. “For now.”