Chapter Eight

In Which We View, with some Amusement, the Traditions, and Hazards of a Dance in the Village Hall

“My goodness, Hazel,” protested Henrietta, laughing as she held a hand to her bosom, “I believe you have introduced us to everyone but the musicians.”

“And only because they’re from London,” laughed her friend. “I’ve lived here for so long, my dear, if I didn’t know almost everyone, it would be appalling of me.”

“Well, perhaps we should…”

“Allow me, Mama, Lady Trease.” Garrett tugged gently on his mother’s arm, which had been firmly linked through his as the two ladies traversed the room and engaged just about every female over twelve in polite conversation. “I believe I see some seats over there that are still available, and would give you both an excellent view of the dancing.”

His mother shot him a sharp look. “You are far too observant for your own good, Garrett. I’ve told you that many a time.”

“I know,” he grinned, unrepentant.

“Go and enjoy yourself.”

He merely smiled, bowed to both ladies, and turned away, knowing full well that ‘enjoying himself’ meant different things to different people. To his mother, and probably Cherry’s mother as well, it meant finding each other and spending the evening in each other’s pockets, thereby clarifying the notion that there was a wedding in the offing.

To him, it meant the chance to head for the door, grab a spare horse and ride ventre à terre through the night, like a highwayman pursued by a troop of angry Dragoons.

Sighing, he looked around for a compromise, only to meet Cherry’s expressionless stare. Helpless, he headed toward her.

“Miss Trease.” He bowed.

“Lord DeVarne.” She curtsied.

“A lovely evening,” he said.

“Indeed,” she replied.

“Will you be dancing?”

She shot him a look that spoke volumes. “Unfortunately, yes, I have no choice in the matter. But not, of course, with you.”

He raised an eyebrow in return. “That was understood.”

The musicians tuned up their instruments, and a ripple of excitement ran through the crowd.

Cherry reached out and grasped the arm of a young woman. “Alberta, dear, may I introduce you to a-a friend of mine? Or perhaps I should say acquaintance, since it’s our mothers who know each other. This is Lord DeVarne.” She turned to Garrett. “Miss Alberta Grandison, my Lord. Her mama led the decorating team for this evening’s event. Her papa is our Vicar.”

“How delightful.” Hiding the numerous curses his brain was currently raining down on Cherry’s head, Garrett did everything that was proper, bowing, taking the young lady’s hand and barely touching it with his lips as she curtsied low. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said quietly.

“Oh, my goodness. I mean, my Lord,” stuttered Alberta, clearly taken aback. Her eyes were wide as she darted a quick look at Cherry. “I…never…well, I can’t say as I’ve ever…”

“Oh, listen. A cotillion.” Cherry smiled at Garrett. “Our Alberta is known for her graceful dance steps, my Lord.”

Taking the hint, but sending Cherry a quick look that should have melted her into a greasy spot, he bowed courteously once more to Alberta. “In that case, Miss Grandison, I hope you’ll do me the honour?”

“I…oh…well, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you…”

Knowing he was in for a long evening, Garrett gritted his teeth, darted a quick pretend smile toward his mother, who he knew would be watching, and led Miss Grandison to their position in the set.

It didn’t ease his mind at all to see Cherry also being led into position on the floor by a very short, rotund gentleman who appeared overjoyed to be her partner. At least his enormous grin gave that impression.

Garrett felt a little better at the barely concealed look of resignation on Cherry’s face. If he was going to suffer through this, then she ought to as well.

As they went through the patterns of the dance, (which Garrett, having had these things dinned into his head by numerous dancing masters, could have done with his eyes closed), he had to wonder if all this subterfuge would work, or if they were just being silly and depriving themselves of an experience that might have been quite enjoyable.

Dancing with Cherry would, to judge by the grace she revealed during the exchanges, be a very pleasant way to spend some time.

“What?” He glanced down. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Grandison. My mind was on my steps, and I didn’t hear your words…”

“Oh,” she tittered. “I apologise for interrupting your thoughts, my Lord. I just wondered if you were enjoying your time here in Lesser Banthorpe.”

“Very much,” he managed a smile. “A charming location with delightful residents.”

She blushed and lowered her eyelids, her lashes fluttering a little.

Damn. Now he was giving the poor girl ideas. “Perhaps you will introduce me to your other friends. I know I shall take pleasure in recalling everyone I meet this evening, upon my return to London.”

“Oh.” She sniffed. “Of course, my Lord. How very gracious of you.”

Hmm. Miss Grandison was, he judged, a bit miffed by that comment. Content with that, Garrett concentrated on his steps and prayed for a relatively short piece of music.

*~~*~~*

“Miss Trease. Will you honour me with this dance?”

“Good evening, Mr Hickham. How kind.”

Cherry took a breath and steeled herself for an uncomfortable half-hour, during which she would invent a few steps of her own in order to avoid her partner’s well-known inability to avoid treading on his partner’s feet.

More than a few gowns had required restoration after a trip around the floor with Mr Hickham, and Cherry could almost hear the murmuring sound of the ladies sitting in the gallery as they dug out their pin cushions in readiness. He was, in truth, a lovely man, kind and generous, with a ready smile and a helping hand for everyone.

A widower, and content to stay that way, all his attentions were focussed on his fine collection of miniatures. Cherry had seen them at least eight times. But he was popular, nonetheless, which was probably why he was always welcomed to events like these, even though he did enough damage to keep the village seamstresses busy for a month.

If she could have avoided it, she would have, but—caught off guard at the sight of Garrett smiling down at Alberta Grandison —she made a snap decision, and now prayed she wouldn’t regret it.

“Lovely evening,” he began, managing the first circuit without incident. “Such flowers, and perfect weather, too.”

“Indeed.” She focussed on her steps, narrowly avoiding the large feet across from her. It was not an easy challenge, but she prided herself on her ability to avoid most problems, and was almost at the end of the dance when disaster struck.

“Whoops,” he chuckled. “Glad you’re such an agile dancer, Miss Trease.”

The words “so am I” trembled on her lips, but Cherry managed to hold them back, and merely smiled, her attention snagged by Garrett who, at that moment, looked as if he was mildly amused. His partner, however, looked somewhat miffed, she thought, resisting the urge to grin.

The sound of lace ripping brought her back with a thud. “Uhhh,” she glanced down.

“Oh dear. I do apologise, Miss Cherry,” said the distraught Mr Hickham. “I seem to have a problem keeping the steps in mind. Especially when I’m dancing with the prettiest girl in the room…”

Drat. The man was so sweet, even when surveying the damage he’d just wrought on a rather fine piece of Valenciennes lace trim.

“It’s nothing serious, sir. That’s what pins are for, and I believe this is the final figure…” Actually, that was more of a prayer than a passing comment, but she was correct and within a few moments she was able to drop into a curtsey as the dance concluded.

“A delightful way to begin the evening, Miss Cherry, and my apologies again for my clumsiness.” Mr Hickham looked down at her hem with a worried frown.

Knowing he would be just as concerned were she an eighty-year-old dowager, Cherry merely smiled. “No harm done, sir, I assure you. My Mama is prepared for just such an occurrence. I’ll wager she has her pins in her hand as we speak.”

He smiled, bowed, and thanked her for the honour she’d done him, all with such genuine pleasure shining from his eyes, she forgave him for his little accident.

Then she turned to find her mother, and forgot about him completely as Garrett was heading her way.

Uncertain whether to go in a different direction or let him come to her, she just stood, her skirt pulled up slightly to avoid trailing lace on the floor.

“The first casualty of the evening, I see,” he said quietly, bowing and keeping their exchange quite impersonal.

“It was to be expected,” she replied. “Did you enjoy Miss Grandison?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Allow me to escort you to the gallery, Miss Trease. I see our mothers and I’m sure they’ll be ready to help with your lace.”

All said in a normal voice, so that any nearby listeners would think nothing other than he was being gentlemanly.

“And if you foist me off on another husband-hunting miss, I’ll be having a few very strong words with you later.”

That comment was a low hiss, and Cherry had to fight to suppress the chuckle of laughter bubbling in her throat. “I must make some more introductions, then.”

A strong hand gripped her elbow. And squeezed. “Do not try me.”

She glanced at him, realising he was serious. “All right. I will have to introduce you now and then, though. It has to be done, and you know it. But I’ll keep it to those who are at least able to hold a normal conversation.”

“Where is she?”

“Hah.”

“Hmph.”

As good as her word, Cherry managed to find one or two suitable acquaintances, and made Garrett known to Mrs Frances Wildwood, a widow who had sought respite from the madness of London and bought a small house for herself in Lesser Banthorpe. A pleasant conversationalist, Cherry was happy to observe Garrett looking interested as they engaged in conversation, and also inviting her onto the floor for another dance before the end of the evening.

Using her torn lace as an excuse, Cherry herself took a seat by her mother for this one. A lively country dance, it would reduce its participants to damp, red-faced versions of themselves, something she preferred to avoid.

“There,” said her mother, leaning back and surveying the lace on the trim of Cherry’s gown. “Good as new.”

“You’ve worked miracles, Mama. Thank you.”

“Experience, darling. You can go and dance now.”

“I’m happier here with you, right at this moment.” She glanced down at the dancers. “Besides, this one is far too energetic for me.”

Her mother chuckled, as did Lady Henrietta, who had caught the last part of the conversation. “Your daughter is a wise woman, Hazel. Nobody likes to be hot and sticky after a dance, but I’ll wager this lot will be.” She glanced over the edge of the gallery. “Except for Garrett. Annoying boy never seems to be affected by the heat.”

“You’ve yet to dance with him,” said Lady Hazel with a pointed look.

Cherry sighed. “Stop it, Mama.”

“What? Stop what? What do you mean?”

“I mean stop it. Really.” She glanced at Lady Henrietta. “Both of you, actually.”

The two women stared at her, attempting to look confused and at a loss as to Cherry’s meaning. They failed dismally.

“If you imagine for one moment that Garrett and I haven’t realised what the two of you are up to, then you don’t know us at all.”

“I don’t…”

“I can’t…”

Cherry raised her hand, halting their exclamations.

“Stop matchmaking, ladies. Just stop .” She rose and shook out her skirts. “Garrett and I are friends, I think, even though we’ve known each other for a scant few days. He is a very pleasant gentleman, and I enjoy his company. I do not know his thoughts about me, and I won’t be asking him. So if either of you, or both of you, are cherishing expectations of Garrett and I establishing a future alliance between our families, you’d best rid yourselves of such notions. Immediately .”

Two faces stared at her, with identical expressions of mixed innocence and disappointment.

Cherry had to laugh, and shook her head at them. “Dear Mamas. You are both as transparent as glass.” She turned to her mother. “Thank you for the repairs, Mama. I’m going back down to join the fun now.” Her gaze shifted to Lady Henrietta. “I might even dance with your son, Ma’am. But please, both of you, do not imagine that means he and I are heading for the parson’s mousetrap.” She turned away, then looked back over her shoulder. “It simply means we are sharing a dance on a summer evening.”

Both Lady Hazel and Lady Henrietta watched her walk calmly down the steps from the gallery to the floor, where the dancers were assembling for the last dance before the refreshment break.

And both ladies keenly observed Garrett’s gaze as he sought out Cherry, and Cherry’s gaze as she looked for Garrett.

“ Hmm ,” said Lady Hazel.

“ Mm hmm ,” answered Lady Henrietta.