Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

E va could not recall a single other instance when the act of drinking tea had been such a chore. She had endured her share of awkward encounters, but the tea with Mr. Cluett and his mother was the top of the pile. The poor boy had looked vaguely helpless the whole time, which Eva empathised with completely. Both of their mothers seemed desperate to shove them together, which only confused Eva further. It did not help that her own mother seemed bent on speaking about Eva as if she were a cow that must be sold before the Season is out.

By the time the tea was concluded, Eva was unsure who she was more disgusted by: Her mother for so desperately trying to pawn her off on a stranger, or herself for simply sitting silently through it. It had crossed her mind to simply stand up and walk away, but there was an invisible shackle holding her to the table that was called Duty.

Her reticence was, of course, duly noted by her mother. The entire trip home (which Lady Stanton had rented a carriage for in order to keep up appearances), she had shaken her head and seemed at the point of despair with Eva. Eva did not even have the wherewithal to object at this point; she had only one duty as a daughter, one way that she could materially contribute to her family, and she was neglecting it.

"Just what is there to object to with Mr. Cluett?" Lady Stanton had demanded. "He is handsome and kind and his position is secure, far more secure than ours is."

Eva, heedless of her bonnet, had simply laid her head against the carriage window. "I just don't think I can love him, Mother," she said quietly, tiredly.

"No one is asking you to!" Lady Stanton had snapped. "You are simply being asked to make sure that neither you nor I starve!"

What could Eva say to that? It was true.

Eva had elected to stay in her room the remainder of the day, laying across her bed, staring up at the ceiling, where she remained. It was easy enough to ignore her reality when she was playing at dancer, but the time was running out for that particular fantasy. Her last lesson was tomorrow; after that, she would have no more excuses to seek out Mr. Galpin's tutelage…or his company, for that matter.

She knew that he was counting on her for the demonstration at the duke's ball, but how could she possibly explain that to her mother? To anyone, really? Eva pressed her fingers against her closed eyelids and let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

And yet, I cannot bear to disappoint Josiah , she thought ruefully. I cannot bear to disappoint myself anymore.

Slowly, Eva lowered her hands , placing them on the bed and using them to push herself upright. As she did so, her reflection in the dressing table mirror against the wall next to her bed came into view. The lone candle that she was allowed burned brightly in the murky gloom of the encroaching evening; it cast a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the cool shades of the room.

As her eyes adjusted, Eva took stock of herself in the mirror. Her hair was mussed from laying as she had been, and her dress was creased. The candle's lonely flame sat at the level her heart, illuminating her like a votive saint. The contrast between herself and her surroundings was like a sun rising on a cold winter day. Her eyes were dark and sad, giving her beautiful face a tragic cast.

Perhaps I should simply run off and become a poet's muse , she thought wryly. Surely Byron would do a credible job of ruining and celebrating me.

The notion made her smile, but did not wholly erase the sad lines that clung to her eyes. As her smile faded, it dawned on Eva that this was a glimpse into her future: A mouth that smiled and said the right things, but eyes that were pools of regret. The cost of duty appeared to be her own happiness, but she was hardly the first person to have to make this choice.

The real question , Eva thought slowly, rising and sitting at the little chair before her dressing table, is whether or not I can still stand to look at myself, should I choose to do this.

Unbidden, her mind flashed to a vision of herself, dancing and confident, a bon vivante of the dancefloor. In a trice, all of her apprehension for the future was gone. Resting her chin on her palm, her eye was caught by the stack of dancing plates that Josiah had sent to her. She couldn't help but thumb through a couple of them, as was her habit.

She had an inkling, a notion, that Josiah had been quietly pushing her toward something, but she could not quite make out what. It was not simply that he wished her to be a more competent dancer, it was…something more . He had taken special care with her, encouraging her to do more than the minuet or waltzing, even. He had invited her to expand her horizons…

And for what?

Eva sat up slowly, a new idea dawning on her. He had encouraged her to see herself as more, to show her things that were outside of the realm of possibility for young ladies of the ton. He had taken great care to induct her into his world, to show her the young people that made their way on their own wits and toes, as it were.

He couldn't possibly mean for me to—but why? Eva's forehead creased as she considered. A strange feeling was brewing in her chest, a light, fluttering kind of hope coupled with a healthy dash of daring. It had never occurred to her that he might be tentatively inviting her to join his world until that very moment.

Eva could not contain a breathy bark of a laugh. It was such a cliché, a handsome dancing master seducing his pupil and convincing them to untoward acts. In Josiah's case, it appeared that it was not so much a seduction of Eva's person, but more a seduction to his way of life. Eva looked down to the stack of dancing illustrations again, this time placing a fond hand on the stack.

"It was not such a very difficult task," Eva murmured.

The door to her room creaked open at that moment, startling Eva a little. It was the maid, come to help her loose her hair and undress for bed. The girl, Sally, was quiet as always, which gave Eva a kind of comfort. The only sounds in the room for a while were the occasional plink as the hairpins were pulled from Eva's hair and set into the little porcelain dish on the dressing table.

Could she tolerate this for the rest of her life, especially knowing that there was another possibility out there? She might have been able to bear it if an alternative had not only been presented, but also given her such delight and fulfilment. Eva felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice, and it would take only the lightest push to send her over.

"Sally, if you had the chance to make a wish come true—something only for you, that would only be for your benefit—would you do it? Even if it might mean that others might be…not so fortunate?" Eva asked quietly, her words hovering in the dark room.

She did not really expect an answer; it wasn't the sort of thing a maid would be expected to answer under the best of circumstances, nevermind Sally's difficulty in speaking. It was all the more startling, and more poignant, when Eva felt a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flicked up to her reflection, catching Sally's eye. The maid's face was scantly illuminated, a round cheek here, the tip of her nose there, the bulb of her chin. She stared back into Eva's eyes, her eyes earnest, and pressed Eva's shoulder again.

"Thank you, Sally," Eva replied, feeling an unexpected kinship with the maid.

Tomorrow would be her last official, Mother-sanctioned, dance lesson with Josiah. Eva was not one to torment herself in indecision: When she came to a resolution, she acted on it, and with haste. This was what gave her such a reputation for boldness, for better or worse. It had been a long time since she had felt like herself, like the daring girl who had no qualms about galloping horses through the park, beating gentlemen at playing cards, even placing a wager here or there.

In her dark, silent room, Eva reaffirmed her resolution to be more herself, and less like others expected.

The ballroom in the Stanton's townhouse was opened yet again, this time for Eva's final dance lesson. When Josiah arrived, Eva could hear Lady Stanton making a big to-do of apologising for the state of it, citing difficulties with a new decorator. Waiting within alone, Eva allowed herself to roll her eyes; she would likely never understand her mother's compunction for keeping up appearances at all costs.

When Mr. Galpin was shown through the door, Eva felt her heart skip a beat. A fool grin was threatening to break out on her face, which would surely give the game away; she tamped it down hard, attempting a look of friendly disinterest that was expected of her. Josiah did not appear to be convinced, however, for when he met her eye, his own face seemed in great danger of lifting upward.

He bowed gallantly to her, and she responded with a quick curtsy. She knew that she was staring, but she found that she could not stop herself. He was dressed remarkably, in a dark red jacket that only served to highlight his unusual colouring. His waistcoat was a dark blue sateen, Eva's favourite colour, and matched the ribbon that held his long hair back.

"Lady Eva," he greeted her. Eva's stomach did a little flip when he said her name, and she nearly fell to blushing like a debutante in her first season.

"Mr. Galpin," she returned. "I am so pleased you were able to come today." She looked into his eyes when she spoke, hoping that he would understand what she truly meant, that her words carried more weight than a typical greeting.

"I would not have missed your final lesson for anything in the world," he replied, his eyes refusing to leave hers.

"As this is her final lesson, I expect that we shall both be pleased by her progress," Lady Stanton cut in. Eva was brought back to herself by the interruption. She would have to be careful; if her mother suspected anything, her plans would be squashed before they were even begun.

"I have every reason to believe you shall be," Josiah returned easily, not even bothering to look at Lady Stanton. "Lady Eva is a credit to whatever dancefloor she graces."

"Well then," Lady Stanton sniffed, "I suppose we'd best get on with it then—we've much to do today."

Significantly, Eva flicked her eyes to her mother, then back to Josiah, trying to give him a carefully concealed pleading look. Please , Eva thought at him, hoping against hope that he would hear her, please help me to be strong.

There was no one to accompany them this time, but Josiah was perfectly able to keep a rhythm under his breath. When he held out his hand to Eva, she placed her hand in his with a held breath, the simple gesture feeling far more intimate than it had any right to. Their hands were ungloved, skin against skin, and Eva fancied that he understood what it meant to her.

Eva's feet had a lightness to them, her whole body did really, but she found that she could lift onto her toes with ease. There were no cares when she was dancing, no pressure beyond her desire to perform well. Josiah could clearly feel this, for he barely guided her with the deftest of touches; he was there to help her be a shimmering example of grace and ease, not to command her with a heavy hand. If there had been anyone there to watch that could appreciate what they were seeing, they would have surely been dumbfounded at the display.

But it was only Lady Stanton, and when Eva passed beneath Josiah's arm, she caught sight of her mother's face. It was hard and flinty, her eyes watching with a suspicious displeasure.