Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

F or all of her feelings of superiority about dancing, it was Eva who nearly sent everyone toppling. Her feet felt glued to the floor for a moment as the music started, her eyes riveted to Beatrice on Josiah's arm. It was Mr. Cluett, who had taken her hands, urging her onward that finally got her to move. Her body fell into the familiar rhythm, automatically carrying her along as her mind reeled.

There was no real reason for her to be as stricken as she was; there was nothing inherently wrong with what Beatrice was doing. It would, in fact, be considered perfectly reasonable, given her injury. Still, there was something in her pointed cat's grin that unsettled Eva.

Mentally, she shook herself, trying to focus on what was happening. Mr. Cluett, galumphing along as best he could, was looking at her with concern in his eyes. Eva, aware that more than his eyes were on her, threw back her shoulders, lifted her head, and put on her most dazzling smile again. This only seemed to discombobulate Mr. Cluett further, who blinked at her in some kind of alarm.

It was only when Eva had come back to herself that she realised, much to her dismay, that Mr. Cluett hadn't been speaking with false modesty regarding his dancing abilities. He was, in a word, hapless. Eva doubted that he could have found the tempo of a ticking clock, much less a song as rousing as Ship's Cook. It was also clear that he was not familiar with the steps, always at least a pace behind everyone else. It put Eva in the position of having to subtly lead him, which was frankly just embarrassing.

Even so, Eva felt no contempt for him; he had clearly been thrust into a situation that he had not desired, possibly even as much as she herself had been. Her heart went out to him, especially as he tried to give her an earnest smile. It was clear why as Eva promenaded around him: Their mothers were both staring hard at them, willing both of them into compliance.

In the spirit of keeping up appearances, Eva shouted over the music, "How do you find London this Season, Mr. Cluett?"

This proved to be a near-fatal mistake, as this clearly broke his concentration. He looked up at her, and almost froze on the spot as he tried to keep up with her. "I'm—it's thoroughly tolerable, I suppose," he answered wanly.

Eva kept her own counsel for the rest of the song. When it concluded, the dancers and spectators applauded briefly, and waited amid excited murmurs for the next song to begin. It was announced to be The Hole in the Wall, to much excitement. Eva allowed herself to close her eyes just a bit too long to be blinking. When she opened them again, she saw Mr. Cluett already staring down at her feet.

"Here," Eva said, stepping forward so she could be heard more easily over the din. "Don't look down at my feet; keep your head up, and the rest of you will follow."

Mr. Cluett nodded, obediently keeping his eyes on her face. The dancing began, and Eva felt a rush of sympathy for Mr. Cluett. He was doing his level best, but Eva had danced with a true master; anyone would fall short.

"I'm not a fool," Mr. Cluett said abruptly as he held her hand aloft, along her to pass beneath.

"Whatever do you mean?" Eva asked, surprised.

"I know I seem like a country clodhopper, especially to someone as cultured and talented as you," he continued. "But this just—I don't fit in here."

Eva nearly laughed out loud, but settled on smiling gently at him, genuinely this time. "You might not believe it, but I don't particularly feel that I fit in here, either. Not anymore."

Mr. Cluett bobbled his head around, agreeing. "Can see that. You need someone who can keep up with you; not sure that's me."

"You shouldn't have to try," Eva replied softly. "But we seem to be a little trapped, don't we?"

Mr. Cluett had nothing to say to that, but Eva could see his shoulders fall a bit. Again, she couldn't help but feel pity for him. They were alike in this way, at least, but Eva really did not think that this was a proper foundation for a marriage, a lifelong commitment.

The musicians played on, and Eva continued trying to guide Mr. Cluett around, all the while keeping up the appearance of being unbothered. If she were to look as troubled as she actually felt, there would scarcely be a soul in the ballroom who didn't suspect that something was amiss. Lady Stanton, for all her faults, had also grown to have quite a sixth sense when it came to her daughter's plots, which Eva was well aware of.

If Eva was being honest, she also wanted Mr. Galpin to see her and think her lovely, irresistibly charming even. She wanted to appear to be the sort of woman that any man would count himself lucky to keep company with. She did not look to where he had been standing last, but she fancied that she could still feel his eyes on her.

The song came to an end, and as she and Mr. Cluett made their closing bows, Eva allowed herself one furtive glance to where Josiah and Beatrice had been standing. They were not there now, and before she could stop herself, her eyes darted about in an effort to locate them. Mr. Cluett cleared his throat, and with barely a look to him, she automatically put her arm through his and allowed him to escort her back to her mother.

"Ah, here they are," Lady Stanton said, beaming at Eva on the arm of Mr. Cluett. "Don't they make a handsome pair on the dancefloor?" she asked Lady Cluett, who wisely kept her own counsel.

Eva released Mr. Cluett, who stood with his arms hanging loosely, like he couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. She couldn't resist allowing herself another scan of the crowd, craning her neck. Lady Stanton, her voice tight, asked with false cheerfulness, "Is something amiss, Eva dear?"

"No, not at all Mother," Eva replied hastily. "I was simply hoping to catch another glimpse of the Duchess Brandon. I was hoping to discover who her modiste is—don't you find her dress charming?"

Lady Stanton made a sound between a cough and a laugh. The duchess and modistes was a loaded topic, one which she couldn't help but rise to the bait of. "You mean if she hasn't made it herself," she said with a snobbish toss of her head.

And just like that, they were lost in discussion regarding the duchess' story, her taste in entertainment, the quality of her cook… No aspect was left undissected, and Eva found it easy to slip into the background. Kitty, meanwhile, had found one handsome young man to swing her about the dancefloor after another, and was looking quite content. Eva envied her easy happiness.

As she watched the couples glide by, forming patterns, skipping in circles, breaking apart again, Eva had a vision of her future if she did not act. She would smile and be polite, doing and saying what was correct, until there was simply nothing left inside her anymore. It would be a slow, agonising, spiritual death. It all played out before her as if it had already happened, the world fading to muted, dull colours as if it were already complete.

But then, she realised that it was not simply the edges of her imagination going dark; it was actually getting darker in the ballroom. Footmen were deftly slipping through the crowd, quietly snuffing candles here and there so that most of the light in the room was coming from the massive chandelier hung over the dancefloor. It happened so gradually that no one realised how dark it was until the edges of the ballroom were bathed in shadows. In contrast, the gold and crystal chandelier shone brilliantly, shining out like a miniature sun caught and hung from the ceiling.

The musicians abruptly stopped playing, and the duke stepped forward at the head of the dancefloor. An anxious, excited murmur had begun to circulate around the ballroom, punctuated by an occasional squeal as some took advantage of the low lighting to sneak a quick squeeze of the hand. He raised his hands, lowering them slowly with his palms facing the floor, signalling for quiet.

"My lords, ladies, and gentleman," he called, his voice ringing out. "Lord and Lady Chester, those committed patrons of the arts and London's newest shining lights of the ton, have decided to present you all with a gift tonight." Another murmur swept through the crowd like a wave. "As they are committed to being at the forefront of fashion and taste, they have elected to bring us the very latest in dances from the fashionable capitols of Europe. May I present the celebrated Mr. Galpin, and his troupe, who will demonstrate the very last word in modern dancing: The new German waltz."

A small outcry met the last of that announcement: The younger people were thrilled, while the older, stodgier persons in attendance were dutifully outraged. The duke did not seem particularly bothered by any of this, and he stepped back, gesturing with one broad sweep of his arm. Mr. Galpin, hidden in the shadows, took his cue, and stepped forward.

He bowed to the assembled gracefully, one hand on his hip, his calf turned out exactly so; it was a posture that would have been at home at the former French court in decades gone-by. Behind him, hands twisted together nervously, was a young girl with ash-blonde hair. Josiah paused, clearly expecting her to join him, but she remained frozen in place. Eva could see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching.

Unconsciously, she had stepped forward so that she was now in front of her party. She was staring at Josiah down the dancefloor, and it was as if nothing else in the world existed. She could hear her own breath, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Willing him to look at her, to see her, Eva continued to stare at Josiah, pulled toward him by some cosmic force that she could neither deny nor understand.

And then his grey eyes found hers, and she knew that she was lost.