Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T he seconds that ticked by after Josiah had stepped forward were absolutely agonising. He had worried that something like this might happen: Lilly was young, barely seventeen winters, and still held by the shackles of polite society. It was one thing entirely for her to dance for the relatively egalitarian audience at the theatre, another thing entirely to perform for so many of the great and good at such close range. She was frozen like a deer, unwilling to step forward.

Josiah was attempting to formulate a dozen different solutions at once that would not look awkward or unrehearsed while maintaining his poised fa?ade when he spotted Eva at the far end of the ballroom. She stood at the edge of the ring of light on the dancefloor, wearing the white that all young ladies wore at balls, but she seemed lit from within somehow. Her dress was daringly cut, the bodice fitted and moulded with pleats and a plunging neckline that was filled in with a spray of lace and feathers. She wore a gold filament headpiece that gave her the effect of a halo, some kind of solar goddess come down to Earth to witness mortal revels.

She was staring at him, a raw expression on her face, her eyes glistening with some mercurial emotion. Automatically, he turned to face her a little more fully, unable to look away from her. He could feel the moment that she saw him looking at her, for her lips parted slightly, and the ghost of a sad smile curved her perfect lips.

Like a bolt of lightning, Josiah saw what should be done, how he could save the performance and steal a few precious moments with Eva. Despite everything, whatever her mother said, there was no denying the manner in which she looked at Josiah. He lifted his head a fraction and gave a minute nod, hoping that she would see it. Straightening his spine, he assumed the opening posture of the waltz, as if his arms were around an invisible partner.

Eva, still watching him, tilted her own head curiously, her eyes narrowing for just a moment before realisation dawned. She gave her own nod of understanding. Josiah felt relief wash over him as if poured from a pitcher, but did not linger; he had to focus now.

Alone, in the strange silence of the ballroom, Josiah began to dance. Every eye in the ballroom was on him, the only sound the soft steps of his own feet. The demonstration was precariously balancing on a knife's edge—one side brilliance, the other, total failure. As he turned, he caught Eva's eye again, and saw understanding dawn; it was her turn now.

She did not hesitate, and if Josiah had not been in love with her before, he most certainly was now. She slipped onto the dancefloor, her head held high and eyes hooded in the perfect marriage of bliss and confidence. There was another murmur from the ton, especially as she, too, began to dance as if with an invisible partner. It was not only an aesthetic choice, but this allowed the ton to see the exact steps and postures required of the dance.

On opposite ends of the dancefloor, Josiah and Eva danced, turning, hands reaching, arms stretching overhead, separate but together, one facing east, the other west. The musicians, clearly caught off guard, neglected their instruments, adding to the eerie atmosphere. It was almost like watching two ghosts dancing in silence.

Closer and closer they twirled, Josiah keeping a practised eye on Eva. He hoped and prayed that the musicians would catch on to what was happening; miraculously, Josiah was not disappointed. At the exact moment that they finally met exactly in the centre of the ballroom, their hands touched, and the musicians began to play. The audience let out a collective sigh, murmuring their approval at the spectacle of it all.

Though it was improper to stare at one's partner continuously while dancing, Josiah found that he could not stop himself from staring down into Eva's eyes. In them, the glittering light from the chandelier reflected, as if she were made of stars. She smiled openly up at him, rapturous wonder on her face. His own mask of professional detachment slipped, and he could not resist smiling back down at her.

To most of those watching, it would have appeared that they were simply full of the joys of the new dance, which had a gliding, hypnotic tempo and step. With great enthusiasm, he swept Eva along with him, her willingness and ease to follow only making his heart swell further. It was a perfect moment of perfect grace, and Josiah willed it never to end.

Time stops for no man, no matter how much he longs for it to obey him; the last strains of the music began to die away, and he was left facing Eva, hands still clasped. There was another profound silence, and with great reluctance, they released each other. He forced himself to step back, feeling like he was letting a piece of himself go in the process.

Blinking, he stepped back again, putting a respectable distance between the two of them. The silence stretched, and Josiah slowly came back to the reality of the situation. He had a duty to his dancers and to the audience. Tearing his gaze away from Eva, he turned and held out an arm; taking her cue, Eva dropped a deep, tidy curtsy. Josiah bowed in turn, still trying to clear his vision. He felt almost like he had been staring into the sun itself.

The crowd reacted at last, Lord Chester being the first to begin applauding with gusto. The others around him, including the duke and duchess, followed suit, until the entire ballroom was awash with applause. As it built to a crescendo, Josiah allowed himself a sigh of relief. He turned again to Eva, who looked stunned and gratified at the praise of the audience.

Josiah smiled at her again, fond and proud; she had done well, and he understood better than anyone how intoxicating the applause was. He had never seen her look so alive, glowing beneath the low lights. The moment was bittersweet, however, for it was a stolen fantasy; reality was catching back up with him, the dream fading as the footmen began relighting the tapers in the ballroom.

Josiah finally broke away from Eva, nodding to the other dancers of his troupe that had accompanied him. Their job was to circulate around, and to answer questions about the new dance, and more importantly, to gently encourage the guests to take lessons. When he turned back to Eva, her mother had stepped forward and laid a possessive hand on her arm.

"Eva, dear," Lady Stanton said tightly, a false smile stretching her face almost grotesquely, "I had no idea that you'd learned such…modern dancing."

"Oh Mother," Eva said, her voice cracking on something that was neither a sob nor a laugh. She, too, smiled winningly, unwilling to have the light of her triumph dimmed so easily. "You know me—I love to be the most modish girl in the room."

There was another lady near them that Josiah did not recognise, who surveyed him shrewdly. He could almost feel her eyes weighing him from head to foot, but he refused to be cowed. "You certainly have a sprightly step on the dancefloor, young man, I'll give you that," she said at last, grudgingly.

Colour rose a little on Eva's cheeks, and the light in her eyes was banked a little. Josiah frowned at the change, but forced himself into a neutral expression. "I am glad you found it pleasing," he said with another small bow in her direction. The lady in question lifted her chin and an eyebrow simultaneously, as if to say, I did not say I was pleased, did I?

Eva, meanwhile, was busy looking between the lady and Josiah, uneasy. The lady gestured behind her, and a great hulk of a man stepped forward, dutifully taking his place next to the lady. It was the same young man that Eva had been dancing with previously, though Josiah was loathe to use that word to describe the way in which he had been flopping about the dancefloor. With the disparity in size between the lady and the young man, Josiah couldn't help but be reminded of a spectacle he had seen in the Russian Empire, wherein a lady walked a bear on a leash.

"May I present Mr. Josiah Galpin? Mr. Galpin, this is Lady Cluett…and her son, Mr. Cluett," Eva said, her face and voice growing duller and duller with each word.

"Lady Eva has been spending many happy hours with Mr. Cluett these past few days, have you not?" Lady Stanton asked, her face hard as she stared significantly at Josiah.

"Ah, there you are, darling Josiah," a voice purred from behind him.

Automatically, he felt his jaw clench, his teeth on edge. No good can come of this , his mind warned. He feared that this would be borne out, as Beatrice, forcing herself to walk as elegantly as possible on her injured leg, took her place next to Josiah. There was no missing the sharp, pointed smile that she gave to everyone assembled, her green eyes narrowing as if she had just sighted some easy prey.

"Ladies, sir, may I present Miss Beatrice Heart," Josiah said flatly. "She is the principal female lead in my company of dancers," he added, perfunctory.

"Why, if it isn't Lady Cluett," Beatrice said, all congeniality and sugary smiles. "I've had the pleasure of meeting your husband, the Viscount Cluett at the theatre."

Lady Cluett visibly stiffened at the implication. "He's always had a taste for the local wildlife; he's an adventurous traveller," she shot back, whipping out a fan and fluttering it rapidly.

Josiah closed his eyes, hoping that Beatrice wouldn't say anything else sharp, but he knew that this was a pointless prayer. His stomach was about level with his feet when he heard Beatrice laugh, a light and easy sound, that he knew concealed a cutting edge. She was mad, and there was no telling what she might do when she lashed out.

"And here is Lady Stanton again, always a delight to find one's self in your… interesting company," Beatrice cooed. "Ah, and your lovely daughter! She is truly an ornament to make any occasion sparkle."

Josiah's eyes shot open, and without thinking, he snapped his head to give Beatrice a warning glance. She ignored him, instead sliding her arm proprietarily through Josiah's, causing him to wince internally. Lady Eva's eyes watched the motion, but she said nothing.

"I was saying just this very thing to my dear Josiah," Beatrice said, looking up adoringly at him again. Her phrasing could not have been more obvious; everyone there would surely think that they had formed an attachment. "Why, Lady Eva is such a darling creature that she made even backstage at the theatre shine like a palace!

"Beatrice," Josiah warned, but it was too late. "That was so long ago, I'm surprised you remember," he said pointedly. "You remember, Lady Stanton, when you engaged me for lessons with Lady Eva?"

Lady Stanton's eyes were busy shifting from Eva, to Josiah, to Beatrice, and back again. Josiah put his hand over Beatrice's, which made Eva's face fall; however, it was purely to disguise the fact that he was squeezing her fingers in an attempt to convey his displeasure.

"Oh Josiah, you really are entering your dotage if you don't remember Lady Eva's second tour of the theatre! It was all that Mr. Knotts spoke about for weeks—she was the highlight of his year, as far as he was concerned!" Beatrice laughed, playfully batting Josiah on the arm with her free hand.

"Second tour?" Lady Stanton asked with narrowed eyes. Josiah had once seen a chicken puff itself up before pecking a snake to death, and that was precisely what Lady Stanton looked akin to.

"Yes, you remember Mother, when Miss Johnson and I were doing our charitable visits?" Eva jumped in, touching her mother's arm and wordlessly tilting her head slightly in the direction of Lady Cluett.

Ah, what a clever thing , Josiah thought a little gleefully. Eva was using her mother's one weakness to prevent an ugly scene: the loss of their one asset, Eva's reputation. Lady Stanton, for all of her bluster, caught on quickly, and smiled benignly at Beatrice.

"Oh of course , you simply must forgive me! Lady Eva has so many charitable endeavours that it is difficult for one to keep track of them. Yes, I recall seeing many unfortunates there when we saw a performance, and Lady Eva really does have a tender heart, always believing the best in people," Lady Stanton gushed, speaking half to Lady Cluett, half to Beatrice. "Oh dear, Eva, you seem to have torn your hem a little—shall we find the dressing room to have it mended?"

Without waiting for an answer, Lady Stanton had seized Eva by the arm and was dragging her away. Lady Cluett hesitated a moment, then turned to her son. "Come dear-heart, I am rather parched; let us find the lemonade." Obediently, the son turned to follow her away, but not before giving Josiah a thoughtful, slightly melancholy look.

Josiah was ready to run after Eva, consequences be damned; he simply refused to go the rest of his life without experiencing what he had on that dancefloor ever again. Before he could take a step, he was pulled sharply back by the elbow.

"Let her go," Beatrice said, disdain dripping from her voice. "She just doesn't belong in our world; her mother is going to tear her to strips just for setting foot in a theatre's backstage."

"And who's fault is that?" Josiah snapped, trying to wriggle free. Vaguely, he was aware that he was beginning to draw attention from those around him.

"Fine," Beatrice hissed. "Blame me for that if you wish; but it would have happened sooner or later. Josiah, look at me," Beatrice said, coming to stand before him. She took him by both arms, forcing him to make eye contact. "You are chasing a dream. She is of no more substance than a puff of smoke. You want to take her and mould her to your life, when you don't even know if she wants to give up her own life. She has a young nobleman wriggling on her hook; why would she give that up?"

Beatrice's voice softened, which was somehow all the more disquieting. It was like when a cat rolled over to show its belly and beg for pats, but waiting with shining claws to pounce at the first fool who tried. She tightened her grip on Josiah's arms, keeping him stationary.

"Listen," she said earnestly, "you have something real right in front of you—you have for years—and you have not even noticed it. I am already part of this world, I've already made my choice years ago. I won't carry regrets into your life. There is a much easier choice, one that will do nothing but make your life simpler."

Josiah stared down at Beatrice, certain that he could not be hearing her correctly. "What of your cherished independence? Are you willing to give it up for sentimental reasons? After all of those years of decrying those other?—"

Beatrice laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, please, no! Can you imagine me, a victim of sensibility? No, not even for you, Josiah. I am speaking practically. We will not be young forever; I can help you, and you will provide me security. It will be neat and tidy, exceedingly practical." As if sensing his hesitation and distaste, Beatrice leaned in closer. "Do you think you are better than her ? She is making the same choice right now: Safety and security."

Josiah stared down at Beatrice, unable to move or speak. Her words made sense and rang true to him, in a way. Perhaps he had been a fool. Perhaps he should not have hoped for so much. Perhaps…