Chapter 28

28

Snapping the fingers in Country Dancing and Reels, and the sudden howl or yell too frequently practiced, ought to be avoided.

—Thomas Wilson, A Companion to the Ball Room

The day of the Killerton party arrived. Claire was excited about it until she recalled how eagerly she had looked forward to the Parkers’ house party, and that had ended in disaster. She resolved not to do anything at this party she would later regret.

In the afternoon, Claire began dressing herself as best she could in the evening gown of white gauze and satin. She curled her hair with the hot iron and then gathered her long gloves and reticule.

Mary had offered to help her dress, but the Huttons would soon come for them, and the maid had failed to appear.

In desperation, Claire scooped up a handful of pins and a silk rose and climbed the stairs to the attic.

When she entered the maid’s room, Mary sat up in bed. “Sorry, miss. I fell asleep sewin’. Awful tired these days.”

A quarter of an hour later, dress fastened and hair pinned high on her head and adorned with the silk rose, Claire made her way downstairs to the hall, hoping she had not kept the others waiting.

Mr. Hammond looked up as she descended, and her breath caught. How broad-shouldered and dashing he looked in evening attire: dark blue tailcoat, white waistcoat, and white cravat over knee breeches with stockings and black leather shoes. His auburn hair had been brushed back from his forehead and gleamed in shades of amber and brandy in the light of a nearby wall sconce.

She felt his steady gaze on her as she descended the remaining stairs, her pulse accelerating with each step that brought her nearer to him.

Worried she might trip, she gripped the railing with one hand, and with the other held her skirt. Reaching the bottom, she looked up and found him staring at her, lips parted.

“Good evening.” Candlelight reflected in his green eyes. Admiration shone there as well. “How beautiful you are.”

She looked down, self-conscious, and plucked at the simple white skirt. “I wore it to the concert, but Emily assured me it would be appropriate for tonight too.”

“It becomes you very well.”

“Thank you.”

“Here. Allow me.” He retrieved her cloak from the hall closet, and after a moment’s hesitation, she turned so he could lay it over her shoulders. His hands rested lightly on her upper arms before lifting too soon.

The jingle of tack and horse hooves announced the arrival of the Huttons’ carriage. Mr. Hammond opened the door for her, and they joined the major, Viola, and Sarah inside the vehicle, the fit rather tight.

Viola said, “I brought a coral necklace I thought would look well with your dress, should you like to wear it.”

She held forth a strand of pinkish-red beads.

“They are lovely. Thank you.”

At the same time, Mr. Hammond and Sarah held out their hands to assist. After a brief moment of uncertainty, Claire turned her back toward Sarah, her knees brushing Mr. Hammond’s as she did. She would be too self-conscious to have him perform the simple, familiar act—especially with her sisters and Major Hutton present.

Sarah made quick work of fastening the clasp, and Claire turned forward again, breaking contact with Mr. Hammond.

“That does look well,” Viola observed.

“Thank you for loaning it to me.”

“Keep it as long as you like.”

After that, Claire sank back against the cushions, content to listen as the major and Mr. Hammond carried on a conversation about recent parliamentary news, glad the focus had shifted away from her.

When at last they neared Killerton, the carriage turned up a long gravel drive that wove through rural woodland before leading to a torchlit entrance.

Liveried footmen helped them alight, and soon they were ushered into a grand hall dominated by a large, paneled staircase. There they were greeted by their host and hostess and made welcome.

A short while later, they all sat down to a sumptuous meal in the dining room lit by candelabra and an ornate marble fireplace, rows of gilt-framed paintings of ancestors arrayed to the ceiling.

Mr. Hammond sat on one side of Claire, an officer she did not know on the other.

At the head of the table, next to Sir Thomas, sat a vivacious woman dressed in an ivory gown trimmed in gold thread. She had dark, springy ringlets around her face and an accent that reminded Claire of Mr. Filonov.

She laughed and spoke with confidence, and the men around her seemed to listen with avid attention to her every word.

Claire leaned closer to Mr. Hammond and asked quietly, “Who is she?”

He followed her gaze. “The Countess Lieven, the Russian ambassador’s wife.”

“She appears to be quite popular.”

“Indeed. I understand invitations to her home are highly sought after, and she was the first foreigner to be elected a patroness of Almack’s.”

“Really?” Claire was impressed.

He nodded. “In fact, it is said she is the person who introduced the wicked waltz to England through her influence there. Perhaps we shall have an opportunity to dance it this very night.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a teasing manner. “If you are brave enough.”

Claire grinned in reply, although she was not certain she was.

After dinner, the ladies withdrew, leaving the men to their port and cigars. Claire excused herself to freshen up in the ladies’ lounge.

When she came back down the corridor, the sound of men’s voices drew her attention to an open door. There she saw Mr. Hammond in a small parlour with Sir Thomas, Emily’s husband, James, and another man, deep in serious conversation. Claire was glad she knew now what Mr. Hammond was involved in, or her suspicions would have been roused all over again.

Back in the elaborately decorated great parlour, the carpets had been rolled up, and as the men rejoined the ladies, the musicians began to play.

Mr. Hammond approached Claire with a gallant bow. “May I have the honor of the first dance, Miss Summers?”

“I would be happy to, but I have not danced in a few years. I’m afraid I don’t know the latest dances.”

“Nor I. That’s why I had a private word with the musicians and requested a few older, more familiar dances.”

“That was clever.”

He shook his head. “Completely self-serving. I have no wish to make a fool of myself in your company.”

“I doubt you could. Are you fond of dancing?”

“I am. There was a fair amount of it at diplomatic parties, although like you, I am out of practice. Shall we muddle along together?”

“Very well.”

To tinny music drawn from a harpsichord accompanied by flute and violin, the assembled company began a quadrille in clusters of four couples. The dance commenced with bows and curtsies, followed by a series of advancing and retreating steps, turns, and changing places with the person opposite.

The pattern was a simple one, and soon Claire began to relax and enjoy herself.

After the first set, they all changed partners, and Sarah—who had sat out the first time—danced with the officer who’d been beside Claire at dinner.

Sarah appeared even more ill at ease and uncertain of the steps than Claire had been. She supposed Sarah, who had lost her betrothed, had not danced much in recent years either.

Sarah had watched the couples dancing, feeling wistful and out of place. She found herself thinking not of Peter, whom she had planned to marry before he died at sea, but rather of Callum Henshall. Would she ever have a chance to dance with him?

She thought back to his stay at Sea View, when he’d confessed his wife’s depression of spirits and his attempts to cheer her—including asking her to a dance. “I am a bit of an ox, truth be told, and woe to anyone who stands too close during a Scottish reel! But for her, I would try.”

Despite his efforts, his wife had ended her own life. At the thought, Sarah offered up a prayer for him and for Effie, the woman’s daughter.

Sarah noticed Emily approach the musicians to call the next dance. In honor of their former royal neighbor, her sister requested the Duke of Kent’s Waltz.

Despite its name, this was a longways country dance in three-quarter time. It was a lovely, stately dance and far more acceptable than the partner waltz now gaining popularity.

An awkward young officer asked her to dance, and taking pity on him, Sarah agreed.

When the music began, they formed a star with another couple. Next, she joined hands with her partner, stepping forward and back in a balance step, before moving down the line and back up again.

Sarah glanced over and saw Claire dancing with Mr. Hammond, looking happy and pretty, and she owned to a shaft of jealousy as well as concern. She hoped this man would prove more trustworthy than the last man who’d made her sister smile like that.

Later in the evening, the Countess Lieven stood, clapped her hands three times, and announced with authority, “We must have a proper valtz!”

The young officer asked Viola to dance, but the major, who had refused to dance until that point, abruptly stood and took her hand, staring menacingly down at the smaller man. “If anyone is to put his arm around my wife, it shall be me and me alone.”

“Jack...” Viola admonished, but Claire saw the fond amusement in her eyes and the tilt of her lips.

The young man blanched and scurried away to find another partner.

Seeing him heading toward Claire, Mr. Hammond quickly stepped forward and asked Claire to dance again. She agreed, even though they had danced together twice already.

She quietly admitted, “I’ve not waltzed before.”

“Just follow my lead.”

Once the music started and the honors had been paid, he turned Claire under his arm, then brought both hands to her shoulders.

“You do the same,” he encouraged.

After a quick glance around to assure herself others were similarly positioned, Claire complied. Holding each other by the shoulders, they turned in circles around the room. One, two, three. One, two, three ... Then, grasping right hands, they stepped forward and back in a balance step, and then again he turned her under his arm. This time as they came back together, he put his right hand around her waist.

She barely resisted a gasp. No wonder the dance was deemed scandalous! He lifted her other hand over their heads, and they continued to turn around each other, all the couples moving about the room in a large circle.

He grinned at her from beneath the arch of their raised hands. “You learn quickly.”

Then the tempo increased, and embracing shoulders again, they hop-turned around each other, circling the room, Claire soon breathless and grinning. How exhilarating! And really, surrounded by friends and family, and moving so swiftly, there was surely nothing wicked about the dance. The rapid turning and the swirl of skirts around her ankles made her almost giddy. She felt happy and more alive than she had in a very long time.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” Claire answered between panted breaths. “You?”

He smiled into her eyes. “I am, thanks to you.”

———

Knowing they had a long drive ahead of them, the major called for their carriage to be readied well before the midnight supper. Claire, exhausted and content, fell asleep on the way home, her head on Sarah’s shoulder, while Sarah rested against the padded carriage wall. Across from them, Viola slept on Major Hutton’s arm.

When Claire awoke, only William Hammond was awake, staring out the window at the starlit sky. As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked over and their gazes tangled and held.

“Almost home,” he whispered.

And the low, intimate words did strange things to her heart.

They returned to Sidmouth as the moon rose in the east. The Huttons delivered Mr. Hammond and Claire to Broadbridge’s before continuing back to Sea View and Westmount.

William held the door for her and helped her off with her cloak, fumbling in the darkness to hang it in the closet by feel and traces of moonlight. Then, facing her in the dim hall, he took her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Thank you for being there tonight.”

“My pleasure. I enjoyed it.”

The landing lamp had burned itself out. The fire in the morning room had burned to embers, but he managed to ignite a long match from it, then lit two candles and handed one to her.

“Can you find your way?”

She nodded, then realizing he might not be able to see her, said, “I know it by heart.”

He reached up and traced gentle fingers over the contours of her face, cheekbone to chin, his thumb coming to rest beneath her lower lip. In a voice low and husky he said, “I know it by heart too.”