Meanwhile, the Duke of Nottingvale had just stepped into view.
Her breath caught.
Cynthia supposed she was meant to be awestruck by the whiteness of his cravat and the exquisite tailoring of his coal black breeches and tailcoat, but when she looked at him all she could think of was how it feltnotto see him.
When she’d been lying on the dais with her eyes shut tight. Waiting for him to come to her. Wondering if he would kiss her. Cracking open one eye and discovering him...
There.
“I don’t suppose you can summon a pianist,” he said gruffly.
“Er,” Cynthia said.
Gertie did a horrendous job of looking away from the pianoforte.
“I’ll do it,” Cynthia said before her cousin’s resolve weakened.
Nottingvale looked startled. “You can play the pianoforte?”
“I can climb a tree and shoot a pistol.”
“What has that to do with the pianoforte?”
Fair enough.
“I know a few tunes,” she assured him. “And I’m all you’ve got.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the encroaching army of debutantes eager for a dance, then swung his resigned gaze back to Cynthia. “All right, go. Play a melody we can dance to. Thank you.”
And with that, he disappeared into the sea of adoring young ladies.
“You know what to do,” said Gertie.
“Youknow what to do,” countered Cynthia. “Find someone your father would deem at least somewhat acceptable. No falling in love with a footman.”
Gertie brightened. “Like Horace and Morris?”
“Especially not a matched pair of strapping country footmen. Your father would expire on the spot.”
“And then I could marry the footmenandbe a professional pianist,” Gertie said dreamily. “All at the same time.”
Cynthia turned her cousin’s shoulders around to point her toward a shamefully overlooked group oftonbucks and dandies. Gertie had met them all during her come-out. “Fish in that pond first.”
Gertie took a deep breath and set off to stroll within eyesight of beau mondeapproved rakes and bucks.
Cynthia hurried to the pianoforte and placed her fingers above the keys.
Shedidknow what to do.
Give Nottingvale something to dance to.
The rousing, bawdy opening bars toA Soldier Goes A-Wenchingburst from the pianoforte as Cynthia’s fingers flew merrily over the keys.
Rather,ASpinsterGoes A-Wenching.
Nottingvale shot her a wide-eyed glance of abject horror.
She puckered her lips in the form of a kiss without breaking the flow of music and transitioned seamlessly into a traditional country dance.
