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He studied Bellona’s face and he reconsidered where his eyes had roamed on some of his dance partners. He raised his chin and slowly nodded downward. He moved his view over her shoulder and kept his eyes away from her breasts, but spoke in an undertone. ‘I am sure, if you tell my mother, she will see that you have someone to fashion a gown for you with an adequate...bodice.’
She looked at him, studying his deliberately neutral expression. ‘I don’t understand?’
He furrowed his brows. ‘Wasn’t that what you were talking about?’
Her lids dropped a bit and her face changed. The eyes narrowed. ‘What is wrong with my bodice?’
‘Nothing.’ It was the truth. He spoke dismissively and assumed the privileged bearing that usually stopped all questions. Whoever had fashioned her close-fitting garment should have been well paid.
Her gaze widened, and he could see the thoughts working away behind her eyes. She grumbled a word he could not make out.
‘I thought,’ he emphasised, ‘you might prefer a more concealing dress—because you think the dance improper. A thicker fabric might give more of a feeling of distance—propriety—of all those things—important things—necessary for a dance. I am just trying to assist.’ He heard the soothing tone of his voice and reminded himself he had meant no offence. He did not need to grovel to her.
One of her feathers unruffled. ‘I will consider what you said.’ She crossed her arms, and patted one hand just at the top of her capped sleeve. Her arm now draped over her chest. ‘I will never, ever dance in this dress now.’
‘Just wear a dress that’s more—less fashionable.’
Her eyes, if they could, became even more lustrous with disapproval. ‘I was not speaking of that, although I will certainly take what you say into account when I choose my clothing.’
‘Miss Cherroll... You must accept the norms of societal behaviour if you are to live in England.’
Her face didn’t lighten. ‘No. He holds my hand and around my waist and I cannot... In a moment he could clasp me tightly. I could not pull away if I wished.’
He looked at his mother and the instructor. ‘The tutor did not hold you closer than that?’
‘It was still too close.’
Oh, this woman was surely unsuitable for any man’s wife. He felt sorry for her and the man she might wed, assuming she didn’t geld him with an arrow first.
‘I’ve held women in that manner and none seemed to mind.’
She shuddered. ‘I cannot speak for them. But I cannot tolerate any more lessons.’ The intake of her breath spoke of her determination.
She grasped her dress, lifted the hem enough to show those unsightly boots and darted from the room.
His mother must have been watching. She stopped in mid-step and shouted a command to the man at the piano. The music ceased. The two men and his mother were both looking at him.
‘What did you say to send her away?’ His mother stepped away from the tutor. She waved a hand. ‘You would not believe how much effort this day has taken to organise.’
This was not the place to mention the bodice discussion. ‘I may have made her...doubt her...ability to learn the dance.’
His mother’s fingers splayed and her hands went up. ‘Rolleston, I cannot believe...’ She caught her words. ‘I had to near drag her from her room just to get her here at all.’ She pointed a finger at the ceiling. ‘Just one moment.’
The tutor dropped his head, and a small moan fell from his lips. ‘I so must beg your pardon, but I have another appointment, and I do not think I will be able to continue... With the greatest of regrets and sadness. Not today or tomorrow.’
‘See what you’ve caused...’ She looked at Rhys. ‘We had made an improvement.’
Before she’d finished the sentence, the tutor was out through the door. The musician stood and tucked his music under his arm, turning to leave.
The duchess raised her ringed fingers, stopping his departure. ‘Stay. We will try again. Do not think to tell me you also have another meeting.’ She turned to Rhys, her eyes showing the little lines at the side which could grow into quite huge ones depending on her temper. ‘Rolleston, you do not realise how very important this is. Wait here,’ she muttered. ‘I will get Bellona and we will continue and, Rhys, you will show her that she is quite the dancer.’
* * *
Bellona sat in her room. She had taken country dance lessons at Whitegate with her sister and no one had ever minded that she did not participate in other dances. She’d merely taken the lessons to appease Melina and the women always practised together. Sometimes even the children partnered them.
