She didn’t see him. Longing and relief in equal measure rushed to fill the emptiness inside her. The music died down and dance partners left, returning to their mothers or their card games as new pairs filled the floor.
“Shall we show them how it’s done?” came John’s voice from behind her. She nodded and let him lead her to the floor at the start of the next song.
The dance began and Harriet did her best to hide the amount of effort she was putting in to merely keep up. Despite his insistence otherwise, John had been a quick study. He and their dance instructor seemed to speak a language Harriet barely understood. John led with a grace and ease that Harriet could never hope to achieve.
“If only Mr. Monroe could see you now,” Harriet said, surprised to see John blush at the mention of him. “You do him great credit.”
“You think so?” John asked. Harriet had the impression that it took effort to make the question sound offhanded, that John was keeping his desperation on a tight leash. An idea occurred to her, and she opened her mouth to ask a question, then shut it again, unsure.
“I know so. I’m positive he was elated to have you as a student, especially after the effort it took with me.”
“Nonsense. You were a wonderful pupil. He said no other students of his had done so much reading beforehand.” The admission confirmed Harriet’s suspicion that the two of them had been talking privately. Harriet laughed lightly and let herself be spun away from John. When they rejoined one another, she saw an unfamiliar look on his face.
As the dance ended, John leaned over to her and, looking almost guilty of something, began, “Harriet, you know I—I’m—I don’t like …” She’d never seen him anything other than fully confident in himself, in his words.
Harriet rested a hand on his arm. “I thinkImight be a lost cause, but you—you should continue your lessons with Mr. Monroe.”
They both knew John had no more need for dance lessons than Harriet did reading instruction. His eyes shone with emotion.
They made their way off the dance floor, only to be halted by the imposing figure of the Duke of Belhaven. On his arm was the willowy and silent woman from the Hendersons’ ball.
“Who is she?” Harriet whispered quickly to John, hoping to sound casual in her interest.
“Miss Cressida Holmes. Father’s mistress. I imagine the poor dear thinks he’ll marry her now.”
Harriet felt a surge of alarm at the impending company, which she did her best to tamp down. She wasn’t sure why she felt worried—the duke wouldn’t harm her, not here. In fact, she felt silly thinking he would harm her anywhere. But when she saw his gaze fall disdainfully on John, she knew the true source of her terror. Men like the duke enjoyed inflicting harm with words as well as weapons, with facial expressions as easily as fists. She might be safe enough, but John wasn’t.
“What are you doing here?” the duke spat out, as if even speaking to his son was beneath him.
“The same things as everyone else, I presume,” John intoned with, Harriet thought, convincing enough casualness. “Dancing, drinking, enjoying the company of another man’s wife.”
“Shouldn’t you beresting?” the duke asked, making it clear he would have liked to use the verbdying.
“You know, I found myself rather wellrested. I thought I might take a quick break fromresting. It was growing rather tiring.”
“I don’t know why you’re insisting on—”
“Being seen in public?”
Harriet felt the tension between the two of them rising as a heat in her sternum. She felt an acute sense of guilt at having exposed John to the presence of his father and to the curiosity and censure of theton. She needed to do something.
“Your Grace, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been taking those dance lessons you prescribed. Unhappily, I am not as quick a study as Lord Weston here; he is elegance itself, which I’m sure Miss Holmes will attest to.”
The maneuver bordered on crass. To even subtly suggest another couple dance together? She was certain the duke found it unseemly, which hardly fazed Harriet.
However, he wasn’t so improper as to contradict her. Instead, he simply nodded and released his mistress’s arm, offering her up to his son. Harriet smiled innocently at her father-in-law, waiting for him to understand that he ought to ask her to dance. Which he reluctantly did.
She wasn’t looking forward to any time with the man, but a simple quadrille couldn’t hurt much, and besides, he was the one who touted the importance of her learning to dance. It was a small price to pay for John’s comfort. Or at least to keep his father at bay for a few minutes.
How much more time could one spend in a garden? Alexander hadn’t taken in a single rose or lilac or … well, he didn’t know the names of the other flowers planted there. He wasn’t in the garden for greenery anyway. He was there to avoid making a fool of himself. Watching Harriet fuss over his brother at the refreshment table had been survivable, even if—for the first time in his life—he found himself wishing to take his brother’s place. Truly, seeing the two people he cared for most in the world together filled him with arrant joy.
No, the problem was once they made it on the dance floor. Harriet didn’t dance. Not like that, at least. It had undone him. She was utterly captivating. Had she known what she was doing to him, to the entire crowd, she would have blushed from tip to toe. He wondered who’d had the good fortune and immeasurable patience to teach her. Yet, despite his admiration, he found himself longing for the Harriet who’d danced so poorly at the inn.
The last strains of the song came through the open balcony doors. Alexander waited for another five minutes for good measure and then headed back inside, determined to talk to his wife now that his arousal had sufficiently abated.
Dear God! Was she to dance with every member of his family?
The sight of Harriet in John’s arms, their obvious closeness, had been heartwarming. Harriet dancing with his father was, on the contrary, bone-chilling. He couldn’t help but feel that the duke’s presence was sullying her. Alexander fought the urge to force his way into the dance, to replace his father, consequences be damned.
