Page 29 of The Swindler’s Daughter

Johnny threw his head back and laughed. “Come on, Bea,” he cajoled. “Pryce has already agreed to play his pipe. Mr. Kenton has a little drum he said he’d be willing to play. We’ve done this a time or two over at Bridgefield. It’s good for everyone.”

“We don’t have the time,” Beatrice argued.

“The time for what?” I couldn’t help but ask. Whatever it was, if Johnny and Oliver were so keen on doing it, it must be something worth doing. And besides, “It seems time is something we do have extra of these days.” I nodded my head toward the stacks of already washed and dried dishes. In only a few more minutes, Emeline and I would have the kitchen fully cleaned up.

Beatrice let out a sigh of defeat, even as she continued to shake her head. “It’s not proper.”

“How’s it not proper?” Oliver asked.

“What’s not proper?” I asked, frustrated that no one would just speak plainly.

“Throwing wild, raucous parties in the barn is not proper,” Beatrice declared, though I could already tell she was giving in.

Johnny laughed again as if he found Beatrice’s indignation to be nothing but funny. “Dancing is supposed to be raucous, but I promise we won’t be wild,” he said, taking her hands in his. “It’s just a bit of fun. Don’t you all deserve a bit of fun?”

Beatrice pulled her hands from his and folded her arms before giving a dignified sniff. “Well, it’s clear I’ll not be able to stop you. Don’t make me regret this, any of you.” She pinned us each with her customary stern look then huffed out of the kitchen.

The boys cheered.

“Come on, lads,” Johnny called. “Let’s get things ready.” He grabbed Oliver’s shoulder and propelled him toward the door, and the rest followed, tumbling out in good humor.

I stared after them at the empty doorway before turning to Emeline. “We’re having a dance tonight?”

Her smile was bemused. “So it would seem.”

The idea was intriguing. “I’ve only ever danced at festivals, and even that wasn’t for the joy of it.”

Emeline raised a questioning eyebrow. “Then why dance?”

“It’s an excellent distraction. All that movement, all the jostling close together presented many opportunities to pick pockets,” I explained.

Emeline blinked then shook her head. “Sometimes I forget how odd my husband’s upbringing was.”

I snorted. “I’m not sure you can even call it an upbringing. Father didn’t bring us up, he brought us…well, down.”

“You had a downbringing, then?” Emeline teased with a sad little smile.

I laughed a little. “I think I’ll call it that from now on.”

“Do you think you can enjoy a dance without the challenge of stealing?” she teased.

“I’ve no doubt.” In fact, the idea was thrilling. Picking pockets had been fun sometimes, but it had mostly been arduous and often scary. But I joked about it with Hunter and Emeline because it was better to see Hunter’s exasperation when I made light of it than to see his guilt if I were to admit my true feelings.

“So, when is this dance to occur?” I asked.

Emeline gave a shrug. “I imagine they’ll start it up as soon as they can.”

I looked down at myself. My apron had preserved most of my clothing from serious food splatter, but I wasn’t what I would call clean.

“I’m sure you’ll have time to change after we finish here.”

“Oh.” I ducked my head, embarrassed that she had caught me in a moment of vanity. “I’m sure I don’t need to change.”

“Of course not, but if you wanted to…” She trailed off, leaving the idea hanging in the air.

We soon finished, and as I hung my apron on one of the many hooks that lined one wall, I decided I could deal with a bit of vanity. I hurried up to my room and found Nellie there, fussing with her hair.

She turned in my direction when I entered, a nervous smile clinging to her mouth. “Did you hear?” she asked.