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“Be ye dancin’ this evenin’?” she asked, motioning to the others.
He looked to those on the floor, his eyes catching on something—or someone—before his smile faded. He shifted his gaze back to the food. “Not this dance,” he answered quietly.
Livvy had an inkling he’d just caught sight of Emma and her partner, but that only urged her to go on all the greater.
“Not e’en if I ask ye to dance?” she pressed.
His brows drew high. Livvy was clearly behaving in a manner she ought not. “Ye wish to dance with me?”
She smiled. “’Course, sir. But e’en more…” She leaned toward him, brazenly lacing her hand through his arm as she whispered. “I wish ye to dance with ’er.”
He frowned in confusion, then followed the motion of Livvy’s head tilt toward Emma. Sorrow creased his brow. “I can’t. There be too many others lookin’.”
But Livvy shook her head. “It be the Oslo Waltz, Mr. Cuff. No one will bat an eye.”
He paused, then a smile grew on his face as he peered down at Livvy. “Ye be a clever pisky, Miss May.”
Livvy, clever? Not quite. Especially when she could only give credit to Emma. Days before, she’d explained to Livvy that this particular waltz consisted of a large circle—and sometimes inner circle—where every woman had the chance to dance with nearly every man.
So Emma would be able to dance with her love after all, and no one would suspect a thing.
Without another word, Mr. Cuff barreled through the crowds with Livvy and stood in the growing circle of couples.
Livvy stood beside him, grinning. Mr. Cuff didn’t notice, though. He was too busy staring at Emma, who had caught onto their plan, as well, and was now watching Mr. Cuff with veritable love hearts in her eyes.
And for the first time that night, with August or not, Livvy was elated.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“...for hope is always born at the same time as love...”
Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes
As the Oslo Waltz ended and a different dance was announced, August stood on the outskirts of the assembly, watching as Mr. Blisland approached Livvy with the Master of Ceremonies. Mr. Blisland bowed, then extended his hand to Livvy, a clear sign that he’d just asked her to dance. Livvy, just as she had all evening, accepted the man’s offered hand and followed him with a smile to the dance floor.
For what seemed the hundredth time that evening, August ensured she arrived on the dance floor happily, then he turned away, unable—and unwilling—to watch yet another man dance with the woman he loved.
He shifted his footing to stand farther away from the assembly room, positioning himself down a darkened corridor of the inn, where he would not be spotted and subsequently judged for not dancing that evening. He knew it was his duty, as there were more women than men in attendance that night, but he didn’t have the heart.
He leaned his head back against the outer wall, staring into the darkness as the cheerful music from within the dance hall mocked his dampened mood.
He’d already delivered more than a dozen men from off the Mount to dance with Livvy, apart from the last when she’d danced with Nicholas.
Certainly, that would appease Mr. May’s unsatiable appetite. Certainly, that meant that August could now leave for home so ye could finally end this crushing night.
“There ye be, August.”
August pulled his head away from the wall, though his shoulders still leaned against it as Nicholas approached. “Evenin’, Nicholas.”
“What ye be doin’ in ’ere?”
August shrugged. “I do feel a bit rundown tonight. I might leave for ’ome.”
“Without dancin’ with your sweet’eart?”
He rubbed at his chest, the stabbing pain in his heart unceasing. “I ’ave no sweet’eart.”
Nicholas fell silent. August knew what he was thinking, but he couldn’t have the conversation again.
