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“With anyone who is kind enough to ask me,” she said firmly, eyes sparkling, and a delicate flush infusing her cheeks.
It was the work of a moment to obtain Lady Pinner’s surprised agreement to the suggestion.
“We are to go third,” Will said, as he returned to Miss Whittleton’s side. “The heir and his betrothed first, then the younger son with Rosie and then us.”
“Rosie?”she said, in astonished tones. “Miss Fletcher? And she has agreed?” He nodded, and she went on quickly, “But can she do it? The minuet is not an easy dance. It is the epitome of the aristocratic dance, courtly and stately and difficult to do well.”
“Rosie is an excellent dancer, and we have all been working with an expert dancing master. Do you think she should have refused? I was surprised by the suggestion, but Stepmother seems to think it a good thing.”
“So it is, if your sister can manage it, but it is not enough merely to know the steps and the figures. It is not like a country dance, where one is part of a large set and a small mistake passes unnoticed. The minuet is performed by one couple alone, under the critical eyes of the entire company. There are perhaps a hundred people here, and every mistake, no matter how tiny, will be observed and remembered. Her performance will be whispered all over town. She is such a shy little creature.Youhave the confidence to carry it off, but does she?”
For the first time, Will saw the precipice to which Lady Pinner had brought them all. She had pushed Rosie into performing the challenging minuet hoping she would fail. Everyone would laugh at her, and all the family’s hopes of advancement in society would be as naught. And no matter how much Will tried to convince himself that Rosie would dance perfectly, worry still gnawed at him.
“I wonder why she suggested it?” he mused, half to himself.
“An interesting question,” she said. “The first minuet is about to begin. You had better find yourself a hat, Mr Fletcher.”
“Oh, the wretched hat! I shall retrieve mychapeau brasat once.”
The musicians finished warming up, and a hush fell over the room, before the butler announced, “Miss Dorrell and the Right Honourable Viscount Tetsworth will dance the minuet.”
The music struck up and the two walked into the centre of the floor, the gentleman stern-faced, the lady terrified. Will wondered if they had ever performed a minuet in public before, since it was so uncommon now. He himself had rarely seen it danced, even in the north which was somewhat behind the times. The two bowed, the viscount having to cram his hat back onto his head anyhow to take his first steps, for the music would not wait. And then the dance was under way.
It was not bad, Will had to admit. The gentleman was a little careless with his footwork, the lady a little uncertain altogether, but then she could not have been above seventeen, very young for such a public spectacle. Will found himself listening to Monsieur Bouchard’s dreadful French accent in his head -‘Up on ze toes, m’sieur… and down… ze arms, m’sieur! Remember ze arms. Up, up on ze toes… now bend ze knees… ze hands! Like so. Up on ze toes…’It was clear that Miss Dorrell and Lord Tetsworth had not had Monsieur’s expert tuition. However, they got through it, to polite applause.
“The usual figures,” Miss Whittleton said. “You are familiar with this version, Mr Fletcher?”
“It is how I have been taught.”
“You realize that the performance of the minuets may very well be reported in the newspapers, along with the list of attendees? The reports are not always kind.”
“I am not afraid,” he said, smiling at her. “You will give me courage, Miss Wimbledon.”
She chuckled, but said, “You are very brave, sir.”
The musicians readied themselves again.
“Miss Fletcher and Mr Lindsay Greaves,” intoned the butler.
As Rosie walked out to her place, back ramrod straight, head held high, arms held exactly so, Will felt a rush of affection for his sister. She was not cowed by the ceremony or the many eyes turned her way, for she was no girl straight from the schoolroom, as the hapless Miss Dorrell appeared to be. Rosie had been a shining light of northern society for six or seven years now, had opened any number of balls and danced with everyone of consequence in the three Ridings. Her epithet the Star of the North had not been given for nothing.
The music started, the couple made their bow and curtsy, and the dance began.
“Oh… beautiful!” murmured Miss Whittleton into Will’s ear.
Will smirked in satisfaction.
Almost at once a disturbance could be heard not far from Rosie, but behind her back. Lady Frederica and Lady Plummer were whispering together, with bursts of raucous laughter. For a moment, Will’s breath caught in his throat — if Rosie should be distracted! But she was not, sailing serenely on through the movements.
He relaxed, and he heard Miss Whittleton exhale slowly beside him. “She is very good,” she admitted. “How is it that she is so shy as a rule, yet she can perform the minuet with such aplomb?”
“She has always enjoyed dancing,” Will said. “It is conversation that she finds difficult.”
“Ah. And one does not need to talk during the minuet.”
“Precisely.”
As Rosie and her partner made their final bow and curtsy, unruffled by the behaviour of some of the audience, there was a burst of enthusiastic applause, and one fat elderly gentleman banged his cane on the floor and shouted, “Bravo, Miss Fletcher! Bravo! Well danced!”
