Page 32 of Guilty Pleasures

Anthony felt as if he were negotiating the terms of a business venture. So he was, really. “Country dance is complicated, and a young lady of fashion needs to know many figures. I will give you dancing lessons each evening, teaching you the waltz, and the most common figures of country dance, if you stay until March first.”

“I will stay until December fifteenth.”

“Two weeks? That is not nearly enough to be a fair offer. I am not particularly fond of dancing, and two weeks is not worth my while. Twelve might be.”

She tapped the letter against her arm, studying him, and he could tell that her desire to make a good show in London was at war with her enmity for him, an enmity which he still found baffling, but which he was determined to rectify if it would persuade her to stay longer. He waited for her answer.

To his surprise, the fear of social failure was not enough to tempt her for long. She shook her head in refusal. “I will offer you three weeks. December twenty-first.”

“February first.”

“It hardly does me any good to take dancing lessons from you so that I may attend a ball, only to miss that ball because of the lessons. Three weeks.”

Anthony would take whatever he could get. “You are a hard bargainer, Miss Wade, but I will accede to your terms. December twenty-first, it is. We shall meet at eight o’clock tonight in the ballroom. I shall arrange for musicians and tell Mrs. Bennington.”

“Mrs. Bennington? Does she have to be there?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. “Why should she not be? She is your chaperone.”

“Only in the most general sense. It is not as if you and I have never been alone.” She gestured to her surroundings. “We are alone now.” She shifted her weight, glanced away, looked back at him again. “I would rather not have an audience.”

Anthony was becoming curious. Surely Miss Wade could not have some sort of romantic purpose in view. After all, she did not even like him. Now that he had seen her in the rain, he rather wished she did. But he set aside his baser nature and said, “You would still have an audience. We will need musicians.”

Her cheeks tinged pink. “I understand that musicians will be needed. That cannot be helped, I suppose. But Mrs. Bennington is a different matter.”

Anthony could not make this out at all. In the face of his obvious bewilderment, she went on, “It is just that whatever I undertake, I seek to do it as well as possible.”

Anthony knew her work was usually flawless, and he understood at once what she meant. “What you are saying is that you do not wish to do anything in front of people unless you can do it faultlessly?”

“Well... yes.”

“Miss Wade, you are far too severe upon yourself. No one can do every single thing without flaw.”

“Yes, I know, but...” She paused, bit her lip and looked away. After a moment, she drew a deep breath, and let it out on a sigh. “The truth is, I have a horrible fear of being laughed at,” she confessed in a small voice, returning her gaze to his. “Until I become at least somewhat proficient at dancing, I should prefer not to have an audience.”

Anthony looked at her—the smoothness of her countenance that never gave anything away, the discretion in her that never revealed a secret, this need to do things perfectly. He felt another flash of anger. What sort of upbringing had she had, that she should reach the age of four and twenty without any ability to like herself and laugh at her foibles? He could almost understand Sir Henry taking her out into the wilds of Africa because of his work, but not the emotional neglect such a life had inflicted on her. The more he learned about her, the more tarnished Anthony’s respect for her father became. “I will see you make mistakes,” he pointed out, his voice gentle.

“That is different. I do not care what you think.”

He gave a shout of laughter. “Now that I can well believe. Very well, Miss Wade, we shall keep your lessons to ourselves. There are plenty of places in a house this size where a duke, his pupil, and a quartet of violinists can hide. I will find one.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, and moved as if to walk past him and depart, but Anthony spoke again, bringing her to a halt. “In addition to dancing, could I tempt you to stay longer with lessons in etiquette?”

“No, thank you.” She took two steps sideways, then walked past him.

He turned, his gaze following her. “Why not?”

Daphne paused and looked at him over one shoulder. “I have already found four books on matters of etiquette in your library.”

Anthony laughed, watching as she walked out of the room. He was beginning to enjoy this battle with Miss Wade. He had lost on his attempt to buy more time with lessons in etiquette, but if he paid close attention, other opportunities would present themselves. If he kept his wits about him, his museum just might be opened on schedule after all.

Chapter 12

After dinner that evening, while she was working in the library, a footman came in search of her. “Miss Wade?” he asked from the doorway.

Daphne looked up from the Romano-British tablet she was translating. “Yes, Oldham?”

“His grace sent me for you.”

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