Page 37 of Bookshop Cinderella

“We had dance classes, of course, but...” She paused, and she was silent so long, he thought she wouldn’t finish. “None of the other girls wanted to practice with me,” she said at last. “I was an outsider, you see. An interloper, not their sort. And my dancing ability gave them plenty of ammunition to prove their point. They’d jeer and laugh, and the more...”

She paused again, but he knew what she hadn’t said.

“The more they laughed, the worse you got,” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

“And your tutor didn’t intervene?”

“No. She didn’t see the point. Girls like me...well...why should we need to dance well?”

Max sucked in a breath. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do.” Her voice was hard, uncompromising. “I went to finishing school because my cousin wanted me to go with her. She didn’t want to go alone. Soher stepfather asked my father to let me go with her. He even offered to pay all my expenses. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Your Grace?”

He grimaced, but he did not reply, and his silence seemed to goad her on.

“My father didn’t want to agree, but I persuaded him. I wanted to go. What girl wouldn’t want the chance for a better education, a wider circle of friends and acquaintances, a chance to improve her station in life? Little did I know that daring to—How did you put it?—peek outside my nest was an unforgivable presumption, one that earned me nothing but contempt and ridicule.”

The gold lights in her eyes seemed to glitter, proud, defiant, daring him to laugh, too.

His mind flashed back to a house party at Westbourne House—a lifetime ago, and yet, he could recall every moment of the four-day ordeal as if it were yesterday. The awkward introductions of Rebecca to the county families, the awkward silences at dinner, the frozen faces of the guests trying to hide their scorn, Rebecca sensing it and already looking to crumple, his own eyes in the mirror over the fireplace, filled with the same proud defiance he saw in Evie Harlow’s eyes now.

He felt anger roll over him like a thick, smothering wave, anger at the breathtaking cruelty people could display, cruelty that had driven Rebecca to a despair he couldn’t resolve. Anger at the absurd, stultifying class differences that had smothered his late wife, class differences that even he, a duke, had been unable to break for her.

To him, this bet had started as a lark, a game; but now, as he looked into Evie Harlow’s eyes, he realized that this was not a game—for either of them.

He took a breath and forced himself to ask the obvious question. “Do you want to back out? If so, I understand.”

“I’m not sure you understand at all,” she countered with a shaky laugh. “I can’t imagine you ever being the subject of ridicule.”

“Can’t you?” No one had dared such a thing during that first house party so long ago, that was true. No, his humiliation had come later, after Rebecca had run home to New York, leaving him amidst the pieces of the wreckage and feeling like an utter fool for daring to kick against the pricks. He gave a short laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

A perplexed frown rippled her forehead, but thankfully, she didn’t pursue the subject. “The point is,” she said instead, “I stopped going to those school dances, and I was allowed to stop attending dance classes. I gave up dancing altogether. I haven’t done it since I was seventeen.”

He caught something in her voice, a nuance of what might have been sorrow, or regret.

“Tell me something,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “You initially rejected taking this on, and now, after what you’ve told me, I fully appreciate your reasons. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why did you change your mind?”

She stared at him, surprised by the question. “You know why. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could have gone to stay with your cousin,” he reminded. “So, why didn’t you?”

“You’ve met my cousin,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you can see why I thought a paid holiday at the Savoy was the better choice.”

Max didn’t reply for a long moment. Instead, he studied her face, remembering the elusive wistfulness he’d seen there as they’d talked about the upcoming party and the spark of interest in her eyes when he’d asked if she wouldn’t love to see Freddie eat humble pie, and the regret in her voice a moment ago over giving up dancing, and every instinct he possessed told him her flooded shop had less to do with her reasons than she wanted to admit.

“So,” he said at last, “if I told you that you could back out of the bet right now, keep the clothes, and still stay at the Savoy at my expense until your shop reopens, would you do it?”

“I—” She broke off, staring at him. “I couldn’t continue to take advantage of your hospitality in such a way. It would be wrong.”

“A very moral stance that allows you to neatly sidestep my question.”

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I asked you the other day if you would like the chance to prove Freddie and his friends were wrong about you, and I’m going to ask you again. Do you still want that chance?”

“For heaven’s sake!” she cried and stood up so abruptly that her chair tipped over and hit the floor behind her. “What does it matter? I’ve already told you we’re doomed to lose.”

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