Page 61 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Long live the rose.”
“Not a very cheery song,” Miss Roskilly observed. “Why did you request it?”
“I thought Mr. Lucas would enjoy it.”
Miss Roskilly glanced in his direction. “It does not appear that way.”
Laura looked over as well, and was stunned to see tears in Alexander’s eyes and his jaw clenched.
François smirked and crossed his arms. “Ah well.”
It took all of Alexander’s self-possession not to leap across the seat back and knock François to the floor. How dare he request that song, knowing the words would stab his heart and his pride? Alex knew what the man was doing. Goading him with the knowledge that his love for Enora had not been returned. The gender of the lyrics might be reversed, but the meaning was perfectly clear.
And then to give the knife a final twist, the woman sang, “‘They say that she is sick. Perhaps she will die.’” Enora had died, after bearing another man’s child.Long live the rose, indeed.
Soon the concert ended, followed by hearty applause. Alexander did not join in.
Laura leaned near and whispered, “Are you all right?”
He forced a dishonest nod.
“Did that song mean something to you? Monsieur LaRoche said he chose it for you.”
“LaRoche enjoys baiting me.” He turned to her, his cold, bitter heart melting as he looked into Miss Callaway’s face. “But I promised to be on my best behavior, remember?” He managed a small smile. Oh, but it was costing him.
“You are being the perfect gentleman, and I appreciate it.” She touched his arm. “Miss Roskilly would as well, if she knew.”
He relished the warm pressure of Laura’s hand on his sleeve. Too fleeting. “If you are pleased, that is enough for me.”
The servants moved aside the chairs and rolled up the carpet for those who wished to dance. A hired musician sat down at the pianoforte and arranged sheets of music. Meanwhile, Treeve came over and stood beside Laura, asking how she had liked the music and if it measured up to her Town tastes. She assured him it had.
Eagerly moving to the center of the room, Miss Roskilly called for a country dance, the Rakes of Rochester. Thinking of François LaRoche, Laura thought,A rake to be sure.
She looked around but did not see the Frenchman anywhere. Miss Roskilly too seemed to search the room in vain. Laura wondered where he had disappeared to—he who had blustered that he would not miss his chance to dance with all thebelles femmes. So where was he?
Looking self-conscious, Miss Roskilly turned to find Treeve. Seeing him talking with Laura, she asked Perry to lead the dance with her instead.
Perry agreed, all politeness, though he was clearly ill at ease with so many eyes upon them. He and Kayna stood facing one another at the top of the set, while other couples joined them, forming groups of six.
Treeve, receiving a pointed nudge from Mrs. Bray, asked Eseld to dance. Eseld blushed and tried not to look as pleased as she clearly felt. Even Uncle Matthew participated, asking his wife to dance. Mrs. Bray accepted with a girlish smile.
As Laura stood there awkward and alone, Alexander pushed himself off the wall, limped forward, and bowed to her. “May I have this dance?”
“Yes, if you feel equal to it.”
“To dance with you, Miss Callaway, I would endure far more than a sore ankle.”
The musician played the introduction, and the dance began.
The first man turned the second lady with one hand, then his partner with the other. Then the first lady performed the same sequence.
After this, Perry and Miss Roskilly held hands and skipped down the line, and back up, before casting to second place.
The couples danced four changes of left and right hands in a circle, then they all repeated the figures from their new positions.
Perry danced methodically and stiffly, clearly concentrating on the steps. Treeve danced with effortless skill, grinning at Laura whenever he caught her eye.
Mrs. Bray too moved gracefully, and it was easy for Laura to imagine her the lithe young woman she had once been.
