Page 22 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
Lavinia had never seen her mother in such a state of excitement, as though she were rediscovering the joys of her youth.
“And step to the right, and step to the left, one, two, one, two,” the dowager said.
Lavinia did not know which way was left, and which way was right. She stepped forward, treading on the dowager’s toes as she did so.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed as Horatia grimaced.
“A casualty of war. It’s quite all right,” she said, even as her eyes began to water.
Lavinia felt embarrassed. She would never learn how to dance and pushing her around a drawing room to the grating sounds ofThe march of the kittenswas hardly going to teach her. She wanted only to avoid such occasions in the future, not seek them out.
“I don’t think I’m very good at this,” Lavinia said, as Horatia moved her to the right, then to the left, counting in time to the music.
“Nonsense, you’re doing marvelously, Lavinia. One, two, one, two,” she said, and Lavinia stepped one, two, one, two, to the right, then to the left.
Again, she trod on the dowager’s toes, causing Horatia to grimace, forcing a smile to her face even as she did so.
“I’m sorry,” Lavinia said, feeling terribly embarrassed.
“It’s quite all right, Lavinia. It’s quite all right,” the dowager replied.
As they twirled and whirled together—the music now changing to a waltz calledThe frozen Danube—Lavinia wondered what Archie would think if he saw her now. It was embarrassing, and try as she might, Lavinia simply could not get the hang of it. She imagined herself at a grand ball, and the baron offering her his hand…
“I really can’t do this,” Lavinia said, and now, as she stepped back, her feet slipped from under her, and she fell, pulling the dowager down with her.
“No harm done, no harm done,” Horatia exclaimed, as the two of them lay breathless on the floor, surrounded by a mass of folds and petticoats.
Lavinia breathed a deep sigh, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She would never be a dancer…
***
“Ave Maria, gratia plena…” Archie whispered, running the rosary beads through his fingers.
They had belonged to his sister, and he had taken them for himself as a token of remembrance on the day of her death. He kept them in his pocket and used them to pray with on his walks to and from the churchyard. It was early morning, and the grassaround the graves was still covered with dew. Archie liked to walk there early in the mornings. Some days, he would make the walk three or four times. He hated to leave her, even as it painful to visit.
“Dear Gwendolene, how I miss you,”he spoke softly, to himself, kneeling down in the long grass and reaching out to trace the fading letters on his sister’s stone.
Moss and lichen were growing there, the passage of time attempting to slowly erode her from memory. But not for Archie. He had made a vow never to forget his sister, and in visiting her each day, he kept her memory alive. For a few moments, he bowed his head in silent prayer, his thoughts drifting to happy times they had shared, when life had seemed to stretch endlessly ahead.
Those had been carefree days, when nothing else seemed to matter but the joy of companionship. A tear rolled down his cheek, and taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet, tucking the rosary beads into his pocket. They were made of pearl, a gift from their mother, brought back from Rome on her own grand tour. Archie found it a comfort to hold them, and to pray with them.
“Don’t look for the living among the dead,”he reminded himself, knowing it was not good to linger too long amid the graves.
His sister would not have wanted him to live like this. He knew that, but try as he might, he could not so easily move on. The thought of neglecting her memory, of forgetting her…
But I won’t ever forget her.
Making the sign of the cross he turned away from the grave to look back across the churchyard, in the direction of Sarum Lacy House.
It was a beautiful morning, bright, and with the promise of warmth in the air. It should have been a day for happiness, but Archie could not feel happy. Not anymore. He walked slowly across the churchyard to the gate leading to the path through the woods back to the house. His footsteps were deliberately slow and ponderous.
He liked to be alone and could spend hours wandering the paths of the estate, lost in his own thoughts. But of late, one thought in particular had been troubling him.
“She shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t natural,”he whispered aloud, glancing back towards his sister’s grave.
The more Archie considered the events surrounding Gwendolene’s death, the more he was convinced it was no tragedy or act of God. Something untoward had happened, andit made him shudder to think of it. He was convinced someone else was responsible for his sister’s death, even as he had nothing to prove his suspicions.
At first, Archie had wondered if it was not he who was deluded—desperate to discover some reason for the loss of his sister, even as it was not so uncommon for fever to strike down even the healthiest of young people. But this was different. Gwendolene’s death was different. She had been so full of life, and then…
