Page 21 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“You’re never too old for a ball, Octavia. What do you think, Lavinia?” the dowager asked.
Had Lavinia been thinking properly, she might have feigned her delight in balls and dancing. But instead, she shook her head, shuddering at the thought of a repetition of what she had previously endured.
“No, I don’t like them at all,” she said, and her mother looked at her askance.
“You liked the last one we went to,” she said, her tone indignant, as though the snub was directing at her personally.
“No, I didn’t, mother. I didn’t enjoy it. I just kept stepping on people’s feet,” Lavinia replied, and her mother rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Lavinia,” her mother replied, but the dowager interrupted.
“Well, if that’s the case, you just need to learn how to dance, Lavinia. Anyone can learn to dance,” she said, even as Lavinia looked skeptical.
She had felt so inadequate compared to the other women at the balls, whose whole lives had been directed to precisely that activity. Women of Lavinia’s newly realized rank and class were taught to dance and comport themselves from an early age.
They learned how to move gracefully, and most importantly, not to step on their partner’s feet. Lavinia had not learned such things as a child, though it seemed her mother could well have taught her, should she had desired to do so.
“But… aren’t I a little old to learn?” she asked, and the dowager laughed.
“Too old? No, you’re never too old to learn to dance, Lavinia. We’ll show you, won’t we, Octavia? It’ll be fun. We can have the servants roll back the carpet in the drawing room for us. I’ll play the pianoforte, and the two of you can be partners,” she said.
Lavinia’s mother nodded, and it seemed she approved of the plan, even as Lavinia remained skeptical. It was not that she did not want to learn to dance, rather she did not want to make afool of herself again, particularly given the prospect of Archie chancing on them at any moment.
“What a good idea. Hurry now, Lavinia. Finish your breakfast. You’ll be the belle of the ball before you know it,” Lavinia’s mother said, beaming at her across the breakfast table.
Chapter 8
Lavinia watched as two of the footmen rolled back the carpet in the drawing room. A cloud of dust rose into the air, causing the two young men to cough and splutter.
“There, now, the perfect place to dance,” the dowager said, directing the two unfortunate footmen to bring in a pianoforte from the morning room, before crossing to the window and opening it to let in the fresh morning air.
Lavinia had hoped to spend the day in her own company, walking in the gardens or reading a book. She had also hoped for a chance encounter with the baron, whose behavior intrigued her. She did not want to spy on him, but should they happen to meet…
“Will you play, Horatia?” Lavinia’s mother asked, but the dowager shook her head.
“No, Octavia. You’ll play, I’ll direct. Now, come and stand with me, Lavinia,” she commanded, beckoning Lavinia forward.
If Lavinia had felt unable to dance at an actual ball, the thought of doing so now filled her with dread. There was nothing to distract from the fact of her two left feet, and she blushed, stepping forward, as the dowager held out her arms. The footmen now appeared with the pianoforte, sweating profuselyas they set it down by the window, breathless from their exertions.
“What shall I play?The venerable rose garden?The babbling brook?The march of the kittens?” Lavinia’s mother said, and Lavinia had to hide her amusement at the list of ridiculous sounding tunes, all of which Horatia dismissed with a wave of her hand.
“No, we need something better than that to begin with. Do you rememberMy Heart is like the winnowed chaff?” she asked, and Lavinia’s mother nodded.
“Oh, yes, it’s one of my favorites. One, two, three…” she said, sitting down at the pianoforte on a stool hastily placed there by one of the footmen and began to play.
The instrument took some moments to come to life, the movement of its parts not keeping pace with Lavinia’s mother’s evident enthusiasm. The dowager took hold of Lavinia’s right hand and slipped her left hand around Lavinia’s waist.
“Now, you have to imagine yourself at a grand ball. Think of me as… an ambassador, or an Austrian count… oh, the winter balls in Vienna,” she said, a sudden wistful look coming over her face.
“Oh, silly me, the keys were sticking,” Lavinia’s mother exclaimed, and she banged hard on the lid of the instrument, causing it to jolt to one side.
The two footmen exchanged nervous glances, but it seemed the instrument would now perform as expected, and Lavinia’s mother ran her hand over the keys, counting to three as the dowager drew Lavinia into her embrace.
“Move with the music, step back and front, back and front, back and front,” Horatia said, pushing Lavinia backward, then dragging her forward.
Lavinia had no choice but to follow the dowager’s lead, and she stepped back and forth, hardly in control of her own movements as Horatia continued shouting instructions.
“And a one, and a two, and a three—The march of the kittens,”Lavinia’s mother cried out, and the music suddenly changed.
