Page 47 of The Proposition
“Alors, Ifancy a dance,” Delphine stated, standing. Ralston hurried to accompany her, but it was Miss Paisley who reached her first, taking Delphine nimbly by the tips of her gloved fingers and leading her away to the space before the stage.
“Del— Miss Violet,” Audric grunted, standing. “Mind your condition. The doctor advised—”
“I will not overexert myself,” Delphine promised with a wave.
Clemency felt strange sitting there while everyone else stood and fussed over Delphine. Staring after the two ladies, Mr. Ferrand’s face had turned an alarming shade of purple, his green eyes wide and apoplectic. His concern was moving, if a bit exaggerated, and Clemency found herself reaching out to touch his sleeve. As soon as she had, Audric roused himself as if from a dream, staring dumbly at the place where her hand touched him.
Before she could regret the gesture, he had taken her hand in his, cradling it gently in his palm.
“Damnation. We have no choice but to join them.”
Clemency chuckled. “No choice? Does God himself compel us, sir?”
“If she is overtaken with fatigue I should rather be near to intervene,” Audric said, leading her away from the table without further questioning or consultation. “She would insist upon strength she does not possess.”
Whatever her opinions of Delphine, and they were generally high, Clemency did not pretend to know the extent of her ailments. She did sometimes appear frail and sickly, but now with Miss Paisley she gave an animated performance. The two women held hands and circled, weaving between invisible couples.
“Do you know the steps?” Audric asked, releasing her hand and taking up a place across from her.
“I do,” replied Clemency with a sigh. “Even in little, provincial Round Orchard we have dances, sir. You attended one.”
“Of course. A silly question.”
“Do try to have fun,” she teased as they came together and took hands again. He grasped her with a confidence that made her feel at ease, that suggested he did, in fact, know his place on the dance floor. His face was taut with concentration, brows low, lips tightly pursed.
“This excursion was a foolish idea,” he muttered.
“Yourfoolish idea,” she reminded him. “We can take our leave at any time, though if we leave now, while Miss Violet is enjoying herself, you may never hear the end of it.”
Audric smirked and shrugged one shoulder, back in his spot across from her, next to Miss Paisley, executing a few bars of elegant footwork before returning again to takeClemency’s hands. She tried not to glance away when they rejoined, but his gaze, boring down into her, felt at times too intimate to bravely tolerate. But she made the attempt, and let herself blush freely. The pink could be blamed on the exercise.
“And what about you, Miss Rose?” he asked, voice hushed now that they were close again, practically in each other’s arms. “Are you enjoying this?”
“As much as one can with an unwilling partner.”
“I am notunwilling,” Audric corrected in a huff, but he was grinning. “Besides, you have surprising grace, Miss Rose. I’m impressed, you are a more-than-adequate partner—on the dance floor and on the hunt.”
This was a concerted effort to rattle her, she could feel it, and it was nearly working. Nearly. Clemency raised her head a degree higher, skewering him with her eyes through the veil. “And you would prove a most adequate partner, but only with a less severe expression. This dance is an outpouring of joy, sir. Where is your joy?”
He had time to consider the question, and he did so across from her while the fiddle dipped and dived. A small audience gathered, clapping along and whooping, mostly praising the obvious glee with which Miss Paisley and Delphine attacked the steps. As the afternoon wore on, more folk gathered in the hall, and Clemency noted a few new faces entering from the foyer, lingering there, a gentleman in a pale blue waistcoat perusing the patrons with a fond smile.
They were nearly to the end of the tune, and Clemency wished she could tear her veil off, for it made the room very warm and the dance required a good degree of concentration and exertion, not to mention coordination and energy.The fiddler did not spare them either, racing on, part of the fun in seeing if the dancers could meet the pace, the audience clapping along, encouraging them to spin faster and faster.
Audric, crooked grin at the ready, approached her for the final hand-in-hand trot up and down the dance floor. Miss Paisley and Delphine were ahead of them, skirts flying with the speed of the steps.
“Where is my joy?” he asked softly, only loud enough for Clemency to hear. She did not mistake the small squeeze he gave her hands, his serious expression at last banished, replaced by something softer, and kind, perhaps thoughtful. “It appears my joy is here. With Ralston and Delphine…” His eyes settled on hers in the most peculiar way. He squinted, as if unsure of himself, and then began to say, “And with—”
“Mr. Ferrand!”
Delphine and Miss Paisley had stopped abruptly, the taller blond woman holding Delphine’s forearm as the girl breathed hard, gasping for air, both of her small, gloved hands pressed to her chest as she struggled. The fiddling died down, the audience mumbling in confusion, and then Delphine ducked to the side, reeling, before she lost her footing and swooned.
“Delphine!” Audric thundered, diving for her. He caught her before she could hit the floor, Ralston at his side an instant later, the two men supporting her as she wheezed.
Clemency watched as the girl tore at the veil on her face, revealing a shine of sweat and a horribly pale face.
“Miss Paisley!” Clemency heard herself say, finding her courage amid the panic. “Have our carriage brought around now, quickly, please.”
The crowd clustered nearer, but Clemency strode forward,warding them off while Audric gathered Delphine into his arms and helped her toward the foyer, past the man with the blue waistcoat, who looked on with his chin almost on the ground.
