Page 23 of Death at the Dower House
I looked first for Christopher. But he had been appropriated by Laetitia Marsden, who had him in a tight grip for the one-step, and his back was to me. Francis was dancing with Constance, and had managed to maneuver her to the edge of the ‘dance floor,’ where the light was a little less bright, and where they were circling slowly, not even in time with the music. Francis’s lips were close to Constance’s ear. Gilbert hadn’t noticed yet, as he was too busy keeping an eye on Johanna, who was draped like a scarf around Crispin’s neck.
St George didn’t appear to be suffering, but he didn’t look as enthused as one might have presumed, either. Perhaps the incident with Lady Laetitia had reminded him that there were other fish in the sea, and that he wasn’t ready to settle down with just one woman yet. Or perhaps he was simply bored. I hadn’t been impressed with Johanna’s vocabulary any more than I was with Geoffrey Marsden’s, and although she was certainly nice to look at, there’s more to a romantic match than physical beauty.
At any rate, he looked over at me. He must have noticed the way I was squeezed into the corner of the sofa, and also the expression on my face—it was one he should be familiar with after years of seeing it directed at himself: I was ready to blow—and then he looked down and spied Marsden’s hand on my leg. His eyes narrowed, and I saw a muscle tighten in his jaw.
At that point the song was winding down anyway, so he was able to stop dancing and extricate himself from Johanna without giving offense. Or rather, he was able to stop dancing, but Johanna wasn’t willing to let go. She slipped her hand through his arm and clung, and he had no choice but to take her with him when he came towards me.
I don’t know what I expected. I certainly didn’t think he’d punch Marsden in the face. (Nor did he, which was probably a good thing, although I would have enjoyed it if he had.) I suppose I had expected some cross words, at least.
There were none of those, either. Instead, he simply stopped in front of me and put out a hand. “Would you care to dance, Darling?”
As far as getting me away from Marsden, it was brilliantly simple. I jumped to my feet, dislodging Marsden’s hand in the process, and put my glass on the table. “Please, St George.”
Johanna had to let go, of course, since she couldn’t very well dance with the two of us. But as she was there, and physically unattached to anyone now, Marsden saw his own chance for a moment in the sunlight, and pounced. “May I accompany you on the dance floor, Johanna?”
“Delighted,” Johanna said, sounding quite a lot less delighted than I would have expected, seeing as Marsden was a lord, too. Perhaps she preferred blonds, or perhaps the Sutherland fortune was bigger than the Marsden one. Or perhaps it was simpler than that: she had already tried to dance with Marsden, and he had stepped on her toes, as well.
At any rate, now I had to circle the floor with Crispin, which I hadn’t done in years.
We’d all learned together, at eleven and twelve, before I went off to Godolphin and Christopher and Crispin to Eton. Aunt Roz and Aunt Charlotte had had a teacher in, and because Francis and Robert had been through it earlier and were now off at Eton themselves, it was just the three of us. As a result, I’d had to dance with both boys, and got twice as much practice as either of them did.
By now, they’d both caught up, of course. Christopher had his drag balls—I’m not sure whether he led or followed there, although I assumed he followed, as he were the one in the gown—and Crispin’s Bright Young Set obviously liked to dance. And these weren’t the dances we’d been taught eleven years ago, either. Back then, it had been the waltz, and the one-step and two-step, and the foxtrot. Now, of course, there wasLe Jazz Hotand the Charleston, and Rudolph Valentino had even brought back the tango, which I sincerely hoped St George wouldn’t want to attempt.
But at least I probably didn’t have to worry about him stepping on my toes.
I put my hand in his, and my other hand on his upper arm, where I could feel the muscle flex through the fabric of his jacket and shirt. And when he put his other arm around my waist with the hand flat against my lower back, he made sure he didn’t hold me too close. It was surprisingly thoughtful of him, and to be honest, I was rather impressed that he had realized that after being pawed by Marsden, I might not appreciate someone else holding me tightly.
In fact, he even asked, “All right?” before setting us into motion.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure was mine.” The look he leveled on Marsden’s back indicated that he meant it. “Should I take Francis away from Miss Peckham to punch him in the nose?”
“What do you mean,” I asked facetiously, “take Francis? Won’t you punch Marsden in the nose yourself, St George, to uphold my honor?”
“I would if you asked me to.” He sounded sincere about it, too. Until he added, “Although I think Francis might hit harder. I thought that would be desirable.”
“Now that you mention it.”
We danced in silence for half a minute.
“No,” I said, “I shan’t need anyone to punch Marsden in the nose. If he’s getting punched, I’ll do it myself. I just didn’t want to cause a scene, or I would have done it already.”
Crispin smirked. It was even more annoying so close to my face. “There’s the Darling we all know and love.”
“Oh, sod off, St George,” I said. “Would you let him put his hand onyourknee without punching him?”
And then I added, “Oh, wait. You let Laetitia Marsden do worse than that earlier, didn’t you?”
That eyebrow lifted again, and so did the corner of his mouth. “Jealous, Darling?”
“Frightfully,” I said dryly. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a man, St George.”
“Right.” He flushed. “Anyway, it wasn’t like I could punch her, was it?”
Perhaps not. But— “You might have donesomething, instead of just standing there looking like you enjoyed it. Not that it’s any of my affair, of course. But this girl you claim to love might feel differently about it. Besides, you probablywereenjoying it. What’s not to enjoy, after all?”
I glanced around. By now Christopher had noticed that I was dancing with Crispin, and the expression on his face was one of cautious panic. I sent him a bright smile, but that only seemed to worry him more.
