The Perfect Waltz (23 page)

He made no move to take it, saying quietly in a voice that broke her heart, “I think Dorie would prefer it if you showed her how to fix the muffin onto the toasting fork, Miss Hope.”

At his words, Grace laughed. “Hope is the worst muffin toaster, Mr. Reyne!” Grace told him. “Didn’t you hear what she said? Her muffins always fall into the fire.”

Hope shrugged and said in a light voice. “Yes, I am shockingly inept.” She turned back to Dorie. “So I think it had best be your brother who shows you how to toast a muffin, not me. You are very lucky to have a big brother to show you things. We Merridew girls always wanted a brother. And I think you and Cassie have one of the best.”

Dorie considered her words, then solemnly handed the fork to Sebastian. He accepted it gravely and squatted down beside her, showing her how to thread the muffin securely onto the tines of the fork, explaining his moves in a deep, soft rumble. The small girl watched earnestly, and together, man and child toasted the muffin, first one side, then the other. And when it was done, they carried it to the table together, all golden and toasty—the most important muffin in the world.

Hope had no idea why the sight should make her eyes shimmer with tears, but it did.

Dorie slathered the muffin with butter and honey, hesitated a moment, and cut it in half. Then she passed the big half to Sebastian.

Acceptance.

Melted butter and honey dripped all down his immaculate, expensive trousers, but Sebastian Reyne did not turn a hair. He took his dripping half muffin as if she had handed him the Holy Grail.

Dorie, seemingly unaware of the significance of her gesture, ate hers with relish, carefully licking the honey off her fingers afterward.

After a moment, Sebastian ate his muffin slowly, almost reverently.

And if Hope’s eyes were swimming, nobody noticed.

LORD BYRON

 
 
 
 
 
DROPS OF WATER HUNG FROM THE BRANCHES AND LEAVES, QUIVERING in the pale morning light, sparkling like crystals. The air in the park smelled moist and earthy, clean and fresh, as if Sebastian were out in the countryside, not in the heart of London. He inhaled deeply; it was like breathing chilled nectar. His horse was feeling his oats, and since there was no one at all about, Sebastian urged it into an easy canter. Its hooves thudded softly on the rain-dampened ground.

He’d missed this. He liked his regular morning ride. Apart from the beneficial physical exercise, it was a time when he could be alone with his thoughts, when his body could ride hard and disciplined until the blood pounded in his veins, while his mind soared, unfettered. His best ideas often came to him at this time.

But lately he’d avoided the dawn ride. He knew the cause: Miss Hope Merridew. Part of him feared he would meet her, and part of him longed for it. Duty versus desire . . . Yesterday’s incident in the Merridews’ upstairs parlor had shaken his resolve badly.

He’d been convinced that what his sisters needed was routine, order, a systematic approach. Embodied in the person and beliefs of Lady Elinore Whitelaw. And yet haphazard and unstructured acquaintance with the Merridew girls had produced extraordinary results.

Dorie had actually leaned against him in the carriage on the way home. He’d hardly breathed.

And slowly, surely, his little mute sister was putting on weight. He was sure of it. She seemed no longer so frail, as if a puff of wind would sweep her away. Those frequent morning excursions to Green Park with the Merridews had a lot to do with it. Starting the day with good fresh milk and exercise. And kindness.

He frowned. It was some time since the servants had reported the stealing of food. He must check.

A faint breeze stirred the branches, sending down a patter of raindrops from the new spring leaves. He breathed deeply. His spirits rose, and he half closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the harmony of horse and man and earth and air.

“Race you to the big oak on the western border!” He caught a smile, a laugh, a flash of blue before Miss Hope Merridew passed him in a blur. This morning she was in a blue habit, and a hat with a saucy blue plume curling over the brim. At least she was the right way up on the horse for a change.

Sebastian set off in instinctive pursuit. She had the advantage of him at the start, but his horse was bigger, faster, and more powerful. He slowly gained on her. From time to time she glanced back, grinned, and urged her horse to go faster. Damp earth spattered in his face. He bent over his horse’s neck and urged it faster, faster. His blood thundered along with the hoofbeats.

Eventually they were riding neck and neck. “Morning, Miss Merridew,” he called in a mocking voice. “So sorry to have to overtake you.”

She laughed. “Try if you can!”

“Oh, I can. Ungentlemanly, I know, but then—” He bent even lower over his horse, more like a jockey than a gentleman. “I’m no gentleman!” And he shot past her, drawing up at the oak tree a good fifteen seconds before her.

She arrived, laughing. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, breathlessly. “I detest it when a gentleman lets me win.”

He was surprised. “Don’t you like winning?”

“Of course. But it’s not winning when someone allows you to beat them. It takes all the fun out of it. I’d rather be beaten fair and square in a rattling good race than win by a fit of gentlemanly gallantry!” Her cheeks were flushed, her hat was crooked, her hair was everywhere, she was puffing, and Sebastian had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

She took off her hat, shook back her hair, and replaced the hat. “A splendid run!”

With an effort, Sebastian dragged his body back under control, forcing himself to say mildly, “Yes. Though I suspect we are not supposed to gallop.”

She laughed again. “Ah, but there is nobody about to see.”

That reminded him. He looked back the way they had come. Yes, James, the footman-groom, was doggedly following.

She saw the direction of his gaze and gave another gurgle of laughter. “Poor James, he’s got the biggest slug in creation again. He mortally offended the stableboy a few weeks ago, and now he’s always given the worst mount available.” She dimpled and added demurely, “I always seem to get the best.”

Sebastian had no trouble believing it.

She took a deep breath. “Doesn’t it smell lovely, so fresh and clean after the rain?”

“Yes. Shall we ride back toward your groom?” Sebastian had the vague idea that the groom’s presence might save him from doing something he ought to regret.

She shook her head decidedly, making the plume curling over her hat brim dance against her cheek. “No, James will catch up eventually. Let us ride over in that direction, toward the lake. I’d like to see if any more ducklings have hatched. Yesterday we saw three of the sweetest little brown and yellow fuzz balls. If there are more, I thought we might bring your sisters here this morning, instead of Green Park. New-hatched ducklings are such a delight to watch.”

Sebastian was unused to such casual kindness. His sisters were—or should be—nothing to her. No relation. He’d told her to her face he was courting Lady Elinore. Gratuitous cruelty he was accustomed to, was equipped to handle. Gratuitous kindness was something new.

They walked their horses in the direction of the pond. The morning sun was well up, warming and stirring the earthy damp fragrances. In the distance the city began to stir. After a time he became aware that they’d been riding in silence. He glanced at her. Her face was serene.

“I’m glad to see you’re riding the right way up this time.”

She gave him a droll look. “Is that meant to be provocative?”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “I’m relieved, that’s all. It’s devilish difficult to hold a conversation with someone when they’re bouncing along upside down on a horse.”

She gave him an odd look. “Oh, is that the problem?” She said and then started to giggle. “Forgive me,” she gasped. “But your statement struck me as very funny.”

He gave her an inquiring look, waiting for her to explain.

She changed the subject. “I am looking forward to visiting the orphan asylum—the Tothill Fields Institution. Lady Elinore invited my sister and me. Did you know?”

“Yes. She told me,” he said dampeningly. “Now, would you care to tell me what threw you into the whoops just now?”

With a praiseworthy attempt at a straight face she said, “You’re not precisely famed for your conversational skills at the best of times.”

Sebastian frowned, puzzled.

Her eyes danced. “I was not upside down when we danced.”

She was teasing him! Mocking his taciturnity! No one ever teased him! He rather liked it. He kept his face stern, so she would not realize.

She grinned. “Oh, good. You’re not offended.”

He abandoned the effort to look severe. “Why did you decide to become a female daredevil, anyway?”

“It was a burning ambition that arose from my first-ever visit to Astley’s Amphitheatre, almost two years ago. My brother-in-law took us, and we were all utterly thrilled by the female equestriennes. I instantly wanted to run off and join them.”

“What prevented you?”

“Oh, events overtook me. We all had to leave London suddenly. A . . . a family emergency.” She was silent for a moment. “But I never lost the impetus to try some of their riding exploits. I’d always loved to ride, you see.”

“It shows. You’re a splendid rider. But the tricks you perform are extremely dangerous. Why risk your neck?”

“I grew up feeling hedged and bound and enclosed . . .” She shivered. “So I like doing things I’m not supposed to do. It gives me a sense of freedom. And it’s not as risky as you might suppose. The extra straps James had attached to my saddle are very ingenious. And there is nothing,
nothing!
like the thrill of success I feel when I pick something up off the ground. I’m not such a Clumsy Clara then!”

“A Clumsy Clara?”

She pulled a self-deprecating face. “In many ordinary things I am shockingly inept.”

She had said as much the previous evening. He’d thought it an excuse to get him to help Dorie toast the muffin. “You don’t seem the slightest bit clumsy or inept to me.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you, but I assure you, I am. In everything except riding. Or dancing. I only learned to dance recently, for my grandfather forbade music and dancing. But he was a bruising rider to hounds, so he ensured that we all learned to ride.”

“Did you ride to hounds, then?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Heavens, no! Females at the hunt? The world would come to an end! But for some reason, he did insist we ride, and ride well. But it annoyed him to no end that I, being incompetent in all else, seemed born to ride horses. Which naturally inspired me to be better.”

“Whatever the cause, you are the best horsewoman I’ve ever seen,” said Sebastian, thinking he sounded like a ton gallant, even though he meant every word.

She laughed unaffectedly. “It’s clear you have never been to Astley’s. But since riding is my sole accomplishment, I shall accept the compliment with thanks, sir.” She sketched a curtsy from horseback.

“Sole accomplishment? You are too modest, I’m sure.”

“I assure you it’s true. We were not at all well-educated, for my grandfather did not believe in educating females.” She wrinkled her nose ruefully. “I do not shine in any of the desirable feminine skills: my watercolors are atrocious, I play no instrument, my handwriting is shocking, and my embroidery is worse.” Before he could comment, she changed the subject. “Tell me, do your sisters ride?”

He shook his head. “So far they have refused even to consider the idea, though I suspect Cassie would like to.” He added wryly, “Cassie would rather burst than admit she wants anything.”

She gave him a teasing look. “Hmm, runs in the family, doesn’t it? And Dorie, does she show no interest?”

He was still pondering her first comment as he answered, “No, she is nervous of horses, and I don’t intend to force her.”

“Of course not. One must be tempted into doing the things one fears, not forced. Would you like me to try to tempt the girls into taking lessons?”

He hesitated, liking the idea, but not wishing to be beholden to her any more than he already was.

She said, “It would be another way you could become close to them. Think of the pleasure of family outings on horseback. But do not decide now; think about it and let me know.” She put an end to the conversation by prompting her horse to trot.

There were no new ducklings, or if there were, they had not yet emerged from the nest, so a few moments later she took her leave, explaining she would be late for the visit to Green Park, otherwise. “Adieu, Mr. Reyne.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for the splendid race. And I did enjoy our talk, too.”

Sebastian leaned across and took her hand.

“The pleasure was all mine.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it.

And though it was just a glove and just a hand, he felt it, clear through to the bones.

 
Sebastian was at his desk writing letters when a cab pulled up outside his house. From it descended Miss Hope and his two sisters. They were early. There was no sign of the rest of the party. Miss Hope had her arm around Dorie, whose face he could not see. She was clinging to Hope. Cassie looked upset. Sebastian shot from the room.

He reached the entrance vestibule just as a footman opened the door for them.

“What’s the matter? Dorie? Are you all right?”

Dorie looked up from the shelter of Miss Hope’s arms. Her eyes were huge, and her little face was tear-streaked and distressed. She made not a sound.

Sebastian stared helplessly. “Did someone hurt you, sweeting?”