A Christmas Dance Read online

  Her mind had remained utterly fixed on William, and that one spectacular kiss. At least, she assumed it was spectacular. Having never before kissed a gentleman, she couldn’t claim to be an expert on the matter, but it had certainly felt wonderful. It had left her light-hearted, light-headed, and decidedly over-warm.

  The only remaining portion of the party she could recall with any clarity was the few parting words she’d had with William, when he mentioned seeing her again at the Meldrins’ dinner the following night. Tonight, Patience thought with a sigh. She smiled around a mouthful of scone. Only a few more hours and then. . .

  And then what? Would he kiss her again? Would she let him? Probably, she shouldn’t let him.

  Probably, it mattered very little what she did.

  Scowling, she set down her scone. Whether she never let William kiss her again, or she let him kiss her at every opportunity, it changed nothing. She was still the daughter of a madman.

  At best, she had the remaining weeks of the Little Season to indulge in a bit of flirtation before going to the country with her father. At worst, William would offer for her. She nearly groaned at the idea. If he proposed, she’d have to tell him the truth about her father. He would no doubt retract his offer, likely become angry with her for the deception, and then she would go to the country with her father.

  Perhaps it would be best to avoid any further contact with him and save them both from future heartache. Then again, heartache appeared inevitable at this point, and every moment she spent with him was another memory to take with her when she left. Those memories were all she would have soon. How could she bear to give up even one?

  She decided she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Furthermore, she wasn’t going to merely allow William to kiss her at every opportunity, she was going to put a concerted effort into seeing that he did.

  * * *

  William made his way across the Meldrin’s crowded parlor in a manner he sincerely hoped looked casual, but was, in reality, a well planned route to Patience on the other side of the room. It was a slow process, requiring he do something he had no affinity for—meandering. He moved from one group of guests to the next, exchanging a few pleasantries and then strategically slipping away before he could be drawn into a conversation. He paused in front of the fire to warm hands that weren’t cold, and then paused again to accept a glass of spirits he had no interest in drinking.

  The ruse wasn’t necessary, really. He wasn’t doing anything untoward. But his sister had made a comment that morning on the amount of time he’d spent with Patience the night before, and he didn’t wish to make Patience the center of gossip, any more than he wanted to be the center himself.

  He’d made a point not to arrive until dinner was nearly served and he’d been equally careful not to glance too often in Patience’s direction during the meal. And now, Heaven help him, he was meandering.

  At last he reached a spot he felt was close enough for Patience to come to him without appearing bold. He stopped to peer at a small watercolor that looked as if it had been rendered with all the skill of a five-year-old, and none of the charm. Upon very close inspection he thought it was meant to be a mountain range, or perhaps a series of very pointed waves. Whatever it was, it was awful. He very much hoped Patience hadn’t had a hand in its creation, its purchase, or the decision to hang it in the parlor.

  He felt rather than saw Patience step up from behind him. “Dreadful, isn’t it?”

  He wanted to shift his feet. Insulting the Meldrin family’s taste in artwork was not how he imagined beginning their conversation. “Ahh. . .”

  “It was a gift from Caroline to her father when she was eight.” She pulled a face at the painting. “Mr. Meldrin insists on keeping it in the room.”

  “I see. He’s fond of it, then.”

  “Heavens, no--other than that it was a gift from his daughter. He says it’s a test of his guests’ tastes.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Difficult to know for certain. He also says it’s a test of good manners, depending on whether or not he likes his guest. I think he keeps it in here for the sole purpose of embarrassing Caroline.”

  He looked at the painting a moment longer. “That would certainly do it.”

  “The. . .uh. . .the Meldrins do have some very fine art in the house. I. . .” Her hands went to her waist briefly, before she tucked them behind her back. “I could give you a tour of those in the hall, if you like.”

  He stifled a startled grin. It was rather forward of her to offer. Not so forward as to be improper, as the hall was in full view of anyone who cared to step outside the parlor, but the area was separate enough from the other guests to make her suggestion just a little bit bold. . .and therefore all the more irresistible.

  “I should enjoy that.” Very much, he added silently.

  This time, they meandered through the room together. Avoiding stares and whispers wasn’t feasible, but a casual stroll toward the door was less likely to cause a stir than a brisk walk out of the room. And in the end, it was just as effective in getting Patience alone.

  Upon entering the hall, Patience gestured to a midsized watercolor he had absolutely no interest in. “Mrs. Meldrin purchased this piece in Rome. The artist is of no renown, but the colors are lovely.”

  He motioned farther down the hall. “What of that one?”

  “Which one?”

  “That one.” He walked away from the parlor doors and hid a smile when the sound of her footsteps followed. “The large one in the ornate frame.”

  Which he also had no interest in.

  They stopped in front of the frame. She peered at it while he peered at her. It was nice to finally be able to really look at her without worrying over the stares of others.

  “It’s a portrait in oil, William.”

  He loved the way her lips pursed when she used the letter “p.” “Of course it is.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. He enjoyed watching that as well. “Of Mrs. Meldrin,” she said slowly. “Commissioned only last year.”

  “I. . .” He tore his eyes away from Patience to take his first real look at the painting before him. It was indeed a very clear rendering of Mrs. Meldrin. “Ah. So it is.”

  She tilted her head at him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, quite.” He decided he also like the way the furrow of concern in her forehead made her sharp brows appear even more haughty. “Why is it I always feel as if you’re looking down at me?”

  She started a little at the sudden change of subject. “I’m sure I couldn’t say. I don’t mean to give the impression.”

  He lifted a hand to very briefly trace a brow with the pad of his thumb. “They’re always lifted, as if you’re mildly intrigued, but mostly just annoyed.”

  Even in the dim candlelight he could see a blush rise to her cheeks. “I’m not annoyed. . .Perhaps it is my height.”

  “Your height,” he repeated on a chuckle. “I must admit, that logic fails me.”

  “Well, when one looks up to a great height, one’s brows tend to raise.”

  “I hardly think I qualify as a great height.”

  She used her finger to push up her spectacles. “The principle remains unchanged.”

  He frowned down at her, her brows had lifted higher when she’d adjusted her spectacles. “It’s your spectacles, isn’t it? They’re too small.”

  “They’re not.”

  “They are.” He reached up and slid them off.

  “What are you doing?” She grasped for them but he held them out of reach. “Give them back.”

  “You see? Your brows have lowered.”

  They lowered even further. “Because I’m squinting.”

  “No. Well, yes, you are a little,” he conceded. “But that’s not it. You’re not trying to see above the bottom wire. Why are you wearing ill-fitting spectacles?”

  “They’re perfectly adequate.”

  “For another woman, perhaps. Not you. Why don’t y
ou procure a pair that fits?”

  “I shall, when I want them.”

  He was quiet a moment before he said softly, “If you’d rather not discuss it, you need only say so.”

  * * *

  Patience glanced to where the sound of laughter drifted from the open doors of the parlor. Someone could step into the hallway and interrupt them at any minute and she wasn’t sure if she hoped or feared that would happen. With an uneasy tightness squeezing at her chest—a tightness she recognized as humiliation--she swallowed hard, bent her head to stare at a spot on the floor, and decided if she couldn’t tell William the whole truth of her circumstances, she could at least find the courage to tell him this one part.

  “I. . .I haven’t the funds for it.”

  She looked up long enough to see him nod slightly. . “I see. Is your father ungenerous? Or have you no head for money?”

  “I’ve a fine head for money,” she replied, feeling a little indignant at the implication. A silly time for indignation, perhaps, but it was preferable to embarrassment. “There simply isn’t any available. My father and I are. . .we are dependent on the generosity of the Meldrin family.”

  “Ah.” He dipped his head in an effort to catch her eyes. “Your circumstances are hardly unique, Patience.”

  “No, but I haven’t been entirely truthful about them, have I?”

  His lips twisted. “Very few in the ton are honest about their circumstances.”

  “That hardly excuses my behavior.”

  “Your behavior?” This time, it was his brows that lifted. “Have you claimed to have a dowry that doesn’t exist?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Have you told anyone that your father is flush?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then I fail to see the cause of your guilt.”

  “I wear these gowns,” she replied, plucking at her silk sleeve. “And these fine gloves and lovely jewelry. I go from dinner parties to balls and the opera as if I belong and--”

  He reached out to gently still her fidgeting hands. “Of course you belong.”

  “I don’t,” she said quietly. “I truly don’t. I am the daughter of a commoner. These gowns are Caroline’s castoffs, only the fact we’ve been on the continent keeps them from being recognized as such. I’ve very little education in skills appropriate for a lady. I play no instruments. I’ve no talent for art. I speak no more than a word or two of French. I haven’t the faintest idea how to manage a household with staff. I--”

  “You sing,” he interrupted. “You told me you’ve a passable singing voice.”

  “Only by luck.” She found herself staring at the floor again. “I’ve never received instruction.”

  “Patience, look at me.” He tilted her chin up with his knuckle. “You belong and for better reasons than most in the ton can claim. You’re an intelligent, charming, loyal, kind- hearted woman--”

  “You haven’t known me long enough to know I’m kind- hearted,” she interrupted.

  “I didn’t need long,” he said gently. “You spend your evenings in libraries and the backs of parlors rather than out dancing as you’d prefer, just so your friend won’t have to sit alone.”

  “I owe her. My father and I--”

  “No, you owe Mr. Meldrin.”

  “And Mrs. Meldrin. I’d not be able to go out into society without embarrassing myself if not for her. She tutored me extensively.”

  He was quiet for a moment before saying, “It’s rather important to you, to be out in society.”

  He didn’t phrase it as a question, or even a guess, and so she didn’t offer a direct answer. Instead she wandered over to a portrait of a past Mr. Meldrin and stared at it without seeing it at all.

  “All my life,” she began quietly, “I stayed at home, stayed inside while the world outside worked and played and. . .lived. I wanted a chance to do the same. The Meldrins gave me that.”

  She heard him step up behind her, and knew that to anyone looking out from the parlor, they would appear to be simply discussing the portrait. “How did you come to know the Meldrins?”

  “Years ago, my father and Mr. Meldrin met through a mutual acquaintance in The Royal Society. They shared a love of all things pertaining to magnetism, and Mr. Meldrin, who is quite a bit younger than my father, looked to my father as a mentor for a number of years. He often came to visit us in Kent.”

  “Then you moved away,” he prompted softly.

  “Yes, and my father grew. . .ill. We lost touch for a long time.”

  “But not forever.”

  “I sought out Mr. Meldrin in London.” He’d been kind to her as a child, often bringing her a special treat of candy when he came to visit her father in his workshop. Later, he’d substituted coins for the candy. Out of funds, evicted once again, and with nowhere to turn but the poorhouse, she’d called on him with the hope he’d not outgrown his generosity. “I went to ask for a loan.”

  “He offered something else.”

  “Yes, he took us in. . .I’ll never be able to repay him for that, and I’ll not ask for more.”

  William nodded and she expected words of understanding from him, but instead he stepped around her to brush the back of his knuckles along her cheek, his expression unreadable. “You’re a beautiful woman, Patience.”

  “I. . .” Flustered, she attempted to make light of the compliment. “Without my spectacles, you mean.”

  With exquisite gentleness, he slid her spectacles back into place. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he repeated.

  “I. . .Thank you.”

  He took her hand and after glancing down the hall at the parlor doors, drew her into the shadow of a small alcove. Before she could even think to utter a word of protest as she should have, or encouragement as she would have, he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.

  The kiss was brief. She only had time to register the taste of him, and the way her skin came alive at the feel of his lips moving across hers, and then he was pulling away from her, and pulling them both back into the hall.

  “My apologies,” he said hoarsely. “I should not have done that.”

  She could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears. “I don’t mind kissing you.”

  “I’m not apologizing for the kiss, Patience. I’m apologizing for being careless with your reputation.”

  “Oh.” Though she knew he was right, it somehow seemed terribly wrong to be receiving an apology in that moment. “I. . .It’s all right. I could have--”

  “Patience!” The sound of Caroline calling her name made her take a guilty step back from William. Silly of her, really. She wasn’t standing improperly close—not now, at any rate--and Caroline would have been the last person to notice and comment if she had been. The girl simply didn’t pay attention to those sorts of things.

  True to form, Caroline strode quickly down the hall and came to a stop before them, a little breathless, and clearly oblivious to the fact she’d interrupted a private conversation. “Patience, I’ve been looking for you. Your father is asking for you.”

  “My father?”

  Caroline nodded. “He is. . .quite insistent.”

  “Insistent.” Patience blinked to clear her head. And then she heard it--the distant pounding from upstairs. She hadn’t noticed it over the sound of her own heartbeat. “Oh, dear.”

  She turned to William. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  He caught her arm gently before she could leave. “Patience. Your father is still unwell?”

  “Yes. I have--”

  “He seemed fit enough at Lord Welsing’s ball.”

  “His illness is unpredictable.” She pulled away. “I have to go.”

  * * *

  For the first time since coming to live with the Meldrins, Patience had the fervent wish the family wasn’t quite so well off. Their townhouse may not have been unusually large by ton standards, but for a young woman trying to reach a fathe
r in the midst of a madman’s rant, the house seemed perfectly enormous.

  She and Caroline moved as swiftly as their skirts, and the possibility of any wandering guests seeing them, allowed, which wasn’t nearly as quickly as Patience would have preferred.

  “What’s happened, Caroline?”

  “I don’t know for certain. It was only minutes ago. The footmen say he came out of his room, livid about the party downstairs. They’ve locked him in again, but not before he ran down the back steps, went down the side hall, and then. . .then plowed directly into Mr. Seager. He’s a little put out over the matter.”

  “Who, Mr. Seager or my father?”

  “Both, I imagine.”

  “Oh, blast. What the devil was Mr. Seager doing in the side hall?”

  “He said he was looking for an absent partygoer.”

  Patience glanced at her friend as they hurried up the stairs. “Where were you, Caroline?”

  “I’d gone to my room to fix my hair.” Caroline swallowed audibly. “I may have stayed longer than strictly necessary. I’m sorry, Patience.”

  Patience shook her head and took the last step. “This isn’t your fault.”

  They reached her father’s room to find three footmen, the housekeeper, Mr. Seager, and several maids standing outside the door. Their argument nearly drowned out the sound of her father pounding on the door. Nearly.

  Patience pushed her way to the front of the melee. “Mr. Seager. If you would step aside please.”

  The young man jabbed a finger at the door. “That man accosted me.”

  “He didn’t mean you any harm, I’m sure.”

  “He’s mad. He very nearly killed me.”

  Mrs. Keesnip, the housekeeper, snorted derisively. “Sir Franklin Byerly, hurt you? The man’s seventy years of age and harmless as a new babe.”

  “Harmless. . .” Mr. Seager’s eyes shot to Patience. “Byerly? That. . .that man is a relative of yours?”

  “Mr. Seager, please--” She broke off at the sound Mr. Meldrin’s voice sounding from behind her.

  “I’ll handle this, Patience.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “See to your father.”