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“Rose, perhaps you should wear a simpler gown for practicing,” she said, trying not to flinch as the little girl pirouetted past the teapot on her way to the sideboard.
“That’s what Sally said, but I thought it was important that I learn in my dancing gown.”
George appeared in the doorway, his own attire much more subdued and appropriate for a day in the country. “She won’t listen,” he offered, joining his sister. “Rosie likes to look grand.”
“Well, don’t we all?” Emmie shut her eyes for a moment. “Rose, why don’t you tell Powell what you would like for breakfast, and he’ll bring it to you at the table?”
“Is that because I’m so grand?”
“Definitely.”
“Very well, then.” Rose listed off her preferred breakfast items before she swirled over to sit beside Emmie. “Are you dressed for waltzing?” she asked.
“I’m dressed for teaching you how to dance.”
The little girl studied Emmie’s attire for a moment, from the proper bun at the top of her head to her blue and yellow muslin gown with its matching blue pelisse to her blue walking shoes. “It’s very pretty, but if you want to turn Papa’s head, you should have more beads and sparkles.” She gestured at her own front.
“I’m married to Will; I don’t need to turn his head.” That would mean she wanted something romantic from him. From a handsome, dashing man she evidently knew little about, and had no idea how to approach without looking like a fool. She’d certainly had an increasing number of knotty, naughty thoughts about him over the past few days, but thoughts didn’t upend anything. And they still had a task to accomplish. All that aside from the fact that she was annoyed with him for saying she was too unbending. Too concerned with her reputation. As if everything they had didn’t rely on their reputations. And her hard work.
“Well, I’ll try not to outshine you, but I can’t make any promises.”
Emmie took a breath. “Thank you, my dear.” She twisted to view the butler. “What did you want to tell me, Powell?”
He cleared his throat. “It was nothing, ma’am. I’ll see to it.”
“Nothing” didn’t seem like something he would have brought to her attention in the first place, but before she could question him further, Rose declared that she should be drinking American coffee because it was all the rage, and George dared her to try some. All Emmie needed was for that to devolve into a spitting contest or something, so she informed them that coffee wasn’t allowed at Winnover Hall—which wasn’t true, but she almost never drank it, and Will drank it not much more frequently than she did. A small sacrifice to prevent a ruined ball gown.
As they finished breakfast and Will still hadn’t returned from Birdlip, she stifled a sigh. Yes, they were accustomed to nearly separate lives, but he knew they needed to do this together, even if he seemed determined to spoil the Fletcher youngsters and indulge their every whim.
She needed him for the dancing lessons. Not even the most competent of dance masters could teach both the leading and the following steps at the same time, and definitely not while keeping the attention of a reluctant eight-year-old boy and a young girl who already thought herself skilled in the most complicated of steps.
“I can’t wait any longer,” Rose stated, rising from the table. “I have dance lessons, etiquette lessons, fencing lessons, and some fishing to do today.”
Emmie set her napkin aside. “Yes. We may as well begin. Powell, I’m afraid I may have to ask you to step in as a dance partner.”
The butler blanched. “Dancing, Mrs. Pershing? Me?”
“We’ll manage,” she said, reflecting that the previous her would never have asked a butler to step beyond his duties. “Come along, dears. We’re off to the east room.”
“Wait,” Rose said, balking in the doorway. “I’m to dance in the ballroom.”
Reminding herself that Will’s absence was Will’s fault, and that he’d probably decided he couldn’t go this long without trying to shoot a pheasant or something, Emmie put on a smile. “The east room is the ballroom. Or half of it, rather. When we host a grand party, the wall between it and the west room opens. I don’t think we need the entire span of the ballroom today, though.”
“Very well,” the girl said with obvious reluctance, “but I don’t wish to feel stifled.”
“I think you’ll be pleased, Rose.” Emmie offered her hand to hurry them along. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
Rose gripped her fingers. “I’ll look. But I’m not convinced yet.”
“I’m not convinced at all,” George grumbled, falling into step behind them. “Dancing is stupid. Grown men prancing about like… like goats. Goats being chased by bees.”
“Don’t listen to him, Mama. He’s just worried he’ll fall on his ar—”
“Rosie!” her brother interrupted.
“His bottom, I meant to say.”
“A very permissible substitution,” Emmie approved. “That part of the anatomy may also be referred to as a ‘sit-upon.’”