KDBookOnline
Share Us
“That won’t make you feel bad?”
“It isn’t about me. At the moment, every time you say it, you scrunch up your nose, like the words tastes bad.”
“It ain’t bad,” he countered. “It’s just odd. I had a mama, and then I didn’t think I’d ever use that word again.” Stifling his own sigh, he bent over the book again.
Lips touched his temple. “I’m not trying to replace her,” Mrs. P said quietly.
Sharp, deep pain bit at him, harder than he’d felt in three years. Since she couldn’t see his face, he scrunched his eyes closed tight. He was not going to cry. He’d stopped doing that a long time ago. All of this was too damned soft, with her being nice, and the stupid kissing on his head. Next, she’d want to hug him. “Just help me read, please,” he said aloud, even though what he really wanted to do was run outside and keep running until he couldn’t even breathe.
For a few seconds she just sat beside him. “Of course, George. Let’s get back to work.”
Ah, splendid. Another dance lesson without musicians. That was the way Emmie had thought they would be practicing from the beginning, but since Will had surprised them with music on their first day of practice, every lesson after that seemed too quiet—and too awkward.
She couldn’t blame the silence on the lack of music this time, however. For three days she and Will had barely spoken. In the beginning, she’d figured that her methods had been effective, and that he’d realized he was being given the cold shoulder. First implying that she was a cold fish, and now telling the children that she considered them a disruption and couldn’t wait to be rid of them—it was the first time she’d known him to be cruel.
A day or so later, though, she’d caught him glaring at her, then swiftly looking away when she met his gaze. And then instead of joining her and the Fletcher children and James in the drawing room after dinner, he’d claimed to have correspondence to see to. His having evening correspondence had been extremely common until a few weeks ago, but she knew for a fact that he’d informed the trade minister’s office that he would be on leave for two months.
They seemed to be ignoring each other, then, which made the whole thing silly. Why, though, was he slighting her? Had he begun it when he’d noticed her slighting him? For heaven’s sake, this was difficult enough without him saying disparaging things about her, and however absurd it was, she wasn’t going to apologize—she’d done nothing wrong. Well, nothing recently. And she’d already apologized for the lie that had begun this mess.
“If you keep your head down when you curtsy,” Will was saying, one hand gripping Rose’s as she folded herself nearly in half, “you may find that you end up on the floor on your face.”
“But if I keep my head up, I can’t see if my feet are in the right place,” the girl complained.
“That’s the part you’ll have to memorize. Where your feet go.”
“This is impossible. I already have to memorize where my feet go in four different dances. They don’t remember where to be when I curtsy.”
Shaking herself, Emmie stepped forward. “Let me show you,” she said, lifting her skirts almost to her knees. Yes, it was highly improper to do so, but Will’s advice wasn’t helping anything. “Stand beside me.”
With a heavy sigh Rose did so. “The nuns say only hoydens lift their skirts,” she observed, hiking her pink muslin up to her own knees.
“I’m not a hoyden. Are you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then the nuns are wrong.” Perhaps that was a bit of an oversimplification, but Will was glaring again and it annoyed her. “Now. Turn your toes out like a duck, like this.” She demonstrated.
Rose mimicked her, giggling.
“Now bend both knees, but keep your weight on your right foot and shift your left one forward. Arms out like you want to be soaring in the air, and head up with a smile.” She dipped a deep curtsy as she spoke, then straightened again. “In short, you’re a duck preparing to fly.”
“Oh, I like that.” Dipping down, Rose flapped her arms and stretched out her neck.
“Remember, you’re only testing the air to see if you want to fly. You aren’t trying to become airborne.”
“Don’t flap so much,” her brother advised.
“I wish I was a boy,” Rose panted, trying again. “Bowing is easier.”
“If I’d known ladies were lifting their skirts, I would have come in for more dance lessons,” James said, stepping into the room.
Before Emmie could straighten, Will moved between them. “I’ll thank you to keep your opinion to yourself in my home,” he stated, his voice flat.
She couldn’t see his face, but James could, and a moment later with a mock bow, the young man left the room again. It meant something, that they could not even be speaking and Will would still defend her honor without a second thought. Goodness.
“Mrs. Pershing,” Hannah said, entering the room from another door, a wooden box in her hands. “It was in the attic. I took the liberty of winding it.”
“Thank you, Hannah.” The music box had been a Christmas gift a year or so ago, and while it wasn’t the most attractive thing, with giant flowers carved on the lid and sides, it did play a waltz, something only the very newest of the mechanisms did. “George, shall we attempt a waltz?”