Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(46)

“I would have danced every single set of waltzes at every single ball I attended if someone had only invented the dance when I was still a girl,” the dowager said. “It is impossibly romantic.”

“Oh, it is, Eugenia,” Cousin Althea agreed, “and Alex and Lizzie dance it so well. Mr. Robertson is fortunate to have them to demonstrate for Anastasia.”

Avery stayed where he was, just inside the door, while the dancing master pointed out to Anna just exactly where and how Elizabeth’s hands were positioned and the exact angle of her spine and head and the expression upon her face—which Elizabeth immediately ruined by grinning at Anna and waggling her eyebrows. The dancing master bowed to Anna and invited her to stand with him as though they were about to waltz. She allowed her right hand to be taken in his left, rested the fingertips of the other hand gingerly upon his shoulder, and stood as far from him as the length of her arms would allow, her spine arched outward rather than in, a look of grim determination upon her face.

“A little more attention needs to be paid toward your posture, my lady,” Robertson said, and she shot upward to stand ramrod straight. “And rest your palm upon my shoulder and spread your fingers elegantly just as Lady Overfield has hers. Allow your features to relax almost but not quite into a smile.”

She grimaced and clutched his shoulder, and Avery saw what his stepmother meant. At this rate she might be ready to attend her first ball five years from now, by which time she would be so firmly upon the shelf that she would be gathering dust there. Had she been taught the steps yet? Who the devil was this dancing master?

He sighed and wandered out onto the open floor. “Allow me,” he said, waving the man back and taking his place. He took Anna’s left hand in his right. It was cold and stiff, as he had rather expected. He stroked the fingernail of his thumb over her palm before placing the hand on his shoulder just where it needed to be. He drew his thumb along the length of her fingers before withdrawing his hand and spreading it behind her waist and taking her other hand in his. She looked into his eyes in clear dismay as he took a step closer to her, and he held her gaze while, without moving his hand in any way that would be visible to the onlookers, he coaxed her to arch inward slightly from the waist.

“If Robertson has his tape measure with him,” he said without looking away from her, “he may inform you if you have allowed the requisite number of inches of space between us. One must not err by even half an inch if one does not wish to cause the banning of the waltz from every ballroom in the realm for all eternity. You are permitted to smile provided you do not bounce up and down with hilarity.”

Her lips twitched for a moment with what might have been amusement.

“Perfect, my lady,” the dancing master said, examining the space between them with the naked eye rather than with a tape measure.

“Now all that remains, Anna,” Elizabeth said with a note of quite improper levity in her voice, “is to learn to waltz.”

“It is necessary, Lady Overfield,” Robertson said, a suggestion of reproach in his voice as he bowed gracefully in her direction, “to perfect the positioning of the body first so that the steps may be performed with grace from the start. The steps themselves are simple, but what the accomplished waltzer does with the steps is not. Allow me to explain.”

Avery wondered if the man’s accompanist ever got actually to play the pianoforte. It was possible that Riverdale had the same thought, which was a somewhat alarming possibility.

“Lizzie and I will be pleased to demonstrate the basic steps, Anastasia,” he said, “while you watch and Robertson explains.”

“We will keep fancy twirls to a bare minimum,” Elizabeth added, “though they are what are most fun, are they not, Alex?”

Avery released Anna, who proceeded to give her full attention to the demonstration that ensued, and the dancing master talked without stopping despite the fact that it had always seemed to Avery that any infant who could count to three could learn to waltz in one minute or less. Riverdale, of course, waltzed faultlessly—did he ever do anything that was not perfect?—as did his sister, though she did commit the cardinal sin of smiling up at her partner and even laughing at one point as though she were actually enjoying herself. It was enough to make one wince with horror.

“Perhaps, my lady, you would care to try the steps with me,” Robertson said after a few minutes, having held up one hand to stop the music. “We will take them slowly without music while I count aloud.”

“Or,” Avery said with a sigh, “you can waltz with me, Anna, at the proper pace, with music. I shall not count aloud, however, having discovered that it is possible to do so silently within the confines of one’s own mind.”

For one moment she hesitated and he thought she was going to choose the dancing master.

“Thank you,” she said, and stepped up to him and set her hand on his shoulder without help.

She felt incredibly slender, he thought, and incredibly dainty, accustomed as he was to holding women of an altogether different physical type. His nostrils were teased by the smell of . . . soap?

His attempt to waltz with her met with little success for the first minute or so and he was aware of murmurings from the sidelines. Perhaps, he thought, beneath the simple folds of her white dress she had two wooden legs. That would explain the length of the skirt. Or perhaps she could not count silently after all. Or perhaps she was just terrified. He held her gaze, spread his fingers just a little more widely above and below her waist, circled the tip of his thumb once lightly over her right palm, and took her into a sweeping twirl. She stayed with him every step of the way, and he saw that slight lift at the corners of her mouth again. Her eyes gazed back into his with less desperation.