Entwined(77)

“Mother?” she said.

“Oh, come now, Kabbage,” said Bramble, a length away. “You remember Mother.”

Kale’s dark blue eyes remained blank.

“She’s dead,” Jessamine whispered.

Azalea adjusted Jessamine on her lap so she could see her tiny white face. Funny, how four-year-old Jessamine could seem so old sometimes. Did she remember Mother, who had drawn her fingers through Jessamine’s black curls and let her feel the baby kick? How could one forget something like that?

Clover pushed a strand of dark blond hair from Kale’s eyes.

“She’s just in heaven,” she said, in a honey voice.

“Just in heafen!” Kale squeaked.

Azalea suddenly felt stifled, as though she had been overlaced in a stuffy room. She nudged the girls to go. Keeper’s dark form appeared through the mist of the entrance, and instinctively, Azalea stood, upsetting Jessamine on her lap. She ran to the front of the girls, putting herself between them and Keeper, who strode in silky strides to the middle of the dance floor.

“Is everything all right?” he said in his chocolate voice. “Only you seem in poor spirits tonight.”

The girls, smiling shyly, assured him that everything was all right. Azalea said nothing. Her eyes locked with his in an intense glare. So intense the room pulsed with her heartbeat. Keeper broke it first.

“I thought to give you all a treat,” he said, nodding to the girls. A roguish strand hung in his eyes. “A waltz. None of you have seen a closed dance for nearly a year. Miss Azalea?”

He held his outstretched gloved hand to her. Azalea stared at it. It seemed to grow bigger in her vision. His words from the dark pavilion reverberated in her mind. Never to refuse me another dance again…

After a lengthy pause, Azalea took his hand.

“Oh, goodies,” said Delphinium, perking up along with the younger girls. Clover and Bramble, on the other hand, had confusion on their faces.

“But we haven’t been properly introduced,” said Clover, on her feet. “Mr. Keeper—”

“No,” said Azalea, putting a halt to it. “It’s all right. You’ve got to see the gentleman’s part sometime.”

Keeper brought Azalea into dance position in the middle of the floor. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and his long fingers traced up and down the edge of her shoulder blade, just above her corset. Azalea held as still as she possibly could, trying not to breathe.

“You have such excellent form,” he whispered. “If only you would stop shaking.”

The music began; an Ungolian waltz. Keeper guided her smoothly in a traveling circle around the dance floor, into a hesitation step, an under-arm turn, and gently brought her back into dance position. Everything he did was exaggeratedly gentle. Somehow this made it worse. They brushed past the seated girls, Azalea’s skirts sweeping over their faces. They giggled.

“Ah, you follow like an angel.” Keeper’s voice was a murmur. “You are the best I have ever danced with, and I have danced with many. I knew you would be the best. From the first time I saw you, gliding across the marble—”

Azalea misstepped. Keeper tenderly brought her into the rhythm again.

“You glide,” he murmured. “Just as your mother.”

Azalea stumbled, and this time it took several beats to ease into the flow of the music again. Azalea’s hand shook in Keeper’s flawless grip.

“Please, Keeper,” said Azalea as the silvers whirled around her. “Please. I need more time.”

“You have had a disgustingly plentiful amount of time, my lady,” he said. He swept her about the girls again, and Azalea caught a flash of black—their dresses—as she spun.

“More time was not a part of the agreement. I suggest you look harder.”

“Please—Mr. Keeper. The King is extending mourning. If I had more time—”

“You are a flurry of clever words, my lady,” said Keeper. “Too many words, I think. Your mother sports that same malady. Or, she did.”

Azalea tried to kick Keeper, but her knees couldn’t support her. Keeper caught her with lightning rapidity. With a snap of his long-gloved fingers, the music stopped.

“Enough,” he said, once again obnoxiously gentle. “I am sure your sisters want you back now. Do get some rest. I should very much like the next dance I have with you to be flawless.”





CHAPTER 23




Azalea slept poorly that night, awaking from dozes with nightmarish jolts. Even so, she had the presence of mind that morning to dress well, mending a torn bit of her favorite dress, pinning her hair to perfection, and smoothing herself in front of the mirror. Mr. Bradford had seen her at her worst; she wouldn’t let that happen again.

She arrived at the nook late, the girls halfway through their porridge, and everyone looked up as she quietly folded the doors behind her.

“Well,” said Bramble. “Don’t you look nice!”

A chorus of giggles rippled down the table. Delphinium whispered something to Eve, who in turn whispered it to the twins. The twins whispered something back. They scrunched their noses, grinning at Azalea. Mr. Bradford, on the other hand, just stared at her in a stunned sort of way, his spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth.

“Good morning,” said Azalea.