Gwyn, I beg you. We are both pupils in this odd new world.” Lady Gwyn—Gwyn—smiled. “And I could use an ally in keeping Mother from going too far.” Gwyn approached to loop her arm through Beatrice’s before breathing a long sigh. “She has a tendency to overshoot her mark, if you know what I mean. And I confess I’m so weary of fighting it I’m liable to go along.”
Beatrice chuckled. “I can understand that. Aunt Lydia can be very persuasive.”
“Indeed she can.” Gwyn looked glum. “Between my mother and my brothers, I don’t know how you and I shall survive.”
With a laugh, Beatrice said, “We’ll be fine,” though the idea of Grey being part of her come-out lessons still sent her senses flailing. How could she be around him without remembering their searing kiss? Not to mention the alarming questions he’d asked about Uncle Armie.
“In any case,” Gwyn went on, “we’re supposed to work on dancing today.”
Oh, Lord. Dancing with Grey. How would she get through that? “Surely you know how to dance already.”
“Not English country dances. In Berlin, we danced other steps. And the waltz, which is only two people. I can manage that. Anything else . . .”
“I’ve never even heard of the waltz. But give me a good Scotch reel or Irish jig, and I can perform as well as any dancing master.”
“Then I’ll teach you the waltz and you’ll teach me the reel, and we’ll impress everyone at the balls.”
Beatrice laughed, unable to resist Gwyn’s amiable approach. She’d nearly even convinced herself that Gwyn’s presence could make dancing with Grey tolerable when they entered the ballroom to find him absent. Thornstock was the one speaking to his mother about the dancing.
Disappointment sliced through her before she caught herself. She refused to feel such a foolish emotion over the thought of losing the chance to dance with Grey. No doubt Grey had asked to be relieved of his duties with her after what had happened yesterday. One more sign he hadn’t felt half of what she had when they’d kissed.
“Ah,” Thornstock said. “The ladies have arrived, Mother. So let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Just then, Sheridan entered the ballroom, obviously cutting through from the garden to the hall at the end opposite them that led to Uncle Armie’s stu—
Not Uncle Armie’s, but Sheridan’s study, now. It gave her a little burst of satisfaction to think of her cousin there instead of her wretched uncle.
“Thank God you’re here,” Thornstock told Sheridan. “We need all the help we can get with the dancing lessons.”
“I can’t,” Sheridan said, with a trace of irritation. “I’ve got more than enough to handle right now.” Then he looked beyond Beatrice to a spot behind her. “Ask Grey—he’ll tell you. Why don’t you get him to do it?”
Beatrice turned to find him lounging against the wall in the large, rounded alcove behind her, which was custom-built to hold a small orchestra, but at present only held the pianoforte.
Grey fixed his eyes on her. “I’m happy to partner Miss Wolfe if she needs it.”
Was he willing to dance with her because of their kiss yesterday? Or was he merely hoping to interrogate her about Uncle Armie’s death? Either possibility was worrisome.
Though Grey was dressed in another black mourning suit, he’d changed out his hessians today for shoes more fitting to a ballroom. But even without the fancy boots, he was as incredibly attractive—and terrifying—as she remembered.
And when he pushed away from the wall and straightened to his full height, she was hard-pressed not to swoon, though whether in awe or alarm, she wasn’t sure. Only the fact that she’d never swooned a day in her life kept her from it.
Meanwhile Thornstock kept trying to fob his female relations off on Sheridan. “Grey is already helping. But if you stay, they won’t need me. I was hoping to go for a ride on one of your hunters.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to delay that.” Sheridan continued on through the room. “I have important matters to attend to.”
“So do I! Like riding!” Thornstock cried after him.
But it was too late. Sheridan vanished from view through the other door.
Gwyn gave her twin a look of mock sympathy. “Aw, poor Thorn, having to dance with respectable ladies for a change. Such a trial for you, I’m sure.”
“Don’t start with me,” Thornstock grumbled. “Or I’ll take you over my knee.”
“I should like to see you try!” Gwyn planted her hands on her hips. “Because I can still box your ears. Just