“Hush, you two.” Aunt Lydia headed for the pianoforte in the alcove with determined steps. Her usual creamy skin was the color of ash, and she looked as if she might crumble any moment. “I would think that after so many years apart, you’d have learned to appreciate each other.”
Grey went to stand next to his mother. “Surely you’re joking. Gwyn always needs someone to sharpen her tongue on, and Thorn is her favorite choice of strop.”
Gwyn raised an eyebrow at him. “Watch it or I’ll box your ears, too.”
As Beatrice smothered a laugh, Aunt Lydia cried, “Enough, all of you!” Rounding the end of the pianoforte, she plopped down on the bench and started flipping through sheet music with a scowl. “I swear, sometimes I wonder why I ever married and had children in the first place.”
That pronouncement gave them all pause.
Thornstock was the first to rally. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to be stuck with Grey, your ill-favored firstborn. But surely the devastatingly handsome fellow you bore next makes up for your having him.”
Grey snorted. “She didn’t bear you next, you lummox. Gwyn is fifteen minutes older. You were just an afterthought.”
“Quite so,” Gwyn put in with a sniff. “And the only reason Thorn doesn’t want to help with the dancing is he has two left feet.”
“I beg your pardon.” Thorn stared her down. “I’ll have you know I can caper as well as any man on the floor.”
Gwyn looked down at her fingernails as if studying their shape. “There’s no question you can caper, dear Brother. The issue is, can you dance? Frankly, I don’t think you have it in you. Not that I’ve ever seen, anyway.”
Thornstock stalked up to his twin. “Mother, play something. Let’s see if I have it in me, damn it.”
Beatrice fought back a smile. Amazing how Gwyn could outmaneuver Thornstock without his even realizing it.
Gwyn lifted an eyebrow as she faced Thornstock. “Mama, why don’t you play a minuet?”
Aunt Lydia looked at her twins warily. “Do you really think we should start with something so intricate?”
“All the better to prove my abilities,” Thornstock said.
“I’m not thinking of your abilities, Son. Or even Gwyn’s. She knows the minuet.” Aunt Lydia looked over at Beatrice. “Do you know the steps for that one, Bea?”
Beatrice tensed at the very thought of having to stumble through a new dance. “I’m afraid not, Aunt.”
“We’ll sit it out, Mother.” Grey left the alcove and headed for Beatrice. “She and I will watch, and then she’ll get a feel for it so she’ll be ready when we teach it to her later.”
“Very well then.” Aunt Lydia thumbed through pages of music, searching for a tune suitable for dancing a minuet to. “But I shall choose something more appropriate for the occasion. Something stately and mournful. Your father is fresh in the grave, you know.”
That sobered Gwyn. “Mama, perhaps we should wait—”
“No, indeed,” her mother said fiercely, brushing tears from her cheeks. “I want to play. Dance, you two.” As she launched into a dignified piece, the twins began the minuet.
Beatrice looked over to where her aunt was playing determinedly, her eyes still bright with tears. “Is this wise?” Beatrice murmured to Grey, who was now standing next to her.
“Mother handles things better if she feels needed and useful,” he said softly.
Hoping to regain yesterday’s comfortable rapport, she asked Grey, “Is it part of the dance for them to hold their arms out like that? They look like marionettes whose strings are stuck.”
“Sadly, it’s considered graceful,” he replied.
“Anyone who thinks a marionette is graceful has never seen a Punch and Judy show.” She focused on other aspects of the dance. “It’s like a slower jig, isn’t it?”
“Not quite. It’s a different step entirely.” Grey gestured to a settee against the wall opposite where the twins were dancing. “Let’s sit down, Miss Wolfe.” His tone brooked no argument. “You can see their feet better this way.”
It reminded her of yesterday, when he’d commanded her—and thus, the dogs. She glanced at him to see if he remembered, but he gave no indication he did. Instead, his expression showed only a polite disinterest.
She followed him to the settee, then perched on the edge. Grey took a seat beside her, his hand casually drumming the beat on his thigh inches from her own.
Pay attention! she told herself. They all expect you to remember how to do this.
So she focused on observing their feet. Her aunt was right—the steps were