since they went to services. Afterward, while everyone else was chatting, she let herself feast her eyes on Grey.
Why must he look so delicious today? He always dressed casually at the house, but for church he’d donned a suit of black superfine wool that set off his ebony hair most attractively, and a waistcoat of figured white silk that made her think of the frothing waters of the river running past the dower house. Even the folds of his cravat evoked rolling clouds on a windy day.
Unfortunately, he caught her staring and broke away from the others to come toward her. She should head somewhere else, but her guard was down. Otherwise, why was she standing here like a ninny, watching him approach?
“Why isn’t your brother here?” he asked.
Her heart sank. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? I’m not my brother’s keeper.”
She regretted the blunt words when he searched her face, then drawled, “I would if I could. But he avoids me almost as much as you do.”
“I don’t avoid you. I’ve danced with you nearly every day.”
His gaze heated as it skimmed her. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
She nearly bit off her tongue to keep from throwing his perfidy at him. Instead, she focused on his question, which oddly seemed safer right now. “Joshua never comes to services. He says he can’t stand to attend anymore. I assume it has to do with the war and the men he saw die when he was fighting for God and country.”
“Perhaps.” He stared her down. “Or perhaps there’s another reason. Church often holds a mirror up to one’s actions.”
Lord save her, Grey was saying what she dared not—that perhaps Joshua felt too guilty to attend. She nearly protested that Joshua hadn’t attended services since long before Uncle Armie died, but she caught herself before she revealed that she knew what Grey was up to.
Even as her chest tightened and her hands shook, she fought to seem nonchalant. “Or perhaps Joshua doesn’t like the music.” Then she forced herself to walk away.
Let Grey have his suspicions. She wouldn’t be the one to betray her brother—especially since she didn’t know his secrets.
The next day, when she arrived at the hall, she was surprised to find that they were to be taking a break from dancing for the day. Instead, they were to receive instruction on etiquette rules for the ballroom, provided jointly by Grey and Aunt Lydia.
It went on for hours. Sheridan, who’d joined them at his mother’s insistence, and Gwyn periodically chimed in to either voice their opinions . . . or mock what Grey and Aunt Lydia said, depending on the rule.
Beatrice couldn’t blame them. There were so many rules, like how and when a lady was to curtsey upon meeting a gentleman, which involved keeping one’s head in line with the upper part of the body and not flexing one’s limbs too much. They actually made her and Gwyn practice it!
She and Gwyn were also instructed in who could dance with whom, though that seemed to depend upon whether the ball was private, public, or impromptu. One rule was sacrosanct, apparently—brothers and sisters weren’t allowed to dance together. Which meant poor Gwyn couldn’t fall back on her brothers as partners at a ball.
“But Mama,” Gwyn said, “what if none of these toplofty gentlemen asks me? How am I to show off my ability on the dance floor if I’m forced to stand on the sidelines because of some silly rule about not dancing with my brothers?”
“You’re sister to three dukes,” Sheridan said dryly. “Trust me, you’ll have partners aplenty.” When Aunt Lydia cleared her throat, he blinked, then shot Beatrice an apologetic glance. “You too, Cousin—partners to spare, no doubt.”
She swallowed her sigh at his feeble attempt to reassure her. “I should hope so,” she said with forced gaiety. “I’ll have all of you to dance with, since none of you is my brother . . . and since my real brother will never darken the door of a London ballroom unless one of you holds a pistol to his head.”
Instantly she regretted her unfortunate reference to violence, but before she could amend her statement, Grey said, “That won’t be necessary. He can trust us to take care of you in any ballroom.”
His speaking look turned her blood molten in her veins.
Curse him for that. His tactics were so unfair.
With a stern glance in his direction, Aunt Lydia stood. “We should also go over how one