Guns of the Dawn - Adrian Tchaikovsky Page 0,42

to his feet. He, who lived through situations wholly under his control, was abruptly out of his element. He danced with the worried concentration of a child, and could barely spare a look for her. That made her feel sad for him, which surprised her. He had schemed for this, and found the courage for it, and now he had what he wanted – what he had not really expected – and he still could not enjoy it. Instead she was the one watching him stumble.

Then they changed partners, and she was whisked away from him to touch hands with a grave-faced soldier who had not removed his sword, so that it rattled against his legs and hers as they passed round one another. Beyond, she saw Mr Northway trading his exacting steps with a lady of quality, who never glanced at him, as if he was beneath her notice.

Why has he come here? the thought occurred, as she grew more confident in treading the measures of the dance. And then a sour and unfamiliar stab of sympathy: poor Mr Northway, to have done such terrible things just to gain power, to have done the difficult things that had been forced on him once he had it, and to reap this penance as his reward . . .

She almost missed her step in her sudden confusion, but the grave-faced officer did not notice, and she caught herself. How her sisters would frown if she revealed such thoughts to them.

And what would Father say?

Ah, yes, but she would have her own questions to ask of her father if he was given back to her for just one night.

She passed from hand to hand, now partnering an elderly lord whose long steps were elegant as a stork’s, but she hardly noticed him. She had wanted so much to dance at Deerlings, and now, like Mr Northway, she could not enjoy it through the turmoil of her own thoughts. The bold soldier who partnered her next smiled at her, but she did not even look up at him. The black-clad Mr Northway kept passing at the edge of her vision, a hole cut into the colour of the other dancers. Still with his precise steps, he had grown in confidence now, and he even caught her eye once as they crossed paths.

Then the final leg of the dance began, and they were back together, her fingers touching his cool hand as they circled one another like prize-fighters. She realized now, and somehow had never noticed it before, that he was barely any taller than she. In that moment only she led, and he followed. For once, he had no sharp words, no mockery, no sudden reversals to bring to her.

As the musicians wrung out the final chord from their instruments, she gave him her best curtsey. When he straightened up from a bow, there was a little colour in his pale cheek. He stood and repaired his dignity, stitch by stitch, as though wondering what on earth he was doing there.

As she returned to her chair, he followed, but she found that she did not mind so much. The look she gave him, after she had sat, was challenging.

‘Thank you, Miss Marshwic, it was a pleasure,’ he said, his expression still not settled.

‘You did not believe I would accept, I think,’ she said lightly.

‘Am I so easily read, Miss Marshwic?’

‘This once. But why, Mr Northway? You owe me that.’ The musicians had struck up some incidental music as the guests milled and regrouped themselves across the dance floor. Servants passed amongst them with trays of wineglasses or titbits from the kitchens.

Northway glanced away from her. ‘Your sister does not approve,’ he noted.

‘She is entirely right in not approving, and your evasions are usually more elegant,’ she told him.

His protective smile was back, as he looked at her: that serpent’s curve of his lips that did not reach the eyes. ‘I have the greatest admiration for you, Miss Marshwic. You have quite enlivened my time in office, all these years that we have crossed swords. A woman of will and determination – I have always said so. You are a credit . . .’ To your father, she heard in his pause but, without losing an inch of smile, he wrestled it into, ‘to your family.’

‘Are you offering a truce, Mr Northway?’

‘Miss Marshwic, I would never deny you the chance to make war on me at every opportunity. It is one of your most

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