The waltz had been one of his favourites, so graceful and intimate, and he was glad it had begun when Margaret curtsied elegantly across from him and began the steps.
“You know that you owe me nothing,” he said when they were turning together into the promenade. “I appreciate Major Moorhouse’s theatrical tales, but I would not wish you to think yourself indebted to me for a kindness any man would have done to another.”
She laughed. “Nigel, I’m not dancing with you because you saved that strange man’s life – I’m dancing because we are old friends, and I have missed you desperately these last few years.”
Old friends. He nodded, but before he could respond she added gently, “And I do not think you are right about the kindness you did – I have met many men who would not have done the same thing, and I agree with your Major Moorhouse that your actions were very in keeping with your character.”
They moved through the weaving motions of the dance. Each time they separated, Nigel felt a small lurch of longing, and each time they came together again there was a painful joy. It could not be right to need someone as much as this. Nigel had spent four years thinking of other people and trying to distract himself from the memory of Margaret. There had even been a barmaid in France who had distracted him a few times, and yet even he could not convince himself that he really loved her.
In the end, he determined that it would do no good to replace her with another. He would only have to forget about love altogether and turn his attention instead to valour and adventure. This he had done with what he considered to be great success until a few minutes ago when he had seen her approach him across the floor again, heard her speak his name, heard her laugh. It had taken only that, and he was in love with Lady Margaret Somerville again.
The room seemed to disappear around them, and when the dance finally drew to a close he realised that he was still holding her hand in his. She did not try to pull away, only looked up into his eyes with a steady gaze, unafraid.
“Why did you never write?” she said softly.
He answered almost without thinking. “You know why,” he said quietly.
She smiled, and that surprised him. There was a searching look in her eyes for the first time. As a girl, she had always had the wide-eyed innocence of any possible attraction between them, but now she had something like understanding and was making no attempt to hide that knowledge.
“I would have answered your letters,” she said after a pause.
Nigel could hardly trust his delight. Her words sounded almost like an acknowledgement of some affection, although he didn’t know how far he dared to hope. He dove in before his nerves took control of the situation and dissuaded him from all courage.
“Lady Margaret,” he said, still holding her hand. “I am going to be in town for some time during the season, and I would enjoy calling on you during that time.” He was careful to use the words of courtship, to show her that he meant more than friendship, and though she didn’t answer him directly with encouragement, she didn’t laugh it off either. She reached forward and adjusted his lapel ever so slightly with her slender fingers and smiled up at him teasingly.
“I suppose there is room in my parlour for a dashing young officer in uniform,” she said with a smile. Then she slipped her other hand out of his, gave a quick curtsy, and melted back into the crowd. Nigel watched her move away from him across the room, his heart in his throat.
Chapter 7
“My, my, aren’t you the centre of attention this evening?” Amanda teased, catching up with Margaret as she left Nigel behind her on the dance floor. Amanda slipped an arm around Margaret’s waist and winked at her. “Lords and officers – what will be next, the philosophers and poets of our generation?”
“He was not just any officer,” Margaret said. “He is an old friend.”
Amanda sighed. “It certainly looked like you both had a healthy friendship. You couldn’t stop talking to each other, and don’t think I missed your little disappearance into the alcove to chat in a more private setting.”
“It was nothing,” Margaret said, the words feeling false against the pounding in her chest and the blush