close proximity. A bit scandalous, I know,” he said with a wink, stepping extraordinarily close to Poppy. The hem of her day dress brushed against his fashionably crisp trousers. “Your right hand will be clasped like this in your partner’s left hand, like this.” He took her gloved hand, clasped it, and raised it so their shoulders were positioned almost at the same height. “Your partner's right hand should then go on your left shoulder blade, and your left hand should rest lightly on his shoulder. The embrace should neither be too delicate nor too heavy, but just right. So that when we move…fast or slow, the clasps are maintained.”
Poppy nodded. “I understand.”
“Now we hold this position, and we learn the steps. One, two, three—right, left-right, and then left-right-left. When I step forward with my left foot, you step back with your right foot.”
Poppy laughed when he dramatically cried, “Music!”
And then they danced. Over and over, they moved, full step then two half steps, right, left, front, back. They were slow at first, then after several minutes, they moved so fast Poppy’s blood thrilled.
They stopped, and she panted, breathless.
“You are a most quick-witted and remarkable student,” he said, holding out his hand again. “Let’s continue dancing.”
Well over two hours later, their dance lessons ended. Aunt Marielle had long lost interest and had called for the carriage to go into the small town nearby. Daphne had played until she complained of cramping fingers to Mr. Titus’s disappointment. Poppy’s legs ached, but she felt wonderful. She now knew how to dance the polka and the waltz to greater perfection. Mr. Titus was a guest in the manor, and their lessons would resume tomorrow. Poppy was delighted with the lessons even though there was a part of her that believed it might be in vain.
The ballroom was now empty, and she made her way over to the pianoforte. With reverent care, she delicately ran her fingers over the keys. Skirting around the long wooden bench, Poppy sat and started to play a song that had been a favorite of Richard’s. She then moved onto one of her favorites, a sonata by Franz Schubert, the last piece he had written before his untimely death. It resonated with raw and powerful emotions, and Poppy loved playing it. Closing her eyes, she sank into the majesty and beauty of the music, playing for endless minutes. When it ended, she laughed and contemplated what else to play.
“If I had not witnessed it for myself, I would not have believed a second-handed account,” a low voice filled with awe murmured.
Poppy stood and whirled around with a gasp, blinking to see James, Daphne, Mr. Titus and Aunt Marielle standing there, staring at her with varying degrees of astonishment.
“Poppy,” Daphne breathed, her eyes wide and bright. “You…dear heavens, I have never heard such beautiful playing.”
“She is self-taught,” James said, his tone rich with warm admiration. “You were simply wonderful.”
Poppy’s cheeks heated, and she canted her head. “Thank you…whatever are you doing here, James?”
Aunt Marielle raised a brow, and Poppy flushed.
“Forgive me. I meant Lord Kingsley.”
“We all knew what you meant, gel,” Aunt Marielle harrumphed, but there was a decided twinkle in her eyes. “And now I believe I understand why my nephew is here.” Then she whirled around and withdrew from the ballroom, taking a smiling Daphne and Mr. Titus with her.
Poppy was mortified. “I think your aunt believes there is some sort of tendre between us. You must hasten to correct her.”
“My aunt is simply mischievous,” he said dryly, but there was a very curious tint of color on his cheekbones.
A warm flutter went off in Poppy’s belly. “I thought you were to stay in London?”
“I bought you some apparel and wanted you to have it right away.”
“You bought me apparel? I believe you are determined to be scandalous. A most improper gift for any gentleman to give a lady.”
A rueful smile curved his mouth, and he bowed. “I am duly chastised, however as we are…” he seemed to search for the proper words, and Poppy’s heart tripped several times.
Did he too wonder at the feelings brewing between them that they evidently did not speak about?
“Yes…we are partners in adventure and friends. I thought it a rather appropriate gift.”
A rather peculiar warmth bubbled up inside of Poppy. “Well…what is it?”
“A shawl.”
“This shawl could not have waited to be delivered until I return to London?”
“It is a lovely shawl. I have also taken the liberty to impress upon Daphne that