but we’re at least a decade before de Martinville’s work inspired Edison’s and Bell’s mad race to invent the phonograph. I turn in confusion toward the music, which seems to come from deeper in the house.
“One cannot have a ball without dancing,” William says. “Nor dancing without music. That was one of my tasks for the day—hiring a trio. I have, of course, paid well for their discretion.”
At that, he seems to remember another temporary employee and leans into the stairwell to call, “Mary?”
She pops her head out. “M’lord.”
“You may leave now. Your services were appreciated.”
“Yes, they were,” I say as she comes down the stairs. “Thank you very much.”
She glances toward the music. “Must—ought I to leave, m’lord? The lady may need help with her undressing.”
“I am certain I—” He clears his throat. “I am certain she can manage.”
“Is it proper, though, m’lord?” Mary says as I bite back a smile. “She hasn’t come with her maid, and it seems as if I shouldn’t leave her alone without a chaperone.”
“There’s no need to concern yourself on that point,” William says. “Lady Dale is quite accustomed to men. She is a widow.”
I choke on a laugh as William’s eyes widen. “That is not—I meant only that she is accustomed to dealing with men. She is not an inexp—naive maiden who fears telling a man his attentions are unwanted. She is quite safe with me, unchaperoned.”
“He is correct,” I say. “I am past the age where I require a chaperone to safeguard my virtue. I can protect it myself, and I know Lord Thorne enough to trust his behavior for the evening however unorthodox the situation.”
Mary casts a longing glance toward the music.
William sighs. “There is a cold buffet in the next room. You may help yourself to a plate and enjoy the music for two dances. Then . . .” A dark look. “You are gone.”
She curtseys, says, “Yes, m’lord,” and scampers off.
William sighs again, deeply, as he turns to me. “Not quite what I had in mind, but it will only be two dances.”
“Perfectly reasonable.” I take his arm, and we walk through the parlor to the formal dining room, which is currently devoid of furniture, save a long table with the aforementioned cold buffet, a pitcher of lemonade and a bottle of port. The musicians are there, too—a violist, a cornetist and a pianist using the family piano.
“If you are hungry . . .” William says.
“Not yet.” I look at the open room. “This is the dance floor, I take it?”
“It could be,” he says. “However, it is a lovely evening, and if you are so inclined . . .”
He leads me to the back door and opens it. The rear yard is awash in light, candelabras burning around the freshly cut lawn. The windows are all open, and music wafts into the night.
I smile over at him. “Yes, please.”
He offers his arm again, and we sweep out to the lawn as the music swells, as if we’re stepping onto a grand dance floor, some well-dressed butler announcing, “Lord William Thorne and Lady Bronwyn Dale.”
I smile at the thought as my gown whispers over the grass. William leads me to the center of the lawn, candlelight dancing in the twilight. He takes both my hands, holding me in front of him, and the music slides into a waltz and . . .
And I freeze.
“I don’t know how—” I begin, eyes widening in panic.
“Follow my lead,” he says. Then he bends to whisper. “And remember that there is no one here to see you but me, and I am too moonstruck to notice if you cut loose and dance a fisherman’s jig.”
I laugh. “I believe I can avoid that.”
“Then, we are prepared.” He lifts my hands and begins the dance. It’s slow and measured. I might have panicked, realizing I don’t know the steps to a Victorian waltz, but I am, after all, a dancer. I pick it up within a few refrains, and soon we’re swirling over the grass.
When we whirl past the doorway, I see Mary there, her face glowing as she watches, transfixed, and my heart trips a few beats. The look on her face is the same that must be on mine every time I watch this scene in a movie, the heroine and her lover gliding over the floor, me swooning in my seat, envying her, being her, if only for a moment. Dreaming of being swept across the floor by a dashing man