times we went to a play or concert. We had no social life, though.
“From there, I went straight into the military with the commission the earl purchased for me.” He grinned. “The only dancing I did then was as the bullets flew by and I tried to avoid them.”
She laughed at his joke and then grew serious. “I am sorry I did not think to give you dancing lessons, Rhys. Here you are hosting a ball and will not be participating.”
“It doesn’t matter. As long as my guests enjoy themselves, it will make me happy.”
Dalinda touched his arm, feeling the jolt that seemed to be ever-present between them. “Promise me you will find a dance master to teach you the waltz and basic reels. You can’t go through the Season without dancing.”
He gazed at her steadily. “I have decided not to go to London anytime soon. I am learning too much about my estate to run off and participate in frivolous activities. Besides, I have given quite a bit of thought to your idea of helping wounded and injured veterans. I quite like it. It would give me additional purpose and make all this worthwhile.” He chuckled. “It also sounds far more interesting than pursing a wife.”
His words confirmed her decision not to go to London. She would rather spend time with Arthur and Harry anyway.
And hopefully, Rhys.
“Since you are so willing to learn and I will be close by at Laurelwood, I would like to offer to teach you how to dance before next Season comes around.”
She removed her arm from his sleeve but he caught her wrist. His thumb slowly rubbed back and forth on the underside, causing her breath to hitch.
“I would like that, Dalinda. Very much.”
His smoldering eyes made her skin heat. She was surprised that she didn’t erupt in flames.
Slipping her arm into the crook of his, he guided her toward the ballroom. The crowded room buzzed with conversations. Rhys caught the eyes of the musicians, who were tuning their instruments, and they ceased.
Dalinda leaned closer and told him, “Say something to commence the opening of the ball and welcome your guests.”
“Very well.”
She pulled away and took a few steps back, wanting the Earl of Sheffington to be the center of attention. He made his way to the quartet of musicians and she noticed those gathered fell silent.
Rhys faced the room and said, “Tonight is a celebration of the beginning of our relationship together. Enjoy the food and music. Dance until your poor feet ache. For a few hours, leave work behind and become swept up in the gaiety. Welcome to Sheffield Park!”
He turned and nodded. The quartet picked up their instruments and began to play. As Rhys left the dance floor, partners hurried to form their lines. Dalinda took the opportunity to move toward Mr. Morrison. She had seen him hanging back from the others, trying to melt into the wall. She knew he must be terribly worried about his facial disfigurement and she wanted to help launch him into life at Sheffield Park.
“I am here to claim my dance with you, Mr. Morrison,” she told him brightly. “You are remiss not to have sought me out before now.”
“Your Grace, I must—”
“No protests. Come!” she said gleefully, snagging his arm and leading him to the center of the room. “I asked for a Scotch reel to be played first. I hope you know the steps.”
They lined up with the others and the dancing began in earnest. She was impressed with how light on his feet the new head groom was, as were others. When the set finally came to an end, applause broke out and Dalinda saw several people go up and begin talking to Morrison. She winked at him and he smiled gratefully at her before turning his attention to those gathered around him.
“That one dance may have changed his life,” Rhys said in her ear, causing a shiver to run along her spine. “Thanks to you, people will see him for the man he is and what he can offer—not the damaged soul who slunk home from the war.”
“I like Mr. Morrison a great deal. Others will, too,” she proclaimed.
“Your Grace? Would you care to dance?” asked William Shirley, the lead tenant.
She faced the farmer. “I would enjoy partnering with you, Mr. Shirley.”
Two hours later, Dalinda’s feet began to protest. Thankfully, it was the supper dance, which she had spent with a young man who was about fourteen. His mother called him