Page 97 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

“Hardly. I haven’t practiced in a year. My playing is slapdash at best.”

“I’m enjoying it,” he said.

Helena smiled. “You’d enjoy it more if it was played by an orchestra. A single instrument can never do it justice. Now this…” She switched to one of her favorite waltzes by Chopin. “This was written for the pianoforte.”

“Not that one, Helena,” Jenny objected from across the room. She and Mr. Finchley, who’d been twirling rapidly, were now at a standstill. “It’s far too slow.”

Helena dutifully switched back to something more energetic. As she played, she watched Jenny and Mr. Finchley resume their waltz. Jenny was blushing rosily and Mr. Finchley was looking down at her through his spectacles, a smile lighting his usually serious face.

He was an orphan like Justin. A gentleman with no home and no family. No one to call his own. But if he was discontented with his lot in life, he never showed it. Certainly not now, with Jenny in his arms.

“You’re the next victim, Thornhill,” Mr. Finchley said when the music stopped. “Come and let Miss Holloway show you how it’s done.”

Justin crossed the room to dance with Jenny. Helena played another waltz, this time choosing a piece that was slower—and shorter. She had the impression that Justin was dancing with Jenny more as a matter of courtesy than pleasure.

Mr. Finchley came to stand next to her, his attention lingering on Justin and Jenny. “Thornhill is too unsentimental to enjoy dancing.”

Helena glanced up at him as she played. “You think him unsentimental?”

“I think he’d rather be risking his neck than confined to a ballroom, forced to engage in social niceties. He’s a man of action. Always has been. Even as a child.”

“So he’s told me.”

“He was our fearless leader, you know.”

Helena dropped her gaze back to the keys as she flubbed her way through a difficult passage. “He feels responsible for all of you.”

Mr. Finchley looked at her in mild surprise. “He said that?”

“Not in so many words,” she admitted.

He laughed. “Not in any words, I’ll wager. But you’re quite right, my lady. Thornhill would bear the weight of the world for us if he could. He takes on everyone’s burdens, to his own detriment. It’s one of the most irritating things about him.”

“I’m quite out of breath,” Jenny said, coming to a halt. “Come and changes places with me, Helena.”

Helena stood and went to Justin. He watched her intently as she crossed the room. When he held out his hand for her, she took it, feeling his other hand curve firmly about her waist. He drew her much closer than he’d drawn Jenny. The proximity to his body, so big and warm, sent a thrill of excitement through her. She tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Mr. Finchley says you don’t enjoy dancing.”

Justin gazed down at her, a smile at his lips. “Perhaps I’ve never had the right partner.”

Helena wanted to ask if she was the right partner, but it seemed a foolish question. How could he possibly know when they’d never danced together?

Jenny began to play a popular waltz, the tempo slow and regular as clockwork. It was easy for Helena to catch the rhythm, especially with Justin leading her. “One-two-three,” she murmured to him as he waltzed her down the length of the parlor.

Justin chuckled. And then he swept her into an elaborate turn.

She gasped in delight, which only inspired him to turn her again.

Jenny transitioned into a lively, rousing piece on the pianoforte, as Justin waltzed Helena round the room. They spun and swooped and turned. It was effortless. Exhilarating. When the music finally stopped, Helena was breathless with laughter.

“Tsk, tsk,” Jenny teased. “What’s happened to your expression of fashionable ennui?”

“I’ve never mastered it,” Helena said as she caught her breath. She smiled up at Justin. He was still holding her fast in his arms. “I’ll try to appear indifferent to you when we waltz together at the ball.”

Justin inclined his head in a mock bow. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

One of her hands was resting on his shoulder. She should have removed it, thereby signaling that he could let her go. Instead, as Jenny and Mr. Finchley exchanged quiet words by the pianoforte, she lifted it and very softly brushed her fingers against his cheek.