Page 33

Phoebe nodded. “And perhaps we could employ a footman . . .” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the scarcity of servants in the house. “If your brother has no objections, perhaps we could push aside a few pieces of furniture to create a small area in which to dance.”

“He will not object.” Emily was sure.

“Lord Dunsbourne does not like change, Miss Norton.” Miss Glover placed her knitting into a carpetbag at her feet and rose from her chair. “I would think carefully before shifting things around.”

“Since he wishes me to learn these dances and specifically suggested that Miss Hadford be the one to teach me, I am certain he will approve a temporary alteration to the configuration of the drawing room,” Emily said.

Miss Glover’s mouth formed a thin line, but she started for the door with her carpetbag in hand. Phoebe watched her go, her mind grappling with two new and somewhat unsettling revelations: Lord Dunsbourne had wished her to return to the manor, and the old governess disliked change far more than her employer did.

Adam tugged at the lace at his sleeve as he hurried down the stairs. The Hadford carriage had been parked outside when he’d returned to the house in his work clothes, and when he’d entered the great hall, he had heard the faint strains of music coming from the direction of the drawing room. A quick word with Thompson had confirmed what he had already guessed: Miss Hadford was here, but Miss Selfridge had recently left.

He had taken the stairs two at a time and, for the first time in years, found himself missing the convenience of a valet. In less than fifteen minutes, he had washed and dressed in clean clothing. All that remained now was to hope his cravat was straight and that there was enough time remaining in Emily’s improvised dance lesson to ascertain how well she was picking up the new steps.

He slowed as he approached the room, cocking his head to one side to listen to the voices within.

“You almost have it, Emily.” Miss Hadford was speaking. “At this point, the gentleman uses his right hand to receive the lady’s left behind her, and then she, with her right hand behind him, receives his left.”

“Right behind. Receive his left.” Emily paused. “But what about my feet? What are they supposed to be doing?”

Laughter. It had been too long since he’d heard such a warm, happy sound.

“Miss Glover would you mind playing the first line of the second page once more?”

The pianoforte began again. Adam recognized the music well enough to know it was being played extremely poorly. He grimaced as Miss Glover hit a fourth wrong note in a row.

“One, two, three, hop. One, two, three, hop.” Miss Hadford’s voice continued calmly through the missed notes. “Well done.”

“Badly done, rather.” Emily’s voice held a hint of dejection. “I do not think I will ever get it right.”

Adam entered the room. The chairs and tables had been pushed against the wall in haphazard fashion, leaving a third of the room free of obstacles. Miss Glover sat at the pianoforte, her back ramrod straight, her expression equally severe. Miss Hadford looked beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. Her rose-colored gown complemented her figure perfectly and matched the faint hint of pink in her cheeks. Her flaxen hair hung in ringlets around her face, and her blue eyes were currently wide with what he hoped was surprise rather than fear. Emily was the only one who greeted him with a smile—albeit a forlorn one.

“It is no good, Adam. Phoebe has been incredibly patient with me, but my feet do not listen to my head, and my arms are never where they are supposed to be. The allemande is beyond me.”

“Nonsense.” He offered Emily an encouraging smile. “You cannot make me believe that you are unable to conquer what all those feather-headed young ladies who parade around the London ballrooms have already mastered.”

The moment the words were said, he realized how poorly they might be taken by Miss Hadford.

“Your brother is right, Emily,” she said. “I have seen a great many feather-headed young ladies dancing the allemande.” She raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “There are even some bird-witted gentlemen who manage to complete the dance without stepping on their partner’s toes too many times.”

Adam chuckled. He had deserved that—although the upward quirk of her lips suggested that Miss Hadford was fighting a smile.

“That’s just it, you see.” Emily’s shoulders sagged. “You have both seen this dance performed as it should be done. I, on the other hand, know only what it should not look like.”

“Perhaps, if your brother is willing to be your partner it would help,” Miss Hadford said.

Emily turned to him with hope-filled eyes. “Will you do that, Adam?”

“But of course.” He bowed deeply and held his hand to her. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Norton?”

Emily giggled and took his hand. Miss Hadford smiled. Her blue eyes sparkled, and his breath caught. Tearing his gaze away, he focused on his sister.

“How far have you gone?”

“Far enough to get into a muddle.”

“We have reviewed the basic steps and positions,” Miss Hadford said. “We were just attempting the crossed allemande and the pas d’allemande when you entered.”

He nodded. “Would you play for us, Miss Glover?”