Falling in Love Again (18 page)

“Never heard it, but play it for me once, and I'll get the tune,” John answered, handing the violin to Hanson. A minute later Hanson was fiddling a hand-clapping reel.

Within an hour, and several glasses of whiskey and cider later, many of the tenants John and Mallory had met that afternoon filled the Hansons' sitting room. Even the cobbler arrived carrying a fife.

Furniture was moved back to allow more room to dance. The whiskey disappeared quickly, but jugs of ale and other home brews appeared in its place.

After spending nearly half an hour turning the instrument, John proved he played the mandolin better than he did the fiddle. Soon, five of the men—the cobbler, Hanson, John, Wadham, and a Jeremy Rawlins—formed a musical group.

The news that a harvest home would be held at Cardiff Hall spread quickly. Mallory heard those words on everyone's lips. The thought of it sent a tremor of excitement through the crowd, making
this night special. Food appeared on the table in the dining room, as well as more jugs of ale and cider. Soon, young and old alike lined up for dances, and the floor shook with the stamping of their feet. The air smelled of food, ale, and sweat as the dancers threw themselves into having a good time. Mallory found a place in the corner close to an open window to watch everyone have fun.

She noticed that more than a few women eyed John with obvious interest, but he appeared oblivious to everything save the music. Between songs, he and the other musicians joked among themselves, and the dancers laughed, enjoying their banter.

He fit in easily, Mallory noticed. She envied his ability to blend in with people of different classes, something she had never been able to do even with the people at Craige Castle.

“Hello, Mrs. Dawson.” Evie waddled up to her, one hand on the small of her back.

She was delighted to see someone she knew. “Hello, Evie. Did you just arrive?”

“Aye, and I wish I were home. But I wasn't going to let Ruth or my Stephen leave me alone with my mother and the children while they had all the fun.” She nodded toward the dancers. Mallory saw Ruth in the arms of a brawny young man who turned and gave Evie a smile.

“Is Ruth still with you, or has her husband taken her back?”

Evie shrugged. “I don't know. Malcolm came by to talk to her earlier, but she hadn't told me she's leaving. He's got a bad temper, and Stephen
and I believe she might be better off with us, although I can't say she doesn't try him sorely. She's a flirt, you know, Mrs. Dawson. She has to try her games on every man who is new to the shire. I told her to behave around the new steward, but Ruth doesn't listen well.”

“I understand, Evie,” Mallory answered, and the young woman appeared visibly relieved.

At that moment, the dance ended. Ruth whirled around with the last step, turned, and noticed Mallory. Her laughing expression turned hostile before she coldly walked off in another direction. Evie had made her way over to a small group of women talking a short distance away, and didn't notice.

Once again Mallory was alone.

“May I have this dance?”

She didn't realized the older gentleman was speaking to her until her repeated his question. He was bald, save for a fuzz of white hair around the side of his head, didn't have many teeth, and was half a head shorter. He probably had trouble finding partners.

“I'm sorry, I don't dance,” she admitted regretfully.

“Don't or won't,” came Ruth's sharp voice. She'd come up behind the man. “She's too good for us, Tad,” she said. “Puts on airs and the like.”

“That's not true,” Mallory said quietly. She turned to Tad. “I don't know how to dance.”

“Then I'll teach you,” Tad said with enthusiasm, and did a jig step to show her he could.

Mallory felt the heat of a blush steal up her cheeks. She couldn't go out on the dance floor
and make a fool of herself. She shook her head. “That's very nice of you, but I can't.”

“See what I mean?” Ruth whispered loudly in Tad's ear. “She's
better
than us. Come, I'll dance with you.” She moved off and Tad followed, eager to take his place in the next dance set. Ruth slowed down next to the group of women and said a few words. They, in turn, craned their necks to take a good look at Mallory.

Mallory's place by the wall seemed lonelier than ever. She watched Tad and Ruth dance. After the set, Tad found another partner while Ruth spent her time with a knot of women gossiping by the cider.

By the covert glances sent her way, Mallory knew Ruth was gossiping about her. She turned away, but her gaze met Sylvie Hanson's. The farmer's wife sent her a shy smile, but there was a touch of pity in her eyes.

Mallory pretended it didn't matter. She and John weren't going to be here long, and after all, she was really Lady Craige. But her excuses rang hollow in her ears. She found herself tapping her toe to the music…and wishing she could be carefree and confident enough to join them.

She overheard two women whisper something about Mrs. Dawson insisting Ruth be turned out and then the new steward changing his mind and making amends. So, that was how the tale was being mangled, was it? Mallory felt a complete outcast.

After the next song, John set down the mandolin. He said something to Freddie and started across the room toward her.

Mallory panicked. He was smiling, but she could tell but the set of his jaw and the concern in his eyes that he was coming over to check on her.

It surprised her that a man could be so astute. Or perhaps he'd overheard someone gossiping? She didn't want to know.

He was making his way around the dancers now. In a second, he'd be in front of her.

Acting on impulse, Mallory moved swiftly out into the hallway. She had almost made it through the front door when John's hand captured her wrist.

“W
here are you going?” John asked.

“I need a breath of fresh air,” Mallory answered. She looked down at his hand holding her wrist and back up again, an imperial order to let her go, if John had ever received one.

But he wasn't going to. “If you leave, even for a breath of fresh air, Ruth will think she has run you off. The others will believe what she says. Don't give her that satisfaction.”

Mallory pulled on her wrist. “I don't care.”

“Oh yes, you do. I was watching, Mallory. You want to be a part of them but you don't know how, do you?”

Without answering, Mallory glowered up at him with mistrustful eyes. John almost smiled.

His wife had ruled Craige Castle for so long, he doubted anyone said nay to her.

“Don't let her chase you off,” he said softly. “Come and dance with me.”

“I don't know how to.” There was an edge of sadness in her words.

“Then let me teach you.” His hand moved from her wrist to take her fingers in his.

For a moment, he thought she was going to pull away again. Instead, she said, “John, I'll make a fool of myself.”

“Then you'll have company. I don't know half the steps they do in these dances either. But we'll learn together.”

“People will laugh at us.”

“At the
two
of us…and we'll laugh at ourselves. Now, come.”

Ever so slowly, Mallory let him draw her back toward the dancing. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and found a place for them against the wall where they could watch until the end of the current set.

John whispered in her ear, teaching her the different movements.

Mallory shook her head. “It seems confusing. I haven't danced since before my father took ill, when I was fourteen.”

He nodded to the first couple in the line. “All we need to do is exactly what the couple ahead of us does. It's quite simple.”

“Not to me. I have no idea of the steps.”

John laughed. “But I do, and it's my job to lead my partner through them. If we appear foolish, everyone will blame me.”

“You could never look foolish, whatever you did,” Mallory whispered under her breath.

John leaned back. “Dear me, did my wife just pay me a compliment?”

She blushed prettily, as if surprised she'd spoken aloud. At that moment the dance finished and the next set started forming. John dragged her out onto the dance floor.

Mallory was digging in her heels. “There won't be room for us.”

“As many that wish to dance can dance, Mallory.” He let go of her hand and joined the line of men facing the women.

For a second, he feared that Mallory would take flight. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she assumed her place across from him.

“So you've decided to dance, have you, Dawson?” Hanson shouted out, lowering his fiddle.

“I have,” John responded good naturedly. “And I'll ask you to play a lively tune. My feet don't move to any other.”

“Right you have it,” Hanson agreed, and nodded to the other musicians. “Let's do the
Irish Wash Woman
for our friend.” He counted the beats and the musicians began to play in quick time.

Everyone else in the line seemed to know the steps. Mallory earnestly studied the feet of the woman next to her, attempting to make hers move in the same way.

John wanted to call out, “Relax, Mallory,” but he knew better. The first couple completed their pattern, finishing with a
brisé
, in which the man
and woman circled each other quickly before casting off right and left to their respective lines.

It was a simple move, but a frown of concentration formed between Mallory's eyes.

And then it was their turn. Mallory's alarmed gaze met his. John gave her a reassuring smile and danced out in the middle to meet her.

She stood rooted to the floor. He went the necessary steps to grab her hand and drag her out, then, holding both hands, they started skipping sideways between the lines of dancers, as all the couples had before them.

They were halfway to the end of the promenade line before Mallory started to loosen up a bit. Their bodies began moving in step. Her legs brushed against his, her hands clasped his, and she actually smiled.

At the end of the line, they had to perform the
brisé
. They started around each other—and then Mallory stomped on his foot. John had been stepped on by mules that didn't hurt him the way his wife's stomping foot did.

Immediately, she broke the movement of the dance. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—” she said and would have bolted in embarrassment, except that John slipped his arm around her trim waist.

Ignoring his pained foot, he lifted her off the floor, her breasts pressed against his chest, and whirled her around until her feet lifted in the air. Mallory hugged his neck as if she were afraid she would fly away.

The dancers shouted their approval. It was with reluctance that John set her back down. He was
starting to cast off to the left and join his line when he realized that Mallory was still rooted to the spot and staring up at him, her expression slightly dazed. He turned her in the right direction and gave her a little push.

Recovering her balance, Mallory hurried to her place and everyone in the room laughed at their little pantomime. They were such a success that the next dancers down the line attempted to outdo them by spinning even longer. The next couple added their own twist, as did the next and the next. Soon, everyone's sides ached with laughter.

The dance ended. John limped over to Mallory and bowed. “You were splendid.”

“No, you were. I would have run away the moment I stepped on your foot. How is it?”

“It's nothing,” he assured her.

She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

Looking down in her golden brown eyes, John felt like St. George after he'd slain a dragon. “I didn't do anything.”

“I would never have attempted it if you hadn't forced me to try.” She removed her hand. “Do you think I could do it again?”

“Of course,” he agreed, eager to take her back into his arms. He held out his hand, but instead, she turned and searched the crowd.

“Excuse me a moment, John.” She left him standing there with his hand outstretched and worked her way around the other couples toward a short, balding older man. She said a few words, and a big smile spread across the man's face. He led her out onto the dance floor.

“Dawson,” Hanson called. “Come up here and play for me so I can dance with my wife.”

John was happy to do so since he had no desire to dance with anyone but Mallory. Taking Hanson's fiddle from him, he asked, “Who is that man with Mallory?”

Hanson shot a glance in her direction. “Oh, that's Tad Nevins. Loves to dance, our Tad does, but Mallory should look to her feet. He can get a bit carried away.” He went off in search of his wife.

John and the other musicians played a reel. Hanson was right, Nevins did stomp on a few of Mallory's toes, but she laughed and stomped right back. John winced. When the dance ended, the blacksmith who had scowled so ferociously at her that morning claimed her for the next set.

Hanson reclaimed his fiddle and John picked up the mandolin. As the evening wore on, he watched fascinated as Mallory blossomed before his eyes. Her careful reserve evaporated. If she made a mistake in the dance pattern, she laughed and attempted to do it better the next time. The other dancers teased her and took time to show her new steps, and she accepted both with equal grace.

When she wasn't dancing, she chatted with Sylvie Hanson and the other ladies. John realized that in the time they'd been together, she'd rarely laughed—at least, not with the freedom she did so now.

He managed another dance with her and this time his toes were safe. They almost moved as one.

All too soon the evening came to an end. John and Mallory were among the first to leave. At the door, they promised the Hansons to meet after church the next day and continue making plans for the harvest. Everyone at the party hailed John as a hero for giving them back the harvest, a role he played to the hilt.

Hanson clapped his hand on John's shoulder. “I may even consider paying my rent.”

“I'd appreciate it if you would,” John returned good-naturedly, and everyone laughed. John didn't think he'd have any trouble collecting the rents after this night.

They climbed into the pony cart and John drove them home by way of the country lane, through the fields and meadows between the Hansons' and Cardiff Hall. Mallory waved until the Hansons' house was out of sight. Then she fell back on the bench with a satisfied sigh. Her eyes sparkled with her enjoyment of the evening. The air around them smelled of night flowers and ripening fields of grain, a heady combination.

“I've never had such a good time in my life.” She reached out, her hand lightly touching his, which were holding the driving ribbons. “Thank you.”

Her simple words stirred him. “I didn't do anything.”

“You taught me how to fit in. Otherwise, this night would have been like all the other parties I've attended where I've sat with the matrons. Oh, John, you can't imagine how I feel tonight. For once in my life, I feel as if I've been accepted for who I am. I've always felt as if I was the outsider
looking in…but tonight I was part of the group.”

“Mallory, surely you had friends among people of your own class.”

“No, no one.” She hesitated before confessing, “I was a married woman. I had an obligation to you.”

“And so you waited for me?”

“Of course.”

John studied her before saying softly, “I'm surprised.”

She appeared startled that he would doubt her. “John, I was your wife.”

The words hung in the air between them. He didn't know what to say. Her commitment humbled him.

She turned to look over the dark meadow, dangling an arm over the side of the cart. The moon bathed her in silver light and the night songs of crickets and frogs filled the silence between them.

“Aren't the stars beautiful tonight?” she asked. “They appear so close and bright.”

“I haven't noticed,” John answered.

“Haven't noticed?” Mallory looked at him over her shoulder. “How could you not appreciate such a beautiful evening?”

“Because I'm too busy appreciating a beautiful woman.”

Mallory's lips parted. She studied him for a long moment, her expression uncertain, then shook her head. “You're teasing me,” she said with a shy smile.

“No, I'm not.”

She sat up. “You don't need to say that, John.”

“I didn't say it because I needed to, Mallory. I said it because I believe it.”

“I think you've had a touch too much whiskey tonight.” And she hiccupped, a small, feminine sound.

“And you've had a touch too much cider?”

“Perhaps a touch,” she admitted, and then laughed, the full-bodied sound full of joy.

Listening to her, John felt a sense of wonder building inside him. Something was happening to him. He felt light-headed, dizzy, happy—and all because she'd laughed?

No, he realized with a start. It was something more…something he'd never anticipated.

It was as if he was seeing Mallory truly for the first time. She'd attracted him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her at Sarah's party, but now there was a new depth to his feelings for her. His gaze lingered on the determined set of her chin, the spirited intelligence in her eyes, the open honesty she wore like a cloak around her. He even admired her freckled nose.

I'm falling in love
.

He heard the words in his mind as clearly as if a voice had whispered them in his ear. He was in love with Mallory.

Love. He'd never imagined it before—but how strange it was. It was almost as if he'd been empty inside, a shell of a man, until this very moment, when he'd realized he'd fallen in love…and now he felt filled with the most indescribable happiness, simple, pure happiness. He'd never known such an emotion existed—and he'd also
discovered that the poets were right. Love was something to celebrate, and to die for, and to sing about.

He stared at the point between the pony's ears, too startled by this new knowledge to truly understand it.

When had it happened? What change had been wrought inside him to turn a man who had once been so cynical into a moon-eyed fool in love?

He felt as if the earth trembled beneath him. His hands shook, his heart beat rapidly. Slowly, he turned and drank in the sight of Mallory as a thirsty man gulps down water.

She shifted, as if sensing his gaze upon her, and looked over her shoulder at him, her expression quizzical. “What is it?” she asked.

John couldn't answer. No words would pass his lips. Here he was, a man who had made love to camp followers, married women, even a foreign countess…and he couldn't speak to his own wife!

She smiled and shook her head. “When I met you at Lady Ramsgate's house, I thought you were the most jaded Corinthian in all of England. But look at you now.” She reached across to cover his hand with hers. “John, you've given the people of Tunleah Mews something to look forward to. I don't know how you'll persuade Lord Woodruff to sponsor the harvest home, but you'll think of a way.”

She squeezed his hand and then stood to climb out the back of the cart. She jumped easily to the ground.

Confused by her actions, John looked around
and realized they'd arrived home. The cart was halted in the barnyard. That was how powerful love was…it had robbed him of all sense of time and place.

Mallory took a deep breath of fresh night air and closed her eyes. Spreading her arms, she spun around. “This is a beautiful night,” she said again. She opened her eyes and smiled at John. “And a fitting end to a perfect day. Thank you.” She lifted the hamper from the cart and ran toward the path, pausing at the edge of the barnyard and waving at him. “Goodnight,” she whispered.