Wilful Impropriety (35 page)

“Mr. Charles Martin,” announced Stevens, and Leah pushed the thought aside and stood to greet the guest.

Mr. Martin was tall and handsome, and had blond hair carefully curled; he wore yellow gloves, and his blue coat was almost too sharp for the fashion, and he entered with a smile that felt larger than it was, so Leah had an impression of white teeth, though she had seen none.

“Lady Clement,” he greeted, with a bow one degree more formal than necessary.

Mother stepped forward with her arm held out just so. “Mr. Martin, a pleasure to meet you. This, of course, is my daughter Leah.”

Mr. Martin bowed and lifted one hand slightly, palm up, to take her hand.

But Leah had laced her fingers together, and though she thought she might extend a hand and have him take it, somehow her fingers wouldn’t move, and so she just stared at him.

He blinked, adjusted his expression back to a polite smile, and slid his eyes past her.

“And this is Miss Hammond,” Mother said. “My daughter’s companion.”

“Charmed,” said Mr. Martin, turning his face to catch up with his eyes.

Miss Hammond curtseyed, and Leah watched her, for a moment, turn into a lady—the smooth dip of the motion, the lowered eyes, the glance back up to him, smoothing the skirt in a discreet sweep of the palm as she stood.

It was exactly the way a lady should look when meeting a gentleman, and Leah’s heart sank just looking at it.

“If I might suggest, Miss Clement might change into a low bodice for our lesson.” Mr. Martin turned to Mama and explained, “It’s a common request, among the dance instructors most familiar with the Season. One might learn the correct form straight away, and it is an extra source of ease, I find, to practice on the instrument on which one intends to perform.”

The idea of wearing her low bodice in front of Mr. Martin the stranger, who hadn’t even looked at her when he suggested it, made Leah’s hands go cold.

But Mama nodded at her, which meant the decision had been made, and there was nothing left for Leah to do but obey.

Miss Hammond moved to follow, but Leah snapped, “Don’t trouble yourself,” and kept walking.

As she turned for the stairs, Leah could hear Mama saying, “She can be clever, Mr. Martin, but she’s always been a bit peevish. My apologies. Too long in the country, I suspect.”

•   •   •

The lesson took place in the ballroom.

Evering Park was an estate landed enough to have a true ballroom, even though they hadn’t hosted anything grander than a dinner party since Leah could remember.

(“Your father isn’t fond of a fuss,” Mama had said once or twice, when Leah asked. Then she had closed the doors of the ballroom with a sigh and moved for the little drawing rooms where they spent their evenings.)

As Leah walked in, Mr. Martin was examining the room with the air of a tenant. Miss Hammond was hanging back near the doorway, watching him.

“Excellent room,” he said, and tossed a grin over his shoulder at Miss Hammond—then at Leah, as he caught sight of her. “It’s a bit of a trick trying to teach the new dances with nothing but a morning parlor at one’s disposal. One should see how a dance moves over a room in order to be able to dance it with grace.”

“This might not be big enough,” said Leah.

Miss Hammond squeezed her hand for a moment. “Leah, don’t underestimate yourself. Many girls with less to recommend them have managed to muddle through a Season or two and come out all right on the other side.”

“All right” meant “married,” but it couldn’t be true—Miss Hammond had had her Seasons, and now here she was. If Miss Hammond couldn’t manage, Leah couldn’t imagine how she would.

But that was an unkind thing to think. (For one of them, or both of them. It was hard to say.)

“Right,” said Mr. Martin, who was hanging his greatcoat carefully across one of the chairs. “Now, Miss Clement, your mother didn’t mention to me how much you already knew about dancing.”

Leah remembered vaguely that her cousins the Fosters had thrown a family party at the Hall, when she was thirteen or fourteen. She had practiced beforehand with Lily Foster, and then shuffled her way through some dance where you met and parted with strangers all the way down the line, and sometimes met up in quarters so that your right arms joined in a star, and throughout the whole affair Lily had been trying valiantly to give her silent reminders as to what was coming next.

“I think it’s safest to assume nothing,” Leah said.

Mr. Martin checked a laugh. “Right. I see. And Miss Hammond, you strike me as a young woman of the world—do I have the pleasure of an assistant in this endeavor?”

Miss Hammond inclined her head. “I’m a little out of fashion,” she said, “but happy to help if I can.”

Mr. Martin was quiet a moment, looking at her, and then turned to Leah.

“Why don’t we begin with making an entrance,” he said, and turned to indicate the open doors. “I’ll be your escort, and Miss Hammond will provide the sage advice that only a lady can communicate to another of her kind.”

Leah looked at Miss Hammond, who was smiling at her, and nodding for her to go on.

“A young lady,” began Mr. Martin, “always enters a ballroom quietly, so as not to draw attention to herself by causing any disturbance to others at the party. She should, rather, be noticed because of the refinement of her carriage, her manner, and her grace. Her first dance happens before she ever takes the floor.”

He held out his hand, palm down. “So, Miss Clement?”

Leah took a breath (her ribs strained against her corset), rested her palm on his hand. His kid gloves were fitted tight, thin as skin, and he was watching her with sharp blue eyes.

He smiled; she had the impression of teeth.

“Let us begin,” he said.

They walked nearly the length of the ballroom, as he said, “No weight on the joined hand,” and, “Hold the chin slightly lower, so people don’t think you’re displeased,” and once, “There’s no hurry, Miss Clement.”

“Yes,” said Miss Hammond with a grin, “perhaps let’s not gallop,” and Leah flushed to her temples and forced herself to walk so that the toe of one shoe touched the heel of the other.

“Well done,” he said, and for a moment his thumb brushed the edges of her fingers.

It startled her; it was like skin, just like.

She looked up at him, at his bright blue eyes and his quarter of a smile and his shoulders held with more ease than any gentleman she’d ever met.

As they turned to walk back up the room, Leah glimpsed her mother in the doorway, passing out of sight.

•   •   •

A lady cannot refuse the invitation of a gentleman to dance, unless she has already accepted that of another, for she would be guilty of an incivility which might occasion trouble.

—Manners, Culture, and Dress of the Best American Society
, Richard Wells (1891)

•   •   •

“I’m thinking of inviting your cousin William, Reg, to come and stay,” said their mother at supper, three days later. “You know there’s hardly any sport worth having on his grounds, this time of year.”

Cousin William Foster was the heir to the Foster estate in Surrey, and only a few years older than Leah, and she set down her spoon in the soup so suddenly it splashed.

From the look on Reg’s face, he wasn’t any keener to have Cousin William come and stay, which made Leah wonder why Mother would think to invite him.

But Mama was pointedly not looking at Leah, and Leah began to worry.

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Leah said.

(She wished Miss Hammond took supper with them—she would know what to say that was roundabout and polite that could put the invitation out of the question, but Leah was here alone, and her face hurt from practicing a smile that showed no teeth, and now she knew her mother had been watching her with Mr. Martin, and looking at his smile, and making plans.)

Her mother glanced at their father. “It might not be strictly necessary, but won’t it be nice for Reg and Leah to spend a little time with their cousin before the crush of the Season, Father?”

Leah stared at him, willing him to look at her and take her side—he had to know what was happening when an eligible cousin was invited to stay, it was what had happened with him and Mother.

But Father only glanced up from his soup and said, “Quite right,” with a smile.

Nothing was quite right, Leah thought, though there was no saying why.

There was no saying anything at all.

(“A lady can never go wrong by being economical in conversation, and avoiding strong opinions,” said Mr. Martin. “In the dance, it’s a distraction from your fine form, and in company, it can be seen as an attempt to distinguish oneself.”

“But I’m supposed to distinguish myself,” Leah pointed out. “There are Dukes in London, and my mother has expectations.”

Mr. Martin tilted his head like a bird. Then he looked at Miss Hammond and said, “I see we might want to have some lessons in conversation.”

Miss Hammond said, “If you like,” with that coquette smile, and when Mr. Martin turned his back she gave a smaller, real smile to Leah.)

She sat in silence through the rest of supper, and waved aside the beef and the pudding with custard; her appetite had gone.

“Very good, Leah,” said her mother, as if she really was proud. “I’ll make some enquiries about a modiste of repute, and we’ll see what’s to be done with your figure, how’s that?”

Leah didn’t answer; under her fingers, her knife turned over and over.

•   •   •

“You know why, don’t you?” Reg asked.

They were on their way upstairs to retire, after two hours in the drawing room where Leah had flipped nervously through a manual of etiquette Mr. Martin had recommended, not paying any mind to what she saw, and not even wondering that there was so much.

Usually Reg smoked with Father in the dining room, and stayed up later than Leah was allowed. It was rare that he left with her; now Leah knew why.

“I suspect it’s because Mr. Martin is handsome.”

“I knew it,” said Reg, curling his lip. “You’re in a fancy.”

“Hardly.” Leah flinched at the speed of her answer, and amended, “On the contrary, there’s something about him I truly do not like. He’s a fine instructor, but really, don’t imagine I need Cousin William to come and shame me out of something.”

Reg raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what Mother thinks, clearly.”

“Well, then she should spare our cousin and just send you to watch over me,” Leah said.

Reg barked a laugh. “God, no! Bad enough to suffer through ten balls a Season looking into a sea of gormless faces from which you have to pluck a wife trained never to think anything of matter. I’m not about to be lectured through the mazurka with my own sister by our Mr. Martin on top of it all.”

He took the stairs two at a time, vanished into his room.

Reg had never talked to her before about how he spent his time in London. Given what their mother hinted about his finances, she had imagined him at gaming tables and horse races.

She wasn’t sure if this was better, or worse.

•   •   •

At their next lesson, Leah walked with Mr. Martin until both he and Miss Hammond were content with her carriage, the incline of her head, the lightness of her expression, and the length of her step.

(“Please, let’s not gallop,” said Miss Hammond once, with just enough of a smile that Leah obeyed.)

Mr. Martin stopped; she kept her hand hovering a hair’s breadth above his.

He smiled. “Well done, Miss Clement. Now, might I interest you in taking refreshment?”

Leah glanced down and up through her lashes, slid her fan half open to indicate mild fatigue but not disinterest, and smiled without showing any teeth. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Martin.”

“No, Leah,” said Miss Hammond softly from her chair, with a quick shake of her head. “You can’t accept. He is not a close enough friend of the family.”

Leah wondered why it sounded like such general custom to bring young ladies into Society, loose them into a sea of strange men, and then starve them.

“I’ve accepted refreshments from men at parties,” she protested.

Mr. Martin gave her a long-suffering look. “At family parties, or among your neighbors, of course you may. But London is a different creature.”

For one wistful moment, Leah pictured the streets threaded through with dragons.

“And how close is close enough?” she asked. “Would Cousin William be able to fetch me some refreshment at an assembly, or would I have to hope Reginald is within shouting distance before I expire?”

“Your cousin would be an excellent choice,” Miss Hammond said, as if refreshments at a ball were the only thing being discussed. Maybe it was; Miss Hammond didn’t employ the same style of hints that Mama did.

(Still, it felt like being thrown away, somehow, and Leah scowled.)