Read Online An Unusual Courtship by Katherine Marlowe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Marlowe
Ads: Link
shall,” Percival said, although he knew that he might perfectly well make a fool of himself by dancing poorly at the new style. He knew that it had become widely popular in France and Germany, but several of his parishioners were strongly of the opinion that such an intimate dance—between couples, rather than performed in a group, and with the gentleman’s arm so brassly enfolding the lady’s waist—was a shocking vulgarity upon a polite dance floor.
“I hope you will allow me the lead?” Mr. Everett asked, offering his hand to Percival and placing his hand on Percival’s waist. “At least until I have taught you the way of it, and then we may switch off as you please.”
“Oh, so you intend to waltz with me more than once?” Percival asked him, smiling as Mr. Everett led him onto the floor.
The question earned a little bit more of a smile, and Mr. Everett’s eyes remained upon his face as they swirled among the other dancers. “I think I may,” Mr. Everett said. “If only so that you may master the style and seem wonderfully urbane among the ladies of the district.”
“You are very thoughtful, Mr. Everett,” Percival said. He felt his cheeks warming as they danced. Mr. Everett held him quite close, near enough that Percival could smell the sweet scent of violets and anise on Mr. Everett’s breath from the French pastilles that he favoured. Percival expected that he should taste as sweet, and was overcome with a sudden longing to find out.
Mr. Everett guided him gently, giving quiet instruction as Percival followed. He very kindly refrained from commenting about Percival stepping on his toes as Percival clumsily attempted to keep up with the unfamiliar steps.
Their dance ended all too shortly, and Percival felt cold and lonely in the absence of Mr. Everett’s arms around him.
Distracting himself by engaging in several more of the dances that followed, Percival kept ever aware of Mr. Everett’s place on the dance floor. When the next dance came, Mr. Everett danced with a young lady of quality who was much more skilled at the steps than Percival, and they looked a perfectly lovely couple as they turned about the floor. Percival happened to know that the young lady was an heiress, and thought that they might make an admirable match—although, as it occurred to him at this point, he knew precisely nothing about Mr. Everett’s finances or rank, having not thought it pertinent to inquire about the matter when he had written to his cousin Agatha. Percival wondered whether it would be acceptable to put the question discreetly to Mr. Bolton, although truly he had no fair reason for needing to know the finances of Mr. Everett. It was hardly as though Percival was going to marry him, and if any of the young ladies in the district fancied that they might do so, they could certainly do their own research.
Percival danced until the musicians had at last put up their instruments for the night. The dance floor was nearly empty by then, and most of the guests had gone home. Some of the guests had partaken rather too heavily of the rich burgundy wine that was served later in the evening, and the servants were gently escorting such guests to their carriages or up to their rooms.
Everything seemed to have gone quiet all at once as the music stopped. There was no sound left in the ballroom but the whisper of servants and the scuff of furniture being moved as things were tidied away. The elegant, fastidious ballroom had been left in quite a rumple by her guests, but Percival found himself very pleased by the sight of that rumple, glad to see Linston Grange in proper use once again.
Sinking into a chair, Percival watched the guests dwindle away, remaining alert in case his authority was needed, but finding that the Grange staff—more than half of which he had hired personally—knew their business and carried it out with the utmost discretion.
“What shall you, Mr. Valentine?”
Surprised by the question,
“I hope you will allow me the lead?” Mr. Everett asked, offering his hand to Percival and placing his hand on Percival’s waist. “At least until I have taught you the way of it, and then we may switch off as you please.”
“Oh, so you intend to waltz with me more than once?” Percival asked him, smiling as Mr. Everett led him onto the floor.
The question earned a little bit more of a smile, and Mr. Everett’s eyes remained upon his face as they swirled among the other dancers. “I think I may,” Mr. Everett said. “If only so that you may master the style and seem wonderfully urbane among the ladies of the district.”
“You are very thoughtful, Mr. Everett,” Percival said. He felt his cheeks warming as they danced. Mr. Everett held him quite close, near enough that Percival could smell the sweet scent of violets and anise on Mr. Everett’s breath from the French pastilles that he favoured. Percival expected that he should taste as sweet, and was overcome with a sudden longing to find out.
Mr. Everett guided him gently, giving quiet instruction as Percival followed. He very kindly refrained from commenting about Percival stepping on his toes as Percival clumsily attempted to keep up with the unfamiliar steps.
Their dance ended all too shortly, and Percival felt cold and lonely in the absence of Mr. Everett’s arms around him.
Distracting himself by engaging in several more of the dances that followed, Percival kept ever aware of Mr. Everett’s place on the dance floor. When the next dance came, Mr. Everett danced with a young lady of quality who was much more skilled at the steps than Percival, and they looked a perfectly lovely couple as they turned about the floor. Percival happened to know that the young lady was an heiress, and thought that they might make an admirable match—although, as it occurred to him at this point, he knew precisely nothing about Mr. Everett’s finances or rank, having not thought it pertinent to inquire about the matter when he had written to his cousin Agatha. Percival wondered whether it would be acceptable to put the question discreetly to Mr. Bolton, although truly he had no fair reason for needing to know the finances of Mr. Everett. It was hardly as though Percival was going to marry him, and if any of the young ladies in the district fancied that they might do so, they could certainly do their own research.
Percival danced until the musicians had at last put up their instruments for the night. The dance floor was nearly empty by then, and most of the guests had gone home. Some of the guests had partaken rather too heavily of the rich burgundy wine that was served later in the evening, and the servants were gently escorting such guests to their carriages or up to their rooms.
Everything seemed to have gone quiet all at once as the music stopped. There was no sound left in the ballroom but the whisper of servants and the scuff of furniture being moved as things were tidied away. The elegant, fastidious ballroom had been left in quite a rumple by her guests, but Percival found himself very pleased by the sight of that rumple, glad to see Linston Grange in proper use once again.
Sinking into a chair, Percival watched the guests dwindle away, remaining alert in case his authority was needed, but finding that the Grange staff—more than half of which he had hired personally—knew their business and carried it out with the utmost discretion.
“What shall you, Mr. Valentine?”
Surprised by the question,
Similar Books
