“I daresay it is Mr. Wallace’s fault.”
Poor Mr. Wallace who’d had his feet trod upon for the better part of the week. If he didn’t end up with broken toes by the end of Jane’s lessons, that would prove his greatest career accomplishment. “I hardly think it is fair to blame Mr. Wallace for my inadequacy.”
Chloe smiled and patted her hand. “I do say that is why I so like you. You never shift blame to others as you should have done with…” My brother. The young woman cleared her throat. “Regardless, Mr. Wallace is likely waiting and we really should be off to your lessons.”
Jane sighed as a determined Chloe took her by the hand and all but dragged her to the door, out of the room and down the corridor. This young woman hadn’t needed a companion; she’d needed to be someone’s companion. As they walked at a brisk clip through the corridors, they passed the occasional servant who shot her a sympathetic look.
She grimaced. Apparently, the servants had learned how poorly their new mistress was faring with the whole presentation before Society business.
“I have faith in you, Jane. Mr. Wallace will prepare you for the Duke of Crawford’s ball.”
Jane wasn’t altogether certain who Chloe sought to convince, Jane or herself with that promise. “Yes, you said as much,” she said weakly. “Perhaps another ball?” she ventured. It didn’t have to be a duke’s ball. After all, there was a kind of awkward irony in a duke’s bastard making her entrance to Society at another duke’s ball.
Yes, a few more days would allow her time to accustom herself to the idea of a public shaming. One would think after years of Societal condemnation she’d grow accustomed to such treatment. Alas.
“No,” Chloe said forcefully. “It must be this one,” she said as they reached the empty ballroom. “His wife is kind,” she said as an explanation. A kind duchess?
Mr. Wallace, tall, frequently frowning, and always put out, stood at the entrance of the ballroom. With his chestnut brown hair pulled back in queue and his lean frame, he very well could have been considered dashing to some.
If he wasn’t always frowning.
Jane repressed a groan as her sister-in-law shoved her between the shoulder blades. “Off you go.” Then she dropped her voice a whisper. “I will be here.”
As she’d been for the week since Jane had been abandoned. With a sigh, she started for Mr. Wallace.
He said something to the violinist assembled and then turned to Jane. A beleaguered sigh escaped him. “My lady,” he said in cool, clipped tones her husband would have been hard-pressed to emulate.
“Mr. Wallace.” Though there was something very real and appreciated in a person who disdained her not for the status of her birth but because of her dreadful habit of plodding all over his toes.
“We have but two days,” he reminded her needlessly as he held out his arms. She really didn’t require that reminder.
She knew precisely how much time she had. Jane settled her hand upon his shoulder and then he placed his upon her waist. “I do not see how this is proper,” she muttered under her breath. A man’s hands so intimately upon a lady?
Mr. Wallace winced as she stepped hard on his toes. “It is the waltz, my lady,” he said, righting her as she stumbled.
“It is a one-two-three count,” Chloe called from the side.
She didn’t care if it was a one-count shuffle along the floor. She couldn’t keep the beat.
“And it is all the rage. Brought over recently from the Continent.” So, now it was to be a history lesson.
“Oomph.”
“I am sorry,” she said automatically.
His lips moved in what she believed was a curse, if the staid dance master did something as improper and impolite as curse. Jane stumbled—again—and he steadied her, catching her firmly about the waist and drawing her close.
“I fear your efforts are futile.” She would not master the steps of any one of the blasted dances he’d shown her and certainly not in time for the duke’s blasted ball.
“Gabriel!”
At Chloe’s exclamation, Jane looked up swiftly and trod all over poor Mr. Wallace’s toes once more. Her heart jumped as her husband’s towering frame filled the doorway.