Page 65 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
He turned to Beatrice and found her looking at him with admiration. And pleasure.
“Time to make this assembly happen?” she murmured.
“Today is the day,” he said, threading his fingers with hers, “and tonight is the night.”
Chapter 15
Impatient for the dance to begin, Beatrice eagerly walked the length of the barn, checking on the decorations.
After coming to an agreement to hire out the barn which belonged to a Mrs. Willard, Beatrice and Duncan and Mrs. Willard’s children had spent the afternoon making flower garlands and paper lanterns, as well as sweeping out hay and airing out the structure so that it smelled only of sweet grass when the assembly began.
She’d thrown countless balls for London society, but never with this kind of fizzy enthusiasm. This was far more important. While she hoped the villagers had a good time, what truly mattered wasDuncan’senjoyment.
He’d been the one to spearhead the enterprise, and his determination to make this assembly happen thrilled her to her marrow. It was as though thismorning he’d emerged transformed from the wilderness. He was still himself, sardonic and disciplined and purposeful, but there had been an alteration, too, as though he’d found a purpose that had been lacking from his life. He was both freed from his self-imposed yoke and more determined than ever.
She was the lucky woman to see him evolve. And she had no doubt that he would continue to grow, too, long after their time together was over.
The thought that itwouldcome to an end made her pause in midstride. She had been so eager to move from one experience to the next, yet she hadn’t considered what would happen afterward. What would become of her and Duncan.
The man himself spoke to a trio of musicians, which included a woman with a fiddle, a man with a drum, and another man with a flute. She couldn’t hear what Duncan said to them, but his gestures were animated as he likely instructed what he wanted from them that evening.
Thank goodness he still hadn’t shaved, because with his beard, he looked very much a rough-and-ready soldier, and she couldn’t wait to rub her lips across his whiskers. In motion, he cut a splendid figure. Hell, he was an excellent specimen of masculinity when in repose, too.
“No one is here yet.” Lou walked into the barn, wearing a pretty frock and an expression of dismay. “I toldeveryone. Well, most everyone. Not my ma andda, of course, or Squire Redmire, who surely drinks pickle juice.”
Beatrice came forward to take the girl’s hand. “People will come. Mr. Frye has done everything to make certain that tonight is unforgettable.”
The girl started to object, but the sounds of many voices grew closer. As the musicians began to play, groups of people entered the barn. Most of them were dressed in what had to be their finest clothing, and they looked around at the decorations with happy, nervous expressions.
Lou flitted from cluster to cluster, thanking the men and women for coming, agreeing with the assessment that the barn looked lovely. Beatrice was glad to have some part in this evening. She was grateful, too, that she traveled with enough coin to compensate Mrs. Willard for the use of the barn. Kindness was one thing, cash was another.
More and more people gathered in the barn, and jaunty music played, but despite their apparent enthusiasm for theideaof a public assembly, no one danced. Everyone clung to the walls, fidgeting and glancing about nervously.
Lou hurried over to Beatrice. “Why aren’t they dancing? Was this a mistake?”
“No mistake made,” she answered. “Look how they’re all tapping their feet in time with the melodies. They want to dance, but no one wants to be the first on the floor.”
Surveying the room, Beatrice tried to send the men silent commands to ask women to dance, or if there were some progressive ladies in the company, perhaps they could do the asking. And yet whenever she met someone’s gaze, they suddenly became fascinated by the barn’s roof or the toes of their shoes.
Beatrice knew what had to happen.
She crossed the room without hesitating, aware of everyone’s eyes on her, yet there was only one person whose attention she desired.
Beatrice stopped in front of Duncan, and his intense gaze energized her even more. “Dance with me, Mr. Frye?”
“Defying the custom of having the gentleman request the dance,” he murmured with a quietly seductive smile. “I expected no less.”
She held out her hand, and his slid into hers. Awareness crackled through her as they walked out onto the floor together. After they bowed and curtsied to each other, he took hold of her other hand, and he began to dance the poussette. It took her less than a moment to follow suit.
Of course he was a marvelous dancer. He was athletic and light on his feet, never faltering in his steps. His gaze held hers, and she felt like the center of his whole world. She hadn’t danced in years, not since the earliest days of Edward’s fatal illness, and to move like this again—withDuncan—filled her with a reckless delight.
“Let us dance!” Lou cried. Moments later, the floor was filled with couples.
Not everyone knew the steps of the poussette, but what anyone lacked in knowledge they made up for in enthusiasm. There was so much unbridled happiness filling the barn as young and old danced for the first time in half a decade.
In the midst of Beatrice’s pleasure, a question whispered at the back of her mind. Should she continue on her journey to Lord Gibb’s? For so long, attending the house party had been one of her wishes, her hopes. With her goal so close, she didn’t want to turn back now.
If she did return, would regret torment her as she sat in her London town house, knowing that she’d had a chance to gain something that she’d dreamed about?
