Page 17 of One Perfect Dance
Ash didn’t ask Vivienne about the suggestions the Comtesse made. He was increasingly uncomfortable with the relationship. It was impossible to ignore the fact that he and Vivienne had nothing in common apart from the obvious fact that their breeding parts were complementary.
Out of bed, she bored him. And to be fair, he bored her. Ash didn’t think he was cut out for shallow dalliances that satisfied nothing except his physical arousal. It wasn’t enough—for him, at least. If he ever took another mistress, he was going to look for one who was able to converse about something other than dance movements, the politics of the dance troupe, and ladies’ fashion. Not one, though, who smelled like an English garden. And there he was, thinking of Ginny again.
When it was time to leave Paris to see something of the rest of France, he was relieved the two dancers refused Rex’s invitation to come with them. He accompanied Rex to the jewelers to help choose their parting presents.
As Rex haggled over the cost of a necklace and earrings each—pearls with rubies for Giselle and pearls with emeralds for Vivienne—Ash roamed around the store looking at the displays. His eye was caught by a little enamel brooch in the shape of a dancing shoe dangling from a matching bow.
Rex, having finalized the deal to his satisfaction, came to see what Ash was admiring. “It’s a pretty little trinket, but I don’t think Vivienne will appreciate it. She’ll expect something she can sell if times get tough.”
Ash agreed. “A practical soul is our Vivienne. I wasn’t thinking of her.” In his mind’s eye, he saw Ginny, her eyes shining as she watched the dancers and talked to him about her hopes and dreams. “How much?” he asked the jeweler.
He refused Rex’s offer of adding it to his own purchase. He had money in his pocket—money he’d earned by answering Rex’s correspondence and even writing Rex’s letters to his parents and sisters.
This was to be a gift from him, if he could think of a way to send it without offending.
Chapter Eight
Regina’s father neverrecovered consciousness and breathed his last not long before sunrise. Mama, once the doctor pronounced him dead, sent Regina and Mr. Paddimore from the room, saying that Regina was too young for what came next, and Mr. Paddimore was not family.
In the parlor, Regina cried on Mr. Paddimore’s shoulder. Papa was gone. She couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t even know he had a bad heart,” she sobbed.
“He did not want you to know,” Mr. Paddimore soothed. “He did not want you to worry. The doctor said, if he was lucky, he could have a few more years. And Geoffrey was always lucky.”
Regina heard the strain in his voice and looked up to see tears sliding silently down his face. “You will miss him, too.”
Mr. Paddimore nodded. “I will. He has been my dearest friend for ten years. There was no one else like him.”
Regina nodded her agreement. “At least he did not know I had ruined myself. He would have been so disappointed.”
Mr. Paddimore patted her back. “From what little I heard, it was not your doing. Here. Come and sit down. I shall send for tea, and you shall tell me all about it. Miss Kingsley, you are not to worry. I will sort out this problem with David Deffew, I promise you. But I need to hear from you what really happened.”
He left the room to order the tea and came back to say he had also sent a traveling coach to fetch Regina’s brother William, now Lord Kingsley, from school. “He will be here before noon, Miss Kingsley, and you can be a comfort to one another.”
William would at least be a comfort to Mama. He had always been closer to her, just as Regina had been closer to Papa. She caught back another sob.
The servants brought food as well as tea—a selection of pastries and bread rolls. Regina wanted nothing, but she sipped the tea Mr. Paddimore poured her.
“Tell me about last night,” he said.
She did, haltingly at first, and then it all poured out. The note she thought was from Cordelia. Mr. Deffew’s attack. All the people crowding into the room. Miss Wharton burning the note, which was Regina’s only concrete evidence she had been lured there by a lie.
She didn’t tell him about Mama’s insistence that she marry Mr. Deffew. Mr. Paddimore and Mama’s relationship was hostile enough, without her adding fuel to the fire.
After he reassured her again, she went up to get dressed for the day. Mr. Paddimore was going back to his townhouse to do the same, and would go on to his club to have a word with Mr. Deffew. “Then you can put this behind you, Miss Kingsley,” he said.
Regina thought he was overly optimistic. The gossip would already be all over town.
By the time Regina went back to her father’s bed chamber, Mama had left. Papa lay on the bed dressed in his Parliamentary robes, looking like a wax effigy of himself. His valet was tidying the room, stopping from time to time to wipe his eyes.
“I came to sit with Papa,” Regina told him.
“Of course, Miss.” The chairs that had been beside the bed had all been put back in their places, but he fetched one for her, then left her alone. She could hear him moving around in her father’s dressing room.
Regina sat and took her father’s hand, then put it back. It felt horrid. Cold and stiff.
She found herself pouring out all her worries to him as she always had.
“I do not want to bury myself in the country for the rest of my life, Papa,” she concluded. “Yet I will not marry Mr. Deffew, and I cannot imagine anyone else will have me after Miss Wharton and the other scandal mongers finish shredding my character. You would be so disappointed in me.”
