Page 40 of One Perfect Dance
“Sadly no, Mrs. Paddimore. I arrived but a moment ago, full of apologies because I was delayed. I inadvertently got mud on my trousers and had to go home to make good, so I was fit to be your escort.”
She let her eyes rove over his apparel and said, “Well worth the wait.”
Two could play at that game. He scanned her slowly from the toe of her pretty boots to the delightful bonnet that framed her face, and replied, “My sentiments exactly.” He could only hope that the exchange heated her as much as it did him.
*
“Go away, Ash,”Rithya told him when he had delivered Regina safely to her drawing room. “Mrs. Paddimore and I have much to talk about, and do not wish to have an audience. Rex is in your study.”
There Rex was, attempting to read the draft of the chapter that Ash had finished when he woke up this morning—the one that they had scoped out one evening earlier in the week. That was the way they worked. They would decide together what the chapter would cover, then tell each other stories while Ash made notes. Then Ash would go away and write a first draft. After that, he’d read the chapter aloud to Rex and they would both suggest refinements.
Rex was frowning at the draft. “I cannot make head or tail of this,” he grumbled.
“No need,” Ash reminded him. “That’s what you have me for.”
“Dellborough has arranged for us to speak to his club.” From his voice, the engagement was for the guillotine. “Said he was proud of me. Said he didn’t know I had it in me.” He looked up from the sheets of paper in his hands, his eyes bleak. “He thinks I am an author.”
“You are as much of the author of our books as I am,” Ash protested. “Mine might be the hand on the quill, but they write your words as often as mine. You see things that I don’t. Your descriptions are much more detailed than mine. And I could not do your sketches to save myself.”
“I cannot even read what you’ve written.” Rex sounded unconvinced.
“If you were blind, and dictating your ideas to me, would you still think you weren’t the author?” Ash asked. Rex hadn’t had one of these bouts of self-doubt for years. The expectations of family could be hard.
Rex looked up for the first time, a slight smile twitching one corner of his lips. “You have a point. I am feeling sorry for myself, Ash. You get to listen to it because you are my friend.”
“Iamyour friend,” Ash agreed, twitching the first draft out of Rex’s hand. “But I am also your partner, so let’s get to work.”
Within minutes, they were in a vigorous argument about the weather on the morning they left Saratov for the next leg of their Volga journey. Ash knew Rex’s correction was right, but he held out for his own faulty memory because his friend needed the satisfaction of a robust debate followed by a victory.
*
The senior footmanwas waiting for her when she let herself into her townhouse. “Mr. Deffew has called, madam, and insisted on waiting for your return.” Wilson the butler, who was on his half day, would have politely closed the door in Mr. Deffew’s face, but poor Charles did not yet have the confidence.
Regina’s surge of irritation was out of all proportion. She was already disappointed that Elijah had merely dropped her off, and not asked to come in. This would have been the ideal opportunity to get him alone.
However, she had decided it was time to send Deffew packing, and what better time than the present? “In the drawing room, Charles?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Paddimore. Do you want me to send a maid up to sit with you?”
She paused on the stairs. What she had to say was best kept between the two of them, particularly if he would not take a polite hint and she had to be blunt. Dilly Deffew would not take kindly to being scolded in front of a servant. “Not just yet, Charles. Give me ten minutes, and then come yourself. If Mr. Deffew has not left by then, I may need your help to remove him from the house.” She stopped again a couple of steps higher. “Oh, and Charles? He is never again to be allowed into this house if I am not present.”
When she got to the drawing room, she stopped at the door but against the wall where she couldn’t be seen by Dilly, who was roaming the room, picking things up to examine them, then putting them down to move on to the next, appearing for all the world like a customer in a warehouse. Regina watched in silence from the doorway for a moment, her ire rising.
Perhaps she made a sound, for he spun around, dropped the ornament he was holding—one of a set of two glass slippers—and fumbled to catch it before it fell to the carpet.
He grimaced and then replaced the expression with an ingratiating smile. “Mrs. Paddimore! Lovely as always!”
“Mr. Deffew.” She crossed the room and held out her hand for the glass slipper.
He put his hand behind his back. “I will see about having it fixed for you, my dear. Better still, I shall buy you something better to replace it. Royal Worcester has a lovely range of china figurines. Very fashionable. Much better than a knickknack like this.”
Regina glared. “The object is irreplaceable, Mr. Deffew. It is a memento from someone I care about. Give it to me now, please.”
He expelled a noisy breath. “Very well. If you insist.”
He put it in her hand—mostly intact, but one of the delicate ties that arched from one side to the other had lost most of its curve. She would need to be careful until the piece could be found. Or pieces. It might be able to be repaired. Someone might cut their foot.
For the moment, she took the poor damaged item to a little cabinet just inside the door and popped it into a drawer. As she slid the drawer shut, Deffew grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her, trapping her arms at her side, and pressing her against the table.
