Page 60 of Everything a Lady is Not
“Ta mo stoca is mo bhroga ag an rogarie dubh. Mo naipicin poca le blain sa la inniu.”
Charlotte descended on Lucy with her face drained of color. “Stop, dear. Enough.”
She stopped. “Did I not warn you?”
“You did. I never dreamed you would dance that…”
“Irish jig. Taught to me by a Mr. Flaherty of Cork, who made his living entertaining crowds while his associates fleeced the pockets of the audience. He said I was quite good and invited me to join his troupe. I declined, of course.”
“Of course,” Charlotte choked. She narrowed her eyes. “Just what were you singing then?”
Lucy smiled proudly. “The Black Rogue, in the original Gaelic. You have heard of it?”
Charlotte and Henry slowly shook their heads. She frowned.
“No?” She began to sing again, but in English.
“The black rogue has taken my socks and shoes. The black rogue has taken my socks and shoes. The black rogue…”
“Again,” Henry interrupted, bringing Lucy to silence. “that will do. You will find no Irish jigs performed at functions attended by folks of a certain station. They consider jigs desperately vulgar.”
She frowned again, perhaps insulted. He acted quickly to rectify the slight. “However, I rather enjoy a good jig. Sergeant McClintock taught me this one in France and made me dance it for the men just before Waterloo.”
With that, he began flailing his legs rapidly while slapping thigh and sole. Lucy’s returning smile lent him strength, and he danced until his sister burst into tearful laughter. After finishing, he met Lucy’s eyes, breathless.
“What do you think?”
“Truly awful. It is a wonder such a display did not cost our men victory in France. Please refrain from further outbreaks of madness or I shall be forced to put out my eyes.”
He laughed. “As you wish, Lucy.”
Charlotte swallowed her laughter immediately. “You call her Lucy now?”
Henry stood mute, staring like a fool. Lucy laughed. “I ordered him to do so. It seems I outrank him.”
A crooked smile grew on Charlotte’s lips as she glanced between Lucy and him. Then she shook her head. “Now, Lucy. Let us turn to a more acceptable form of movement—the country dance, quadrille, and scotch reel. As we can assemble only a foursome, we must keep the movements basic.”
“Very well. Do your worst.”
Henry watched Lucy fidget as Charlotte retrieved the head housekeeper and steward. While the housekeeper took to the pianoforte, Charlotte dragged Henry into the lesson and began to teach the dance, pairing Lucy with the steward and Henry with herself. Henry watched carefully as Lucy made a valiant effort to learn the steps, pattern of movement, and musical cues. The effect was one of a hen hunting seeds as she lurched from position to position with abrupt and graceless movements. Over the course of thirty minutes, her expression shifted from amusement to concern until well on its way toward humiliation. As her confidence fell, his empathy rose. When she appeared near tears, he halted the lesson.
“Lucy,” he said gently. “Perhaps we should step onto the patio for a breath of fresh air.”
“I suppose.” Her response exuded dismay.
He offered an arm. She glanced up at him uncertainly before accepting it as one might receive a live viper. A tingle of pleasure raced up his arm from where her fingers touched. The sensation threatened to addle him. While Charlotte looked on, bemused, he led Lucy onto the patio.
“Do you recall the moment we first reacquainted not long ago?” he said.
She looked up at him as they slowly circled the patio. “Yes. How could I forget?”
“And do you recall what you did?”
“Of course. I disarmed you with a rapier.”
“Exactly. I never told you how much that impressed me. You moved so lithely, so smoothly, so determinedly. The distraction overcame me as much as your weapon did.”
Her cheeks flooded with color. “Still, I bested you squarely.”
