Page 22 of Destined to be a Duchess
Patrick played the music to its end, and Anthony released Marianne for their final step. He let her go breathlessly, having been too occupied trying not to trip over his feet to notice the warmth of her hand in his. He noticed the coldness now that she was gone and felt a shiver run down his spine in response.
Marianne hopped to a stop and clasped her hands under her chin, looking towards his mother for her approval as Catherine and the others clapped. Her cheeks were flushed slightly from the effort of their clumsy quadrille, fine hairs curling around her ears in natural ringlets. It would have made a perfect sketch if Anthony had had any business recording these moments of Marianne.
“A brilliant beginning, my darlings,” his mother cooed, sashaying over to give Marianne a side hug. “Of course, I’m not surprised the dance came easily to you, Marianne. Poise and grace are in your blood. Nicholas was a peacock on the dance floor, though he never would have admitted as much himself.”
Anthony let out the breath he had been holding during their dance, turning back towards the sofa. His mother grabbed him with an iron grip, yanking him back.
“We’re not done yet,” she exclaimed, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Frida, find the chapters on waltzes. It’s imperative that Marianne learns a waltz!”
“I highly doubt we will be performing waltzes at Hagram Park,” Anthony argued, horrified at the idea of dancing so intimately in front of his mother.
“How do you know?” Catherine shot back, still holding Marianne close. “I told you—Ladies Hindborough and Elianawill only accept the most fashionable dancers in their ballroom. There is no guarantee that therewon’tbe waltzing, and I won’t have Marianne be left out when everyone is paired together. Now, stop complaining and get into position. It’s the quickest of all the dances to learn.”
“Because it is the least technical and yet the most taxing,” Anthony murmured under his breath. He could barely look Marianne in the eye, wondering whether she knew what was in store for them. “I apologize in advance for this,” he said, waving her over with all the excitement of a farmer herding cattle. “My mother is rather abusing my goodwill.”
“What can be so terrible about a dance?” Marianne asked, laughing softly.
She was about to find out, much to Anthony’s misery. His mother seized the dance manual from Miss Barclay, pausing on a page towards the back. She cleared her throat before reading the latest instructions, then barked orders at Patrick, calling for one of Mozart’sLändlersto be played. Catherine must have found the instructions lacking, because she promptly threw the manual face down on the nearest sofa and returned to her two students.
“A waltz requires two things of its participants …” she began.
Catherine placed her hand on the small of Marianne’s back as she pushed her towards Anthony. He took an instinctive stepback and returned to his starting position with his mother’s hand on his wrist.
She took both their hands, pressing them together. Anthony gritted his teeth at the feeling of Marianne’s touch, feeling his stomach clench. She blushed a deep shade of red, obviously beginning to understand what they were in for with his mother’s waltz.
“Trust and humility,” Catherine concluded, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “I have never believed the waltz to be as lascivious as they say. Like any dance, it depends on teamwork, highlighting the connection between the dancers in a way other dances simply cannot.”
Anthony wished he felt less connected to Marianne at present, cursing himself for reacting like a schoolboy to the feeling of her gloved hand against his. Despite his travels abroad, Anthony had never been inclined to become a rake.
And it had left him innocent, too vulnerable to the other sex. He had been too concerned about trying to perfect his art to engage in pointless romances. In that regard, he was much like his father—traditional. The risk of a dalliance had never been worth the reward. If he were going to fall in love, he would make sure that it counted.
Marianne’s fingers twitched against his own, commanding Anthony’s attention. She was flushed madly, looking at her feetas his mother explained their first move. Under her instruction, Anthony placed his hand on Marianne’s back, tucking her into him. Her perfume coloured the air around them, and Anthony held her tighter on instinct. His mother directed Marianne to place her arms correctly around Anthony, forming a loose embrace.
His heart hammered in his chest. How was he going to survive a dance with her when he could barely endure a second with her body pressed against his?
Face to face with her, eyes locking, Anthony’s hammering heart lodged in his throat.
Trust and humility, he thought.The two qualities Marianne challenges most in me. It remains to be seen where this dance will lead. But I doubt I will be the same once it is over.
Chapter 10
Marianne hummed as she swept down the hallway, performing a few steps when she was sure the coast was clear. In the two days since Catherine had taught her how to dance, her mind had been full of music, replaying her waltz with Anthony until she couldn’t tell where her memory had ended, and her imagination had begun.
Dancing with Anthony had felt strangely exciting, eliciting prickly, unsettling feelings within her. She had never danced awaltz before—had never come close to having a man hold her that way. The dance had left her breathless, dizzy, and tingling all over. Marianne guessed that any woman would have felt the same, being swept off her feet by a handsome duke.
Despite his protestations, she had found Anthony to be a decent dancer in the end. He was far from a natural, holding her like he was afraid she would break in his embrace. She had found it strange that a man who claimed to love art could be so hesitant on the dance floor. Both pursuits required a passionate soul. Maybe something else had accounted for Anthony’s hesitation.
I imagine his mother watching his every move probably didn’t help matters, she thought, twirling as she approached the drawing room.
The sequence was cut short. Voices emanated from within. A hot summer rain pattered against the windows, obscuring the conversation. Marianne started just before the archway, her chest constricting. She didn’t want to disturb Anthony or Catherine during one of their social calls. They had just been teaching her good manners. She picked up her skirts and prepared to sneak back the other way.
A shadow passed over the threshold of the drawing room, stopping her in her tracks.
“I was just coming to find you,” Anthony said, inspecting her from head to toe. The shoulders of his jacket were speckledwith rain, as though he’d just come in from outside. “There has been … a development.” He glanced into the drawing room, his expression unreadable. “I think it’s better you see for yourself. Come.”
Marianne would have followed him anywhere, even though his expression scared her half to death. She swallowed down her fear and nodded before Anthony escorted her inside.
Three people were in the drawing room, but she only recognized Catherine among them. A gentleman was sitting by the fireplace with his hand over his mouth. He had dark blond hair, not dissimilar in shade to Marianne’s.
