Learning to Waltz by Reid Kerryn

Author:Reid, Kerryn [Reid, Kerryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: romance
Publisher: Taliesin Publishing
Published: 2013-11-05T18:30:00+00:00

By early March, spring was stretching awake. It was still chilly, but each rain seemed to wash away one more thin layer of winter gray, uncovering just the faintest tint of green that was revealed when the sun shone.

The kitchen door stood open wide one afternoon as Deborah and Molly scrubbed the room clean. Pelleas ran out as a carriage drove along the lane toward the high street, barking as it rounded the corner.

The knock came a couple of minutes later. Drying her hands on her apron, Deborah went to answer it. But Julian was already there, riveted, on the threshold. Beyond him she could see Miss Latimer and another woman she did not recognize.

She heard Miss Latimer say, “Good morning, Master Moore.” She heard no response at all from Julian. Where are his manners? She hurried toward the door, a smile on her face to cancel out her son’s diffidence.

“Is your mama—ah, here she is.”

As she came closer, Deborah saw that the stranger held a boy’s hand. Julian stared spellbound at the other child, so close to his own height.

And the dratted dog had his muddy feet up on Miss Latimer’s pelisse, sniffing the basket she had brought.

“Pelleas! Get down!” He complied, transferring his attentions to the boy, who let go his mama’s hand to scratch him behind the ears.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Latimer,” Deborah exclaimed, leaning down to brush the dirt she couldn’t even see from the plain, dark garment. “Let me—”

Miss Latimer laughed her off. “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Moore. This old thing has seen more mud than our hogs. And some worse things too. I hope we’re not interrupting you?”

“Of course not,” Deborah lied.

She stood aside to let her visitors into the hall, and as she took their pelisses, she tried to assess the unknown woman. There was nothing fancy about her woolen gown, but it fit her to perfection, and the fabric’s luster spoke of wealth. She had curly brown hair, expertly arranged, and a kind, pretty face that looked as though it laughed a lot. She looked slightly familiar.

There was nothing familiar about her name, however. Miss Latimer performed the introductions as Deborah showed them into the parlor. “This is Mrs. Dusseau, who has come to stay with me for a few weeks. And her son, Alexander.”

Deborah uttered the usual mundane courtesies and ensured that Julian made his proper bows. Then she excused herself to return to the kitchen, basket and dog in tow, and removed the humiliating apron.

“Am I clean enough, Molly?” The girl wiped some dirt from her face and fingered a tendril of hair into place. “Tea and lemonade, please. And biscuits, if there are any left.”

Deborah returned to the parlor. The boy and his mother sat on the sofa, while Miss Latimer had the chair by the fire. Deborah took the remaining chair, and Julian came to stand by her knee, his eyes still glued to young Alexander.

Had he said anything at all? Mrs. Dusseau must think him mute.

“You probably don’t know it, Mrs.

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