My Fair Lord by Elisabeth Hobbes

Author:Elisabeth Hobbes [Hobbes, Elisabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008637217
Publisher: One More Chapter

Chapter Thirteen

Mr Blake appeared as good as his word and arrived promptly for the lesson the following morning. Florence met him in the music room. She had dressed in a gown that was more suitable for an evening than a morning and Mr Blake stopped in his tracks when he entered the room.

“Did I forget an instruction?” he asked, gesturing down at himself. He was wearing his morning suit. It fitted his figure perfectly, drawing attention to his slim build and long legs. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything suitable for a ball.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Florence said, walking to greet him and reminding herself to discuss acquiring one for him with Twemlow. That might give her a hint to the proposed location of the meeting with her father, as Twemlow had refused to be drawn on where he was planning to have the bet taking place.

‘If you have taught your pupil well the location should make not a whit of difference,’ he had said at least twice, much to Florence’s vexation.

“I thought we should begin dancing lessons today,” she declared. “Cordelia has kindly agreed to accompany us on the piano.”

Cordelia had not so much agreed as wearily consented after Florence’s repeated entreaties the previous evening. She had told Florence that she had sworn when she married that she would no longer be required to make an exhibit of herself and she would play for her own enjoyment alone. It had taken the promise of afternoon tea in the upstairs room of the Crown and Feathers to secure her cooperation.

“What shall we begin with, Miss Wakechild?” Mr Blake asked. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. She was wearing long gloves but could swear she felt the heat of his breath on each little hair on her arm. She suppressed a shiver of anticipation. Nothing that would require too much closeness, she decided.

“A polka? Or perhaps a Detroit, which is similar. Do you know that?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, but I’m your willing pupil,” he said, walking into the centre of the room. “I am in your capable hands for as long as is required.”

Cordelia shuffled her music sheets and gave a little cough. She caught Florence’s eye and winked. “I think I can manage something for the Detroit. You walk Mr Blake through the steps while I look.”

Florence faced him. His eyes rested on hers in a manner that made her feel quite disquiet.

“It’s a bit like a waltz in places, but slower and we parade around the perimeter of the room in a procession,” she explained. “We start by standing in the military position. You are on my left with your hand on my waist and mine on your shoulder.”

She paused as a little worm wiggled in her belly.

“Left foot forward, sway backward, foot back, sway forward. Three steps running forward, face your partner, pas de basque, side close, side close…” She held her hands out to an imaginary partner and demonstrated the steps to the end of the room, executed a turn, and came back to his side.

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