The Cinderella Governess. Georgie Lee
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slippers for the delight of dancing,’ Joanna joked. Her attempt at humour withered as Frances narrowed her eyes at Joanna. ‘And because I’ve noticed him admiring you.’
It was a lie, but an effective one.
‘He has?’ Frances’s attention whipped around to Major Preston so fast, the blonde curls at the back of her head flew out before they settled back against her neck. Frances thrust out her ample chest and cast Major Preston a none-too-subtle smile.
Frances’s interest in him ended his interest in them. He offered Frances a polite nod, then turned to speak to a gentleman Joanna vaguely recognised as someone of local importance. On the dance floor, one dance ended and couples began to form up for the next. Mr Winborn, the son of another local baronet who Catherine, Frances’s younger sister, had teased Frances about during their last visit to the village approached them.
‘Miss Huntford, may I have this dance?’ The lithe gentleman with a head of wild red hair held out his freckled hand to Frances.
‘Yes, I suppose I must be seen dancing with someone or people will talk.’ Frances placed her hand limply in his.
‘We can’t have that, now, can we?’ Mr Winborn concurred, not offended by her blunt acceptance and just as blasé about taking her to the dance floor as his partner.
Joanna sagged a little in relief. Frances couldn’t get into trouble while she danced. Joanna turned, excited to at last be able to join the other chaperons when a mountain of a man stepped between her and them. A badge of a bugle horn hung by a tin ribbon met her before she peered up to the peak to find Major Preston standing over her.
The scent of cedar surrounding him enveloped her and she pressed her heels into the floor to keep from wavering under the pressure of it. His dark coat ran tight along the horizontal plane of his shoulders. Brass buttons with crossed sabres held the wool closed at his navel and emphasised his narrow waist. The dark material stood in stark contrast to the white breeches covering his legs. She didn’t dare check to see what kind of buttons held those closed.
‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hand to her. His palm was wide, with a faint scar starting at the first finger and crossing down to his wrist. Light red circles of old blisters further marred the plane of it. Here was no soft London gentleman, but one who knew something of hard work and danger. His nearness didn’t overwhelm her like the ones of the other titled men and women filling the room. Instead, she admired his confidence and wanted to emulate it.
She raised her hand to accept his, then jerked it back to her side, remembering herself. ‘When it comes to reels, I appear more like a horse trotting around a millstone than a lady of poise. It’s best for me to avoid them.’
He grinned at her, amused instead of insulted by her refusal. ‘Dancing doesn’t bring out my natural agility either. Despite lessons, I never developed the talent for it. I mastered riding instead.’
‘If only you could do both the way they do with the horses from Vienna I once read about.’ She froze, waiting for him to chastise her as Frances had for speaking out of turn. Instead, he rewarded her with a smile as captivating as his height. He was a good head taller than her.
‘Not my horse. He’s more mule than Lipizzaner and would throw me if I tried to make a dancer out of him.’
‘But you’d both be majestic for the moment you stayed in the saddle.’
‘It would be a very brief moment.’ He smothered a laugh behind his hand, the delight it brought to his eyes as captivating as the pensiveness which had called to her from across the room. ‘Do you ride?’
‘As poorly as I dance.’ Horsemanship was wasted on a governess.
‘I imagine you’d be quite elegant in the saddle if you tried.’
‘I’m sure I would be, for the brief moment before I was tossed out of it.’
He leaned in, the intensity of his woodsy scent strengthening with his closeness. She noticed a slight scar running along the hairline of his temple, the skin a touch whiter than that of his face. ‘I would catch you.’
Joanna stiffened, panic as much as excitement making her heart race. As a governess, she shouldn’t be speaking with him. She should draw this conversation to a close, remember his place and hers, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t been this at ease since the last time she’d been with her friends. She offered him an impish look from beneath her dark lashes, emboldened by his relaxed manner. ‘I’d do the same for you.’
He straightened, his laugh uncontained this time. Thankfully, the music reached a high crescendo, keeping all but those closest to them from hearing him.
‘Your catching me would make me a spectacle, more so than I already am.’ His laughter died away and his shoulders rose and fell with another weary sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be riding instead of here.’
‘What I wouldn’t give to be in a quiet corner reading instead of here.’
‘Yet here we are.’ He opened his hands to the room as Frances whirled by with her red-headed partner. Mr Winborn said something to her and she rewarded him with a rare and genuine laugh. ‘It must be difficult being in Miss Huntford’s shadow. You’re by far the prettier of the two.’
Joanna studied the square head of a nail in the floor beneath her feet, as stunned as she was flattered by his compliment. Miss Fanworth’s warning about young gentlemen came to her and she pinned him with her best disciplining governess look. It worked about as well with him as it did with Frances, which was to say it didn’t. ‘Thank you, but you really shouldn’t.’
‘I can’t help it. I’ve been among plain-speaking men for so long it’s difficult to not be open and honest with everyone. Imagine if we were all like this with one another.’
‘Society would crumble once everyone realised what people really thought of them.’
‘They already know but pretend they don’t.’
‘What about you? Do you pretend?’ It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Every day.’ Sorrow darkened his eyes like clouds over water on a stormy day. ‘I pretend to be happy I came home, I pretend to be glad I gave up my Army career for this.’
* * *
Luke pressed back his shoulders and clasped his hands behind him, waiting for her to brush away his complaints as his brother Edward, his father and every other young lady he’d spoken with tonight had done. They all expected him to forget his time in the Army, to dismiss it as one might a past Season in London. He couldn’t any more than he could forget the faces of all the men he’d lost or the intuition for danger which still kept his senses sharp whenever he rode alone in the woods. All the instincts which had kept him alive in Spain refused to be dulled, but they were useless to him here.
‘It can be difficult after so long in one situation to leave it, especially when it means saying goodbye to friends.’ She studied him with eyes blue enough to make the Mediterranean jealous, their colour as stunning as her response. They captivated him as much now as when he’d followed her progress around the room as she’d trailed after Miss Huntford. Seeing the sisters together had reminded him of following Edward at school until he’d railed at him for embarrassing him. Luke had caught similar exchanges between the two sisters tonight. The last time he’d seen the Huntford girls had been at a picnic nearly fifteen years ago and they’d proved as vapid as their mother. Whichever Huntford sister this was, and he could only assume she was the second eldest, she’d matured into a beautiful, wise and witty young lady.
‘Eventually, you’ll settle in again,’ she assured him, the light auburn hair framing her round face emphasising her subtle beauty.
‘Settling is exactly what I’m worried about. As the second son, there isn’t much else for me to do. The estate isn’t mine and it may never be.’ From an early age, the house, their legacy and their duty to it had been drilled into Luke