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He shook his head. “Nothing to be done about it now. I wish to be involved in Frances’s life, as she is my brother’s child, but of course, our connection cannot be known. It is a huge secret, Emily—you must know that.”

She nodded. “I know. Frances would be ruined.”

“Beyond repair, yes. I intend to settle a sum on her both for a dowry and to fund her coming out, and some of the Baron’s money will be hers. She knows who she is and why it must be kept a secret. You see,” he added, a little triumphantly, “that is why there was never anything between Margaret and I, and never could be—she is more or less my sister-in-law.”

Emily flushed. “Well, you can’t blame me for assuming.”

“No, I suppose not. A great deal was made of my friendship with her. People always like to assume the worst.”

“What are you whispering about over there?” Frances called, standing by the pianoforte. “Before supper is served, would anybody like to dance? I have a new dance I would like to practice, and I would like to dance with somebody other than Mama. Not that you aren’t aperfectpartner, Mama, but Uncle is tall enough to be a proper partner, you know.”

“You could play, darling,” Margaret suggested, “and Emily and Cassian could dance. They did not dance on their wedding day, after all.”

Frances let out a shocked gasp. “Notonce? Oh, Uncle! How awful of you! Well then, you must dance with Aunt Emily now.”

Oh, but it felt strange to be calledAunt Emily.

I had better get used to it, as my sisters are producing children at a remarkable rate.

Aloud, Emily said, “Frances, I thinkyouare the one who wants to dance. Why don’t you dance with your uncle?”

Frances wavered, clearly longing to dance.

Was I ever like that? Full of life and excitement, chirpy and twitchy and longing to dance? Daphne certainly was.

“Oh, but are you sure, Auntie?” Frances asked doubtfully.

Emily smiled, moving over to the pianoforte and lowering herself onto the bench. “I’m sure. Now, I’m not averyskilled player, but I can play a jig, at least.”

Frances’s beautiful face lit up with a smile. “Oh, that’s excellent! Thank you ever so much.”

She darted across the room, snatching up Cassian’s hand and hauling him to his feet. He went willingly, laughing and fake-complaining.

Smiling to herself, Emily began to play. Her notes were halting, and occasionally, she played the wrong ones, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Frances spun around the room in her uncle’s arms, both of them laughing and stepping on each other’s feet, while Margaret put aside her wineglass and clapped out the time.

“Steady now, steady!” Cassian laughed, holding up an arm for Frances to spin underneath. “Mind your balance! You can’t step out like that, or else you’ll knock into the other dancers!”

“Thereareno other dancers, Uncle, or are you going mad?”

“Gracious, Margaret, I believe that finishing school only taught Miss Frances here how to sharpen her wit and talk back!”

Frances laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Careful, now,” Emily called over the din of the music and their stamping feet, “here comes the fast part.”

“Oh, Lord,” Frances gasped. “This is the part where I always get my legs tangled up.”

The two of them spun faster and faster, their feet thumping, Margaret’s hands clapping, the music speeding up and up until Emily’s fingers ached, a blur over the keys. With a flourish, the song ended, and so did the dance.

The two partners were meant to step back from each other and offer genteel bows, but instead, Cassian snatched up Frances and threw her into the air. She shrieked with delight, and he caught her neatly, squeezing her tight.

“You are a wonderful dancer!” He laughed. “Better than your mama, even.”

“I heard that,” Margaret responded tartly, picking up her wine glass again. “But thatwasa very pretty dance, darling.”

Frances was set down on her feet, and she wobbled breathlessly over to the pianoforte.

“Well, Aunt Emily, what did you think?” she asked eagerly. “How was my dancing?”