Page 14 of Matching Mr. Montfert (Apsley Family #2)

Chapter fourteen

Grace

I knew how to dance. The steps were ingrained in me just as they were in most members of the upper class. Amelia and I had a dance instructor growing up, but it became clear within those first few lessons that the activity was not one my body could endure. Instead, I had watched from the sidelines while she practiced.

Memorizing. Imagining. Longing.

Those were all I could do, even now, and I hated myself for it. How many novels had I read where the heroine was swept away to dance with a charming hero? I wanted that for myself.

Out of sheer stubbornness, I had often practiced alone in my room, and each time, my leg suffered. I had suffered. Allowing my disability to keep me from doing anything had never been my way. I climbed trees, went for long walks, and rode horses—all of which caused me pain. But I did them because I had no intention of missing out on life in any way.

Dancing, it seemed, was where my body drew the line.

Which was why my heart pounded so fiercely as Mr. Montfert led me gently by the hand. I was generally not embarrassed by my malady, but were I to fall on the dance floor in front of everyone, I had no doubt my cheeks would turn red as beets.

But he had said this dance would not cause me pain. He had asked me to trust him.

And I did.

Mr. Montfert led me past the line of people gathering for the next set and into an alcove somewhat hidden from the rest of the room. It wasn’t entirely improper, but Mr. Montfert was too much of a gentleman to compromise me in any way, and besides, as I glanced beyond the dancers, I could see Rowe watching me with a concerned expression.

I sent him a smile, hoping to provide reassurance. It did not erase the worry lines creasing his brow, but he stayed put.

“There,” said Mr. Montfert, depositing me in the center of the alcove. “You will stand here.”

“Stand? I thought we were going to dance?”

“We are,” he reassured. “Do you know the steps—that is, do you know where to position your hands when we come together?”

I nodded, still utterly confused. Mr. Montfert smiled. “Good. Your feet may remain still. I will handle the footwork.”

I opened my mouth to question him, but the music began, and so did our dance. Mr. Monfert moved as he would were we in a line with everyone else, but I remained still. It required a great deal of extra steps on his part, and his attempt to keep time while doing them brought us both to laughter. He danced around me, and when it came time for us to circle together, he instructed me to lift on my feet while he held my hands and spun me in place.

To anyone watching, it must have looked ridiculous and nothing like a formal dance. But I loved every second of it. I was dancing. At my first ball.

Each time we came together, I performed the expected hand gestures, grinning so wide my face began to hurt. Mr. Montfert’s expression matched my own, and there was a light of amusement in his blue eyes that drew me in. How it must have wounded his pride to appear so foolish, and yet, nothing about his features suggested he cared what anyone thought. He simply enjoyed our dance, despite its oddity, and so did I.

By the time the set ended, he was breathing heavily, and a bit of perspiration had formed on his brow. He offered his arm to me. “You danced.”

I took it with a wide grin. “I danced, and I cannot express my gratitude.” The last words came out choked with unexpected emotion. I had planned to avoid dancing at every event this Season. Mr. Montfert had ensured I experienced it at least once, and I hadn’t any idea how to thank him properly for it.

His hand fell over mine, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, his expression soft. “You needn’t thank me at all, Miss Scott. Dancing with you was my pleasure.”

His gaze lingered on me for several long moments before he said, “I suppose I should ask Miss Rigby for another set?”

“Yes,” I said, pressing down the strange disappointment his question created. “Her card may be full now, but it is worth making your interest known. If nothing else, it will give you the opportunity to converse with her again.”

He nodded, his brows drawn in pensiveness. How I wished to know what he was thinking and whether he experienced the same fluttering in his stomach as I did. Surely it was nothing more than the exhilaration that lingered after dancing a lively tune?

He led me back to where Sabrina and I had been sitting, but the Duchess was no longer there. Once Mr. Montfert had left me to go speak with Miss Rigby, I searched the crowd for Her Grace, surprised by my desire to find her. Our conversation had been…unexpected, and while I held some hesitancy to be around the woman, I sensed her desire to change was genuine.

I spotted her in line for the next set, Rowe as her partner. Annette, too, stood ready for the cotillion with yet another gentleman who had called on her earlier this week. Mr. Montfert and Miss Rigby joined them, and I sat on the sidelines watching with a somewhat forced smile. She had accepted a second dance, and I should have felt joy in that success. But it never came.

I had always striven not to allow jealousy to sour my mood, but after finally experiencing the thrill of dancing with a handsome gentleman, it was difficult to keep the feeling at bay. And I worried that jealousy had more to do with one man in particular dancing with another woman than my inability to join the line.