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Chapter Eight
Richard had never particularly enjoyed dancing. It was something he did at social events because it was the polite thing to do. He had never thought of it as a particularly romantic activity, though, not even the waltz. Usually he chose a waltzing partner with whom he could expect to hold some sensible conversation while they twirled together about the dance floor for half an hour or so.
It was impossible to hold a sustained conversation with Nora given the volume of the music and the loudness of the voices all about them. And it was almost equally impossible to twirl her about, considering the size of the floor and the number of people who chose to waltz.
They were forced to dance rather more slowly than they would otherwise have done and at somewhat closer quarters than the customary arm’s length. And they were forced to dance in near silence. The lamps were all somewhat distant from the dance floor. They danced by the light of the moon and the stars.
It all seemed unexpectedly-and not altogether comfortably-romantic to Richard.
After a few minutes he decided that he could best protect Nora from the crowds by turning her hand in his and holding it, palm in, against his heart. And by sliding his other hand more protectively about her waist. It was still as slender as a girl’s, he found, even though she had developed a woman’s figure. Her hand moved inward along his shoulder and then to the back of his neck. He could feel the tips of her fingers against bare flesh above his shirt collar.
The proximity of their bodies as they danced would have caused scandal in any fashionable ballroom.
But this, he thought, was surely how the waltz was intended to be danced.
She glanced up into his eyes, he looked back, and their eyes held. She was not smiling. Neither was he. And yet there was warmth in her look, as there surely was in his.
It was curious how one could feel alone with one’s partner even in the densest of crowds. Suddenly there was no one in the world but Nora and him, and nothing of any significance in their surroundings except the moonlight and starlight and the sweetness of fiddles and pipes playing and the intimate steps of the waltz.
It was the 5th of May on which they had married. Almost exactly ten years ago.
A lifetime ago.
He had not been allowed to come near her afterward. He had tried, God knew, apprehensive as he had been about being beaten up again. She would not see him, he had been told every time. And she had returned all his letters unanswered-except the last. Her reply to that one had surprised him. Cynically, he had expected her to say yes.
Why had she said no?
He gazed into her eyes and would not ask the question now. Now was for the waltz and this unexpected moment of happiness.
Happiness?
But he would not analyze tonight. Tomorrow would be time enough. He would have the rest of his life in which to wonder how he could possibly have felt happy today.
Tonight he held a woman in his arms and she felt right there. Tonight he could even believe in romance.
He liked the simplicity of her gown and hair, so different from the Nora of his memories. He liked the depth behind her eyes, the slightly thi
She had suffered, he did not doubt. But whereas she had crumbled quickly after their marriage, as soon as her father caught up to her, she had not broken a few days ago when her employer had bullied and insulted her. She had left the woman’s house even though she had not been paid and had no money left in her purse after buying her ticket on the stagecoach.
She had even laughed about the whole thing a short while ago.
He rather suspected that he might like this Nora more than he had liked her younger self-if he took time to get to know her, that was. But then he had not really known her ten years ago, had he? It had been all romantic passion between them, made more desperate and therefore more appealing, by the differences in their stations, the secrecy of their meetings, and the marriage that was being forced upon her. They had made a dash for the border and had a Scottish wedding with nothing but love-or what they had called love-to sustain them.
Would it have stood the test of time?
There was no way of knowing, was there?
And perhaps young love would have been strong enough and resilient enough to have carried them through. Perhaps they would have grown up together.
Some empty space opened up suddenly beyond them and he swung her into a wide turn, smiling into her eyes as he did so.
She tipped back her head and laughed. Moonlight gleamed on her face and across her throat. Her beads swung to one side and caught the light. Rare blue pearls, indeed!
Then the laughter faded from her face and softened to an answering smile as he drew her closer again, and again they were encompassed by other dancers. But suddenly her eyes glistened in the starlight, and she lowered her head.
Tears?
He drew her closer still until her breasts were almost brushing against his coat.
“You do remember the steps after all,” he murmured into her ear.
“Yes,” she said. “My first and last waltz. I am glad it has been here today.”
And with me as a partner?
But he had not spoken aloud.
Did he want the question asked out loud? And did he want to hear the answer?
What if it was no?
And what if it was yes?
She sighed audibly, and he realized that the music was coming to an end.
He stopped dancing and looked down at her without releasing her.
“I suppose we should make our way back to the village,” he said. “I want to make an early start in the morning.”
His curricle would be ready. He had ascertained that earlier.
What he ought to do was leave tonight. There was enough moonlight to drive by. Nora could have the i
“Yes,” she said, gazing up at him, her hand still on his shoulder.
But he would not leave tonight, he knew. It was too soon. And very much too late-in every imaginable way.
And then, while they still stood together, though all the other dancers had moved off the floor and even the musicians had disappeared, there was a loud bang, and it was followed by a great cascade of colored light shooting into the night sky from one side of the house.
“Oh, Richard!” she exclaimed, turning sharply in his arms to look. “The fireworks!”
Ah, he had forgotten. Sparks of dimming light were falling back to earth.
Everyone else, he realized, was hurrying off to get a closer look. But one did not need to be close to fireworks.
He wrapped both his arms about Nora from behind and drew her back against him. She laid her hands over his at her waist and, after a moment or two, rested her head back against his shoulder.
They watched together, neither of them speaking. But it was a display that set the final, magical touch upon a day that he knew he would always remember, even if he lived to be a hundred.
Perhaps with pain.
But surely also with pleasure.
The sky was alternately bright with colored fire and dim with starlight. The air smelled of smoke. Cheers and applause came from the side of the house with each explosion.
But they were alone together in a world of beauty and wonder, he and Nora.
Whose shattered relationship had surely wrecked both their lives for the past ten long years.