Free Lady Sarah's Redemption by Beverley Eikli Page A

their blushes and giggles, Cosmo glanced up as
he changed his shoes. “Miss Morecroft, I daresay waltzing does not fall within
the curriculum of most governesses, but since you are a breed apart, is it too
much to wonder if you felt up to partnering me?”
    “With pleasure.” Sarah felt no embarrassment as she stepped forward
and placed one hand upon his shoulder while he clasped the other and rested his
hand upon the small of her back.
    “Ready?” asked Mrs Hawthorne, and began to play.
    However Cosmo proved no very great proponent of the dance and was
soon relegated to the sidelines by his critical aunt.
    “You’re all over the place, Cosmo, and half the time upon poor Miss
Morecroft’s foot. Roland, you’re an excellent dancer. Step up and take his
place.”
    Sarah turned, smiling slightly, in time to see Mr Hawthorne’s
dismay, quickly masked by a look of cool indifference.
    But while her own heart was being exercised somewhat more than
usual, and not just by the energy required in twirling around a room, she
managed, to her surprise, a smile that was not at all tremulous.
    “Shall we show the young ladies how it’s done, sir?” she said clearly
and for the benefit of all, smiling over her shoulder at Caro, for she wanted
to reassure the girl she did not consider herself in the evil clutches of some
shameless villain.
    He could not look at her. “Yes, of course.” Fortunately, his dancing
was not as stilted as his manner. Roland was, as Mrs Hawthorne claimed, an
excellent dancer. Sarah felt herself perfectly matched, light on her feet and
expertly led as they twirled around the room.
    She adored dancing, and it had been a long time. Trapped in his
arms, feeling the heat of his body and moving in time to the music was joy to
her senses but after a few moments, she acknowledged Mr Hawthorne’s grim
expression. Clearly, he had not lost himself in the dance as she had. Her
pleasure drained away. Pique turned to indignation. She pushed it back down,
murmuring, when they were in the farthest corner of the drawing room, “I fear
you are angry with me, sir.”
    He jerked his head up to look her in the eye for the first time.
“Angry with you ? Obviously Caro put
you up to it. The charade, I mean. Giving you Venetia’s dress to wear. No, my
behaviour last night was reprehensible.”
    “I’m afraid it was entirely my idea. But if you’re not angry with
me, perhaps you could look a little less like you are-?” Sarah paused as he
raised her a little off the ground to compensate for dancing her too close to a
potted palm. He was not just adept on his feet. It was a relief to surrender
herself to his skill on the dance floor knowing she could say anything, it
appeared, without risk of being tripped up over the rug. His scowl was
unsettling but it was his nature and Sarah was determined to reduce the
frequency of such signs of unhappiness. When the time was right. For now, his
obvious discomfiture gave her the advantage. “At least for the benefit of the
others. And for my reputation,” she suggested, mildly.
    “Forgive me. My manners have deserted me. I’d also understand
completely, Miss Morecroft, if you wished to give notice and leave Larchfield
directly.”
    “My notice?” Sarah gasped. Such a thought could not have been
further from her thoughts.
    His eyes narrowed as if he suspected the turmoil in her heart. “It
would be entirely appropriate for you to wish to hand in your notice,” he said,
carefully, as he set their course for their audience. “As your employer I have
behaved unacceptably.”
    Without giving her a chance to reply he deposited her amidst the
others. “And that, Caro, is how your mother and I used to dance when the waltz
was still considered quite daring.” He smiled at her. “I am sadly rusty, but
Miss Morecroft has shown how it can be performed with skill and elegance. Come
Caro,” he invited. “It would be kinder to all if you tread first upon your
father’s feet before