Free Minuet by Joan Smith Page A

she managed an air of elegance. It was her haughty way of carrying herself so erect with her shoulders back that did it, he thought. She walked almost like a little soldier, except for that telltale swaying of the hips that was not at all military, nor very English either. Why was it the English girls all loped, like horses?
    Degan waited impatiently for the dance to be over that he might stand up with her. Seeing the gentleman who partnered her, he realized he would do himself no credit with his rusty maneuvers. This would be the first time he had danced in months. He couldn’t think how he had come to fall out of the habit of dancing. He used to like it when he was younger. He decided to have a practice session with some other woman first, and was accepted by the first domino he asked. No introduction—nothing!
    It was a reprehensibly low spot for Mérigot to have brought the girl. That his own partner turned out to be Lady Mary Stuyvesan was no consolation either. It only proved the whole body of society had become inexplicably lax in the rearing of its daughters. He lost sight of Sally during the demands of the dance, and wasted several minutes peering around the hall for the white domino after it was over. Then he saw her at a table, with Mérigot he thought. As he was about to approach them, they arose to have a turn about the room. When they both disappeared into a private parlor, he was off in hot pursuit.
    Sally was enjoying her evening immensely. Henri was an exquisite dancer, and the music and gay crowds took her back to the revels held at Grandpère’s home before the troubles began. Her partners, approved by Henri, were all French, so that she could speak her preferred tongue, heightening the similarity to home. If only Mama and Édouard could be here, it would be perfect. But they would be safe soon. Papa was taking care of it.
    It was Henri’s habit to come to her at the end of each dance to present her to her next partner. A short while ago, however, he had put the comte de Rasselin in charge of her, for he had to speak to some man on urgent business. When a stranger asked for permission to dance with her, she thought very little of it. The man was an execrable dancer, but he was polite and sober, even if he was not French, and seemed well behaved. Not all the men present were quite sober, she had observed. The gentleman amused her with some bantering flirtation, at which she was particularly adept, and at the dance’s end offered to escort her to her table. Henri was not there when she arrived, which bothered her a little, but it was their table. Henri’s gloves were there, and her own fan.
    The stranger, seeing her deserted, took the notion she was no lady, and began to alter his plans accordingly. “Would you like to go out for some air?” he first suggested.
    No, no, she would wait for her friend. But still, when the music began, her friend did not return, and the man became more pressing. He waited with her while she sipped her wine and searched the room with her eyes, till finally she accepted his offer to walk around the room’s edge to allow a better view of the dancers.
    As they passed a private parlor where the door stood open, he suddenly pulled her inside and began embracing her. She was a good deal surprised, but more annoyed than frightened. She pushed him off expertly, and made to walk past him, but his hand went out for the door handle, and his other grabbed her wrist.
    “Not so fast, my little strumpet,” he said, joking and in a good mood.
    “Strumpet? Qu’est-ce que c’est que strumpet?” she demanded.
    “Odd you don’t know the word, as you are one yourself, or I miss my bet. But as I see you prefer French, I believe the word is—” He stopped in midspeech as there was a sound at the door. It was thrown open, and Degan stepped in in his wrinkled domino, drawing his sword.
    “This time you have gone too far, Mérigot!” he said in a hot voice.
    “Ah, citoyen, it is