Wilful Impropriety (32 page)

Charles and William and I had watched as Mr. Hugo walked Iris through her first lesson, while Miss Amberly presided at the piano.

“You must hold yourself straight and tall at all times.” Mr. Hugo positioned himself and Iris as if they were about to waltz, one hand holding hers, the other resting lightly at her waist. “Shoulders back. Stand tall. Head high, heart high. Imagine you wear a crown.” Mr. Hugo was not much taller than Iris, but as he held her, he seemed much more commanding than usual. Although he was at least twenty-five, his age and faint scholarly stoop had disappeared entirely as he readied himself for the dance. With his fine posture and his fair hair, he seemed to wear an invisible crown himself. “So.”

“To imagine a crown would be presumptuous,” said Iris. “I shall imagine I wear a tiara instead.”

Mr. Hugo’s expression was one I knew well, the same blank courtesy with which he corrected me when I got my declensions wrong. He let Iris’s remark pass as if she hadn’t spoken. “In your head and shoulders, you must be dignified. But in your lower extremities you must prance. Think of the stag and the doe in the forest.”

With patience, Mr. Hugo showed Iris the steps. At first they moved slowly, with many false starts and corrections. Then Miss Amberly struck up the madera at half time. They moved through the steps without error.

“Very good,” said Mr. Hugo at last. “You have some aptitude. Miss Amberly, may we have the music in the proper tempo?”

Miss Amberly obliged. The sprightly music combined with the prancing steps to fill the music room with gaiety. Mr. Hugo turned Iris this way and that, they spun forward and back, dazzling even in the close quarters. When the music stopped, Iris curtseyed as Mr. Hugo bowed. As they stepped apart, Iris was panting with laughter. “That is delightful! I feel as if I’ve been cantering about on horseback.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Hugo as my brothers and I applauded. “A few more lessons and you will be capable of dancing an acceptable madera.”

“Acceptable?” Iris bristled. “I think I already surpass all the other ladies I’ve seen dance the madera.”

“I am sure you do,” Mr. Hugo agreed. “But there is more to the madera than this. Tomorrow we will meet here again. I shall teach you to reverse.” He studied Iris critically for a moment, then added, “I shall
try
to teach you.”

“I can learn the reverse,” Iris assured him haughtily. “I shall.”

Mr. Hugo returned her haughty look with interest. “Good. I trust you will. But be ready. Practice the steps you’ve learned today.”

“Practice with me,” demanded Charles, with William right behind him. “Play again, Miss Amberly, do!”

So it was that we made Miss Amberly play her sheet music over and over. Mr. Hugo made critical remarks, while Iris and I, with Charles and William as our partners, danced and laughed together. My skirts were still up and my hair was still down, but in the glorious gallop of the madera, I had a taste of what lay in store for me when my turn in society came. My heart was as light as my feet.

Our lessons went on for three wonderful days. I had my turn with Mr. Hugo, and found myself determined to surpass Iris. He issued orders and I followed them. I kept my shoulders back and I pointed my toes. I found myself spinning until I was giddy with the joy of the music and the motion.

“You see,” Mr. Hugo said triumphantly, as we completed a turn, “that is exactly how it should be done. Head high, heart high. Excellent! Do as your sister does, Miss Malvern, and you will excel at the madera.”

I did my best to conceal my pleasure at this praise as Mr. Hugo released me, dizzy and breathless, to sit between my small brothers and watch as Iris practiced. He pushed her this way and that, criticizing her mercilessly, but Iris was as competitive as I, and she soon mastered the finest points of the dance.

At last Mr. Hugo declared himself satisfied with the result. Lessons were at an end. I missed the music and the merriment. I also found myself missing Mr. Hugo’s imperiousness on the dance floor. I had grown to like Mr. Hugo a great deal. It pleased me to hear him order my sister about. He seemed immune to Iris’s charm, a rare thing these days.

The night Iris finally claimed her dance with the fascinating Mr. Smith, I hung on her every word. In her bedchamber after the ball, I almost felt I had been there with her.

“I wish you could have seen me. Mr. Smith asked me to dance a waltz with him, but I was bold. The next dance was a madera, and I hinted I would prefer it to the waltz. Those dark eyes of his held such surprise, but he took my meaning. We joined the other dancers on the floor and the music started. Oh, Olivia, words can’t describe the beauty of it! It was like floating! Everyone watched us. I could tell. We were made to dance together, Mr. Smith and I. He said so afterward.”

“That was bold of him.” I was avid for details. “Did you keep your shoulders back, the way Mr. Hugo taught you?”

“Yes, of course, and I pointed my toes ever so.” Iris fairly glowed with remembered pleasure. “Such an air of majesty he has when he dances, yet he is all modesty away from the ballroom. Mr. Smith said he was surprised to see such finished detail in a dancer here in London. Only the girls of his homeland dance with such polish and such fire. That’s what he told me.”

“Will he dance with you again?” I asked.

Iris was almost too pleased with herself to speak. “He made me swear I would grant him a dance at the Bascombes’ ball tomorrow night. I have promised always to save the madera for him.”

Iris’s dancing had created a sensation. Every night I joined her in her bedchamber afterward to hear the details of her triumphs. Soon Mr. Smith would dance the madera with no one else. Iris admitted rumors flew. The attention shown her was very nearly more than a well-bred young lady should attract, but Iris did not let it turn her head. She behaved with such discretion and modesty, not even the strictest chaperone could honestly fault her.

Mr. Smith was only one of several gentlemen to show an interest in Iris, but so far he was the only man for whom Iris returned much interest. With every turn on the dance floor with him, her preference for him had grown more marked.

Now I braced myself for Iris’s confession that she loved Mr. Smith, a man she’d hardly spoken to except when dancing. “Mr. Smith the foreigner, you mean. Papa won’t like that.”

Iris put her mirror down on the dressing table and addressed me sternly. “Mr. Smith isn’t truly a foreigner. He may have rather European looks, but he has lived in England since infancy. I defy you to name a single foreign element in his character.”

“The way he dances,” I said. “Everyone remarks upon it.”

“He does dance the madera with a particular flair,” Iris conceded dreamily, “but that is only because it is the traditional dance of his subjects.”

Sharply, I said, “His subjects? What subjects?”

Iris gave me a searching look. “You mustn’t tell.”

I put my hand over my heart. “Never a word. I promise.”

Iris held up her hand. “You swear on your honor?”

“Swear on my honor,” I assured her. “Tell me.”

Iris came to sit beside me, sliding very close on the window seat. In a whisper she confided, “Mr. Smith is not his real name. In truth, his name is Prince Michael Von Falconberg, true ruler of the principality of Falconberg.”

“Falconberg?” I echoed. “Where might that be, pray? Miss Amberly never mentioned any such place in my geography lessons.”

“Miss Amberly doesn’t know everything in the world.” Iris sprang up indignantly and returned to her dressing table. “It isn’t on maps anymore. It was most unjustly granted to the German crown to appease Von Bismarck. If you don’t believe it, ask Mr. Hugo.”

“Mr. Hugo?” I was puzzled. “What does he know of such things?”

“Oh, everything.” Iris smiled. “I didn’t wish to ask Mr. Smith these questions directly, so I applied to Mr. Hugo. He had it all at the tips of his fingers. Mr. Hugo knows a great deal about Falconberg and any number of other kingdoms gobbled up by Von Bismarck and his ilk. Powermongers.”

“Why then does Michael Von Falconberg, true ruler of Falconberg, call himself plain Mr. Smith?” I asked.

“Really, dearest.” Lord Camborough had once told Iris her laugh was fascinatingly like a ripple of fresh water. Now she rippled freely at me. “You are so naive. He must hide his identity. He has powerful enemies. He has come to London to seek help from friendly interests, but he has powerful enemies who would do him harm if they knew his true identity. Therefore he keeps it a secret.”

“Yet he told you.” I didn’t try to keep the doubt out of my voice.

Iris gazed at me with fond superiority. “He did not wish to, but I persuaded him, at last. I have earned his trust.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “How on earth did you earn his trust?”

“How should I know?” Iris gave another little ripple of happiness. “He admires me, as I do him. I have won his complete confidence. He knows I deserve it.”

Her sincerity made my stomach twist a little with dismay. “You’re fond of him? You favor him over the other gentlemen pursuing you? Then I am sorry for you.”

“Sorry?” Iris’s eyes went wide. “Whatever for?”

I had to be honest. “If he is who he claims to be, he can never marry where his heart lies. A prince must choose his mate by policy, not by preference.”

Iris lifted her chin. “Every rule has its exception.”

“Does it? Is that what Mr. Smith tells you?”

Before Iris could answer me, Anna the maid brought the news that Lord Camborough wished to know if Miss Malvern was at home to him.

“I am,” said Iris. “Tell him I shall join him directly.”

She turned to me, triumphant. “There. Does that content you, my dearest sister? Only to make you happy, I am willing to receive a man who sends me leeks. I shall listen to his amiable rubbish for a full twenty minutes, and even dance with him at Lady Worbury’s ball, all to please you.”

“I am not the one whose contentment matters,” I countered. “Think of Papa and Mama.”

Iris gave me a glittering smile. “I do, dearest. Believe me. I do.”

•   •   •

After the dance, Iris once again let me keep her company while Anna helped her to change out of her silken ballgown. The petticoats, the pantalettes, the crinoline, and the chemise all took time and patience to set aside in their proper order.

“I was as good as my word. I gave Lord Camborough a waltz in addition to his reel, and neither of us mentioned the leek at all.” Iris, now in a nightgown and a silken wrapper, played with her hairbrush as Anna took the pearl-tipped pins from her hair. “He’s too good for me, Olivia. You’ll have to take him in hand yourself.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t believe Lord Camborough would give me a second glance, even if he is still unattached by the time I make my debut.”

Iris smiled fondly at me. “You don’t see yourself as we do, dearest. Those big eyes of yours will have the gentlemen at your feet when the time comes.”

“Piffle.” I didn’t believe Iris for a moment, but I appreciated her effort. “Who else did you dance with?”

“Who do you suppose?” Iris brushed her hair with languid grace. Dreamily, she added, “He told me how beautiful Falconberg is in the spring.”

I asked crossly, “If Falconberg is so beautiful, why doesn’t he go back there?”

Iris smiled at me pityingly. “There is more to a throne than the right to claim it. That’s what he told me tonight. He has come to London to win friends for his cause. Given his qualities, it is no surprise that his efforts have been rewarded. Soon now, very soon, he will return to Falconberg and claim his throne. I only wish I could be there to see it.”

If there is anything I detest more than being patronized, it is being patronized by Iris. “No, you don’t. Men don’t give up power willingly. There will be bloodshed, maybe even outright war. Your Mr. Smith endangers these friends of his if he seeks to press his claim.”

Iris gave me another maddeningly indulgent smile. “You sound just like Papa.”

“Good,” I snapped. “That means I’m making sense.”

Iris rippled out her charming laugh. “I’ve let you stay up far too late. You’re so cross with me. Mama and Papa won’t like it if you’re grumpy in the morning. You’d best be off to bed now.”

It is a measure of how annoyed I was with Iris that I went to bed without even a token protest. She might think herself in love with a prince, but I knew there was something amiss. She might not listen to my advice, but she couldn’t stop me looking after her. If Iris was mooning over Falconberg in spring, someone had to be sensible.

•   •   •

Lady Worbury’s ball came a few nights later. As usual before a social event of any importance, Iris was besieged with floral tributes from every gentleman who hoped to attract her favorable attention at the ball. By teatime, my sister’s bedchamber was fragrant with the assembled bouquets. I came in with my sketchbook to inspect them while Anna was putting the finishing touches on the gown Iris would wear that evening, white silk ornamented with embroidered forget-me-nots and love knots of blue ribbon. It was Anna’s task to make sure the love knots were all firmly affixed and properly tied.

Lord Camborough had sent the bouquet most suitable for the dress, simple blue violets for faithfulness, but I knew Mr. Smith’s offering would be preferred despite its unbalanced design. It sat in a place of honor on Iris’s dressing table, the asymmetry of an arrangement designed to express a particular sentiment rather than to enhance the recipient’s beauty.