No! No! Non! Miss Juliana, ladies should be all daintiness while dancing! You are meeting my gaze altogether too often!”
As the dance master spoke, his affront clear as day, Callie turned toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the impressive Ralston House gardens and hid her smile. The small, effete Frenchman was Juliana’s least favorite teacher despite being one of the finest dancing masters in England; the two had very different opinions on the importance of dancing in the life of a young woman, and Callie had a sneaking suspicion that young Miss Fiori enjoyed irritating him.
“Apologies, Monsieur Latuffe,” Juliana said, her tone indicating absolutely no remorse. “I was merely trying to ensure that I knew your whereabouts—and did not tread upon your toes.”
The dance master’s eyes widened. “Miss Juliana! Neither do young ladies presume to discuss toe treading. If such a horrible thing should occur, I assure you that your partner will not notice. For, ladies, when dancing, should be light as air.”
Juliana’s laugh was rife with disbelief, sending Latuffe into a fit of sputtering hysterics. Callie covered her mouth to keep her own laughter from spilling out—thereby ruining her image as an impartial bystander.
Callie had been overseeing the lesson from a settee on the far end of the ballroom for the better part of an hour, but as Juliana and Monsieur Latuffe had progressed through the steps of several country dances, a quadrille, and now a minuet, the patience of both parties had worn thin, and Callie was finding herself unable to hide her amusement at their bickering. Affixing what she hoped was a neutral expression upon her face, she turned back to Juliana and Latuffe.
The Frenchman was stalking across the bare floor, arms flailing, toward the pianoforte, where the pianist who had been hired for the afternoon’s lessons was looking more than a little uncertain. Placing one hand to his heart and the other on the edge of the piano, Latuffe made a show of taking several deep, calming breaths between harried French muttering. One side of Callie’s mouth twitched as she almost certainly heard him take the names of the Island of Great Britain, Italian females, and the quadrille in vain. She had to admit to a modicum of surprise at the last—Juliana must be quite a trial if he was ready to give up his faith in dance.
Approaching Juliana, Callie met the younger woman’s blue eyes, which were immediately rolled in exasperation. Flashing a grin, Callie whispered, “You’ve only another twenty minutes. Do attempt to suffer through.”
Juliana spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m doing this for you, you realize.”
Callie squeezed the younger woman’s arm, and said, “A fact for which I shall be forever grateful.”
Juliana snickered as the dance master turned abruptly. “It is no matter,” he said, firmly. “We shall move on to the waltz. Surely, even a young lady such as you must respect the waltz.”
Juliana’s eyes widened. She looked at Callie, and whispered, “A young lady such as I?”
It was Callie’s turn to snicker as the Frenchman swept a surprised Juliana into his arms and, in an act that belied his diminutive size, whirled her across the ballroom floor to a rousing tune. Callie smiled genially at the obviously relieved pianist and watched as the pair swayed and turned with the music. As they danced, Latuffe kept up his litany of do’s and don’ts—Juliana was chastised in quick succession for having too firm a grip, too rigid a form, and, finally, too wild a look in her eye. Callie had a rather firm suspicion that the wild look would be less of an issue once the younger woman was out of her dance master’s grasp.
Callie couldn’t help the wide grin that had settled on her face, especially when Juliana looked her instructor square in the eye and stomped quite deliberately upon his foot. I rather expect that belied the theory that young ladies are light as air while dancing.
“Is it I, or is my sister requiring her exorbitantly expensive dancing instructor to earn every shilling?” The words, spoken at a close proximity, surprised Callie, and she whirled toward the sound to discover Nicholas St. John standing nearby, his amused attention focused on Juliana.
Callie ignored the burst of emotion in her chest, unwilling to define it as either disappointment or relief that this was the St. John who had made an appearance that afternoon. Instead, she offered Nick a bright smile, and said, “I think that given the opportunity, your sister would enjoy roundly trouncing Monsieur Latuffe.”
Nick watched silently for a long moment, during which Juliana and her dance master had rousing words about the appropriateness of young ladies smiling at other gentlemen—even her brothers—while waltzing. Turning back to Callie, Nick said, “Yes, well, I’m not entirely certain I would reprimand her for doing so.”
Callie laughed. “Between us, I’m rather tempted to allow her free rein.”
“Retribution for past dance masters?”
“That…and the supreme enjoyment of the circus that would almost certainly ensue.”
Nick raised one brow. “Why, Lady Calpurnia. I confess, I hadn’t pegged you for such a wicked sense of humor.”
“No. No! Non!” The explosion of negativity from the far end of the room interrupted Nick and Callie’s banter, causing them to share an amused look as the dance master blustered. “It is the gentleman who leads the young lady. I am the gentleman. You follow! You are merely a leaf in the wind!”
The analogy spurred a burst of irate Italian. While Callie did not wholly understand the words, Juliana’s meaning was unmistakable.
Nick flashed a grin at Callie. “I do not imagine women take well to being compared to foliage.”
“Certainly not Italian women, it seems.”
Her words drew a bark of laughter from him which, in turn, drew a pair of angry looks from the other couple. Clearing his throat, Nick turned to Callie and, holding out a hand, said, “Shall we show them how it is done?”
Callie looked down at the proffered hand, dumbfounded. “My lord?”
“Come now, Lady Calpurnia,” he whispered teasingly, “never tell me you are afraid that Latuffe will critique your form.”
Callie squared her shoulders in mock affront. “Certainly not.”
“Well then?”
She placed her hand in his.
“Excellent.”
And, with a wave of the hand at the pianist, who began another waltz, Nick swept her into his arms and they started across the room. As they dipped and turned their way through the sun-drenched ballroom, Callie craned her neck to keep watch over the bickering Juliana and Latuffe.
“Lady Calpurnia,” Nick said finally, “I would be offended by your lack of interest were I not so very sure of myself.”
Callie snapped her attention back to Nick at the words, only to laugh at the twinkle in his eye. “Apologies, my lord. I am merely preparing to enter the fray should the two of them come to blows.”
“Never fear. I shall be the first to leap to Latuffe’s aid should my sister act on the emotions with which she so clearly struggles.” He tilted his head toward Juliana, and Callie looked in that direction, to find his sister looking thoroughly annoyed.
“’Twould be a pity if Italy and France were to war so soon after Napoleon was bested,” Callie said, wryly.
Nick grinned. “I shall do my best to foster a universal peace.”
“Excellent,” Callie said, with mock seriousness. “But you do understand that may require playing dance master yourself?”
Nick pretended to consider the proposition. “Do you think the pianist would come back?”
Enjoying their game, Callie tilted her head and made a show of considering the wiry young man at the pianoforte. “Likely not, my lord. Aren’t you lucky that your brother is a virtuoso?”
The words were out before she could consider their implication. To Nick’s credit, he did not miss a step of their waltz, instead fixing her with an intrigued look, and quietly asking, “And, how do you know that my brother plays, my lady?”
Callie hedged, desperate for an escape from the conversation. “It is…quite…well-known, is it not?” She attempted a curious, innocent look.
One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up in amusement. “No. It isn’t. Yours would have been a convincing effort, however, were I not his twin brother.” He paused, watching as defeat fell across her face. “When have you heard him play?”
Callie’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Or should I ask, where have you heard him play?”
Was he teasing her? She was caught, but would not go down without a fight. Meeting Nick’s eyes again, she said, “Nowhere.”
He leaned close and whispered. “Liar.”
“My lord,” she protested, “I assure you that Lord Ralston has not…”
“There’s no need for you to defend him,” Nick said casually. “You forget I know my brother well.”
“But we haven’t—” Callie stopped, feeling a telltale spread of heat across her cheeks.
Nick raised one eyebrow. “Indeed.”
Callie turned her gaze to Nick’s cravat, attempting to distract herself with the cambric knot. He allowed her to remain quiet for several moments before he let out a rich laugh. “Never fear, my lady, your secret is safe with me, although I confess a twinge of jealousy. After all, it is well-known that I am by far the handsomer St. John.”
She could not contain her own laughter as he turned her quickly, pulling her almost off her feet and lightening the moment. Smiling up into eyes twinkling with boyish amusement, Callie’s eyes lingered on Nick’s scar briefly before she caught herself and looked away.
“It’s a horrid-looking thing, isn’t it?”
Callie looked back at him, giving his cheek a frank perusal. “Not at all. Indeed, it is a surprise, but I have heard many women say they think you all the more handsome because of it.”
He made a show of grimacing at the words. “They romanticize it. I am no pirate to be reformed.”
“No? That is a pity. I heard that you spent half a decade sailing the Mediterranean, plundering ships and abducting innocents.”
“The truth is much less exciting.”
She feigned a look of horror. “Don’t tell me. I prefer my version.”
They laughed together, and Callie wondered at the fact that she could be so at ease with Nicholas St. John when his mirror image held such power over her emotions.
It had been just over a week since she had seen Ralston last—since he had smuggled her out of his fencing club and into his carriage to return her to Allendale House. She had been to Ralston House several times in the eight days, both to oversee Juliana’s lessons and with Mariana to take tea with the young woman, and, each time, she had hoped to have an excuse to see Ralston; hoped that he might seek her out. For, certainly, with a houseful of servants and such an openly social sister, he must have known when Callie was in the building.
Twice, she had considered excusing herself to hunt him down and talk with him; she’d divined dozens of ways to force an interaction between them, from accidental entry to his study to fabricated reasons why she might need to discuss his sister. Unfortunately, Juliana’s entry into society looked to be going quite smoothly—she would be ready for her first ball in a week’s time—and Callie hadn’t been able to get up the nerve to enter Ralston’s study.
Ironic, that, considering that the first time she’d entered Ralston House, she’d brazenly entered Ralston’s bedchamber. But that had been different. That had been about the list. This was about something altogether different.
She’d considered using the list to gain access to Ralston—after all, she had promised not to attempt another item without his chaperone, and she was rather chomping at the bit to try something else. But, frankly, she felt rather pathetic whenever she thought of using it to see him. It made her feel like something of a lapdog—eagerly chasing after its master. No. The truth was that she didn’t want to have to seek him out. She wanted their interlude in the fencing club—which had changed everything for her—well, she wanted it to change something for him.
She wanted him to come to her. Was that too much to ask?
“Well…isn’t this a cozy portrait.”
The music halted as the dry words shot across the ballroom, and Callie caught her breath as the object of her reverie cast a bored look at her.
My God. I conjured him up.
She shook her head at the silly thought and moved instantly to separate herself from Nick, only to discover that he would not let her leave his embrace. When she looked to him in confusion, he winked at her and leaned entirely too close to whisper, “Don’t show your hand. We were only dancing.”
Her eyes widened as Nick released her slowly, bending into a deep, somewhat overdone bow and making a show of kissing her hand. Callie’s eyes darted to Ralston, leaning casually in the entry to the ballroom, watching them with an entirely unreadable look. She felt immediately uncomfortable—and indignation flared. Nick was right, of course. They had only been dancing. So why did she feel as though she were an errant child caught doing something naughty?
“My lord Ralston!” Latuffe exclaimed, hurrying across the room toward the marquess. “It is an honor to have you grace us with your presence at Miss Juliana’s lessons!”
“Indeed.” The word rolled off Ralston’s tongue lazily, his gaze not straying from Nick and Callie.
“Indeed! Indeed! Oui!” The dance master repeated eagerly, following the marquess’s gaze. “Lord Nicholas and Lady Calpurnia have been a great help in adding levity to these challenging lessons.”
“Is that what they were doing? Adding…levity?” Ralston’s dry tone struck true. Callie sucked in a breath, feeling Nick stiffen next to her.
“Oh yes!” the dance master said. “You see, your sister is not the most malleable student, and they…”
“Is that a criticism?” Juliana interrupted pertly from her place across the room, causing Callie to turn in surprise at the younger woman’s brashness, at which point Juliana added, “Well, would you like to be called malleable?”
“This is what I am trying to say! Précisément!” Latuffe’s hands flapped desperately. “What kind of a young lady speaks to her teachers with such disrespect?”
Juliana’s eyebrows snapped together. She turned toward the Frenchman, and said, hands flying through the air, “Perhaps if you were more of a teacher and less of un idiota, you would deserve my additional respect!”
The entire room froze at Juliana’s outburst. Before anyone could speak, Monsieur Latuffe spun on one heel to face Ralston. He spoke, his voice growing louder with each word. “This is why I make it a practice never to take on common pupils! Her lack of breeding is alarmingly clear!” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow dramatically.
The silence in the room was palpable. A muscle twitched in Ralston’s cheek before he spoke, anger turning his voice to steel. “Get out of my house.”
The Frenchman turned surprised eyes on Ralston. “Surely you cannot be angry with me, my lord.”
“It is refreshing to hear that you remain aware of your place with me, Latuffe,” Ralston said coolly. “I will not have you speak of my sister in such a disrespectful manner. You are relieved of your duties.”
Latuffe succumbed to a fit of inarticulate sputtering before flouncing from the room, the pianist following meekly behind.
The foursome that remained watched mutely as Latuffe exited before Juliana clapped her hands with glee. “Did you see his face? I wager no one has ever said anything like that to him! Marvelously done, Gabriel!”
“Juliana…” Callie began, stopping when Ralston raised a hand to stay her words.
“Juliana. Leave this room.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean to…I did not mean—”
“You did not mean to chase away the best dance master in all of London?”
Juliana scoffed, “He could not possibly be such a thing.”
“I assure you he is.”
“That is a sad truth for London.”
Nick’s lips twitched as Ralston’s flattened into a thin line. “You are going to have to learn to keep your thoughts to yourself, sister, else you shall never be ready for society.”
Juliana’s eyes darkened, signaling that her will was equal to that of her brother. “May I suggest you allow me to return to Italy then, brother? I assure you I shall be far less trouble there.”
“While I have no doubt of that, we agreed on eight weeks. You owe me another five.”
“Four weeks and five days,” she corrected tartly.
“Would that it were less. Leave this room. Do not return until you have decided to behave more like the lady that I was assured you were.”
Juliana looked at her eldest brother for a long moment, her eyes flashing fire before she spun on one heel and stormed from the room.
Callie watched her go before turning an accusing look on Ralston. He met her gaze with a cool one of his own, daring her to protest his actions. With a barely perceptible shake of her head to indicate her disappointment, Callie followed her charge into the depths of Ralston House.
He watched her go before looking to Nick. “I should like a drink.”
Callie found Juliana in her bedchamber, yanking dresses from her wardrobe. Eyeing the growing pile of silks and satins at the younger woman’s feet and the wide-eyed maid who stood, uncertain, in the corner of the room, Callie smoothed the skirts of her gown and perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for Juliana to notice her arrival.
After long minutes punctuated only by Juliana’s heavy breathing and the occasional phrase muttered in disgusted Italian, she spun around, hands on her hips, to face Callie. Juliana’s eyes were wild with her frustration, her face pinkened with exertion and anger. She took a deep breath, then announced, “I am leaving.”
Callie’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am. I am unable to remain here. Not one minute longer!” She turned away, heaving open a large wooden trunk with a litany of Italian in which Callie picked out the words for brother, bull, and artichoke.
“Juliana…” Callie said cautiously, “do you not think this is a bit…rash?”
Juliana’s head popped up over the top of the trunk. “What rash? I do not have a rash!”
Tamping down her smile at the girl’s misunderstanding, Callie pointed out, “Not a rash. You are being rash. Impulsive. Reckless.”
Juliana cocked her head, considering the new word before she shook her head. “Not at all! Indeed, I only expected him to realize that he hated me sooner.” She began to shove the dresses into the trunk, her maid looking to Callie in horror at the abominable treatment the gowns were receiving.
Callie would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so heated. “He does not hate you.”
Juliana raised her head, her disbelief evident. “No? Did you see the way he looked at me? Did you hear him wish that I were gone?”
Callie couldn’t help the little smile that came at the young woman’s outrage—outrage that only intensified when she registered her friend’s amusement. “You find this amusing?” she asked, accusation in her tone.
“Not at all—well—a bit,” Callie admitted, hurrying on when she saw Juliana redden. “You see—you’ve never had an elder brother.”
“No—and it appears that I have one who cares very little for the role!”
“Nonsense. He adores you. They both do.”
“Ha! There you are wrong! I am nothing but a disappointment to them!” She returned to the wardrobe and began yanking shoes from deep inside, her voice muffled as she spoke, “I am…a commoner…an Italian…a Catholic.” She threw shoes behind her as she spoke.
“I assure you, Ralston does not care about any of those things.”
“Ha!” Juliana turned around to face Callie, breathing heavily. “Perhaps not! But I assure you he most definitely cares that I am the daughter of his mother…a woman he despises!”
Callie shook her head. “I cannot believe that he would blame you for your mother’s…”
“That is easy for you to say, Callie. You did not have our mother!” Callie remained silent as Juliana began to thrust the shoes into the trunk. “Our mother was a terrible woman. Cold and utterly fascinated with herself. I remember very little of her except that she carried uno specchio—a mirror—with her always…so she could always look upon herself.” She slowed her words, losing herself to the memory. “She hated to be touched. Was always afraid of wrinkled or stained skirts.”
Juliana’s voice became quiet as she added, “I was not allowed to touch her. ‘Children have dirty hands’ she would say, ‘when you are older, you will understand.’” She shook her head. “But I do not understand. What kind of woman would not want her daughter to touch her? Not want her sons? Why would she leave us all?”
She looked down at the trunk, overflowing in a jumble of silks and satins, shoes and undergarments. “I dreamed of brothers—whom I could touch. Who would allow me to be messy. Who would play with me. And protect me. Una famiglia.” A small smile crossed her face. “And it turns out that I have them. She gave them to me.”
“That is something very good that she has done for you.” Callie moved to kneel next to Juliana, putting one arm around the younger girl.
“And now I have ruined it.”
Callie shook her head. “Arguments happen. I promise you that he does not want you to leave.”
Juliana looked up at Callie, her blue eyes so like Ralston’s. “I could love them.”
Callie smiled. “Good. As it should be.”
“But what if there is no place for me here? I am nothing like them. And, yet, what if I do not belong anywhere else?”
Callie held the younger girl in her arms as Juliana considered the questions—the answers to which would decide her future.
And in the long moments they sat in silence, Callie realized that only Ralston could make Juliana see that she had a rightful place here.
She had to find him.