Devil in Spring

“What does it say?” Ida asked.

“I have to go downstairs for a hostage negotiation,” Pandora said shortly. “Would you help put me to rights?”

“Yes, milady.”

The lavender silk dress had been crushed and crumpled into a mass of wrinkles, which obliged Pandora to change into a fresh day gown of plain-woven yellow faille. This frock wasn’t as fine as the first one, but it was lighter and more comfortable, without so many underskirts. Fortunately her elaborate hairstyle had been so well anchored and pinned that it needed minimal repair.

“Will you take out the pearl pins?” Pandora asked. “They’re too nice for this dress.”

“But they look pretty,” Ida protested.

“I don’t want to look pretty.”

“What if his lordship proposes?”

“He won’t. I’ve already made it clear that if he did, I wouldn’t accept.”

Ida looked aghast. “You . . . but . . . why?”

It was over the line, of course, for a lady’s maid to ask such a thing, but Pandora answered nonetheless. “Because then I’d have to be someone’s wife instead of having my own board game company.”

A hairbrush dropped from Ida’s lax fingers. Her eyes were like saucers as she met Pandora’s gaze in the vanity mirror. “You’re refusing to marry the heir to the Duke of Kingston because you’d rather work?”

“I like work,” Pandora said curtly.

“Only because you don’t have to do it all the time!” A thunderous expression contorted Ida’s round face. “Of all the ninny-pated things I’ve heard you say, that is the worst thing ever. You’ve gone off your nob. To refuse a man such as that—what can you be thinking? A man almost too beautiful to live . . . a young, strapping man in the full vigor of his years, mind you . . . and on top of that, he’s rich as the Royal Mint. Only a donkey-headed halfwit would turn him away!”

“I’m not listening to you,” Pandora said.

“Of course you’re not, because I’m making sense!” Heaving a tremulous sigh, Ida bit her lip. “Blest me if I’ll ever understand you, milady.”

The outburst from her overbearing lady’s maid did little to improve Pandora’s mood. She went downstairs, feeling like she had a brick in her stomach. If only she’d never met Gabriel, she wouldn’t have to face this right now. If only she hadn’t agreed to help Dolly, and managed to trap herself in a settee. If only Dolly hadn’t lost her earring in the first place. If only she’d never gone to the ball. If only, if only . . .

As Pandora reached the formal drawing room, she heard piano music through the closed doors. Was it Gabriel? Did he play the piano? Perplexed, she opened one of the doors and went inside.

The drawing room was handsome and spacious, with intricate parquetry wood floors, wainscoted walls painted a creamy shade of white, and abundant windows draped with soft folds of pale, semi-transparent silk. The carpets had been rolled back to the side of the room.

Gabriel stood at a mahogany grand piano in the corner, riffling through sheet music, while his sister Phoebe sat on a bench in front of the keyboard. “Try this one,” he said, handing her a piece of paper. He turned at the sound of the door closing, his gaze meeting with Pandora’s.

“What are you doing?” Pandora asked. She approached him in cautious steps, tense as a horse ready to bolt. “Why did you send for me? And why is Lady Clare here?”

“I asked Phoebe to help us,” Gabriel said pleasantly, “and she kindly agreed.”

“I was coerced,” Phoebe corrected.

Pandora shook her head in confusion. “Help us to do what?”

Gabriel came to her, his shoulders blocking them from his sister’s view. His voice lowered. “I want you to waltz with me.”

Pandora felt her face go bleach-white with hurt, then red with shame, then white again, like the alternating stripes on a barber’s pole. She would never have imagined him capable of such vicious mockery. “You know I can’t waltz,” she managed to say. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Just try it with me,” he coaxed. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe there are ways I can make waltzing easier for you.”

“No, there aren’t,” Pandora retorted in a scalding whisper. “Did you tell your sister about my problem?”

“Only that you have difficulty dancing. I didn’t tell her why.”

“Oh, thank you, now she thinks I’m clumsy.”

“We’re in a large, basically empty room,” Phoebe said from the piano. “There’s no point in whispering, I can hear everything.”

Pandora turned to flee, but Gabriel moved to block her.

“You’re going to try this with me,” he told her.

“What is the matter with you?” Pandora demanded. “If you deliberately tried to come up with the most unpleasant, embarrassing, frustrating activity for me to attempt in my currently unstable emotional condition, it would be waltzing.” Fuming, she looked at Phoebe and spread her palms upward, as if to ask what could be done with such an impossible human being.

Phoebe gave her a commiserating glance. “We have two perfectly nice parents,” she said. “I have no idea how he turned out this way.”

“I want to teach you how my parents learned to waltz,” Gabriel told Pandora. “It’s slower and more graceful than the current fashion. There are fewer turns, and the steps are gliding rather than springing.”