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Triumph
! She finally found the ballroom, and it was only five minutes past the hour. Gideon and Lord Kilmartin were standing in the center of it, their heads, one dark and one fair, close together, quietly conversing. The addition of Gregson the footman, Mrs. Plunkett, and Molly the kitchen maid, clustered warily together, expressions studiedly bland, was a bit of a surprise, however.

Gideon looked up. “Miss Masters, so glad you could join us.” He glanced pointedly down at the very watch she had attempted to relieve him of a few days earlier, and gave a low sardonic bow.

I’m only late by five bloody minutes, you tyrant
. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Cole.” She looked back at him evenly. There was a silence. “Oh,” she mumbled, remembering to curtsy.

The corner of his mouth twitched; he was suppressing a smile.

“I’ve something for you, Mr. Cole.” She jingled the three pounds freshly won from Lord Lindsey in her palm. Gideon took it and pocketed it without question, just as though they were merchant and customer.

“I see my uncle allowed you to win yet again.”

“Allowed?”

Gideon smiled crookedly, pleased at her indignation.

“Fifteen pounds to go, Mr. Cole,” she said, almost but not quite under her breath.

He ignored her. “We thought we’d begin with reels and quadrilles, Miss Masters, since they are more complex. In a few days, we will address the waltz. Mr. Gregson, Mrs.

Plunkett, and Molly have graciously consented to participate in your lessons. “

Gregson, Lily thought, didn’t
quite
look gracious. He was
struggling
to look gracious. But he’d probably had as much choice as she did in the matter.

“Kilmartin will accompany us on the pianoforte. He’s quite talented in that regard, though you wouldn’t guess it to look at him.”

“Damned with faint praise,” Kilmartin acknowledged cheerfully, taking his seat at the instrument.

Lily glanced over at the pianoforte, and a bittersweet memory flared: she was a little girl, seated at a pianoforte, feet dangling, picking out a simple tune. Mama stood over her smiling proudly.

Stop it
, she told herself sternly. There was even less point in reviewing the past than there was in living in the future.
There is only today
.

She looked away from the pianoforte and with a start found Gideon’s eyes on her, simply watching. Again. As though he somehow knew she’d been paying a visit to her past, and was patiently waiting for her to return.

“Now, reels, Miss Masters,” he began, strolling toward the center of the floor and beckoning for her to follow, “are comprised of a series of figures, or movements, performed by the dancers. For example, the figures might be comprised of a spin, or a few steps forward and back again, or a slide. The variations are, in fact, almost infinite. We will also learn the Sir Roger de Coverley.”

Lord, but the man’s trousers fit him beautifully
. They were a soft fawn color, snug all the way down until they disappeared into the tops of his tall gleaming boots. It was a pleasure to watch his long legs stride across the room, even if his intent was to lecture.

“Miss Masters, are you paying attention?” Did the bloody man sound
amused
, or was she imagining it?

“The Sir… who?”

“The Sir Roger de Coverley. It’s a dance that typically ends dances and balls, and you will most definitely need to know it.”

“And what,” Lily asked politely, “is the point of the dances?”

Gideon frowned a little. “The ‘point, ’ Miss Masters?”

“Yes.” Lily was puzzled by his puzzlement. “Why do you do them? Why are they important?”

Gideon looked bemused. “There isn’t a ‘why’ to them, really. It is simply what one does.”

“When one is a member of the
ton
, as you say.”

“Yes.”

Lily brightened in comprehension. “Perhaps it is like peacocks.”

“Peacocks, Miss Masters?”

“Peacocks do a sort of dance for each other before they mate. Fan their feathers, that sort of thing.”

The hush that fell over the ballroom was almost tangible. Confused, Lily swiveled her head toward the servants, who were gazing at her in mute, appalled fascination.

Kilmartin ended the silence with a burst of laughter. “Oh, I think you have the right of it, Lily! Peacocks, all of us. And most particularly Lady Constance Clary.”

She turned to Gideon, bloody Gideon, who was studying her again. His expression was peculiar; a struggle between laughter and lecture and… something softer she couldn’t quite identify.

“Miss Masters, you needn’t concern yourself with the
why
of it,” he finally said gently. “You merely need concern yourself with the
how
of it. Reels and quadrilles are considered great fun.”

“Do
you
enjoy them, Mr. Cole?”

Gideon opened his mouth, and then closed it again and frowned.

“You
do
seem to spend rather a lot of time doing things you do not enjoy,” Lily muttered.

Gideon paused as though he intended to respond, but then he turned to Kilmartin abruptly. “All right, then, Laurie.”

It was an order for the music to start. Kilmartin bent to the task; a jaunty tune sprang into the room, and Mrs. Plunkett, Gregson, Gideon, and Molly the maid bowed, curtsied, and then marched across the smooth honey-colored floor toward each other.
Stomp, stomp, stomp
.

And then they marched back away from each other again.

Grim as soldiers, they marched forward, looped arms with the person across from them, and swung each other about. And then they backed away from each other, and stomped forward and—

They did it all again.

Good God, but it was silly. Gideon’s face was a study in stoicism, a man enduring penance. And the contrast of Gregson’s dour face and the jaunty music…

Well, suffice it to say, aspects of her education were proving to be extraordinarily entertaining.

But much to her surprise, the music had set her foot to tapping. And after a few bars Lily conceded that… well, perhaps she wouldn’t mind learning a reel. It would probably be preferable, anyhow, to counting the colors in Gideon Cole’s hair as the ballroom light played over it, or watching his broad shoulders move beneath his coat as he spun Molly around… lucky Molly…

The music ended and the man in question finally stepped out of the reel formation, looking relieved to have gotten it over with. Lily did not miss the look of longing Molly favored upon him as he strolled toward Kilmartin.

“Do you think you can follow the dance now, Miss Masters?”

And then he saw the expression on Lily’s face. “You’re not going to say five pounds, are you, Miss Masters?”

“I was going to wager three, but now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Gideon cocked his head speculatively. “You cannot wager over
everything
, Miss Masters. You
are
in my debt.”

“But you, Mr. Cole, appear to be a wagering man.”

He paused again, as though wondering about this. “I suppose I am,” he agreed equably, sounding half amused. “Let’s make it interesting, shall we? Five if you do it perfectly—I do mean
perfectly
—the first time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We add three pounds
back
into your debt.”

“Oooh…” Lily breathed in admiration. She gave it a second’s thought. But she of course couldn’t resist the terms. “Very well, Mr. Cole.”

She moved to take Gideon’s place in the little foursome, Gideon signaled to Kilmartin, and the jaunty tune started up again.

Lily promptly bowed when she should have curtsied and clonked her head against Gregson’s smooth pate.
Bloody hell
. Just like that, she’d lost three pounds.

She rubbed her forehead and kept moving; over the music, she heard Kilmartin and Gideon laughing, the beasts. Thankfully, apart from looking slightly put-upon, Gregson seemed entirely unaffected. His skull was probably a good deal thicker than her own.

She gamely went on to execute the rest of the reel
perfectly
.

Well, perfectly, with one or two exceptions, where she inadvertently invented her own dance steps, surprising Gregson yet again. Still, it had all come right in the end.

When the tune ended, Gideon signaled for the dancers to do it again from the beginning. Kilmartin gamely bent his blond head over the keys, and the tune, which Lily was now sure would haunt her in her sleep, started up again.

Lily noticed Gideon watching her, his eyes almost never leaving her, his lips curved in a slight smile, as she curtsied and stepped, her big dress lashing her ankles as she spun.
Glad
he’s
enjoying this
. But his watching eyes made her aware, yet again, of wanting to impress him, of wanting to show him how little challenge a silly reel presented to someone from St. Giles. So she put a little extra flourish into her next spin.

Unfortunately, the extra flourish sent her heavy dress whipping a little too violently about her ankles, which knocked her sideways into Mrs. Plunkett, who then collided with Molly, who collided with Gregson, until all of the dancers were ricocheting off one another like billiard balls. Thankfully, Mrs. Plunkett provided a rather soft place to collide; Gregson’s bony frame offered considerably less give.

More hearty laughter floated Lily’s way from over near the pianoforte.
Beastly men
.

But the dancers got it all sorted out again. And by God, by the third time they performed the reel—it took a little while for Kilmartin to recover his composure enough to play the song again—Lily had forgotten Gideon Cole was watching her at all and was thoroughly enjoying herself. She was almost sorry when the music crashed to its third, strident, cheerful finish.

It was then that Gideon held up a hand.

“Thank you, Gregson, Mrs. Plunkett, Molly. We will likely call upon your services yet again, but for now, you may return to your duties.”

Poor Gregson looked as though he considered Gideon’s words a threat, but Mrs. Plunkett and Molly looked ruddy and almost pleased about their impromptu exercise. The servants bowed and curtsied and exited the room in a hasty yet orderly fashion.

Gideon turned to Lily. “Not a bad showing for your first dancing lesson, Miss Masters. You only trod upon poor Gregson twice. And was that a new dance you were inventing? Very bold of you.”

He was teasing her; the light in his eyes told her that. “Perhaps I
shall
invent a new dance,” she said airily. “Does Lady Constance Clary invent her own dances?”

Gideon paused. “When Lady Constance Clary dances, no one can take their eyes from her.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was more like an
ode
. Kilmartin, bless him, snorted from the pianoforte bench.

“Thankfully, Miss Masters, you will have more opportunities to practice,” Gideon continued, ignoring Kilmartin.

“Oh,
thankfully.”
The words came out a trifle more acerbic than she had intended.

Gideon studied her, and she wondered for a moment if she’d made him angry; he looked as though he was struggling with something, or several somethings.

“Gratitude,” he said softly, finally, “
is
an appealing quality in a young lady.”

“You should be careful, Mr. Cole,” she retorted. “You may surprise everyone and actually be amusing one day.”

Kilmartin laughed again. It
was
truly lovely to be appreciated by Lord Kilmartin.

But Gideon didn’t laugh. Instead, a fleeting expression-could it actually be
admiration
?—illuminated his face.

“Eighteen pounds, Miss Masters,” was all he said. “We shall see you at dinner.”

“Lily, Lily, Lily!” Alice burst into their chambers and lunged in for a hard hug.

Lily laughed and closed her arms over her sister. She had done this hundreds of times before, but today the sensation was oddly disorienting: Alice didn’t feel or smell like Alice anymore. Her fine little borrowed dress was still warm from the sun, and she smelled of soap and the outdoors, grass and earth and sweaty little girl. Whereas in St. Giles, Alice often spent most of her days indoors and smelled of… well, truthfully, as did Lily, Alice usually smelled of St. Giles.

Lily felt something hard digging into her hip. She put her hands on Alice’s shoulders and moved her back a little, and discovered it was the tiny porcelain fist of a doll Alice was clutching by the arm. The doll was missing most of its hair, and what was left seemed to have a tenuous grip on its scalp.

“Alice, where on earth did you get a doll?”

“Oh! This is Zebra.” Alice stood back from Lily and cradled the doll in her arms.

“It’s a doll, Alice. Not a zebra.”

“No, that’s her
name
. Like in our big book of animals. I thought it was pretty.”

“Oh. You’re right, of course. It
is
a pretty name. So how did you come to own Zebra?”

“Mr. Cole sent for her.”

Lily went rigid. “He sent for her? What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Plunkett told me he sent word to a neighbor about a little girl who needed a doll, and they sent over Zebra. Isn’t she
beautiful
? I took her gardening this morning. With Boone. We only got a little dirty.”

Boone, Mrs. Plunkett, Mr. Cole, the garden, the peacocks… Alice’s world was expanding; her natural exuberance, reined in of necessity by the dangers of St. Giles, had room to stretch here, to bloom.

“She’s… yes, she’s lovely. Zebra is lovely.”

And Lily suddenly found it difficult to breathe. A memory came to her: she was a little girl, standing on the seashore hand in hand with her mother, watching waves lick closer, and closer, and closer to her toes. And her mother had explained how the waves had shaped the cliffs in just this way, with these little relentless licks.

And as long as she stayed here, Lily suspected she would have about as much choice in the matter as the cliffs had: Gideon Cole would reshape her defenses, erode them away. She resented this softening; it felt a little too much like hope. And hope—the Mr. Darcy, little-French-book kind of hope—threatened her pride, for she knew it was simply ridiculous where she was concerned. The man was kind; the man was beautiful; the man intended to marry the daughter of a marquis.