Lilly and Lizzy burst out in giggles while Mrs. Jenkins offered an answer. “The waltz is the more... well, a minuet is stately... in a waltz the movements are less fleeting and more extended.”
Looking toward the most socially successful lady a
t the table, Arabella asked, “Do you waltz, Miss Lilly?”
The beauty stammered. “Of course... when it’s appropriate.”
“Miss Jenkins, shall we show her?” the black haired rogue tempted.
Edmund appeared on the verge of speaking out, but Mrs. Jenkins declared, “Excellent notion.”
The party, humming with a strange excitement Arabella failed to grasp, moved back into the drawing room. Mrs. Jenkins took the bench of the pianoforte and showed great skill with the romantic beginnings of a waltz. Movement started with the couple hip to hip both facing forward, Mr. Harrow’s strong frame an anchor for the slender woman at his side. Each had an arm entwined around their partner, their eyes locked as if there was no audience intruding upon their private moment.
On the third count, both Lilly and Harrow reached up, forming an arch between their bodies.
With Edmund at her side, Arabella observed the sensuous movements, the slow rotations. Mr. Harrow was a talented partner, his cold intensity holding Lilly’s attention without a waiver. The male and female form twisted, turned, never separating fully. When the tune grew a bit livelier Harrow’s strength pulled Lilly to face him, sure arms encircling her to hold her hands clasped at her back. Arabella understood why all had giggled. Where the minuet had been bland, a waltz was almost indecent.
When it ended Lilly was flushed, her lips parted, thoroughly drugged by the seduction.
Though his question was for the baroness, Harrow held Lilly’s eyes simply to prove he could. “What did you think of the waltz, Lady Iliffe?”
Everything felt wrong. Mr. Harrow did not seem even fractionally drawn in. The way he looked at the girl who was so clearly enamored, the cold expression he returned her, the thinly veiled contempt... it was disgusting.
“I think,” Arabella swallowed, looking toward Edmund’s soft expression. “That the sun will set soon and I must return home.”
“Come now, your ladyship,” Mr. Harrow simpered, setting Lilly free. “The display was for you. Do you not wish to try it?”
Glancing back at the overwhelming presence, she mumbled, “Another time perhaps.” Searching for something to excuse her sudden departure, Arabella offered a joke, “I would not want to run into the White Woman on the moors because I lingered too late.”
Lizzy giggled.
The proper goodbyes were made. With the entire family in attendance, a groom led a stamping and agitated Mamioro to his mistress. At one click of her tongue and his sharply spoken name, the beast stilled.
The horse’s great head nuzzled the baroness fondly.
With a final goodbye, Arabella prepared to mount and instantly felt unwelcome hands come to her waist. She was practically thrown onto the broad backed stallion. Righting herself in the sidesaddle, she corrected her balance before she might fall off, glaring down at the cause of her troubles. “You of all people know I do not need assistance when it comes to my horse, Mr. Harrow.”
“It was merely a courtesy, your ladyship.” Gripping the bridle, Mr. Harrow smirked, a glimmer in his eyes that dared her to challenge him openly.
She ignored it. Looking to the family, she concealed her aggravation and nodded a goodbye. When the flashing emerald of her gaze went back to the man restraining her horse, she commanded, “You may loose the bridle.”
Mr. Harrow grinned, every bit the menacing scoundrel she knew he was. “Fog is coming. Keep to the roads.”
Mamioro, eager to be gone and just as agitated as his mistress by the man’s attempt to subdue, snorted and tried to bite. When Mr. Harrow jerked the reins in correction, the great beast reared, tearing the straps free.
The family cried out but Arabella’s seat never faltered. When the beast landed, she hissed at the one responsible. “I have warned you before, Mr. Harrow. He is dangerous when provoked.”
Schooling her features into a smile, she looked to her startled hosts and thanked them again for the hospitality. Then she was off, signaling to the stallion that it was time to depart. Over excited, Mamioro fought to gallop, misbehaving and making a fuss, but Arabella kept him in check until clear of the drive.
“Edmund.” Mrs. Jenkins frowned at the retreating figure racing in the distance. “She has no groom. That horse is beastly. What if she were to be thrown?”
* * *
Arabella cut across the moors, and when she was far enough out where none could see her, stopped her mount and swung her leg over Mamioro’s head so that she was sitting astride. With no concern for her skirt, she let her foot hang free and undid a few of the frog closures at her neck, the snowy white fabric of her ruffled undershirt on display.
With such a beautiful twilight, she lingered in the slow moving fingers of mist. It wasn’t until the sun had set and the fog having grown too thick to enjoy the views, that she finally climbed the twisting path to her home.
“Your ladyship,” Magdala called from the portal, spying her mistress nearing the gate. “You have guests.”