Christine Merrill - The Mistletoe Wager

‘Really it is no problem. I enjoy playing. And I will have the opportunity to sit down while doing it.’ The look in her eye said if the party knew what was good for it, they would dance and be glad of it, because she did not wish to be crossed.

Harry put on his most fraternal smile. ‘But you also enjoy dancing, do you not? I can remember the way you stood on my boots and let me waltz you around the drawing room.’

She gave him a pained look. ‘Twenty years ago, perhaps. Then, it was not so important to have a partner.’

He clutched at his heart. ‘I am no partner? You wound me, Rosalind.’

‘You are my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘And if you are the only unpartnered man in the room I suppose it is not improper that we dance. But it would be far more pleasant for me if you stand up as a courtesy to the daughters of your guests than with me out of pity.’ For a moment she did sound a bit pitiable. But then she snapped, ‘If you cannot manage that, then perhaps you should dance with your wife. It is what you want to do, after all. It does no good to pretend otherwise. But for myself? I prefer to remain at the keyboard. Thank you very much.’

Guests had begun to filter into the room behind them, and she sat down and began to play a tune so brisk that they could not resist standing up to dance.

Harry did as she’d bade him and offered his hand to a blushing girl of sixteen. He was gratified to see the look on her face, as though the room could hardly contain her joy at being asked. When they stood out, he had an opportunity to view the others in the room.

His wife was standing up with Tremaine, of course. They made a most handsome couple, as they always had. Their steps were flawless, their smiles knowing. It was painful to see them together, so he smiled even wider and raised a glass of champagne in toast to them.

Rosalind sat at the piano, playing a seemingly endless progression of happy melodies. To look at her was to suspect that the instrument in front of her had done her an injury, and that she wished to punish it with enthusiastic play. Her eyes never wavered from the empty music stand in front of her, even though she was playing it all from memory, and her hands hammered away at the keys with an almost mechanical perfection. She seemed to focus inward, and there was no sign that the sights she saw were happy ones.

And suddenly Harry felt the fear that if something was not done he would see her in the same place next year, and the year after, ageing at the piano stool, the lines in her face growing deeper and her expression more distant as the world laughed and went on without her.

So he smiled his best host’s smile, remarked to all within earshot that it was a capital entertainment, and encouraged them to help themselves to refreshment when the music paused. If they thought him a naïve cuckold, so be it. Perhaps after this holiday they would have no reason to. But, no matter what became of him, he would not allow Rosalind to become the sad old maid who kept his house.

He turned to the girl beside him, pointed to Rosalind, and enquired if she played as well.

‘Not so well, sir. But I have lessons. And my piano master says I am his most proficient pupil.’

‘I would see my sister stand up for a set. But first I must find someone to replace her at the instrument. Can you help me?’

The girl was radiant at the thought.

Very good, then. He was only being a good host by making the offer.

He went to Rosalind. ‘Dear sister, I have a favour to ask of you.’

She sighed, but did not pause in her playing. ‘Another favour? Am I not busy enough for you, Harry?’

He laughed. ‘Too busy, I think. Templeton’s daughter was remarking at what a fine instrument this appears to be, and it seems she is a musician. But obviously not much of a dancer, for she trod upon my toes on several occasions. If she is thus with the other guests it might benefit all to have her play for a time and rest from dancing. If you could give up your seat to her, I would be most grateful.’

Rosalind considered for but a moment. ‘It would be for the best-if she does not seem to mind.’

‘Very good. Have a glass of champagne, and I will see her settled here.

He installed the Templeton girl at the piano, then watched as his sister visited the refreshment table and became occupied with haranguing the servants about the dwindling supply of wine. When he was sure she would take no notice of him, he swallowed his distaste, refreshed his smile with another sip of wine, and strode into the room to find a partner for Rosalind.

‘Tremaine-a word, if you please?’

It was always a pleasure to see the way the man cringed when Harry addressed him directly, as though snivelling and subservience were sufficient apology for all he had done.

‘Harry?’ He took a deep sip from his glass.

‘I need a favour from you.’

‘From me?’ Now the man was totally flummoxed. And then suspicious. His eyes narrowed. ‘What can I do for you?’

Jump off the nearest cliff. Harry pushed the idea to the back of his mind, readjusted his smile, and said, ‘I need a dancing partner. Not for me, of course.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘For m’ sister. She will not stand up from the damn piano if she must stand with me. And you are the only man in the room who could pass, in dim light, for eligible.’

Tremaine looked past his usual partner towards Rosalind, who had seated herself next to a potted palm, almost out of sight of the crowd. His face took on a curious cast in the flickering light of the candles. ‘And she does love dancing,’ he said. His voice was distant, as though lost in memory.

Harry wondered if he needed to repeat his request, and then the man next to him seemed to regain focus.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You are right. She should not be forced to sit out the whole evening because of some misplaced sense of duty to her guests.’

‘Make her think it is your idea, for I doubt she will do it for me. She was most cross that I even suggested she dance before.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ And Tremaine strode across the room and passed by Elise as though she did not even exist.

Elise raised her eyes to follow him, and nodded with approval when she saw him go to Rosalind.

Tremaine smiled his cynical London smile and bowed to Rosalind, offering his hand.

Rosalind shook her head, gave him an outraged glare, and replied with something tart and equally cynical, which must have amused him. He laughed, and then repeated his offer, with a deeper bow and hands held open in front of him.

She tossed her head, and made a great show of getting up, against her better judgement, to take his hand and let him lead her into the room. But Harry could see the faint flush of guilty pleasure on her face, and the exasperated curve to the lips that had replaced her stoic lack of expression.

Harry went to stand next to the girl at the piano, who was looking nervous now that the attention was to be on her. ‘Something simple to start, I think. You can manage a waltz, can you not? They are slow, and the beat is steady.’

The girl nodded and began.

When Rosalind realised what was about to occur, alarm flashed across her face, and the pink in her cheeks was replaced by white. She hissed something to her partner, stepped away from him, and made to sit down.

But Harry watched as Tremaine caught her hand easily in his and pulled her back into the dance, giving another slight bow before putting his arms about her.

She still hesitated for a moment, and then looked down at the floor and coloured again, as though she would be anywhere in the world but where she was. But as the dancing began she relaxed. Her small body settled into the circle of his arms like a sparrow seeking warmth in the winter.

For his part, Tremaine stood close enough to her that she could not see his face. He gazed over her head and past her, into the room. And wherever he was it was not in the present. His eyes were looking somewhere very far away, some place that gave him both great happiness and great pain, for there was more sincere emotion in his eyes than Harry had ever seen. The man was in torment, and yet there was a faint smile on his lips.

For a moment Harry sympathised.

As the couple danced it was not with the easy, perfectly matched grace of Tremaine and Elise, but as one person. Their steps were not flawless, but their mistakes matched their successes, and the false notes in the music did nothing to hinder them.

And then the dancing was over, and Rosalind pulled away from him and rushed from the room.

After a moment’s hesitation Tremaine went after her, his urbane lope failing to disguise the speed of his response.

Harry sighed. That answered that. It would be even more complicated than he had hoped. But it was just as he had always feared, and he could not pretend surprise.

Elise watched the couple on the dance floor too, trying to disguise her ill ease. They were an unusual pair, for Nicholas was a head too tall to dance easily with Rosalind. But they were attractively matched in colouring. And of a similar temperament. If circumstance had been different, and Elise had been hostess at Harry’s side, she would have seated the two together at meals just to see what became of it. It was disturbing that the idea held such appeal. For it showed her how easy it would be to forget the man who had stood by her side for so long, and had so graciously escorted her back to this house, although he must have known what it might mean.

She watched the dancers take another turn, and saw the expression upon Nick’s face. The most incorrigible rogue in London looked the picture of restraint-and none too happy about it. For a moment Elise flattered herself that it was for her benefit, to show his loyalty. But only for a moment. She knew the man too well for that. He must want the girl in his arms most desperately to make such a great effort not to want her.