Page 58 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“Take Miss Violet in dance position again, and remember: flight, upward movement, bah-duh-duh-duh. Bah-duh-duh-duh.” He motioned to the piano, where Cyril’s mother sat awaiting his signal, but paused again, eyeing Cyril’s stance. “You must holdher closer, else she will fly off like a whirling dervish, and all will be lost. We can’t have that now, can we?”

Cyril swallowed and adjusted his hold, pulling Violet closer and a little more securely in his arms.

His little sister, Ruby, sat on a chair, swinging her legs as she grinned. He winked and she laughed shyly.

“Pay attention,” Violet whispered urgently. “I’ve no desire to be flung off into the atmosphere. Mama would be very angry.”

“You sound so sure about that,” he said.

She tsked and shook her head. He pulled her a nudge tighter, and she inhaled quickly, darting her sparkling eyes at his.

Sparkling eyes? Lud, where had that come from? His breath caught when she did not avert her gaze but held his. He had the urge to tell her that of course her mama would be upset. Anyone would be upset. He would be upset.

“Upward, Master Cyril. Everything upward.”

Cyril lifted his chin. “I’ll do my best to keep you below the clouds,” he muttered.

“I’d be so obliged,” she muttered back.

“Try not to stomp this time.”

“Understood. Donkeys, not grape crushers.”

He bit back a grin. Her wit would land them both being banned from the dance floor. Again.

Mr. Ducat signaled Mother, who began playing a rolling polka. Cyril allowed the opening measure to play through, then lifted up, and away they went into galops and sashays, turning at the right count. Mother, he knew, playedmoderatoas they mastered the steps, while the dance would be playedallegroin the ballroom.

Moderato, Cyril also knew, was not to Violet’s liking. He began to feel the tug of her steps preceding his own as sheanticipated the count. His lips drew to the side as her own momentum pulled him around at the next turn and he pressed gently against her hand in his to counter it. They managed to complete the next series of turns without toppling over. Then came the small kicks in place and a little leap back into action.

“Hee-aw.”

The breathless, unexpected little bray from Cyril’s dance partner drew him up short in a fit of concealed laughter—more of a snort-sneeze—and his feet immediately tangled in Violet’s skirts. The more he tried to regain their balance, the more tangled their feet became, and with startled cries and muffled laughter, their polka-induced momentum spilled them toward the floor. Cyril did the only thing he was capable of and spun them enough that he broke Violet’s fall with a grunt as his hip took the brunt of it. Their wide-eyed gazes clashed briefly before Violet rolled away and scrambled to stand.

“It was my fault—” Violet began, brushing at her dress.

“Master Cyril!”

Cyril pushed out a breath, his eyes closing, and drew himself up to standing once more. “Yes, Mr. Ducat?”

“Need I remind you that as your partner’s lead, you are responsible for not only tempo, direction, and steps but also hersafetyon thedance floor?”

“No, sir—”

“And when I sayonthe dance floor, I mean to saybeforeshe would actually ever meet the dance floor with any part of her personother than her feet!”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. You need not remind me.” He lifted his chin, glancing at Violet.

She had the decency to look guilty.

“Nonetheless, you shall observe how it is done correctly.” Mr.Ducat stepped between Cyril and Violet, causing Cyril to move back toward the piano. The instructor took lead position with a subdued Violet and signaled Mother over his shoulder. The man proceeded to lead Violet through a succinct and graceful polka, finishing with a gliding sashay, lead arms raised in the air. She had not pushed her own tempo, had not pulled against the turns, had not brayed like a donkey. She’d been more than capable. She’d been flawless.

“And that, Master Cyril, is how it is done.”

Violet’s flushed face was downcast, her brow slightly creased.

Mr. Ducat led her regally to Cyril’s side. “Let’s move on to the waltz, shall we?” He crossed back to his place of observation, muttering something about his long history of teaching dance and the wordnever.

Cyril attempted to swallow his pride. They’d been studying the waltz since they were children, at least. He executed a bow and lifted Violet’s hand to lead her to the center of the room. “You did that very well. With Mr. Ducat, I mean.”