Page 35 of Henrietta

Ignoring the bickering, Arthur turned to Hetty. ‘Now, Hetty, you have seen it done, have you not? You put your hand here, and I mine here – yes, just so.’

Hetty clasped his hand. Requiring dexterity for jack straws earlier in the evening, she had removed her gloves, and so her hand was bare in his. She could feel against her palm the scar from the summer he had taken a tumble during the hunt, slicing his hand open on the way down. But there were new scars too and callouses not visible to the eye. He had the hands of a soldier now, not a gentleman.

‘You can come a bit closer,’ he encouraged.

Hetty tried to laugh, but it was rather strange. None of the dances they habitually danced were so intimate: one clasped hands and hopped and twirled about, but for most of it there was a clean foot of space between oneself and one’s partner. It felt odd, now, to feel the warmth of another person.

‘It’s a three count, as usual. Very simple – all you have to do is follow my lead. Trixie, are you ready?’

Trixie drew a deep breath and began her favourite, though tuneless, waltz-air, Timothy providing an unenthusiastic accompaniment.

Arthur winced but marshalled himself. ‘Now, we begin …’

Hetty followed the pressure of the palm clasping hers, face already aflame, keeping her eyes fixed upon his feet as she tried to follow his steps.

‘Head up,’ Arthur advised. ‘If you become used to watching your feet, you will never cease.’

She raised her head reluctantly. Finding their faces far closer together than she had anticipated, she flicked her eyes up to his forehead. ‘You can look at me,’ Arthur sounded amused. ‘Your European fellow might expect some eye contact, you know – but perhaps he does not dance.’

Hetty’s reply, concentrating on her feet as she was, was distracted: ‘He dances – well, actually.’

‘Aha! Another clue.’

‘Is it? I could be speaking of thousands of persons, surely.’

‘You could,’ he said. ‘But you have, at least, removed all members of our royal family from the list of possibilities.’

She laughed, which caused her to miss her next step, treading upon Arthur’s toe – which so much distressed her that she immediately did it again.

‘Sorry! Sorry!’

‘No matter. You should have seen me when I was learning.’

‘How had you occasion to do so?’ she asked. ‘Between battles?’

‘Just as soon as the whistle called an end to the fighting,’ he agreed. ‘A single “pip pip”, and we would leap into position. I must say you are a more pleasing companion than the Major.’

‘A compliment indeed.’

He paused a moment, correcting her form.

‘There were a few balls,’ he said. ‘Wellington liked our fellows to show up in style, you know, and we couldn’t let the Prussians shine us down. Knighton taught us.’

‘You make it sound almost a jaunt,’ she noted, her brow creasing. This time, it was Arthur’s turn to evade her gaze. It was hard to lie to Hetty. But what would he say? That Knighton, who had taught them all their steps, had died three days before the ceasefire?

Fortunately, he was saved the difficulty of answering, for at that moment the orchestra began to lose its structural integrity.

‘You’re going too fast!’ Timothy broke off to berate Trixie in a hiss.

‘You’re going too slowly!’

‘Can’t just go off on your own.’

‘I know – let us do it in the round! It is more interesting, I think.’

‘Dash it, when has the waltz ever been played in the round?’

‘Anyway, it is my turn!’ Trixie skipped over to them, hands outstretched. Arthur dropped Hetty’s hand rather hastily, and Hetty – noting this – worried that her clammy palms had been as noticeable to him as they had been to her.