A Time to Dance

Part two - A time to love

She smiled at the tentative hope in his voice. “Of course, my dear.”

“And you will not laugh when I make a mistake?”

“No, I will not, but would it be such a terrible thing if I did? We all make mistakes and the important thing is to learn from them. Besides, when you are able to laugh at yourself and your own follies, other people’s laughter will soon lose its sting.”

So they danced; male and female, young and old, imperfection and experience coming together, accompanied only by the tuneful hum of an old song. She corrected his faults with love and laughter, teaching those lessons that she thought would most benefit her serious and sombre grandson. 

After a while he stopped frowning, relaxed and began to smile; a sight that prompted mixed emotions within her. Watching him embrace the movements—drawing confidence from the knowledge he soaked up like a sponge—gave her so much satisfaction. It was tempered only by the memories his pleasure invoked. He really was the image of his grandfather, particularly as he had looked in his younger years. “You are doing rather well for someone who says he cannot dance.”

“It is easy with you, Grandmama. I would not be able to dance this way with anyone else.”

“Trust me, my dear. One day you will surprise yourself. You will meet a young lady whom you admire and when you dance with her it will feel as natural as breathing. When that time comes you will never want to stop dancing.”

“Is that how it was with you and grandfather?”

The memory of their first meeting, and the extraordinary lengths he went to in order to avoid dancing, drew a wry smile from her lips. “Yes, in time. He was an excellent partner once he set his mind to it.” A peculiar lethargy struck suddenly and her steps faltered as she leaned on the strength of her grandson’s arm.

Concerned, Michael helped her to the nearest chair. “Grandmama, are you well?”

She patted his solicitous hand. “I am fine. Your father will complain that I have been doing too much again. Maybe I have. Perhaps I should take a nap before dinner.”

Michael called a footman and they walked her upstairs to her room. She accepted their support with no demur, but drew the line when they spoke of calling the doctor, accepting instead a tonic from her maid. The cause of her weakness was hardly a secret and Dr. Robertson had nothing in his capacious black bag that could restore her to health.

Her husband returned home an hour after sunset. Reclining on the chaise longue in front of her large bedroom window, she had closed her eyes for only a moment when she heard his familiar measured steps muffled by the Aubusson carpet. She feigned sleep, listening as he dropped his pocket watch on the side table then laid his coat upon the bed. The footsteps moved closer as he traversed the space between the window and the chair where she lay. He stroked the back of his fingers along one cheek and down the column of her neck, lingering over the links of the gold chain he had bought her for their last wedding anniversary.

She sighed at his touch, her whole body gravitating towards him. “I was not sure when you would return.”

He pressed a gentle kiss upon the top of her head. “You look tired. You’ve been in the garden again, haven’t you?”

The heat bloomed under her skin. He knew her too well. “I went out to collect a few flowers to refresh the display in the parlour. It was a glorious afternoon and I spent less than half an hour outside all told.”

“You walked outside in the hottest part of the day, with no parasol for shade and without the company of a maid or footman. I understand the good doctor advised otherwise.”