Parfit Knight by Stella Riley Page B

Vernon. It was destined to be his last tranquil hour for a
long time but neither he nor his quietly dissatisfied valet were
privileged to know it.
    It began
innocently enough when Rosalind asked his lordship to tell her
about Paris and the court of Louis XV. Amberley described the
splendours of Versailles along with its chronic over-crowding and
then said, ‘As for Louis le Bien-Aimé , he’s not so
well-beloved these days thanks to his unproductive wars, the
extravagance and depravity of his court – and, of course, the
influence wielded by his numerous mistresses.’
    Rosalind rested
her chin on her clasped hands and said, ‘Madame du Barry is the
present one, isn’t she? Have you ever met her?’
    He grinned. ‘My
dear, I’ve danced with her – at her own request,
moreover.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really.’ A
tremor of laughter entered his voice. ‘But don’t be too impressed.
She only wanted to cross-question me about a friend of mine. He’s a
particular favourite of hers and - though I’d like to say that’s
purely because he has the advantage of a coronet - candour compels
me to admit that, with the French King and the French treasury at
her disposal, la belle Marie-Jeanne cares nothing for
that.’
    ‘Is she very
beautiful?’
    ‘Big blue eyes
and an abundance of golden curls – so yes, she’s beautiful. But very beautiful? That would depend on one’s personal taste.
Certainly, she’s not the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’
    ‘No?’
    Amberley
hesitated for a moment and then, casting caution to the winds,
said, ‘No. That would be you.’
    A tide of
colour swept over her face and she said unevenly, ‘Why did you say
that? You can’t possibly mean it.’
    ‘Actually, I
can and do – but I apologise if I’ve embarrassed you. I didn’t mean
to.’
    She shook her
head. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’
    ‘Then we’ll
talk of something else until you do,’ he replied easily. And
embarked on a description of the Paris Opera, the Comédie-Française
and some of the city’s many other attractions.
    Gradually,
Rosalind recovered her countenance and, having led his lordship to
describe some of the private balls he had attended, listened with
rapt attention whilst he did so. Her expression of dreamy eagerness
was not lost on Amberley and after a while he said, ‘What are you
thinking?’
    She shrugged
lightly. ‘Oh – that it must feel marvellous to dance.’
    ‘And you wish
that you could do it?’
    She flushed for
it was the sort of admission she preferred not to make. ‘A little,
perhaps.’
    The Marquis
pushed his chair back and stood up.
    ‘Then you
shall. I’ll teach you.’
    Rosalind looked
startled. ‘You – I can’t,’ she said flatly.
    He walked
around the table and drew her to her feet. ‘I beg your pardon?’
    The teasing
note produced an uncertain smile but she said, ‘I mean I could
never dance properly – the way other people do.’
    ‘So?’ He drew
her hand through his arm and led her relentlessly away to the
parlour. ‘I can’t see that the way you do it matters in the
slightest. Come.’ He thought for a moment, then, standing beside
her, took her right hand in his and placed his left lightly round
her waist. ‘My apologies for the familiarity but I expect it to pay
dividends. Now. Lift your skirt in your left hand … yes, that’s it
… and it’s right foot first. Ready?’
    For the next
hour, while Broody looked irritably on and spat the occasional
seed, the Marquis led Rosalind up and down the room, counting,
instructing and criticising. ‘Now … one, two, three, four –
forward, two, three, four. Yes. Again – and this time keep your
head up and relax. Just move with me and stop worrying. And – one, two, three …’
    And Rosalind,
dutifully doing as she was told, placed her trust in the light
guiding hands and found that she was enjoying herself.
    ‘That’s much
better. Now, round me … and back, two, three, four – don’t