Perfectly Mismatched (Sweethearts of Jubilee Springs Book 1) Page 6

  Chapter Six

  If the lunkhead stepped on her toes once more, Aurelia thought she might scream. Mister Latham had to be the most uncoordinated dancer ever. Plus, if she wasn’t mistaken, he wore the same shirt as the previous evening. As he dragged her around the floor, she glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch Declan’s eye with an appeal to save her. The tune finally ended, and the couples broke apart and applauded.

  The first notes of the fiddle brought up Mister Latham’s arms like they were attached to the bow. Desiring a respite for her toes, she shook her head and grabbed a hand to her throat. “I’m parched. Could you please find me a glass of water?”

  “Sure ʼnough, Miss Northcliffe.” He dipped his chin and left.

  Letting out a sigh, Aurelia stepped to the sidelines where Andrea stood gazing toward the moving couples. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  Andrea turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Aurelia. You said something to me?”

  This woman’s thoughts never seemed to be with what was happening right before her eyes. Aurelia shook her head. “I said, you don’t dance much, do you?” Was her voice too snappish?

  “I never really had the chance to learn when I was home.” A thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I was kept too busy on my pa’s ranch to go to any socials.”

  Not attend socials? Unheard of. “You should have said something. Maybe some of us could have taught you a few steps so you wouldn’t make all us brides look incompetent on the dance floor.”

  Andrea straightened to her full height. “Miss Aurelia, your dancing outshines all of us, the men as well as several of the brides. Although we can’t all be as accomplished on the dance floor as you are. I’m sure the brides have other talents that will be appreciated by their new husbands.”

  Her stomach tumbled. How does she know this is precisely what I’m worried about? Aurelia pinched her lips tight. “Do tell.”

  Andrea turned toward Mister Brinks, who had stepped close.

  Not getting an answer on top of Andrea’s turned-away shoulder felt like a rebuff. Until Aurelia reviewed what the other woman said. Had her skilled dancing appeared like a slap in the face to the rancher’s daughter who came from poor circumstances? Aurelia had certainly never intended to give that impression—she’d merely indulged in one of the few talents she possessed.

  “Here you are, Miss Northcliffe.” Mister Latham held out a dripping tin mug.

  “I appreciate this.” Although she wondered at the unusual vessel, she took several grateful sips.

  “You done with that? Let me finish it off.” Mister Latham claimed the mug, quaffed the remainder of the water, and set the mug on a nearby chair. “Now we can get to high-steppin’ around the floor.” He grabbed her close and spun her around.

  After two more tunes that left her head spinning, she begged off again, doing her best to draw in a full breath against her constricting corset.

  The fiddler called a break and headed toward the refreshment table.

  At the sight of Declan sauntering toward her, Aurelia had a vision that this incident had happened before. Like when a handsome and brave man arrived at just the right moment to sweep her away from an uncomfortable situation. Or had she read that in one of the novels Rilleta left lying around? Seeing a glint in his green gaze kicked up her pulse that still raced from Mister Latham’s exuberant moves.

  “Latham.” He glanced at the other man then smiled in her direction. “Miss Aurelia.”

  Declan’s deep voice filtered under her skin, and she shivered. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d almost reversed her opinion about him.

  As he looked between the two, Byron’s pale blue eyes shot wide. “Are we usin’ first names today?”

  Aurelia bit back a sigh at this man’s rough manners. An idle thought about the existence of finishing schools for males crossed her mind. Probably only military academies. “Declan asked for that permission, and I granted him it.”

  Byron crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I’d like that privilege, too.”

  “All right, Byron. I’ll allow that.”

  The fiddler played a few notes.

  After a courtly bow, Declan extended his hand. “I believe ʼtis our cue, milady.”

  As his strong hand enveloped hers, she was glad the day’s temperature precluded wearing the gloves that were mandated back home. His hand at her waist grasped firmly, and with a single confident squeeze, he steered her immediately into the rhythm of the waltz. Like they’d been partners for years, they dipped and slid, covering the expanse of the floor in twirling turns but never bumping into another couple. Normally, the step called for partners looking over the other’s shoulder, but she couldn’t stop herself from gazing at his face as he guided them. “You surprise me, Declan.”

  “How’s that, miss?” An eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t break stride as he sashayed them across the floor’s diagonal.

  “Where did you learn to dance like this?” Gadzooks, she sounded like a lovesick teen.

  The tempo of the music quickened.

  With a squeeze of her hand and a release at her waist, Declan swung her into a spin under his upraised arm and then set them off in a heel-and-toe polka.

  A laugh bubbled up from deep in her belly, and Aurelia pranced along with the faster footwork. This man was keeping her on her toes—literally. Other dancers stepped aside to make room in the middle. He executed a roll where he guided her away from his body. She added a pirouette with an extended hand then he reeled her back with a swish of her petticoats and skirt.

  The music crescendoed and stopped. People applauded.

  After a smiling curtsey of acknowledgement, Aurelia pressed a hand to her bosom. “Now, you”—she shook her head and tried again—“You didn’t answer my question about learning to dance.” As ladylike as she could, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Declan blotted a shirt sleeve across his forehead. “In me family, playing instruments and dancing provided many an evening’s entertainment. And dearly beloved such entertainments were on account of not costing a single penny.”

  “Hey, MacNeill.” A muscular dark-haired man stepped forward from the audience. “You treating us to some of that high-stepping jig tonight?”

  “Nah.” Declan waved a hand. “This be a fancy dance. Me jigging’s a better fit for the bunkhouse.”

  Frowning, she turned to her partner. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Just some steps I learned as a lad.”

  “I’d love to see them.” She tilted her head and gave him her best pleading smile that often produced positive results.

  “Aye.”

  Cheers went up from the miners.

  Before he turned and called out a tune to the fiddler, the opening strains of a well-known Irish jig sounded.

  Declan clasped his hands at the small of his back and, looking straight ahead, stomped, kicked backward, twirled, and stamped his toe on end. After a minute or so, he released his hands and crooked a knee so he could slap a hand on the side of his shoe in front, and then in back of his opposite leg.

  Surprise dropped Aurelia’s jaw. Never would she have believed a man of his size could be this light on his feet.

  All the couples formed a circle and clapped in rhythm with his steps and hops.

  Tapping her foot, she joined with the others and felt her cheeks cramp from her wide smile. Her heartbeat kicked up. His movements cast a spell, and his flying boots mesmerized her. When the music ended, she let out a pent-up breath and yelled, “Yahoo!”

  The crowd broke into cheers and whistles.

  Declan gave quick bows in several directions and then zeroed in on where she stood. He cupped her elbow and steered her to the refreshment table. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll bet. That jigging, as you call it, was marvelous.” She accepted a glass of punch with a nod. “I have never before seen the likes of those steps.”

  “We all did it back home—young’uns and old folks alike.�
�� He swallowed down the portion in a single gulp and held out the glass to Minna for a refill. “Obliged.” He turned to her and grinned. “Truly, ʼtwas nothin’ special.”

  “If a pattern existed, I couldn’t catch it. Was there one?”

  “Aye, but every dancer mixes up the steps a bit to make it his or her own style. My Moira used to—” His body stiffened, and he sucked in a breath. His eyes narrowed.

  A chill stabbed her heart. He’d spoken another woman’s name with such caring. “What? Finish your story.”

  “Not here. Let’s step outside.” Jerking his head to the side, he extended his arm.

  Dread rolled her stomach, but she set her hand into the crook of his elbow and followed his lead.

  As soon as they stepped onto the veranda, he broke away and stalked to the railing. With hands braced shoulder-width apart, he leaned back his head and stared into the starry sky.

  Cooler air tickled along her skin, drying beads of perspiration at her hairline. She didn’t know whether to give him a moment or two of solitude, or if she should rush to his side and demand answers. For once, she remained quiet and waited.

  Several minutes passed. Crickets clicked. River water rushed along its rocky path. An owl hooted followed by the distinct flap of strong wings. A breeze soughed through the leaves of the aspen trees. From a long way in the distance came the howl of a wild animal.

  Gasping, Aurelia hunched her shoulders and looked behind her. What in the world was that? A shiver ran down her spine.

  Boots shuffled on the veranda. Declan turned to lean his hips on the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. Flickering lantern light cast his features in shadow. “Seems I’ve an admission of me own.”

  His words broke the silence and gave her permission to move closer. Surely, safety came in numbers when surrounded by untamed beasts. His expression was tight and unreadable. “Do tell.”

  “I’ve been married before.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Oh.” Should she have remembered this? If only she’d paid better attention when Rilleta read his letters. She clasped her hands together, unsure if she wanted to hear his explanation.

  “Six years have come and gone since Moira passed.”

  “Uh, huh.” What was the etiquette here? Aurelia couldn’t think straight. But if he’d been married, then he would have expectations about what her role should be. Expectations she couldn’t possibly meet…at first. Her breath hitched in her chest. Guilt at what she still kept secret burned her conscience.

  “Probably I should have included that fact in a letter.” His jaw clenched and released.

  “Maybe so.” She stepped close and laid a hand on his forearm. In the intimacy of revelation, she kept her voice low. “I’m sorry about your wife’s passing. She must have been very young.”

  “Aye, not yet twenty.” He nodded, his expression tight. “And her belly ripenin’ with me child.”

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Declan, how sad.” Did his sad attitude mean he was still in love with this woman?

  “And when I pulled ye to safety that first day, ʼtwas because I wasn’t there when—”

  “Are you done dancin’, MacNeill?” Byron’s voice boomed across the veranda. “Cuz I could use a partner.”

  Aurelia wanted to scream at the interruption. Declan’s admission put a stranglehold on her heart, and she wanted to do something or find the right words to ease his ache.

  Declan’s gaze narrowed.

  The arm under her hand went rock hard. She turned and forced a bright smile. “We needed a breath of fresh air. But Declan has promised me the next reel.”

  “Well, they’re linin’ up. Come inside.” Bryon stood with the door held open and waving them closer with his free hand.

  Aurelia made the bold move of grabbing Declan’s hand and tugging him along. Anything not to be paired opposite Byron when stomping feet and advancing steps were involved. They scooted into the appropriate lines at the foot ends.

  From that position, she crossed diagonally to clasp hands with the head man named Jared, and they completed the both hands round move. On her return walk to her place, Aurelia cocked an eyebrow at Declan. “Thought you didn’t share.”

  After he enacted a similar move with the lady in the head position, he winked across the space separating them. “’Tis a singular exception.”

  As the steps progressed, she could swear he bumped her shoulder in the do-si-do on purpose. But when she arched a brow in question, she saw an expression wide-eyed and innocent. Then as the partners traveled down the line, she spied only glimpses of him every third turn or so.

  Each time, he caught her gaze and held it.

  The connection kept the fluttering of anticipation alive in her stomach through this reel and the following square dance.

  The last musical selection was a Viennese waltz by Strauss she’d danced to many times in Topeka ballrooms. Within a few steps, the lilting tune didn’t seem out of place in an inn’s dining room in the middle of Arkansas Valley, Colorado. This time, she had total confidence in Declan’s ability to keep their frames rigid enough not to entangle their feet. Several times she lifted her gaze to study the dark ring about his irises. When the angle to the lanterns was just right, an occasional reddish glint appeared in his beard stubble. Before meeting Declan, she’d thought men with black hair were the handsomest. That opinion had certainly changed.

  On the last drawn-out note, Declan dipped her over his lowered arm. With a grin, he whispered, “ ‘Can one desire too much of a good thing?’ ”

  Another Shakespearean quote. Feeling like a ballerina, she flourished her free hand in a languid wave only inches above the floor. Was the quote from As You Like It or A Midsummer Night’s Dream? The question would puzzle her brain until she determined the correct play. Maybe Byron had already headed back to the bunkhouse, and she’d have Declan all to herself for a little longer. Didn’t speaking that particular quote mean he wanted the same?

  Slowly, he straightened until she stood upright. Then he lifted her right hand and, while holding her gaze, brushed his lips above the ridge of her knuckles.

  The stubble of his chin tickled, but she relished the warmth of his breath and mouth. A shiver ran up her arm.

  From close by, someone inhaled sharply.

  Aurelia stiffened but notched her chin higher. Courtly gestures in public were never risqué, and she let out a soft sigh.

  Declan stepped back and offered his right elbow. “Shall we?”

  If only she had a talent for putting emotions to paper. She wanted to remember this night for always. Biting her lip, she managed a quick nod and let him turn her toward the opened double doors.

  Where Byron stood waiting.

  A few feet from the doorway, Declan moved to the side to gather his drum and tuck a smooth stick into his breast pocket.

  Her stomach sank, but she fought to keep her disappointment from changing her expression. Groups filtered out through the exit, their conversations mumbled. When she and Declan drew abreast, she reached out and grasped his proffered arm. The gesture was becoming so familiar and routine. Now to think of a general topic for the walk to the boarding house. “I believe Mister Debenham counts tonight a grand success for his restaurant.”

  “You betcha.” Byron reached the bottom of the inn’s stairs first and turned abruptly. “I didn’t see an empty seat in the place.”

  Aurelia double-timed her steps to keep pace. “An unusual herb flavored my chicken. Do either of you know what it was?”

  “Nah, I eat beef when I have the choice.” Byron chuckled and jabbed his elbow sideways. “Especially when it’s on the bosses’ nickel.”

  Well, that’s crass. Aurelia eased toward Declan and searched for another topic.

  “The beef was tender, and the gravy had a rich taste.”

  She appreciated his calm tone and that he’d again trapped her hand against his side. That small gesture somehow gave her comfort.

  “Moon is gaini
ng. Did ye notice?” At the corner of Telegraph and Schoolhouse, Declan eased them into a left turn.

  “I did, and I see our shadows cast ahead.” A thought of a childhood game she used to taunt Rilleta with sprang to mind—something silly about jumping on her shadow would keep her from growing. She opened her mouth to speak.

  “I counted, and the fiddler played more waltzes in the second hour than in the first.” Byron kicked at a stone, ricocheting it off a corner of the livery stable.

  Inside, a horse snorted and stamped a foot.

  Declan stiffened. “Easy, Latham. Ye’ll have Johnny B. charging outside, shotgun in hand, to see who’s stirring up his horses.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Aurelia gave up, and they walked in silence for the remaining block. On the veranda, another group of two men and a woman chatted, and she didn’t want to barge in on their conversation. She pulled her arms down to her sides. Might as well say her goodbyes here on the boardwalk. Extending a hand, she turned to her right. “Thank you, Byron, for your company this evening. You are a rousing dance partner.”

  He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “Glad you noticed.” Then he spied her hand and shook it several times. “Good night, Miss Aurelia.”

  “And, Declan…” She held out her hand for a handshake, secretly wishing for another courtly kiss. “What can I say? Your drumming is only surpassed by your excellent dancing skills, both singly and as a couple.”

  He clasped her hand between both of his and held tight. “Nay, I’m made better by who partners me. I’ll not say a single good night but ‘Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow…’ ”

  Pulse beating in her throat, she squeezed his hand, and her gaze clung to his. They finished in chorus. “ ‘That I shall say good night ‘til it be morrow.’ I love that scene from Romeo and Juliet.”