Page 23 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Agatha clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes. My anniversary set. A necklace, earrings, and hair pins. They have not seen a ball in over a decade. Josie will shine in them. Or I should say, they will shine on her.”

Josie did not favor them talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room. She waved. “I’m right here. And what if I lose them? Sometimes I lose things, I do.”

“Psh.” The viscountess swished her wrist dismissively. “You won’t lose them.”

Josie had given them fair warning, so they better not hold her accountable when a set of priceless jewels fell off her and landed in a punch bowl, never to be seen again.

“How am I supposed to afford a ball gown?” Josie thumped her chest. “Remember, I’m the poor pugilist who gave her winnings to a matchmaker and still owes an overdue down payment for her new gymnasium.”

“Let us solve one problem at a time,” Agatha said. “Nicolas, youshall be my partner. Let us show Josie what a proper waltz looks like.”

“But I know how to waltz,” Josie said.

Agatha placed her hand on Josie’s forearm, most likely trying to soften the blow after the condescending reading and writing insult. “I suspect you know the riotous version danced in taverns. The one you will be expected to participate in is quite slow. ’Tis very graceful and is done on the balls of your feet. Come, Nicolas, let us show her.”

Josie harrumphed. Certainly, her version was more fun.

Nicolas held out his arm, linking elbows with Agatha. They stepped to the center of the room. Nicolas faced the dowager, one hand on her back, the fingers of his other hand intertwined with hers. He stepped forward as she stepped back. Soon, they swirled around the room together as the viscountess chanted, “Slow, quick, quick.”

Jonathon hummed a waltz as he tapped his toe.

Despite their mismatched ages, the pair danced together beautifully, reminding Josie of white swans glissading on a crystal pond. Their movements were similar to what she and Franny did in a kitchen in the East End. Except the aristocrats glided, and she and Franny bounced.

Surprise of surprises, she wanted Nicolas Wentworth to press his hand to her shoulder blade, stare into her eyes, and twirl her until they lost track of time.

Jonathon approached and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

It seemed she was to dance with the fun-loving viscount instead of the stick-up-his-arse son of an earl, which was probably for the best. She placed her hand on Jonathon’s back.

The viscount chortled. “You must let me lead.”

It was a forgivable error since she took the gentleman’s part when she and Franny danced. She pressed her palm flat against his shoulder. It took her a few moments of awkward fumbling to train herself to step back when Jonathon stepped forward. She flexed and unflexed her knees slightly and stepped lightly onto the balls of her feet. Shedropped on the first step and rose onto her toes on the second and third. She didn’t have to concentrate on keeping her back straight since she still wore the backboard.

Jonathon encouraged her the entire time. “Back, side, close, back, side, close. Forward, side, close, forward, side, close,” he chanted until they effortlessly swirled.

Nicolas and Agatha stepped to the side, giving her and Jonathon the floor.

“Slow, quick, quick. Low, high, high,” Agatha called. “Beautifully done, my dear. You are as light as air.”

“I am as light as air,” Josie whispered. Truthfully, she did feel as if her feet weren’t touching the floor.

She and Jonathon moved faster and faster until they were both laughing and breathless. He twirled her under his arm, grabbed her around the waist, and dipped her in front of their audience, calling, “Tada.”

Agatha clapped enthusiastically but quickly contained herself.

Jonathon stepped back and took a bow as Nicolas frowned at him.

“Why the scowl, old chap? Josephine is a splendid dancer.” Davenport winked at her. “You must save your favorite cousin a dance. Mayhap even two.”

“I would be delighted.” Josie beamed with her curtsy. Dancing had done wonders for her spirits.

Agatha cringed. “Oh, my. I suppose we should work on that curtsy next.”

What in the devil had Josie done wrong now?

“Yes. Let us move onto the curtsy post haste,” said Meddlesome, the sour puss.

“I told you, Mother,” Jonathon said.