Page 59 of Hearts of Locke Hill

He sensed her hesitation. “I did not like it.”

“Why not? It’s extraordinary how perfect a dance can be when one’s partner isn’t imitating a barnyard animal.”

She averted her gaze as they came to waltz position. His tone had been harsher than he’d intended.

“I did not wish for you to be blamed for my lapse in dance etiquette,” she whispered.

He felt heat rising in his neck. “Lapse in dance—” He gave his head a slight shake. “I will always be blamed. I am older. I am responsible. I amsteady Cyril Burke. And right now, apparently, my job is to keep youoff the floor.” He gritted his teeth. “Perhaps you could allow me to do that.”

He looked to Mother, who gave him a sympathetic smile andthen turned her focus to the piano. The familiar opening to “La Czarine,” Violet’s favorite waltz, eased the tension in his shoulders. He could only think that Mother had chosen this song knowing Violet would not fight it.

And she didn’t. They glided over the floor, each turn rebuilding Cyril’s confidence, each step proving that he was capable and she was, indeed, a lovely dancer—when she wasn’t mimicking a donkey.

“Cyril?” she asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“I did not like the dance with Mr. Ducat,” she said, “because there was no laughing.”

He met her upturned gaze. An unaccountable burst of pride shot through his chest, warming him through. “We always laugh.”

A hint of a smile crossed her lips, and her eyes brightened. She simply nodded.

“Well then.” He filled his lungs and readied a series of full turns. “Hang on, Miss Violet, lest you be flung off into the atmosphere.”

“Steady Cyril, indeed,” she said, then gasped as they launched.

Her bright laughter trailed along behind their imperfectly perfect waltz.

Y

Cyril walked the drive to the school, swinging a stick he’d absently picked up along the way. He had spent the morning making the millhouse wing of Pimms his own. Mrs. Turner had fussed over him, and after a hearty breakfast, he’d chosen to walk from Pimms and continue to explore the school grounds beforegetting to work in the shared office. The spring morning had begun brightly, and he would take advantage of it.

As he drew nearer the school, he passed the headmaster’s—headmistress’s, he corrected himself grimly—cottage, a small but comfortable two-story dwelling on the lane bordering a grove of apple trees and a meandering creek. Several other cottages dotted the way, reserved for the housekeeper and her husband, the man-of-all-work, the groundskeeper, and other staff with families. The presence of the cottages at all signified a departure from the antiquated rule that teachers could not marry. The school building itself had a staff wing addition for unattached members, the construction nearly complete.

Eyeing the headmaster’s cottage, he wondered if he might live there if given the position, or would he continue on at Pimms? Was Violet there now? The thought brought to mind his exchange with Ruby the previous evening at Oakleigh.

As he’d collected his trunks of clothes and books and such, Ruby had made sure to point out the basket of miscellany he’d left in his desk in the old room. He’d taken it in stride, sensing her curiosity as he’d sorted through the items.

“Anything missing?” she’d asked.

“Not that I can see,” he’d muttered. “Hold on.” He’d paused. “Where did I put …?”

“Yes?” she’d asked a bit too brightly.

“Oh, nothing. A broken cufflink I was going to have Duff fix. Ah well, if it’s gone, it’s gone.”

The disappointment in her expression nearly drew an apology from him, but then he’d remembered how eagerly she’d turned over the marble to Miss Whittemore. Perhaps she should have a week mucking out the stables with Henry.

But no, this subterfuge would continue, and he would playalong. If they wanted thimbles and acorns—he’d recognized the reference to James Barry’s play and knew that Peter Pan and Wendy Darling exchange the items for pretend “kisses”—he’d give them thimbles and acorns. But it would be under his terms. This position meant too much to him, and he’d tried to remain reasonable. He was sympathetic to Violet’s plight and had not hidden that. She could not have any idea of the lengths he would go to for her, and had gone to for her. And at the slightest hint that he might be harboring some feelings for her, she’d decided it might be used to oust him from this school.

Pining for her. Bah. Had she no idea how futile that would be?

He swiped his stick at a boulder, and with a crack, the point flew off into the brambles.

“What did that poor stick do to you?”

He looked up with a start, part chagrined and part annoyed. Miss Florrie Janes waited on the lane, plainly amused, a dour-looking older woman just beyond her. He straightened, then bowed. “Miss Janes. Good morning to you.”