C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 26

“I’m not a lady,” Diana muttered and immediately felt like a fraud for saying so. Because for the last several weeks, she’d been doing everything to prove to herself and those around her that she was.

“Ha!” Claudette responded, mocking her.

But Diana couldn’t focus on the French woman’s opinion just then.

The thinner of the two men was scribbling into a book, barely allotting her a single glance. However, the other gentleman afforded her all of his attention from where he sat, reclined in his chair, hands folded over his paunch. Diana resisted squirming when he trailed his gaze down, and then back up her figure. He didn’t mean to seem insulting, she assured herself, but was likely considering Diana as a potential performer—as a dancer.

She hoped.

After apparently deciding Diana’s appearance was satisfactory, he finally leaned forward and licked his lips. “A lady, eh? Seeking employment? Are you running away from your cruel father, Luv, or perhaps it’s your husband who’s sent you running to make a career on the stage.”

“Neither” Diana said, resisting the urge to curtsey. She was also confused that they hadn’t risen from their chairs to greet her. “I just want to be a dancer.”

The resounding laughter of all three of them summoned heat rushing into Diana’s cheeks.

“I don’t expect to perform right off. I’m willing to work my way up. And despite…” She swept her hands down her dress, which, although was one of her least favorites, managed to look quite respectable and expensive in this setting, “I can work.” And in case they didn’t hear her, she lifted her chin and spoke with more conviction. “I’m not above hard work.”

She clenched her teeth in the face of their obvious disbelief. She had helped the housekeeper at their home on Farm Street on several occasions. At least once a week, she had dusted and rubbed practically every inch of the railings and trim with lemon oil.

Although—she glanced around at the filth that seemed to cover everything behind stage—nothing had prepared her for this.

But she would work that out later. First, she needed to secure a position. She needed to become an independent woman.

“Let’s see what you can do.” The larger man jerked his chin.

Claudette was sitting down to a piano-forte Diana hadn’t noticed. For a moment, she was puzzled. Did he wish to see if she really could clean? But then he raised his arm and made a twirling motion with his finger.

Was he granting her an… audition?

“Right now? Here?” Diana indicated the tiny space outside his door.

“Plenty of room.”

Why hadn’t she thought to prepare herself for this possibility?

“Of course.” She agreed. Hands shaking, she set her reticule and bonnet on a low table that she hoped was clean. What if she missed a step? What if she stumbled? Or even worse, landed on her bottom?

But no, she reminded herself. She had spent a significant portion of her life preparing for just such a moment. This was an opportunity. Diana wasn’t about to squander it.

She was finally going to get the chance to showcase her talent in front of professionals.

Claudette plucked out a recognizable melody, and Diana nodded.

I can do this.

Closing her eyes, she counted down from eight and allowed her instincts to guide her. Even in this limited space, she could twirl, and move her arms, and swivel, and she executed a few carefully aimed kicks. When Claudette changed the tempo, Diana adjusted as needed. And at the song’s conclusion, Diana might have kept right on moving to the beat in her head if not for the smattering of applause from the gentlemen watching her from the office.

Short and begrudging applause, but applause, nonetheless.

“Not bad, eh Pip?” The larger man rose and stepped out of the small room. Then, with his hands clutching the lapels of his waistcoat and his arms resting on his belly, he studied her. “Do you have a name?”

“Miss Diana Jones. Are you Mr. Whitley?”

“I’m the manager.” He nodded, “And this is Mr. Pip Grainger, director. You’ve never danced professionally, have you.”

“No,” Diana shook her head. “But I’m a fast learner.”

He nodded slowly and then turned to Claudette. “Set her up in the lodgings next door and find a costume that’ll fit her. She can start on the line, and we’ll see how she does there.” He turned back to Diana. “I expect you to learn the numbers quickly. If you miss even a single practice, you’re gone. Cause any trouble? You’re gone. Do as you’re told, and you’ll get along just fine.” He dragged his gaze down her one last time, and Diana could hardly believe her good luck.

“Thank you! Oh, thank you. You won’t regret this.”

“We’ll see about that.” And then he added, “Welcome aboard.”

“This way, Miss.” Claudette was dragging Diana away before she could say another word.

She’d done it!

“I’ve never seen any ballet quite like that before, but I must admit you have raw talent. You will be rooming with Sally. She’s only been with us a few months. Most of the other dancers will treat you well enough, but you must put away your fancy dress and manners. Dancers aren’t known for welcoming competition, even those who haven’t just stepped out of Mayfair.” She patted Diana on the arm. “You’ll learn.”

“I didn’t bring my belongings.” Diana clutched her reticule nervously. “Do you think Mr. Whitley will mind if I start tomorrow? That way, I can return and settle in properly.”

“Monsieur Pip is the man to please, so first you must attend this afternoon’s rehearsal. Monsieur Whitley was not joking about that. All the dancers are required to reside in the lodgings next door. Rent will come out of your wages.”

“But of course.” Diana nodded. “I’ll tell my family after…” She smiled weakly.

Why wasn’t she more excited to have landed a position? This was her dream. “Is Mr. Pip difficult to please?”

“Pip’s the director.” Claudette shrugged as though the answer was obvious. “All Directors are difficult to please. He knows his business, though. Just do what he says, and you’ll be surprised at what you learn.” She pushed open a door. “This is where the dancers spend their leisure time.”

Scantily clad ladies either lounged about on fainting couches or sat along a long row of mirrors. Various costumes draped over chairs, and heavy perfume and perspiration hovered in the air.

“Ecoutez, mademoiselles! Please welcome Diana, our newest dancer.” Claudette announced. “She will be joining us for today’s rehearsal. Be kind and help her s'il vous plait. Sally, you find something for Diana to wear during rehearsal and also show her to the chamber she’ll be sharing with you. You are responsible for teaching to her the feature number.”

“Of course.” A petite blond lady nodded.

Diana shivered at the awareness of several sets of heavily made-up eyes scrutinizing her. She had the strangest sense of having experienced this before—and recently. Only on those occasions, she’d been standing with her sister in various ballrooms, at garden parties, and the occasional musicale.

Some of the gazes were distrustful, others outright disdainful, and a few welcoming. It wasn’t going to be easy to win them over.

But she would do it.

“You’re taller than me, Diana, but I’m sure we can find something to fit you in here.” Sally waved her across the room, rifled through a trunk, and then sent Diana behind a barely-there privacy screen to change into a tight bodice paired with a very short skirt that barely covered her behind. Diana spent what remained of the morning learning a challenging routine but had no doubt she’d be able to perform it adequately.

She ought to be thrilled.

Being here was not all that different than she’d imagined it would be, and even though a few of the dancers grumbled at the changes involved in adding another person to the line, that grumbling was mostly half-hearted.

With the exception of an older raven-haired dancer named Maude of whom Diana doubted could ever be won over. The woman looked down her nose at her, but Diana merely shrugged her off and took her position.

It wasn’t necessary for every person she met to like her. Diana truly wasn’t interested in making Maude’s insecurities into her problem. She had enough troubles without doing that.

Mr. Pip hollered his instructions, and a strange buzzing began low in Diana’s belly. Confusing thoughts taunted her with whispered doubts.

She could make herself fit in here. This was a realm she’d never known before. Despite Maude and a few of the dancer’s suspicions, Diana was sure that she could carve out a place for herself here—a world that was foreign to her—a world very different than the one she’d grown up in.

But she could belong.

Eventually.

One of the dancers caught her eye and sent her a tentative smile. Her name was Holly, and she reminded Diana of one of the Mossant sisters.

And the two beauties—who also happened to be the most popular dancers—had Diana recalling how Miss Augustine and Lady Adriana always held themselves and laughed quite unselfconsciously.

“And five, six, seven eight…” Mr. Pip counted down, and Diana performed the number easily. It was almost as enjoyable as waltzing with Zeke—

But she could not dwell on Zeke, who she’d last seen laying in the dirt in Lady Ravensdale’s Garden—drops of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Do not think of Zeke,she commanded herself.

Which, of course, caused her to think of him more.

Dancing with Zeke had been like floating in a dream. She thought back to those twinkling looks in his eyes when he’d twirled her around the floor, the appreciative warmth of his gaze in those moments he pulled her a tad too close.

Would she ever forget the taste of his kiss—the low rumble of his voice? Diana blinked away the stinging in her eyes.

Less than fourteen hours had passed since his idiotic proposal, and already she missed him dreadfully. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization that she would likely never see him again—never be kissed by him again.

The thought was almost enough to make her forgive his horrible words from the night before.

“All your mother had was the delusion that a man who paid for her services loved her.”

Mr. Pip ordered them to stop and start over, declaring that a few of the girls were off, and they went through the number three more times before being allowed five minutes to rest.

Zeke had been trying to convince her that being a wife was better than being a mistress… Why? Because he wanted to make her his wife. He wanted to be tied to her forever.

But she could not fit in.

“Line up again, Ladies!”

Diana followed the director’s instructions and glanced thoughtfully at the ladies around her. Working to fit in with this set of women was not all that different from fitting in with the ladies of the ton.

What was different? When she’d been introduced to the other dancers, she’d refused to contemplate failing. She’d believed in herself.

Amongst the twelve other ladies, a few reigned as divas, a few desperate social climbers, and of course, there were always the wallflowers. For some reason, Diana had not been nearly as confident in her ability to fit into society as she’d been that she could fit in here.

Had she not been confident because of what her mother had told her? Because she’d grown up believing society was inherently bad?

Or was it because her father’s wife had belonged in society and her mother had…not?

Diana’s heart skipped a beat and her eyes burned.

She had never set foot behind the stage of a theater. These women spoke differently, dressed differently, and came from different backgrounds.

Why wasn’t she more intimidated by them?

“That’s all for today! Tomorrow, be prepared to perform the Marigold number straight through.” Mr. Pip clapped his hands three times, and the other dancers drifted off to the wings.

But Diana remained standing in the center of the stage as a wave of possibilities washed over her.

“Are you coming down for dinner?” Sally touched her arm, but Diana shook her head.

“No. I have to go home…” She smiled. “But thank you.”

“Come early in the morning, and I’ll teach you the steps to the Marigold number. It’s easier than this one, so you shouldn’t have any difficulties.”

Diana nodded. “Thank you.” But…

She would not be learning the Marigold number.

And even though she felt guilty at having wasted Sally, and Claudette, and even the director’s time, she realized she was not going to be coming back.

Diana had not failed at fitting into the Ton because no one had given her a chance; she’d failed because she’d not given them one. Not seriously, anyhow.

She’d been a giant coward when she’d insisted she wouldn’t know how to be a proper Marchioness.

Staring out at an audience of empty seats, wearing her bright-colored costume that bared most of her legs, she chastised herself for viewing Zeke’s world in such a pessimistic light.

She’d only allowed herself to see the shadows.

Zeke had been terribly cruel and wrong to say what he’d said about her mother, but he’d also been… partially right.

A movement sounded in the aisle near the exit, and seeing a tall, masculine shadow move toward her; recognition lifted her heart.

She raised her hands to her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Thought I might catch a performance.”

His modulated, aristocratic, arrogant but positively beloved voice carried up to the stage.

Zeke had come looking for her.