The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March

am honoured to make your acquaintance, sir,’ Reid responded truthfully, and for a few moments they made conversation on military matters, before Uncle Percy’s sharp elbow in his ribs reminded him of his duty. ‘Might I have the honour of marking your daughter’s dance card?’

      The Brigadier smiled, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. ‘Which one? I have four of ‘em, as you can see.’

      Reid hesitated, just for the blink of an eye, in a quandary as to whether he should state where his interest lay openly, or be more subtle. He plumped for the latter. ‘Well, of course, I would be delighted with any Miss Packard who might care to risk my clumsy two left feet. It has been some while since I practised my dancing.’

      Before he had even finished speaking Victoria and Philippa had already thrust their cards beneath his nose, and he dutifully surveyed them and pencilled in his name, while Georgia exclaimed, ‘Oh, what a shame, my card is full! Excuse me, Papa, here is Felix to claim me for the mazurka.’

      ‘You’ve already had a dance with him this evening, Georgia,’ the Brigadier growled, as his brows lowered upon an anxiously hovering the Right Honourable Felix Westfaling. ‘Scratch him out and let Captain Bowen take his place.’

      ‘Oh, Papa, that would not do at all!’ exclaimed Georgia. ‘It would be very rude, would it not, Sasha?’

      Sasha felt a warm blush creep up her neck as all eyes turned on her, but she murmured in agreement, ‘It may be construed as rather impolite.’

      ‘Besides, Sasha has not had even one dance yet—can’t he go with her?’

      ‘I-I’ve lost my card,’ stammered Sasha.

      ‘Nonsense, it’s in your reticule.’ And with that Georgia whirled away with a flounce of green silk as she took Felix firmly by the elbow and set off to dance around the ballroom floor with him.

      The Brigadier felt a brief spurt of annoyance, which boded ill, as his gaze followed that of his errant and impetuous daughter, yet he calmed as Sasha laid her hand on his forearm and murmured soothingly, ‘‘Tis but a phase, Papa, it will soon pass.’ She turned to Captain Bowen and smiled politely. ‘I would be delighted to dance with you, sir.’

      ‘Me first!’ cried Victoria.

      Somewhat curious, Reid Bowen held out his hand to take Sasha’s dance card. He was puzzled, as he glanced at the blank sheet, and resisted the temptation to cast a perusing stare. What was wrong with the girl that no one wanted to dance with her? Buck teeth? Bad breath? A total bore? From his greater height, his eyes lowered, he looked at her, and though she was no great beauty he could find no fault with her neat features, smooth, pale skin and dark brown eyes that glowed with intelligence. He pencilled himself in for two dances, both of them a waltz, later in the evening, and then he turned to the young Victoria and escorted her onto the dance floor. Despite her initial enthusiasm, Victoria was overawed by the handsome and mature gentleman in whose arms she suddenly found herself, and for the life of her she could not think of a word to say, which suited her partner well enough. At the end of the dance, he returned her to her family and then bowed as he went off in search of a much-needed drink.

      At ten o’clock a buffet of the most lavish and delicious food was served. Sasha indulged in a portion of sherry trifle and was licking her spoon when Captain Bowen returned to claim her for the first waltz of the evening. As he paused in front of her, with an amused smile and twinkle in his blue eyes, she hurriedly set aside the spoon and bowl, as he proffered his crooked arm to her.

      ‘Shall we?’

      The strains of the ‘Blue Danube’ made her smile with anticipation and pleasure, the waltz being her favourite dance. She accepted with a small inclination of her head, and slipped her hand through his elbow as he led her forwards, every part of her aware of his tall frame at her side.

      Though he had to stoop slightly, and she had to reach up to place her hand upon his broad shoulder, Reid was not in the least bit clumsy. Indeed, she had never enjoyed a waltz quite so much. She glanced up at his profile, his straight nose and lean cheeks very masculine. His jaw was firm and his eyes, when he glanced at her as he placed his hand on her waist, were a very dark blue. Following his lead, she swayed and stepped in time to the rhythm of the waltz, her feet and legs moving between his own as he guided her. Though she often had to dance backwards with no idea of what was behind her, her long cream silk skirts swirling about her legs, she had every confidence in Captain Bowen and the music as they swayed about.

      ‘You are an excellent dancer, Miss Packard.’

      Reid noticed that she bowed her head, with a smile, in a shy yet charmingly graceful gesture, acknowledging his compliment and yet neither bold nor brazen in her acceptance. He noticed, also, the tiny speck of cream at the corner of her mouth, and agonised over whether to mention it, or remain silent. He found himself glancing time and again, as they danced, at her mouth, until she turned her head, aware of his gaze, a slight frown on her well-shaped, dark brows and a pink blush staining her neck and cheeks.

      ‘Forgive me, Miss Packard.’ It was unconscionably rude of him to have embarrassed a lady, so he erred on the side of truth and his judgement that Miss Packard favoured honesty. ‘But, um, please do not take offence, but you may wish to dab your handkerchief to the corner of your mouth.’

      ‘Oh!’ Sasha was instantly mortified. ‘Have I cream?’

      ‘Indeed you do. Just a tiny speck.’

      Sasha felt a red-hot heat of embarrassment wash over her entire body, and wished with all her being she could flee. She made a tiny move to jerk from his arms, but he pulled her back and smoothly manoeuvred her through the flowing steps of the waltz.

      ‘Oh, sir, please do let me go!’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I—I—’ Sasha stammered. ‘Let me retire to the ladies’ cloakroom, please.’ In agony she felt her cheeks blaze.

      ‘There is no need.’ As they danced into the corner, and his broad shoulders shielded her from prying eyes, deftly, quickly, he reached out with one gloved finger and flicked the offending blob of cream away. ‘There now, it is gone. All is well. And no one could see.’

      Sasha tried to pull away again, but he held on to her, and she glanced up at him. ‘You must think me very…gauche.’

      ‘Not at all.’ He gazed down, saw the telltale glimmer of tears in her eyes, and repeated firmly, ‘Not at all. And in the grand scheme of things, what is a mere speck of cream? It’s not as though you had lost a slipper or, God forbid, a stocking trailed about your ankle.’

      She could not help but laugh, nor could she help it as another painful blush warmed her exposed neck. ‘You should not speak of such things.’

      He smiled, enjoying the pleasant sound of her laugh, and even her blushes, for it had been a long time since he had been close to a woman who could still blush.

      ‘No, indeed I should not.’ It began to dawn him on him then why Miss Alexandra Packard might not be the belle of the ball, for he sensed there was something infinitely fragile about her. To his surprise he felt the surge of a most unfamiliar emotion, as though he would fight dragons and villains to protect her from all harm. He brushed it off, annoyed with himself. This would not do, as many men no doubt felt, judging from her empty dance card, it would not do at all for an officer’s wife to be anything other than a strong and capable woman who could take care of herself, the home and the children while her soldier husband was away winning his medals.

      At the end of the waltz they parted company, and Sasha wondered, as he coolly bid her adieu, whether he would return for the second. To her surprise and pleasure, he did, and firmly took the lead, moving her slender body about the ballroom with infinite ease and confidence. He made no move to open conversation, so politely she enquired if he was looking forward to his posting to St Petersburg, and from there they enjoyed a dialogue about Russia.

      ‘I must confess, Miss Packard,’ murmured Captain Bowen, above