Her bottom lip quivered, but she held her composure and inclined her head by way of acceptance. Lockhart almost gave a triumphant cheer for having advanced a few paces in this battle of wills.
The next hour passed quickly, the conversation interspersed with awkward moments of silence. Perhaps neither lady felt comfortable dining in the company of men.
After consuming a glass of wine—a particularly fine claret Dariell had brought back from London—Miss Darling’s shoulders relaxed. Aided by the soft glow of candlelight and the intimate seating arrangement around the small table, the lady grew a little more comfortable in his presence.
“Have you visited London recently, Miss Darling?” Lockhart doubted she had the funds to travel to the nearest coaching inn but a desire to prove Dariell wrong forced him to pry.
The lady dabbed her mouth with her napkin though she had long since finished her meal. “My duties keep me at Falaura Glen, sir, and I am not one for the hustle and bustle of city life.”
Lockhart glanced at Dariell and raised a brow.
As he suspected, this lady was ill-suited to play his wife.
“And what keeps you amused in the country?” Lockhart asked. No doubt she spent her days reading poetry or squinting over a needlework frame. “I’m told there’s a monthly assembly in Flamstead.” Not that he had an interest in attending.
Miss Darling glanced at her sister, a look of pity passing over her features. “I’m afraid I make a rather clumsy dancer, sir.”
It was a lie. A perfectly constructed lie used to spare her sister’s feelings. A moral lie if such a thing existed.
Dariell looked at Lockhart. His satisfied smile conveyed his belief that Miss Darling would be a perfect wife.
“Do you dance, Miss Emily?” Dariell asked much to the shock of her sibling whose eyes grew as wide as saucers.
Miss Darling glared across the table. She looked ready to leap from her seat and throttle Dariell for his foolish comment. “I took you for an intelligent man, monsieur.”
The need to protect her sister radiated like a flaming beacon. She was not afraid to speak her mind when it mattered.
Damnation!
Yet another reason why this lady was the ideal candidate.
“My affliction makes dancing impossible, monsieur,” Miss Emily said without a hint of embarrassment.
Dariell inhaled deeply. “One needs only to hear the music and move their feet to dance. With the help of a supportive partner, there is no reason why you cannot waltz about the floor.”
“Waltz, monsieur?” Miss Emily’s illuminating smile lit up the room. It was as if someone had just offered her a chance to experience heaven here on earth. One could not fail to share in the lady’s apparent joy.
Lockhart sensed Miss Darling’s sudden panic.
Miss Emily clutched her hands to her chest. “You believe such a thing is possible? Possible for someone like me?”
“I am certain. With your permission, I am happy to be your tutor.”
Lockhart shifted his gaze to Miss Darling.
Water swam in her eyes. Nerves, excitement and fear were all etched on her dainty face. He wished they were on such intimate terms that she might confide in him, allow him to experience the wild flurry of emotions that made her want to cry.
Dariell was right.
Miss Darling concealed a fiercely passionate nature beneath her prim facade.
Dare he say, he was intrigued. He had an overwhelming urge to be the one to unlock the lady’s darkest secrets.
“You would not mind me stepping on your toes, monsieur?” Miss Emily said before glancing in her sister’s direction. “What do you say? Might Monsieur Dariell teach me to dance?” Every word brimmed with hope. “We can use the library if we move the chairs.”
“Of course he may.” Miss Darling bit down on her bottom lip and dabbed her finger to the corner of her eye. “Though we cannot pay you for your time, monsieur.”
“The pleasure of seeing your sister glide about the floor would be payment enough.”