The Governess Club: Sara by Ellie Macdonald

with their partners. “Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked after several moment of silence.
    “I am, thank you.”
    “Your friends seem to be as well.”
    “Yes.” Why was she so eagerly anticipating his dance request? She hated dancing and found her lack of ability embarrassing, thinking everyone was watching her making mistakes. Perhaps she should pull the rug out from under his feet, so to speak. “If you wish to ask me to dance, I would rather you didn’t. I shouldn’t like to refuse you.” The words came out in a rush and she felt her face set on fire from her audacity.
    Sara felt him turn toward her. “You would refuse me?”
    She gave a shaky nod, unwilling to look at him and see censure on his face.
    “Then I suppose it is a good thing I was not planning on asking you.”
    She felt the anticipation deflate from her body, her shoulders slumping.
    He continued. “It saves us both the embarrassing scene.”
    She turned her head toward him. With that annoying sardonic smile, he tapped his left leg with his cane. “This makes dancing difficult. I have not asked a lady to dance in over a decade.”
    Oh. Her face flushed with embarrassment after all. She had not even considered that he would be unable to dance. She had been so consumed by her foolish anticipation and thoughts of how to make her position clear that she did not fully comprehend his situation.
    “I am sorry,” she said, staring at the ground. “I did not mean to offend you.”
    Mr. Grant gave a deep chuckle. “You may consider us even if you answer a question.”
    Sara looked at him again, caution in her eyes. Seeing it, he chuckled again and put his hand over his heart. “’Pon my honor, I mean you no mal intent. It is just a question.”
    She nodded. “Very well.” His chuckles, unexpected and endearing, made her stomach flip.
    “Are you hungry?”
    Sara blinked, thrown off guard by his question. Of all the things she had been expecting him to ask, that was not among them.
    He gestured to the food table. “I ask because I noticed you looking at it repeatedly, like one who has not eaten in days.”
    Her face was flaming now and she turned away from him, returning her attention to the dancers now forming a new set.
    Mr. Grant put a large hand on her arm, warm and gentle. Awareness spiraled around it, warmth spreading over her skin through her dress. “I do not mean to embarrass you,” he said. “I merely noticed it and am hungry myself. Would you care for something to eat?”
    Sara swallowed and shook her head. “No, thank you.” She had already decided to forego the pleasure of a pasty.
    “Are you certain? You were looking quite longingly.”
    She shook her head again. “I have already eaten supper.”
    “That was hours ago. Surely you could stand to have a few nibbles of something.”
    “I am fine, I assure you.”
    “Well, I am not,” he said, taking her elbow. “Come and keep me company.” He pulled her along with him, approaching the food table. He released her and hooked his cane over his arm to take a plate and began filling it with small cakes and seafood patties.
    How in the world can the man eat so much? Sara thought. Out loud, she said, “Once again you have commandeered me away from what I was doing.” Her mouth watered as she watched him put several Cornish pasties on his plate.
    Mr. Grant glanced at her, his eyes mocking. “You were occupied by something important? Oh yes, watching your friends have fun.”
    “I was enjoying myself,” she replied, defending herself.
    “Hmm. Do you like pasties?”
    Sara tore her eyes from his plate. Her stomach growled. He chuckled, making her face flush again.
    “Come, let us sit.” When she didn’t move, he spoke again. “I understand that choice is important to you. You can either stand at the side of the dance floor, alone, to watch your friends take pleasure in the evening. Or you can sit with me where you can still see your friends, but no longer be