Chapter 10 - One Last Spring

Gwen watched two more dances before Rowland approached her.

“Hello, Gwen,” he said, running his finger under his collar just as she’d seen his older brother do when he was anxious about something.

She gave him a tentative smile, hoping it would help put him at ease. “Hello, Rowland,” she replied.

“I was wondering . . .” he began. “Uh . . . would you be my partner in the next dance?”

Gwen didn’t look at Ioan. She knew all too well that he’d have mischief written all over his face.

“I’d be glad to,” she said quickly, even though she was already worrying over whether she’d remember any of the steps she’d learned years before in school.

Rowland’s look of relief made her smile. Perhaps she’d found someone even more unsure of himself than she was. He offered her his arm, and as Huw called for the next set of dancers to take the floor, he led her to the end of the line of couples.

The music began, and Gwen directed all her attention to following Huw’s instructions. At first she struggled to keep up, but after repeating some of the steps a few times, her memory of the dance began coming back, and she started to relax and enjoy the experience. By the time Rhys played the final note, she was smiling.

“Thank you, Rowland,” Gwen said as she took his arm again.

“I told Lewis I thought you’d be a good dancer,” he said. “And I was right.”

Gwen felt her cheeks color. “That’s very nice of you to say,” she said, “even if it’s not entirely true.” Feeling suddenly uncomfortable again, she changed the subject. “Is Lewis coming to the dance?”

“Oh, yes, he’ll be here,” Rowland said, steering her to the side of the room where Mabel was standing. “Mam insisted we bathe after the football game, and he had to wait his turn.”

Rowland must have suddenly realized what he’d said because his ears turned red, and Gwen had to work hard to prevent a giggle that she knew would make him feel even worse.

“You must have beaten him home, I suppose,” Gwen managed at last.

“That’s right,” Rowland mumbled.

They had reached Mabel, and Gwen relinquished Rowland’s arm. Rowland formally thanked Gwen for the dance and hurried away before Gwen could say another word.

“Dear me,” Mabel said. “What did you do to scare Rowland so badly?”

Gwen watched him disappear with a sinking heart. She hoped she hadn’t done anything to embarrass him further. “Nothing,” she said.

“He doesn’t usually—” Mabel stopped midsentence. “Oh, my,” she continued, her tone changing completely. “Rowland’s brother, Lewis, is here.” She dug her fingers into Gwen’s arm. “Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

Stunned by the dreamy look that had suddenly entered Mabel’s eyes, Gwen glanced across the room to see Lewis stopping to greet someone by the door. His thick hair glistened as though still damp, and even though his face was partially obscured by someone else, Gwen could tell he was smiling by the way his blue eyes lit up. He stood a little taller than most of the other men in the room, and his Sunday suit coat did little to hide the broad shoulders he’d developed over the last few years.

A disturbance at the hall’s entrance interrupted Gwen’s study of Lewis. Even above the sound of the fiddle, Ioan’s beating stick, and the dancers’ feet, she recognized the sound of English voices. She watched with dismay as five navvies pushed their way past the villagers standing near the door to stand at the outskirts of the dance floor. From across the room, they silently watched the dancers for a few moments before separating to slowly circle the room.

At first the dancers blocked Gwen’s view of the men’s progress, but as the dance came to an end, she got her first good look at the navvy closest to her. And for a couple of seconds, time stood still. It was one of the men who had stopped her on the road from school.

“Mabel, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Why?” Mabel looked at her in confusion. “Are you not feeling well?”

Gwen pressed a hand to her cheek, confident that all color was gone from her face. “I . . . I suddenly feel faint. I have to . . .” Frantically she swept the room, searching for a quick means of escape—any way that she could reach the door without going directly past the man who was quickly bearing down on her.

Gwen saw Lewis lean forward to say something to a neighbor, and then, as though he suddenly sensed something was wrong, he straightened and turned to look right at her. She didn’t know what he saw in her face, but for a split second, he tensed, then in long fluid strides, he was crossing the dance floor. Gwen took an instinctive step toward him but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

“Don’t rush off, young lady,” the Englishman said. “I’ve just walked all the way over here to ask you to dance.”

Gwen drew on every ounce of courage she possessed to turn and face the man from her nightmares. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said in English, praying he would not feel her trembling beneath his hand.

“And just why is that?” he said, moving closer.

“Because she already promised this dance to me.” Lewis stepped up to her and offered her his arm.

Gwen slid her hand around his elbow, her fingers clutching his arm as though she was drowning and he’d just thrown her a rope.

“Now, just a minute,” the Englishman growled, still not releasing Gwen’s other arm. “What happened to ‘first come, first served’?”

“Exactly my point,” Lewis said. “This dance was promised to me first.” He used his head to gesture toward the other side of the room. “There are plenty of other young ladies here who are still waiting for a partner.”

When the navvy still made no move to relinquish his hold on Gwen, Lewis leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I think your chances of being forced to leave this dance before you’re ready will rise significantly if you cause a scene, don’t you?”

For a moment, the navvy didn’t say a word, but the malicious look in his eyes was undeniable. Lewis met his glare without flinching, and finally, with a curse directed at everything Welsh, and Lewis in particular, the navvy dropped Gwen’s arm as though it had suddenly scalded him.

Lewis didn’t hesitate. He immediately led Gwen right onto the dance floor.

“Lewis, I can’t,” Gwen said. She was sure he could feel her shaking through his suit-coat sleeve. “My legs . . . they’re too wobbly . . . I just don’t think . . .”

Lewis placed his hand over hers. “I know it will be hard.” He spoke softly. “But I also know you can do it. Apart from the fact that that English thug will be watching our every move for the next little bit, Mabel’s eyes were as big as saucers throughout that encounter. If I walked you right out of here—which I know you’d prefer—she’d make sure the whole village was talking about it by the end of the dance.”

Gwen turned slightly and instantly confirmed that Lewis’s concerns were justified. Not only were Mabel’s eyes the biggest Gwen had ever seen, but they had also obviously not strayed from Lewis since he had first appeared at Gwen’s side. Gwen did not bother looking for the navvy; she sensed his eyes upon her and knew he was close.

Lewis positioned Gwen beside Mrs. Williams the Shop, and with an encouraging nod, he moved to stand across from her.

Mrs. Williams the Shop beamed at her. “I always say it’s too bad we don’t hold these dances more often,” she said. “So nice for all you young people to socialize like this.”

Gwen managed to respond with a weak smile before Ioan’s stick sounded and the fiddle began.

Somehow she made it through the entire dance. It passed in a blur, but the important thing was that she was still upright when the music stopped.

As everyone around them clapped, Lewis stepped forward and took her arm again. “Come on,” he said gently. “I think this would be a good time to make our escape.”

Doing her best to match Lewis’s long strides, Gwen was almost running to keep up with him as he maneuvered through the milling crowds to the village hall door. They hurried down the steps, and with a quick glance over his shoulder, presumably to reassure himself that no one was paying them too much attention, Lewis continued his swift pace until they passed the bend in the road. As they approached Pont Cedig, he finally slowed his steps.

“Are you all right?” he asked, the calm expression he’d been wearing for the last fifteen minutes now replaced by one of genuine concern.

“That was the man who stopped me on the road,” Gwen said, unable to suppress a shudder.

“I guessed as much.”

There was a steely tone to Lewis’s words that Gwen had never heard before, and as she glanced at his face, she realized his relatively cordial interaction with the navvy may have taken more self-control than she’d imagined. She squeezed his arm.

“Thank you for coming when you did.” She looked down. “You seem to be getting into the habit of rescuing me.”

He grimaced. “I may not be there next time. And that thought scares me to death.” He looked over at her. “You know, it would help a lot if you weren’t so pretty.”

Gwen stopped midstride. “What did you say?”

Color crept into Lewis’s face, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It’s just that I’m quite sure every navvy in the village has noticed you. That idiot at the dance won’t be the only one wanting to get to know you better.”

Gwen had a vague memory of her mother once telling her that she was pretty, but since her mother’s passing, no one had ever complimented her on her appearance—certainly not her aunt or her brother. Thoughts of Aunty Jane reminded her of their last interaction, and Gwen’s free hand immediately flew to the bun at the back of her head. To her dismay, it had not held up well during her dancing.

“How can you say such a thing?” she said, embarrassed that so many people had seen her in such disarray. “My hair . . . It’s . . .”

“I like your curls, Gwennie,” he said. “And I daresay I’m not alone.”

Gwen stared at him, sure that if she looked hard enough she’d see the teasing glint in his eyes. But all she saw was sincerity. She swallowed hard. Something small and bright and warm burned deep inside. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was doing a remarkable job of dispelling the cloud of fear she’d been under only minutes before. Afraid that if she said anything the feeling would disappear, she simply slid her arm more securely around Lewis’s and started walking again.

They made the remainder of the walk to Gwen’s home in silence. Lewis stopped just outside the gate that led to the back garden, and Gwen withdrew her hand from his arm.

“Will you go back to the dance?” she asked.

“For the sake of keeping up appearances, I probably should,” he said. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were feeling poorly and I walked you home. I don’t think anyone could object to that.”

“I told Mabel I wasn’t feeling well,” Gwen said.

“Ah, so I won’t have to perjure myself twice in one night.”

“Twice?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, his lips twitching as he held back a smile. “The first one was a certain falsehood about you having promised me a dance.”

“Oh, that.” Gwen felt like squirming but forced herself to hold still. “Well, it could have been true. I’d just danced with Rowland, so I could have very easily told you I would be your partner next.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up. “Rowland asked you to dance? That little scamp!”

Gwen smiled. “He did. And he was a perfect gentleman.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lewis said, although he didn’t sound like he was.

“I think the only person who may question the promised dance is Mabel,” Gwen said. “She’ll wonder why I never said anything to her about it.”

Lewis sighed. “Perhaps I should go back to ask Mabel to dance.”

Remembering Mabel’s reaction to Lewis’s entrance into the village hall, Gwen had a pretty good idea of how her friend would respond to such an invitation. “That would make her very happy,” Gwen said, wondering why she felt quite the opposite.

“Well, I’d best get back there, then,” Lewis said. He took a step away from the gate.

“Good night, Lewis,” she said. “And thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and strode away.