Charlotte’s eyes grew huge. “You do?”
“Sometimes we have breakfast for supper.”
“And we walk in the rain.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Everybody walks in the rain.”
“Yes, I suppose, but sometimes we dance.”
Charlotte stepped back. “May I go back with you now?”
“That’s up to your parents, poppet.” Francesca laughed and reached for Charlotte’s hand. “But we can dance right now.”
“Where everyone can see?”
Francesca looked around. “I don’t see anyone watching. And even if there were, who cares?”
Charlotte’s lips pursed, and Francesca could practically see her mind at work. “Not me!” she announced, and she linked her arm through Francesca’s. Together they did a little jig, followed by a Scottish reel, twisting and twirling until they were both breathless.
“Oh, I wish it would rain!” Charlotte laughed.
“Now what would be the fun in that?”
“Uncle Michael!” Charlotte shrieked, launching herself at him.
“And I am instantly forgotten,” Francesca said with a wry smile.
Michael looked at her warmly over Charlotte’s head. “Not by me,” he murmured.
“Aunt Francesca and I have been dancing,” Charlotte told him.
“I know. I saw you from inside the house. I especially enjoyed the new one.”
“What new one?”
Michael pretended to look confused. “The new dance you were doing.”
“We weren’t doing any new dances,” Charlotte replied, her brows knitting together.
“Then what was that one that involved throwing yourself on the grass?”
Francesca bit her lip to keep from smiling.
“We fell, Uncle Michael.”
“It was a vigorous dance,” Francesca confirmed.
“You must be exceptionally graceful, then, because it looked completely as if you’d done it on purpose.”