Symphony No. 44 in E Minor, II. Menuetto Allegretto

Captain Clifton appeared in the doorway and came to a halt as Anastasia’s gaze swept towards him. Their eyes connected. Nothing lay between them; yet something intangible had established itself there nonetheless, calling them towards one another.

The light glinted off the gold epaulettes of his tight-fitting scarlet uniform. Broad shoulders were set in a commanding poise, and the sharp cut of his attire—complete with white breeches and polished black boots—accentuated his robust frame.

His hair was brushed back from his forehead in the current style; yet the white streak at his temple lent him a unique dignity. The strong jawline and the firm set of his full lips, currently half open in awe, drew her into a reverie of adoration.

She knew she was staring, yet he returned her gaze with candid reverence. Hope for a long-abandoned future danced from her heart to the tips of her toes, prompting a tentative step forward.

He responded with a bashful confidence in his approach, a timidity counterpoised by a silent demonstration of his disciplined life in the military.

The clamour in Jack’s mind subsided. Anastasia’s self-doubt fled at the wonder reflected upon his countenance. They advanced in synchrony towards one another, and the room began to fade around them.

“Ah! There you are, my dear Miss Hartford!”

The open wonder in which she basked was displaced by his customary stoic demeanour. Frustration swelled behind her busk as she summoned a warm greeting for Lady Wintersley.

“Come and meet my friend, the gallant Captain Clifton.” She threaded her arm through Anastasia’s with an air of blissful ignorance.

Biting her lower lip, Anastasia allowed herself to be practically dragged towards the captain. Lady Wintersley released her hold and, with the merest brush of her fingers against Anastasia’s elbow, compelled the breathless woman to step forward and extend her arm towards him.

He reached out in near disbelief. When their hands touched, a thrilling charge seemed to leap between them, an acknowledgment of the bond that remained unspoken. What should have been fleeting contact lingered until it became an explicit admission of mutual attraction.

The pressure of her kid-gloved hand upon his anchored him; the intricate tapestry with which he perpetually wrestled found stillness. In his mind’s eye, a solitary thread shimmered, beckoning to be grasped.

The vibrancy of the ballroom paled as his overpowering presence eclipsed all else, rendering the usually eloquent lady speechless.

The stern set of Jack’s shoulders softened; the apathetic captain disappeared, evidently moved by the vision that stood before him.

His thumb caressed her knuckles, conveying volumes about his true sentiments. The subtle shift in her poised deportment betrayed an inner longing.

The transformation in their demeanour did not escape the notice of those around them. The lively chatter and laughter gradually subsided into a hush as the ball-goers were inexorably drawn to the couple standing amidst them, leaving the ballroom charged with anticipation for what might unfold next.

The peace of mind that had enshrouded Jack was abruptly shattered by an untimely giggle from Charlotte.

Darkness tinted the edge of his vision. A spectral battlefield superimposed itself upon the grandeur of the ballroom. The scent of fine perfumes and delicate pastries became tainted by the metallic tang of spilled blood, beautiful gowns and finely tailored suits transformed into threadbare uniforms dulled by the filth of battle. His heartbeat rolled with the rhythm of war drums. Cold goosebumps flooded his arms and back. The faces surrounding him were no longer those of refined gentlemen and ladies but the accusatory, blood-streaked countenances of fallen soldiers.

He ran, his mind ensnared by the horrific tableau, bolting past a group of young men whose youthful vitality had been usurped by the damning condemnation of mortality. The intense scrutiny of the death masks felt akin to shrapnel in his back. He ran through the entrance, bouncing off the half open door in a daze.

Anastasia’s heart clenched with anguish upon witnessing the enchantment in his eyes give way to sheer panic. She remained rooted to the spot as he vanished into the night, the sound of his boots against the wooden floor ringing in her ears.

Lady Wintersley’s gloved hands fluttered to her lace-adorned bosom, “Why I nev—”

“Spare me your hollow remarks,” said Anastasia with a furiously dismissive wave of her hand. She turned to leave as the duchess recoiled and the onlookers gasped.

“Why,” protested the Duchess, “I merely sought to introduce you to Capt—” She broke off as Anastasia whirled around to face her.

“You did no such thing!” snapped Anastasia. “I am well aware of your scheme. Captain Clifton and I have been invited for naught but a source of amusement for your guests.”

“I did not intend—”

“You most certainly did!” Trembling, Anastasia gestured towards the room at large. “You fancied yourself a matchmaker, orchestrating this spectacle for your guests’ entertainment.”

Scandalised by the antagonistic tone, Lady Wintersley attempted to speak once more. “I nev—”

“Your capricious fancies, Caroline—” Anastasia almost spat the name, her viciousness stemming from the terrified expression she had seen on Captain Clifton’s face. “—have brought suffering upon a gentleman who wants nothing but peace.”

Whispers of shock rebounded off the walls, rising in a chaotic crescendo, and a sudden wave of heat flushed Anastasia’s chest, snapping her back into focus.

The three ladies were advancing towards her; however, she shook her head and set off, her silk gown billowing as she strode with purpose towards a servant by the doorway.

“In which direction did the Captain go?”

The servant gestured down the windswept thoroughfare. “However, I must express my concern regarding the current weather—”

Making a swift decision between her stockings and her shoes, she removed her delicate pumps and entrusted them to the astonished servant, then gathered up her gown and dashed down the path.

The cobblestones were cold and unforgiving, yet she cared not. An inferno of unprecedented emotions engulfed her: fear for her vulnerable heart, compassion for his distress, and above all, hope for something she had long thought impossible. It blazed fiercely, warming her very soul, and propelling her onward.

She would not allow a gentleman who had gazed upon her with such reverence to slip away without exerting every effort to obtain him.