Chapter 18

Anna wondered if every lady, at some point or other, suffered with the affliction of not being able to get their limbs to do as their mind commanded. She suspected it was another symptom of choosing to read where she should have been learning of the world, in the world, for her ability to dance left little to be desired.

“Forgive me if I step on your feet,” she mumbled, already missing a step though the dance had barely begun.

Percival’s fingertips were suddenly underneath her chin, tilting her head up while not faltering in the dance at all. “If you keep looking at your feet, you will make mistakes. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but do not concentrate on the details of the dance. Concentrate on the rhythm of the music. Stay in time with that, and all will be well.”

Anna almost froze entirely at that unexpected touch and might have made an utter fool of herself if Percival had not taken by the arm to guide her through the next section.

“Pretend this is one of your novels,” he told her, ushering her into a slow circle. He bent closer, his breath tickling her neck. “This is the moment where the prince and the… future princess have their first dance and fall hopelessly in love.”

“Are you trying to make me more nervous?” Anna mustered a chuckle.

“Not at all.”

Anna pressed her palm to his as they turned another circle. “I thought you did not believe in love.”

“Ah, but the prince and the future princess can seek out love, for they are both from royalty,” he replied, a glitter of mischief in his eyes.

“How do you know they are from royalty? What if the future princess is a… chambermaid who is merely pretending to be a princess, because the princess asked her to take her place,” Anna said, growing more comfortable by the second. Indeed, she was not concentrating on the dance anymore, but on the story that spooled out of her imagination.

Percival frowned. “But the prince does not know that, so he still believes he is free to fall in love with her. The difficulty would arise once the truth was revealed. Now, if the prince were a king, I imagine he would be free to marry whomever he pleased—commoner or otherwise.”

“Ah, so the prince’s father must die?” Anna nodded. “An interesting remedy for that difficulty. Simple, but brutal. Unless, of course, the prince had no love for his father. Perhaps, the king was cruel.”

Percival’s eyes clouded over. “Yes, perhaps he was.”

Anna realized what she had said, rather too late. Her step faltered and Percival’s hand shot out to catch her, sweeping her seamlessly into a gentle spin and then back again.

As they faced one another, moving forward and back in turns, before Anna danced a horseshoe around him, she fumbled for the right apology. Truly, she did not know what had happened to her this evening; she had thought herself recovered from her former infirmity of immobilizing shyness, yet the condition seemed to have returned with a vengeance.

“I apologize,” she said, at last. “I was not thinking.”

He shook his head. “There is no need to apologize. I am not offended.” He gestured to her. “How could I be, when I am in the most… beautiful company. You are incomparable, Anna.”

“Pardon?” She swallowed thickly, her chest suddenly tight.

Is he complimenting me? No… it cannot be that. It was the dancing and the confusion about Simon making her dizzy.

“There is not a lady here who is like you, Anna,” he told her, with that gleam in his eyes once more.

Of course… a jest. She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

She nodded in understanding. “Ah, you mean there is no one as atrocious at dancing, or as clumsy with their tongue. Or, perhaps you mean there is no one as peculiar to behold as I am, being the abandoned offspring of fairies and all.”

“You remember that?” He looked pensive for a moment.

“I remember almost everything we have said to one another. I cannot help it—I have a memory like a sponge.” She paused. “Sometimes, it brings me great shame. Sometimes, I laugh. Sometimes, it revives in me a refreshed anger. Sometimes, I wonder if I have made mistakes in my understanding.”

He took her hand and held it aloft as they promenaded through a tunnel of other guests, skipping at a jaunty pace that made conversation difficult. At the top of the tunnel, they parted ways, and Anna found herself quickening her steps so she could be reunited with him sooner.

“What do you mean by mistakes?” he asked, as they pressed both their palms together to form their part of the tunnel.

Anna took a steadying breath. “I know you recall the evening that I tore the orchids out of your hand, but I would ask—do you know why I ripped them away from you?”

“Because you thought me a wretch, and I likely was behaving as one,” he replied.

Anna shook her head. “They were my mother’s flowers. She grew them and tended to them before she died, and when she… passed, I saw those blooms as a… memorial of sorts.” She hesitated. “Even now, I like to tend to them, though I am as good a gardener as I am a dancer. That is why the actual gardener does most of the care.”

Percival caught hold of one of her hands, gripping it tightly as they swayed forward and backward. “Why did you not tell me at the time?”

His voice was thick, his brow creased with a hurt that she had somehow inflicted, though the pain was her own.

“I… was too incensed, I suppose,” she replied shyly, as they moved in a figure-eight promenade.

He shook his head. “If I had known, I never would have picked them.” He gazed into her eyes. “My mother had a rose garden. It is… gone now. Anna, I am sorry. I?—”

“Why did you pick them that night? Was it truly to cheer up your bedchamber?” she interrupted, uncomfortable with his apologies.

His retorts and his mockery and his quarreling put her at a strange sort of ease, but this… softness was baffling to her. Confusing to the point of rendering her mute again. Indeed, they very fact that they were dancing together, and dancing so well, made her throat want to close up altogether.

Percival halted abruptly—a part of the dance, Anna quickly realized—and bowed his head to her. “I picked them for you, Anna,” he said as he raised his gaze. “I picked them to apologize for the callousness I showed earlier that day. I saw your hurt, I knew I was being deliberately unkind, and I thought of nothing but saying “sorry” throughout the entire garden party that your brothers and I attended. You have never deserved my cruel tongue, Anna. From our youth to now, you have never deserved it—well, not often, anyway.”

He smiled then. A full, beaming smile that stole the breath from Anna’s burning lungs. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and in that moment, she understood; she saw what all those ladies of the ton saw when they looked at him. She understood why they fluttered their fans and fawned over him, blushing and giggling. She understood why he was deemed so very handsome and so charming.

He picked them as an apology. I ripped them from his hand. She did not know what to say, the shock of the revelation rippling through her veins, making her unsteady. She had built the foundations of their relationship on a mutual dislike, or toleration at the very least, but knowing everything she knew now, those foundations were crumbling.

Indeed, unlike with other gentlemen, it had served as a wall of solid iron between them, preventing any sort of affection from creeping in. If that was not there… if he continued to be gentle with her…

“From now on,” he continued softly, “I will say only nice things. Only the things you deserve to hear.”

Panic slithered across her chest and down into her stomach, where her innards knotted and writhed. At least, she thought it was panic; it felt very similar, causing her cheeks to warm, and her hands to tremble.

“Did I mention you look beautiful tonight?” Percival said, still wearing that breathtaking smile. “There is no other lady here who could hold a candle to you.”

She cleared her throat, willing the music to strike up again, for she was certain that everyone could hear the tremendous thud of her heart.

“It is unkind of you to jest after you have just promised not to,” she managed to say, though her voice sounded tight and high, even to her own ears. “The gown is beautiful, but one cannot make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

“Nor can one make a sow’s ear from a silk purse,” he replied, taking hold of her hand once more.

He bent his head and pressed his lips to the silk of her glove, his dark green eyes never leaving hers. Her breath caught, a shiver running through her. All at once, the vast ballroom felt too small, too crowded, too overwhelming to bear. She could not breathe, could not think, as that feeling that was both panic and not panic began to surge through her.

“Will you join me in a second dance?” he asked, as the call sounded out for new partners to take to the floor and others to depart.

Breathless, she shook her head. “You… should not be… dancing with me in the first place,” she wheezed. “Stop this behavior. Please, stop this. It is… not kind. No, not at all. Nor is it helpful to your cause. Lady Joan might be watching… and that would not serve you well.”

“And she would see nothing unkind or untoward,” he told her, a puzzled expression forming on his face. “Am I not permitted to say that you look beautiful? Can I not say nice things?”

Not in that voice. Not while gazing at me like that. Not with that smile upon your lips. Not when I am already so confused I cannot bear it. Not now that… I know things I did not before. Not now that I understand you better. She said none of that, turning her head away instead.

“Thank you for the pleasant dance,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. “You should ask Lady Joan for the next one, as I shall hope that Lord Luminport has not lost the inclination to ask me.”

She walked away from him, and the crowds seemed to part for her, as if guiding her back to where she belonged. Up ahead, Simon awaited her, with a nervous smile upon his face. She smiled back, fearing she must look quite insane, for she was in no condition to form a natural smile.

“You danced beautifully,” Simon said, as she approached. “One of the most entertaining dances I have seen. So lively and invigorating.”

Anna nodded. “A little too invigorating, I fear.” She clasped a hand to her chest, her heart racing. “If you will excuse me, Lord Luminport, I am in dire need of fresh air.”

“Oh, well, allow me to escort you,” Simon insisted. “I believe I saw Lady Caroline and the Earl of Westyork stepping out onto the terrace, so we shall be in good company.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say, feeling dizzier by the moment.

Gripping tightly to Simon’s arm, she allowed him to lead her through the throng of guests—more had arrived that day, to enjoy the ball—and toward the terrace doors.

At the threshold, where a cooler breeze caressed her cheeks, she knew she ought to stride out without looking back. But it was as if there were a string attached to the back of her neck, and it pulled taut as she tried to escape the heat of the ballroom.

Compelled, Anna turned to glance back over her shoulder.

There, standing on the periphery of the dance floor, was Percival. He was staring in her direction, as still as a statue, but as their eyes met, those sweet lips of his curved into the smallest, saddest of smiles. With it, that panicked sensation writhed with renewed vengeance and, for just a moment, she thought she might faint there and then.

What is the meaning of this? She had never been afraid of Percival before. She had never been afraid to be near him. Indeed, the only feelings he ever conjured within her were annoyance and irritation and occasionally blind rage. Before he discovered who she was, at least.

Evidently, Anna needed to have a word with Beatrice about what she was putting into the drinks at the Grayling Estate, because something was addling her mind.

Simon was clearly the better gentleman. He was kind, he was respectful, he showed his interest, and though he might not have been the most exciting of gentlemen, he was reliable. A fellow of good fortune, good station: Any spinster’s dream as a last shot at happiness.

We are not the prince and princess, Percival. They had a respectively tragic beginning, and a quarrelsome middle, so how could either one of them even think they might have a happy ending?