CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
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,inthe 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 atyourfeet, 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 memorenervous?” 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 princesscanseek 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 merelypretendingto be a princess, because the princess asked her to take her place,” Anna said, growing more comfortable by the second. Indeed, she wasnotconcentrating 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 knowwhyI 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.”
