In Her Element

The occupants of the great hall fell silent as she stepped into the room and another footman announced her presence. All eyes followed her progress as she moved toward her mother, who stood there beside Matthew and Miss Lisle, all three beaming proudly as her name echoed through the hall. Her mother hugged her as tightly as she could without ruining her gown or hair and brushed a feather-light kiss on her cheek. She leaned back, dabbing at her eyes as Miss Lisle took a turn, and then Matthew—for he would get the first dance too. After he hugged and kissed her, they linked elbows and faced the guests who were milling around the room, finding their own partners. Anita glanced around the room, trying to spot Rupert among the couples who were now pairing up all around for the dance. The musicians struck up a slow tune, and Anita waltzed around the room with her brother, conscious of all eyes on her, even after the other pairs joined her and Matthew on the floor.

They twirled and glided, taking quick steps and slow steps, and Almyra found a sort of temporary bliss in her brother’s arms. She notice some couples, those who were evidently more familiar with each other, skipping the steps altogether after a while and just swaying together in one spot. Those like Liam and his fiancée Nicole; they were close together so there was almost no space for even a sheet of paper between them, and they were whispering in each other’s ears, with happy looks on their faces. Almyra smiled as she watched them, both moved and amused by the sight of two people who were so obviously in love with each other. Matthew noticed her wandering eyes and upon following her gaze to the content, soon-to-be-wed pair, he too smiled.

The number came to an end with a flourish, and Almyra heaved a sigh. Matthew shook his head, still smiling, and led her to a chair, where she sat down gratefully. He disappeared, and returned moments later with a cool refreshing beverage. She had barely rested her feet enough or taken more than a few sips when a young man walked over to her, eager to partner with her for the next dance. Almyra sought out her mother, who looked at the young man and nodded the affirmative; Almyra was allowed to dance with this one without the risk of ruining a previously non-existent social image.

And so the night began to pass, with Almyra unsuccessfully trying to rest between dances and sit out the next, only to have some gentleman, either young or old, snare her as his partner—with her mother’s approval, of-course. She felt free to politely refuse those who came to ask for a second dance, and would usually point them in the direction of another young girl who would perhaps suit them a bit more than her. All except one—a boy who seemed too young to even be here, but Almyra felt a certain attachment to the boy with a deformed face. She even enjoyed the dances with this boy—Damien—as he had a delightful sense of humor and a stockpile of anecdotes that amused her to no end and had her practically crying with laughter at some points.

During one of her rare moments alone, and with Damien nowhere in sight, Almyra took notice of a familiar young woman and her escort who were only now entering the ballroom—being fashionably late had the added advantage of being noticed right from the start.

Almyra watched as the pair immediately split up, the girl snapping open her fan with a flick of her white, lace-gloved hand, and sashaying over to some poor, defenseless lad. The man, Almyra realized, was heading towards her with purposeful strides. She sat up straight, her hands folded in her lap and a demure smile on her face that was neither too inviting nor (at least she hoped) too uninviting.

He was not much older than her, she decided, perhaps even her age and he merely looked older due to a small beard and mustache. He bowed to her, bending gracefully at the waist, and held out his hand in a silent request for her to allow him a dance. For some unexplainable reason, Almyra felt inclined to accept, or perhaps she just had no valid excuse for refusing. She also knew there was something she had to do first before dancing with anyone, but she could not for the life of hers remember what it was. She gave him her hand which he kissed with a gentle brush of his lips, so smooth and soft that she barely felt it, yet she most definitely felt the tingle in her stomach and the unmistakable feeling of her cheeks heating up in a blush. His smooth face did not change as her face flushed, but she detected amusement in his nondescript brown eyes. Here was a man who was aware of his effect on women, and it never ceased to entertain him.

He led her onto the floor with a gracefulness that was not usually found among men, placing them into the formation that the dance required. The music started and they began to dance, the man spinning her deftly around the others.

Almost at the very end of the dance, he introduced himself simply. “My name is Samuel.”

“Hello, Samuel.” She looked him squarely in the eyes and then took the opportunity as he swung her out to seize him up. He allowed it for only a moment or so before pulling her close again and murmuring into her ear, “Do I have your approval?”

It was entirely informal and obviously inappropriate but still, her face flushed again with pleasure as she nodded, and she laughed when he spun her quickly and around him. When she once again faced him, he dipped her low to the sound of the music ending, and when he pulled her upright, she found herself disappointed. And enamored. Here was a man who held her entire attention and she felt sure that she would die happy if his mind was always on her.

Samuel claimed many more dances after that, which Almyra always accepted with delight—ignoring the looks and murmurs that followed her every time—and she found herself looking for him when he occasionally allowed another to cut in. They twirled through some dances, swayed through others, and Anita found herself falling for this young man, and fast, all thoughts of a different and irritating man sliding to the back of her mind.

After one of the dances, Samuel managed to acquire two sparkling drinks, and after handing one to Almyra, he led her through some doors and into the garden and the chilly night air of the coming winter. They strolled among the flowers of all sorts, sipping from their drinks, and Almyra did not even feel the cold, or the pressure of the past few weeks. From time to time, she would glance at him sideways, only to find him watching her with a curious and slightly amused look on his face, and she would quickly look away.

They passed a bench somewhere along the path and sat for a while until the musicians that could be heard out in the garden struck up a beautiful tune that made Samuel want to dance with her again. He took the glass from her hand, placed it on the bench, and gently—everything he did was done gently—pulled her to her feet. He held her close, and they moved to the soft notes that floated out from the ballroom. At one particular high note, he spun her away from him, and before he could reel her back in, a finger tapped her shoulder and a too familiar voice spoke behind her.

“May I cut in?”