Wringing her hands, she lets out an awkward chuckle.
Trying to ease her back into more comfortable conversation, I ask, “What brings you out to the gardens? Was the music too loud?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t get out much, as I mentioned . . . but the gardens here are very soothing. It’s a nice change from home.”
The scent of roses blows by on a gentle breeze, and she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply.
“The Havordshire family does have such a beautiful garden,” I reply.
She smiles at me, and I think my heart stops.
I clear my throat. “So, um, if you don’t get out much, what do you like to do for fun?”
She bites her lip and takes a step back, lost in thought. “Well, I spend a lot of time in my library,” she admits. “I’m quite good at puzzles and needlepoint.”
“Sounds riveting.”
She scoffs. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not,” I say sincerely. “If it’s something you enjoy, what could be boring about it?”
She rolls her eyes but smiles at me, clutching her skirts in a nervous manner. “I wish I could do more things outdoors, but it’s difficult for me. I have quite the reaction to the sun.”
“That sounds horrible,” I say. “So you only come out at night?”
She nods. “Even then, Father doesn’t like for me to be out much. He worries it could worsen my affliction.”
“You seem to be doing just fine,” I reply.
She shrugs. “He couldn’t forbid me from coming to the first ball of the season.” She twirls with an almost childlike quality. “How else am I to find a husband?”
At those words, a pang of jealousy runs through me, which is silly. I have no desire to get married any time soon, but for her? Maybe I would . . . The idea of being shackled to someone for a lifetime is overwhelming.
“And have you found any prospects?” My voice deepens unintentionally.
She pulls out her fan and waves it in front of her face in a coy manner. “I’ve danced with a few young lords, but only one has really caught my attention.”
Does she mean me?I’m almost afraid to hope.
“Would you like to dance with me?” I ask, holding my breath for her answer.
She laughs. “Out here?”
“Out here would be perfect,” I reply.
I empty my drink, put my glass down in the grass, and approach. Her eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and my mind can’t help but drift to the last time we danced and how she left me alone on the dance floor. Shaking the memory away, I gently grasp her hand and pull her closer.
The lyrical strains of music barely reach us, but I lead her in the simple one-two-three steps of the waltz. Her hand barely reaches my shoulder, and I relish the feel of her in my arms as we dance around the small pond, the fireflies lighting up all around us.
She radiates delight as we dance, and moonlight bounces off her pale cheeks when she lifts her face to gaze at the endless stars that light up the night sky. My eyes catch on her full red lips, and I wonder not for the first time what it would be like to taste her.
“You dance beautifully.” I speak in her ear.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Well, I have trained for this my entire life,” I joke.
Her laughter lights up the night. I could never grow tired of it.
