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Marta chuckled. The banter amongst Englishmen and women seemed to far outplay the conversation back in Austria. This, thus far, was one of the only benefits she perceived from life in England.
**
The ballroom began to fill. Tatiana and Marta sidled off while Baldwin and Ewan headed away to speak with another friend of theirs. Tatiana clucked her tongue and said, “I always worry about dear Baldwin. Such a serious man. He and Ewan balance one another out very well. But in my mind, they’ll always be my younger brothers. It’s a difficult thing for me to imagine either of them growing up.”
The women who entered the ballroom were beautifully dressed: their fabrics glowing as they shuffled forward, their breasts bulging out. Laughter rang through the air, cutting through the orchestral music, and men and women cast eyes to one another with wonder and excitement. This was to set the stage for the upcoming season. Perhaps some would even begin their courting now.
Marta remembered a similar feeling the previous year in Austria. How she’d ached to be in love. How she’d yearned to find herself in the arms of a man who could love her enough, love her for who she truly was.
She’d thought she’d found it.
Marta couldn’t help noticing that many of the men who strutted through the door cast their eyes towards her rather soon after. Their eyes lingered on her just a moment too long. Some of them whispered in one another’s ears. She could only imagine what their words were. “There she is. The Austrian girl.” “There she is. So different from us.”
Tatiana’s elbow found Marta’s side moments later. She nearly leapt from her skin. “What is it?”
“That’s him. The man my mother wants you to meet,” she whispered. She did it coyly, without hardly moving her lips.
Marta followed Tatiana’s gaze across the ballroom. A gorgeous dark-blond man with broad shoulders and bright blue eyes entered. He looked spectacular, somehow evoking far more riches in even his manner of walking. All eyes turned towards him, escaping Marta, and one could hear it buzzing on the lips of closer passersby. The Duke. He’d arrived.
Suddenly, there was a delicate hand on her shoulder. She whipped around again to find Tatiana, whom she’d incidentally forgotten all about. Tatiana’s smile grew wider. “I want you to meet someone. Come on.”
“Are you doing your mother’s bidding?” Marta asked.
“Perhaps. But he truly is a wonderful man. You’ll like him.”
Marta followed Tatiana towards the far end of the ballroom. Once there, they found a dark-haired and bright-eyed man, who Tatiana introduced as “Michael Rollins.”
“Michael and I grew up together,” Tatiana said. Her eyes glittered with excitement. “We had quite the obsession with one another when we were, oh, eleven? Twelve?”
This meant that Michael was a good bit older than Marta—perhaps ten years or so. Marta placed her most flirtatious smile across her lips and curtsied.
“You’re from Austria, aren’t you?” Michael asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Marta said.
“It’s been quite the talk of the county,” Michael continued. “You and your maid, speaking German to one another. It’s as though you have a secret from the rest of us.”
“Perhaps we’re plotting to take over,” Marta returned.
Michael laughed good-naturedly. He cast his eyes back towards Tatiana. Marta could see his gratefulness reflected back. He was glad to have met her.
“I hope you do. England needs a bit of reshaping,” Michael continued. “Don’t you agree?”
“I believe so. Although my maid certainly has taken to your affinity for beans in the morning. She won’t shut up about them. If she ever returns home, I don’t know what she’ll do,” Marta said.
Michael laughed again. He seemed simple, easy. When he asked her to dance during the next song, she agreed without hesitation. She didn’t feel incredibly attracted to him; she knew only that this sort of game, this sort of conversation, it was all a part of what her aunt required of her. It was a rhythm, something she understood.
The dance ended without much pomp or circumstance. Michael gave her a firm gaze and said, “I do hope that we’ll be able to dance again soon. Thank you for it.”
When she was released, she nearly toppled into Ewan. “Oh, goodness,” she said. “You gave me such a fright.”
Ewan chuckled. “I see you’ve had a dance with dear Michael. Good lad. Rather boring.”
“I got that. He did seem to appreciate a few of my jokes,” Marta returned.
“Your bar has been set rather low in the wake of the Austrian incident, hasn’t it?” Ewan asked.
“Not a conversation I’d like to dip into tonight, thank you,” Marta returned.
