She walked over and hugged him around his waist.“Lieblingwächter,no one would care.”
“I think they would. You don’t know what the men of your social circle say, but I do. I’m standing right behind them, watching, while they talk.”
“Wulfram would never be so callous.”
“Of course not. That’s not what I meant. That’s notwhoI meant.”
“Then whom did you mean?”
“Nevermind. Besides, I’ll be on duty. I can’t watch for jackals and true believers if I’m dancing with you.”
“Come on. If you don’t dance with me, I won’t have anyone to dance with. I’ll be sitting over on the sidelines, looking stupid because I couldn’t find a date to my own dance.”
“So take a date. I always tell you to take a date.”
“Wulfram usually squires me to the Shooting Star, but I don’t want to take a date. I want to dance withyou.”
“How about Maxence Grimaldi? You’ve been friends with him since you were in kindergarten.”
“No, he’d convince me that it was a great idea to write a check for all my wealth for his causes instead of funding my own.”
“Then you wouldn’t have to throw this insane party every year that has you up nights, fretting over insignificant details.”
“Seriously,no.Maxence can convince anyone of anything, and some of the things that he’s into would turn your hair white.”
Dieter looked upward, like he was trying to see his own, ash blond hair. “No one would notice.”
“No,listen to me.Some of the things he’sinto—”
He cocked one eyebrow up at her. “How do you know?”
“I’ve heard the stories.”
“I believe you; I believe you. Okay, I don’t want him anywhere near you. Who else is there? His cousin Alexandre?”
A chill crawled up the back of Flicka’s neck. “Worse.Way worse.Trust me on this one.”
“How about your cousin Casimir?”
“He’s going to law school in the States. He’s not even in Europe, let alone London.”
“Somebody here?”
“No, there’s no one here whom I want to go to the cotillion with. There’s no one but you, for me.Dance with me.”
Dieter wouldn’t answer her.
That night at the cotillion, after she had dined with her cousins and the orchestra had warmed up to play the first waltz, Dieter was standing against a far wall, watching the exits and balconies, as usual.
Which meant that he had decided not to dance with her.
Flicka melted into her chair but kept a smile on her face.
She might have been distressed by his distance. She might have even thought that his refusal was a harbinger of worse things to come that night, but if she did, not even the debs around her noticed. Flicka snapped shut her suit of bright, shiny Hannover armor—the one that all Hannover daughters and sons grow when they realize that they are ultimately alone in the world and the whole world is watching them—and played the perfect hostess for the Shooting Star Debutante Ball.
Her friend Grand Duchess Josephine Alexandrovna was there with a date, some dark-haired guy whom Flicka didn’t know. When she stood to go to the dance floor, she looked around, concerned. “Isn’t Wulfram here?”
“Not this year,” Flicka admitted. “He was busy.”
