The card game turns out to be fun after all, and I pick up the rules rather easily. Dorian calls for tea, and the mood grows light and fun. Glint comes to ask us questions as we play, and Sam Sputnik arrives shortly after to blind us now and then with his camera flash. Not even that manages to irk me as I get swept up in the game and the joy of the three girls around me. We fall into fits of laughter as we lay down card after card. I catch Dorian looking over at us from his place on the couch time and again. His expression is soft and doting whenever he looks at his sisters, then penetrating when he locks eyes with me. I can’t tell if his gaze is the same when he stares at Briony or Greta.Doeshe stare at them? He must. It makes no sense he’d only have eyes for me. No matter how hard I try, I find myself holding his gaze far longer than I should.
“We should have dancing,” Tabitha says after we tire of Whist.
“I haven’t danced in ages,” Beatrice says, tone rich with longing.
Greta lets out an exaggerated gasp and struts over to us. “Oh, I do love dancing.”
Tabitha glances around the room. “Does anyone play the piano?”
“Poorly,” Briony admits.
“Not even a little,” I say.
Tabitha’s lips quirk into a grin. “Then you’ll have to tolerate my clunky playing.” She leaves the card table and takes a seat at the modest pianoforte. Without much preamble, she starts into a lively tune. The song is unfamiliar, and my first instinct is to back away. Even though I’ve come to enjoy dancing on occasion, I normally pair it with at least a glass of Starshine. Before I can take even a step away, Beatrice links her arm through mine and turns us in a skipping circle one way, then another. Then we separate and she does a light-footed toe tap. I hardly have time to study her moves before she takes my arm again for another skipping turn in the opposite direction. “This is how we dance at taverns back home,” she says with a giddy smile.
Beatrice seems a little young to already be frequenting taverns. Then again, she and her sister are young to be in a workhouse too. With what Dorian has said of their poverty, it makes sense the girls would want to find whatever reprieve from their daily hardships that they can. Seeing how bright and kind the girls are despite what they’ve been through sends an iron shard straight to my heart. Somehow, they haven’t let their situation harden them or made them stop trusting. Stop loving. Stop smiling. It makes me feel a bit ashamed for how closed off I’ve been to everyone but Podaxis this past year. I’ve had my reasons for keeping my distance, but still…
When Beatrice next returns to the toe-tap move, Briony and Greta join in to copy her. She shifts and sways, skipping from foot to foot, adding more complicated moves, more turns, and soon the four of us are laughing as we try to keep up with the rhythm. It takes a while, but soon I’m able to grasp the moves. Or some semblance of them. I feel like a fish floundering on the shore, but I must admit I’m having fun.
Beatrice turns me in a circle again, and when we separate, I find Dorian watching from the couch, his face alight with mirth.
“Brother Dorian,” Glint McCreedy says from a chair next to him. His voice is a touch too loud, as if that’s not the first time he’s tried to get his attention.
Dorian shakes his head and drags his gaze away. “So sorry. What was the question?”
“Your nuptials will take place by midnight the day after tomorrow. Do you have a ring for your intended?”
Beatrice and I turn again, so I can no longer see his face. However, his words have somehow taken precedence over the music, my ears attuned to them even as I skip and tap.
“I do,” he says, “but it’s nothing more than a gold band. I plan on getting my bride something far more spectacular after we’re married.”
“Is that so? And what do you plan on getting her? Diamonds?”
Another turn, and Dorian returns to my line of sight. I don’t realize I’m staring until his eyes flash to mine.
He lifts a corner of his mouth. “I prefer pearls.”
The word makes me miss a beat, and I stumble to find my footing again.
“Pearls?” the reporter says. “An unconventional choice, but one I daresay will flatter whomever your bride shall be.”
I don’t let myself look at him again, but it doesn’t stop his next comment from invading my every awareness. “I am already confident she looks dazzling in them.”
I falter again and pause completely. “Sorry,” I say to Beatrice who was just about to take my arm for another skipping circle.
She says nothing, but her eyes narrow slightly. Then she calls out, “Dorian, take my place. My feet grow tired. Come dance with the princess.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” I say, taking a step back. “I don’t mind sitting down too. My feet are clearly not cut out for this.”
“Nonsense.” She winks. “I want to see my brother dance. It’s a sight I haven’t witnessed since we used to take turns standing on Mother’s toes while she pranced us about the house.” She says it with so much longing, there’s no way I can refuse.
Dorian doesn’t argue either and strides over to me. He takes Beatrice’s place and gives me a formal bow, all the while maintaining a sly grin. I curtsy back and realize the music has stopped. When it starts again, it’s a slow rhythm. I resist casting a glare over at Tabitha. I’m starting to think this was planned.
“My sisters like you,” Dorian says as he places a hand lightly at the middle of my back. The other he holds up and out to the side. I set my gloved palm loosely over it and we start into a basic waltz, one of the few formal dances I’m somewhat acquainted with. There’s ample space between us—nothing like how we were at Club Scorpius—and our postures are stiff and formal. Even so, my hand buzzes with warmth as I recall the way it felt when he slid off my glove and pressed our naked palms together.
“I like your sisters too,” I say, keeping my gaze anywhere but his face. I glance around to make sure no one else is anywhere near before I say, “There’s something I need to tell you. Before you send me home tonight—”
“What makes you think I’m sending you home?”
