Do not think of Zeke,she commanded herself.
Which, of course, caused her to think of him more.
Dancing with Zeke had been like floating in a dream. She thought back to those twinkling looks in his eyes when he’d twirled her around the floor, the appreciative warmth of his gaze in those moments he pulled her a tad too close.
Would she ever forget the taste of his kiss—the low rumble of his voice? Diana blinked away the stinging in her eyes.
Less than fourteen hours had passed since his idiotic proposal, and already she missed him dreadfully. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization that she would likely never see him again—never be kissed by him again.
The thought was almost enough to make her forgive his horrible words from the night before.
“All your mother had was the delusion that a man who paid for her services loved her.”
Mr. Pip ordered them to stop and start over, declaring that a few of the girls were off, and they went through the number three more times before being allowed five minutes to rest.
Zeke had been trying to convince her that being a wife was better than being a mistress… Why? Because he wanted to make her his wife. Hewantedto be tied to her forever.
But she could not fit in.
“Line up again, Ladies!”
Diana followed the director’s instructions and glanced thoughtfully at the ladies around her. Working to fit in with this set of women was not all that different from fitting in with the ladies of the ton.
What was different? When she’d been introduced to the other dancers, she’d refused to contemplate failing. She’d believed in herself.
Amongst the twelve other ladies, a few reigned as divas, a few desperate social climbers, and of course, there were always the wallflowers. For some reason, Diana had not been nearly as confident in her ability to fit into society as she’d been that she could fit in here.
Had she not been confident because of what her mother had told her? Because she’d grown up believing society was inherently bad?
Or was it because her father’s wife had belonged in society and her mother had…not?
Diana’s heart skipped a beat and her eyes burned.
She had never set foot behind the stage of a theater. These women spoke differently, dressed differently, and came from different backgrounds.
Why wasn’t she more intimidated by them?
“That’s all for today! Tomorrow, be prepared to perform the Marigold number straight through.” Mr. Pip clapped his hands three times, and the other dancers drifted off to the wings.
But Diana remained standing in the center of the stage as a wave of possibilities washed over her.
“Are you coming down for dinner?” Sally touched her arm, but Diana shook her head.
“No. I have to go home…” She smiled. “But thank you.”
“Come early in the morning, and I’ll teach you the steps to the Marigold number. It’s easier than this one, so you shouldn’t have any difficulties.”
Diana nodded. “Thank you.” But…
She would not be learning the Marigold number.
And even though she felt guilty at having wasted Sally, and Claudette, and even the director’s time, she realized she was not going to be coming back.
Diana had not failed at fitting into theTonbecause no one had given her a chance; she’d failed because she’d not given them one. Not seriously, anyhow.
She’d been a giant coward when she’d insisted she wouldn’t know how to be a proper Marchioness.
Staring out at an audience of empty seats, wearing her bright-colored costume that bared most of her legs, she chastised herself for viewing Zeke’s world in such a pessimistic light.
