"You noticed that?"
"I noticed everything about you."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning and memory. Clara's heart was doing something complicated in her chest, possibly trying to escape.
"Gabriel…"
"I know. We can't. We shouldn't. We won't."
"Then what are we doing?"
"Dancing. Badly. In a dusty room. Nothing more."
"You lie."
"Always."
He spun her then, unexpected and graceful despite his protestations, and Clara laughed…bright and surprised. Gabriel's face transformed at the sound, his severe expression softening into something younger, more familiar.
"There you are," Clara said softly.
"Who?"
"The boy I knew."
"He's not…"
"I know. He has departed. You've mentioned. Repeatedly. But sometimes, like just now, I see him peeking through."
“That is quite a perilous notion to entertain.”
"Everything about this is perilous."
"Then we should put an end to this.”
"We should."
They continued dancing.
"The village believes you're my mistress," Gabriel said conversationally.
"Edmund mentioned."
"Does it bother you?"
"Should it?"
"Your reputation…"
"Is already ruined, unattached, unemployed and I'm already a tragedy by society's standards."
"You are no tragedy."
"For a woman without prospects? It's considered antique."
"You have prospects."
"Do I? Name one."
