“It’s never mere chance, you know. Men only talk to you if they’re offered a little ... warmth.”
Philippe spoke to the man at the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the lingering cold.
“How does one go about showing ... warmth?”
Lily blotted her mouth and watched me with mirthful eyes. “My dear sister, are you asking for my advice on men?”
“You seem shocked.” I heated through to my scalp. “It isn’t rare to exchange advice on love between sisters.”
“It’s never been a two-way exchange.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Right, then.” She straightened in her chair and leaned forward, voice low. “It’s quite easy, and you needn’t even open your mouth. Not at first. All you need to do is glance at the man as if you know some secret you can barely hold in, then look down and smile because you’re not going to give it away.”
“What’s the secret I know?”
“Just pretend there’s one. And I always imagine the man in his knickers.”
My lungs inflated. “Lily!”
“Do you want advice or spinsterhood?”
“Well, I’d blush if I thought ofthat.”
“All the better.” Her smile was playful. “Only, don’t try this with simplyanyman. Merely a few choice ones, or you’ll be known as a flirt. You can always tell if he’s worth your while by looking at his socks.”
I blinked. “His socks?”
“Men never fuss over their socks, so if he’s poor, that’s the first thing he’ll be cheap about. Nice socks mark a well-appointed gentleman fit to offer a fine living.”
I spooned stew into my mouth, letting the ample meat dish settle my belly, and looked out the paned window just past my right shoulder. Shops were closed up tight all along the street, and people hurried home to get out of the cold. “How does the conversation work?”
“Work?” She smiled around a bite of carrots. “Well, men never like a woman who talks back, so don’t do it. You mustn’t ever seem smarter than him.”
“What if I am?”
Her wide eyes sparkled. “That’s the art of the thing, sister. You must paint yourself as he wishes you to be, not as you are.”
I frowned. Philippe had moved to a small table near the back, draped in shadows. What did he wish me to be? Should I even attempt to be that?
Perhaps romance and love were simply not for me.
The next morning, with Lily’s advice still ringing in my mind, I openly stared at Jack Dorian. He moved toward aquadrilledancer with such simple movements, but his every gesture held fluid strength and ease. I watched him for more than a quarter of an hour as he glided about the room with the poise of a lion, yet his easy manner warmed people whenever he drew near.Yes,that’s it.I couldn’t lay my finger on what it was, this combination of confidence and charm, but I knew I needed it in my dancing.
I didn’t have the courage to approach him until everyonehad gone for the night. Then I found him in the auditorium at the end of the empty aisle, speaking in earnest with the Great Fournier. When he caught sight of me up on the stage, Fournier nodded good night to his companion, and Jack stood there watching me, arms folded.
Why did this have to be so awkward? If only Lily could lend me a touch of her charm as easily as I lent her some of my coin. I fidgeted with my skirt, looked down at the steps. “I suppose you may walk me home. Just this once.”
“How kind of me.” His voice echoed across the empty auditorium as he strode up the aisle. “I didn’t know I’d offered.”
I turned hot. “No one’s forcing you.”
He bounded up the steps and extended his arm. “I have a feeling this is something I shouldn’t miss.”
I laid my fingertips on the crook of his arm, not giving him an inch of room to misunderstand. He allowed me exactly three and a half minutes of silence through the streets of London, up Craven and along the Strand, before he poked at me again. “You might as well come out with it. Something about de Silva, is it?”
The name hit me anew in the chest. “Not at all.”
