I pull Bessie forward. Richard bows once more, and she curtsies. They shyly gaze at each other, and as they do, I’m pretty sure Taylor Swift flies past us on a unicorn, strumming the intro of “Love Story.”
Several minutes later, a man in a very stylish doublet and cape claps his hands in the center of the room. “Attention, please, we are ready to begin pairing up the dancers!”
After deciding on a masque as our chosen mode of entertainment, Bessie explained that the most important aspect of the masque is when there’s a big, choreographed dance performed by some of the highest-ranking nobility. I grow a little queasy at the performance part of it, but with my Catherine-muscle-memories firmly intact, I know that I’ll survive. The dance portion—I know that I’ll survive the dance portion.
The man I assume is the choreographer claps his hands again. “Please fan out so I can see you. Then I can begin my selections.”
We follow his instructions, all of us spreading out in a circle. We’re a full house now, having since been joined by any ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor who want to participate.
The choreographer has matched half of us when I look over to Lady Rochford as she stands along the side. I nudge my chin toward Bessie and Richard, who are still in quiet conversation together. Lady Rochford nods and casually approaches the choreographer. She whispers in his ear, and a moment later, he announces Bessie and Richard as dance partners.
I’m trying to hide a satisfied smirk when he makes his next announcement.
“And now we’ll have Her Majesty dancing with...” He looks around until anof coursesmile crosses his face. “Mr. Thomas Culpepper.”
My eyes dart to my far left, and there’s Thomas, keeping his face composed except for a small tic on his cheek. He’s trying not to smile.
I groan and walk over to the far side of the room, where William, Bartholomew, and the rest of the musicians are setting up.
“Why are you scowling like you sat on a thistle?” Bartholomew asks.
“Because I can’t stand my partner.”
He looks over my shoulder. “Thomas Culpepper? Are you blind? You should be pleased.”
“No, I’m not blind. But I am a good judge of character, and for no specific foreboding reason, I get the feeling that he’s the worst.”
William looks around me to sneak a peek at Thomas as well. “I could fix him,” he murmurs.
Bartholomew nods in agreement. “I could help.”
“No,” I counter. “Both of you deserve better. Trust me.”
William shakes his head. “I strive to settle.”
“I’m happiest when I’m unhappy.” Bartholomew is still staring at Thomas when the choreographer claps for the third time.
“Everyone! Find your partners, if you please.”
I drag my feet as I move to the center of the room. We’re in two lines, women and men. And Thomas is soon standing across from me.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he says.
I give him a forced smile. “A remarkable coincidence.” I take a beat before asking, “How did you manage it?”
Thomas looks affronted until he smirks. “The dance master owes me a favor.”
Weird flex, but sure.
The music begins, and even though my mind doesn’t recognize it, my body does, and I seamlessly step forward to touch hands with Thomas, just as I’m meant to.
“I see you were quite busy this morning,” he muses, “attempting to marry off your friend. With some success, it seems.”
I look across the floor to see Bessie and Richard dancing, and they can’t help but smile every time they touch. “I was just helping her find some prospects.”
“Yet you didn’t consider me for a suitor?”
Thomas and I circle each other as I struggle to contain my laugh. “Yeah, that would be a very strong no.”
