“You going misty eyed on me, Hazel?” my father asked as he led me further down the hall.
“I was just thinking, Father, that too much is changing with my fifteenth annos. I don’t want to grow old and get married and leave you alone with Uncle Oscar your only nearby family. How could I bear it?”
He chuckled. “Dry your eyes, Hazel. You know there’s no lord, no matter his wealth or feelings for you, that I will let take you from me until you come of age.”
“In the South, women come of age at sixteen—that’s less than an annos away for me now.”
“We’re not from the South, are we?” he said with a grin. “Don’t despair yet, Hazel. You don’t even know who you’ll marry. Perhaps you’ll fall madly in love with a Northerner, as I did.” A small smile touched the side of his lips as he looked down at me. “And do not worry about your uncle either. He’ll be okay.”
I squeezed his arm. “But what he said about you?”
He huffed out a sigh. “No one is listening to him. He’s the kind of man that will say almost anything so the attention of the party will land on him.”
“I know that, Father, but isn’t the affront in that he said the words and not the reaction they caused?”
My father tapped my arm. “You are very wise, Daughter. A true child of Ester.”
I smirked, because though many said that my father was blessed with the goddess Ester’s wisdom, very few, save him, said it of me. “Are you truly going to let him go to debtors’ prison?”
He looked down at me, amused. “Listening at the keyhole, I see.”
“Father, I didn’t have to.”
“Ah.” He turned fully to me. “Sometimes, the best deed you can do for another person is to not save them from their troubles—or, as is the case with Oscar, to stop saving him from his troubles.”
“I can’t say I understand,” I said as I looked at a high portrait in our hallway, though I wasn’t truly seeing it.
“I hope you’ll never have to understand it,” he said. “Let us not talk of this more; today is for you, my dearest one—let it be a day of celebration only.” As he smiled down at me, well-worn lines creased his cheeks.
“Lord Hampton, may I have a word with you?”
I jumped a little at Judith’s voice, having completely forgotten she was following us. “Oh, yes, Father, talk to Judith,” I said, pushing him toward her.
He gave me a suspicious glance before saying to my governess, “Judith, I know you to be much too sensible to be doing my daughter’s bidding.”
She held herself very tall, though she was nowhere near as tall as my father. “I should hope so. I’m not so much doing Hazel’s bidding as trying to rein her in.”
“Ah, I see. In that, I can relate with you.” He stepped aside with her for a minute while I stared at the carved portal to the west wing of our manor, pretending I wasn’t listening in. Before my father had even returned, though, I was hopping up and down in excitement.
He shook his head, though there was amusement on his weather-worn features. “You have us all wrapped around your smallest finger, don’t you, Hazel?”
I pretended to be aghast at the notion. “Not you, Father, never you.”
“For my pride’s sake, I’ll pretend to believe you.”
“Well, even if I did—which I still plead I don’t, you know it’s not purposeful.”
“I know. It’s just hard to resist making you happy.” He gestured toward the heavy wood door that separated us from the ballroom. “Shall we present you to our friends and enemies?”
I laughed. “As if you have any enemies. But yes, please—I’ll try to pretend to be a lady for a couple hours—for you.”
“Well, don’t strain yourself, Daughter.” He regarded me, looking like he was fighting a smile. He lost the fight, and a grin broke across his lips. Even in that moment, I knew it was a sight to be remembered; his smile creased up his cheeks and shone through his eyes. All too soon, he turned to the door and knocked upon it.
The door opened out to where two liveried servants waited. Unlike the guests, they wore their crimson only in their embroidery. We didn’t step onto the large, circular landing, so I couldn’t hear the crowd below, but chatter, tinkling, and a low hum of hundreds of bodies shuffling buzzed through the air.
Standing straight and looking to where I knew the crowd stood, the crier cleared his throat. “Lord Hampton and Lady Hazel Hampton.”
The crowd hushed as we stepped forward to crest the stairway. We stopped at the first step, and though I knew I wasn’t supposed to look down, I did. Our ballroom was transformed. I’d pretended at ball in this room many times with visiting friends and groups of amenable servants, but the room was not recognizable from even my wildest flights of fancy. Hundreds of faces looked up at us. Though I’d thought I knew every courtier in Domengrad, I had a hard time picking out a face recognized in the crowd. All wore crimson. Around them, great ribbons of the color intertwined and met together in a web above. The color was so plentiful it almost connected the guests and decorations into an unbroken mass. Our three massive chandeliers reflected candlelight to glimmer over the faces and room.
As we descended, a polite applause rose up from the crowd. I wasn’t sure what the applause was for: the ball, my father, or perhaps me.
I shot a smile to my father. He didn’t look over to me, but his arm squeezed on mine.
At the last landing, my father halted. All as one, we and the entire ballroom turned to the great portrait that stood to one side of the room. A portrait of the eight great magicians spanned up fifty feet, almost kissing the ceiling above. At its base, two of the magicians’ monks stood, robed in a gleaming ivory that nearly matched their gaunt complexions. The stretching canvas made them look small, though I knew they stood almost twice my height. Their all-black insectile eyes reflected the entirety of the ballroom as they stood stoically by their masters’ portrait.
My father cleared his throat before reciting the daily devotion to the Congregation that every citizen of Domengrad spoke at least once a day. “I trust in the magicians, for they hold the gateway to the gods. As with every person, wealthy or common, I am but a passenger on the endless cycle of existence. I will trust the eight great magicians and their many servants, for they are my boatmen, guiding me through the treacherous tides of the four immortal gods. I will fear the gods, worship the magicians, and forsake the iconoclasts forevermore. Let it be so.”
“Let it be so,” the ballroom repeated almost as one.
The two monks nodded, and as one, we turned away. A violin played three notes, and then the orchestra began a cotillion.
My father looked down to me. “Before you attend to your dance card, would you mind sharing a dance with this old man?”
I grinned up at him. “Father, I would occupy you all evening if I could, up until I’m allowed to visit with my friends, for both the pleasure of your company and to avoid all the honorific lords in the country.”
He gave me a tolerant look and led me to the dance floor.
Chapter Three: A Dance with Warren
I was bleeding into my shoe. The blood had yet to soak through, but as I was handed off to yet another lordling, I glanced down at my jeweled slipper and noticed that it was a few shades of crimson darker than its partner.
“Well, damn,” I whispered under my breath as I lined up for La Belle Assemblée next to—I think his name was Lord Baxter.
Officially, I’d been set in my place. I’d thought I’d known a good quantity of the lords and ladies of Domengrad, but I’d be surprised if I knew ten percent of the ones who attended our ball, which likely was ten percent of all the lords, ladies and their children in the country. True, the ones of my acquaintance were the higher-ranking ones, which made the introductions a little less terrifying, but I truly wished I’d paid more attention when my governess taught me the many and varied genealogies of the peerage of Domengrad. Indeed, I barely recognized one name in thirty.
&nb
sp; I joined hands with Lord Baxter and reached out to my side to offer my other hand to whomever was on that side.
“Lord Baxter, did you say you were from the East?”
He hadn’t, I was sure, but his long, curly red hair nearly screamed that he was. “I must have,” he said with an accent. “Have you ever traveled to the East?”
A strong hand slipped into mine from the other side and squeezed once.
I nearly jumped before I looked back to see who would be so impertinent.
Beautiful golden-brown eyes met mine, and an instant tingling coursed up my arm from where, I now realized, Warren Klein held my hand.
“Hello,” I whispered.
“Hello,” he replied, looking not at all happy.
“Oh no, I know that look. What, pray tell, do you disapprove of, sir?”
He leaned in. “You’re limping—you have been for at least the last three dances.”
A flush of embarrassment ran through me at his words.
Lord Baxter tugged a little on my hand, and I remembered we were supposed to be dancing. As I began stepping in the circular movement, I shot over at Warren, “No I haven’t been.”
“You haven’t been to the East?” asked Lord Baxter. “Well, you really should go.”
I looked over at him, about to tell him that I had been to the East, many times, but he kept talking.
“My holdings are near the seaside. High cliff-sides over crashing waves—you’d love it there.” He grinned widely at me.
“It sounds very lovely. I’ve actually—”
“And then there’s Ester City—the most beautiful city in the world. We have flowers annos round, golden spires, hothouses everywhere . . .”
As he continued to describe a city I’d been to many times, Warren said just loud enough for me to hear, “You’re favoring your left foot; usually you favor your right.”
I ignored him, focusing on Lord Baxter as if I was fascinated to hear about each templum of Ester in detail. “Twice as big as Northern templums, you say?” I asked.
“Perhaps three times.” He beamed with obvious pride.
Lord Baxter was either delusional or quite the exaggerator.
As we switched direction and started circling the other way, Warren said, “I really recommend you sit out a couple dances.”
“And I really recommend you stop neglecting your partner,” I whispered back over my shoulder.
Lord Baxter, who hadn’t seemed to notice my inattention, asked me, “Would next season work?”
I blinked over at him. “Next season?”
“Well, you’ll want to escape the winter, I’m assuming,” he said.
I had obviously missed something rather pivotal in what he said, because I wasn’t understanding him at all. “I love the winter in the North,” I said. “Winter Solstice is by far my favorite—”
“But it’s so dreary and cold. I really think you would prefer it in the East for the season.”
Oh gods, he was inviting me to visit him.
I nodded with an almost-painful smile. “I’m sure it’s lovely, but I—”
“I would be more than happy to hold a ball in your honor. What is your favorite flower? We’ll have to plant it almost directly to have enough for next season. I’ll send a message post haste, as soon as this dance ends.”
Both of the men released my hands and stopped to take formation into two lines. As Lord Baxter’s hand was getting sweaty enough to soak through my silk gloves, I was immeasurably grateful.
Lord Baxter took the station across from me while Warren stayed at my side.
In the next part of the dance, I was allowed to stand while the couples in the middle danced around each other. I shifted my weight to my uninjured foot; tingles spread through the injured one.
“Lord Baxter, I—” I started, but again, he just talked right over me.
“If I were to guess for you, I’d say roses. Am I right? We have a winter seasonal rose garden. There are not near enough of the winter varieties to fill a ballroom. However, I do believe that we have enough seeds—”
“Wildflowers.” Warren paused halfway in his steps to circle the center of the groups and addressed Lord Baxter very directly. “Lady Hampton loves wildflowers.”
Lord Baxter looked at me, almost seeming shocked.
“Yes, wildflowers are my favorite,” I said.
“We don’t grow those,” he said.
As this moment of confusion might be the only opening I was given, I quickly said, “I need to apologize, Lord Baxter. I have engagements booked up through the winter. There’s no way that I can visit the East until Spring Solstice.” I didn’t mention that was when we always visited the East, just smiled as wide as I could manage.
“Oh,” Lord Baxter’s cheeks looked to ruddy a bit, and I immediately felt a pang of guilt.
True, I didn’t want to visit him by any means, but from the sweaty hands and incessant talking, I could only guess I was making him nervous. As much as I abhorred the idea, I smiled and suggested, “Perhaps you would allow my father and I to sojourn at your holdings for the festival?” After the words were out, the suggestion left an acidic taste on my tongue. Every annos, my father and I stayed in apartments in the city itself. It had been one of the few trips we’d enjoyed with few social requirements for my father, something just for us and the servants who accompanied us.
“I can speak for my family in saying that we would be more than honored!” He practically yelled it at me.
My stomach dropped, and when we turned to line up in the other direction and I stepped right, I landed strangely on my injured foot and my ankle rolled. I caught my footing, but a pain shot up my leg. Biting down hard on my lip, I swallowed the cry that wanted to escape me.
When I looked up, Warren was at my side. “Will you let me help you to a chair?”
“I think I can make it,” I said, looking back over to one of the only open chairs nestled between two groups of elderly ladies. I took one step toward it, but my ankle threatened to roll again.
Lord Baxter didn’t seem to notice I had stopped and continued on his course in a wide circle, though the other couple who circled me shot over concerned glances. The lady, Lady Bourges, who was a friend of my father’s, paused to cross over. “Are you all right, Hazel?” A giant peacock feather drooped over her pearl-crusted dark hair. Perhaps ten anni my senior, she was one of the most beautiful ladies of my acquaintance.
“Quite,” I said. Tears pricked at my eyes as I tried to set my ankle down again. “But I think I should rest my ankle for the remainder of the dance.”
“Warren Klein, stop just standing there. Help her this way,” Lady Bourges ordered as she gestured to the closest seats, which were occupied.
“If it’s all right?” When I nodded, Warren took my arm, his arm beneath mine from elbow to forearm. “Let me bear the weight,” he said.
The pain vanished as tingles spread from every place he touched me and up through my arm. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Oh, no,” Lord Baxter said as he stepped up beside me. “Here, I’ll help you to a seat—I’m your dance partner.”
“And risk injuring her?” Lady Bourges scolded. “No, Warren will help her; he was here and you were not. You can dance with her another time.” Turning back to Warren, she said, “Keep going.”
“I think I just need to rest it for this dance,” I said as I let Warren take my weight, and we walked in the direction where Lady Bourges strode ahead.
“I suppose you want me to acknowledge that you were right,” I said to Warren with a small smile.
He smiled back, just a little. “I just don’t want you to injure yourself seriously. Do you want me to fetch anyone to help you to your quarters?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I only have a few dances left, and then I’ll be allowed to spend the remainder of the night dancing with you and Fauve.”
His expression looked almost exasperated. “Fauve and I can call on you tomorrow,” h
e said.
“I’m busy tomorrow.” The words came out almost angrily, but I couldn’t help it. I’d spent hours dancing with lordlings just for this reward—and he’d so easily take it from me?
“We’ll be here until next week,” he said.
“You don’t want to dance with me?” I felt like the words were crushing me.
His umber eyes met mine seriously. “Not if it will break your ankle.”
“Well, I can’t just stand with you conversing as long as I’d like to. People will talk if we’re not dancing.”
“Honestly, Hazel, I don’t think you should be standing at all. You should go ice that ankle.”
I glared. “Sometimes I wish you would be a little more unpractical,” I whispered at him.
“You’re unpractical enough for the both of us, I think,” he said with a smirk.
I yanked my hand back from his. “Well, if you don’t want to dance with me, then I’ll just have to dance with Fauve for the last five dances.”
“I doubt he’ll want to dance with you either once I tell him about your injury,” he said.
A wash of disappointment threatened to knock me over. When I took my next step, my ankle threatened to roll again.
Warren took my arm once more. “I apologize for touching you. I don’t want you to fall over.”
His apology only made me feel worse. “What if you have to leave before I see you again?”
He gave me a serious look. “That won’t happen.”
“None of us are of age. We’re not in charge of our own schedules. I don’t even know when we’ll see each other next; it could be a season or more,” I whispered. “I have this one opportunity.”
He took a second before he replied, and I held onto the hope that he would be convinced and change his mind. But when he spoke, he said, “I think I’ll ask my party if we can leave early, in case our presence is the reason you’re continuing to risk injury.”
I inhaled sharply, to which Warren tightened his hold on my wrist. “You wouldn’t do that,” I said, but I knew he would. It was in his character to do just that.
Hazel Page 2