Entwined(40)

“Bramble!” she said. Ever since the Yuletide, he had thought her Bramble!

Azalea looked up to see him pull up at the gate. His eyes caught her, still at the steps, and he smiled and saluted. Then he was gone.

Azalea hugged herself, thinking that she would have to set things straight when she saw him again. If she saw him again.

“Good night,” she said.





CHAPTER 14




That week, Azalea taught her sisters the Entwine. It was a tricky waltzlike dance, and a competitive one, where the lady and the gentleman each held an end of a long sash and weren’t allowed to let go. The gentleman would try to “catch” the lady—bringing the sash about her wrists by pulling her into under-arm turns and stepping about her, while the lady would turn and unspin and twist out of his arms, trying to keep the sash from tangling. Two years before, Mother had brought a skilled dance master to lessons to dance the Entwine with Azalea. Azalea had deftly ducked and slipped from his quick, skilled movements, and by the end of the three minutes, both of them exhausted, the dance master smiled and gave her a bow of admiration and respect. Ever since then, whenever she danced the Entwine, Azalea felt a high-trilling piccolo in her chest and her feet felt like springs.

Bramble tied a handkerchief around her arm and played the gentleman, speaking in gruff tones and making such a spectacle that the girls laughed madly.

“My laaaaaadeee,” said Bramble, bowing deeply to Azalea. The girls giggled uproariously, and Azalea sighed. Teaching closed dances without a gentleman was the most difficult thing so far.

“My lady,” came another voice, and all the girls turned to see Mr. Keeper at the entrance, watching them with dark eyes. He smiled, and the two long dimples on each side of his mouth deepened.

Azalea stepped back. The piccolo trill in her chest glissandoed like mad. She swallowed, discreetly trying to wipe her hands on her dress. His eyes seem to see right into her.

“Do forgive me,” he said, stepping onto the dance floor. His feet made no sound. “I could not help but notice. Perhaps I could have the honor of this dance?”

A hush fell over the girls. Azalea imagined herself in Mr. Keeper’s arms, and the piccolo trill in her chest squeaked into tones only tiny birds could hear. If he danced like he moved—in smooth ripples—he was a very good dancer indeed.

“I thought you said you couldn’t,” said Eve.

“My lady, I said I do not dance. That does not mean I cannot.”

“Do you even know the Entwine?” said Flora.

Mr. Keeper strode to Azalea, his dark eyes drinking her in. His cloak billowed behind him.

“My lady,” he said, without turning his eyes from Azalea, “I invented it.”

In a satinlike movement, Mr. Keeper had wrapped Azalea’s arm about his and had escorted her to the middle of the dance floor. So silky and gentle. Azalea blinked and realized that he had turned her around into an open dance position. She swallowed. It was hard.

“We’ve only been practicing with this,” said Azalea, producing Mother’s handkerchief. “It’s a bit short, I’m afraid.”

It flashed silver in the pale light. Mr. Keeper flinched.

“That won’t do,” he said. “But, ah! Here is one.”

Mr. Keeper flicked his hand, and a long sash appeared from nowhere. He shook it out with a snap. The bright red color flared against the pale whites and silvers. It was Azalea’s turn to flinch.

Bramble took charge of Mr. Bradford’s pocket watch, setting it on the dessert table to mark the time. The Entwine was exactly three minutes long. The girls watched, giddy with anticipation, as the invisible orchestra began a slow waltz.

Azalea shook, nervous, as Mr. Keeper stepped in time, turning the sash about her as she stepped out. He did dance like he walked and spoke, with polished movements. Unhumanly graceful.

“My lady glides like a swan,” he said. He pulled the sash up and brought her under his arm. “You are the best I have ever danced with. And I, my lady, have danced with many.”

He pulled the sash even closer, and Azalea caught a look in his eye—the same hungry glint she had seen when he had Mr. Bradford’s watch.

Convulsively, Azalea dropped the end of her sash.

That was immediate disqualification. The orchestra stopped.

“Only forty-five seconds,” said Eve, looking at the watch, disappointed.

“You know, Mr. Keeper,” said Azalea. “We’ve never really been properly introduced. Mother always said—”

“Ah, your mother,” said Mr. Keeper. His black eyes were completely emotionless. “I expect your mother always had sweet little things to say. Such as, ‘You’re only a princess if you act like one,’ and other such nonsense.”

“Well,” said Azalea, coloring. “What’s wrong with that?”

Mr. Keeper gave her a thin, cold smile.

“Nothing at all,” he said.

“You know, Az has a sharp point,” said Bramble as she and Clover gathered the sleepy younger ones together. “We hardly know a guinea’s peep about you. Where did you learn how to dance like that?”

Mr. Keeper’s thin, cold smile became even colder.

“I once knew a lady,” he said, “who could dance the Entwine nearly as well as your sister.”