Twelfth Day of Christmas #3
“Mercy? I don’t know what you mean.” Edwin fidgeted with his cravat. “I like being your friend, but . . . It’s more than that.” Edwin’s voice went softer as he met Charming’s eyes. “You’re my favorite person.”
Kestrel’s hands flew to her heart. Andrews made a squeaky noise of emotion in his throat. Even Mrs. Wattlesbrook looked affected, a smile insisting itself on her usually stiff lips.
“Edwin,” said Charming, “are you asking me to accompany you for the first two dances?”
“Hell yes.” He put out his hand, and it visibly trembled. “But I’m hoping for every damn one.”
For a flash, Kestrel could see a younger Charming standing there—a teenager, unsure of herself and happy to be asked to the prom. But this time, it wasn’t Bobby asking. She was getting a prom redo with an actual nice guy.
Charming took Edwin’s hand, and they stared at each other as if they were the only people in the world.
Kestrel’s whole body trembled with the hope of it all. She was still so uncertain about the future, her stomach curled up with fear, but she knew she wasn’t going to hide from whatever the night would bring. Hank might already be here, and she was determined to go skunk him out.
Kestrel hurried down the stairs, holding her skirt to keep from tripping.
Strangers in formal Regency attire were coming in the front doors, locals who’d paid to attend a Regency ball in a manor house, unaware that the event was the climax of twelve drama-filled days.
The women all wore bridal-like empire-waist gowns, shades from lily white to parchment cream, with the occasional silvery gray or palest pink.
The men wore black jackets with tails, high collared waistcoats, and white cravats.
The air fairly crackled with energy and anticipation—and, dare she think it, even magic?
But where was that mistletoe?
In the dining room, Kestrel found a feast spread on the sideboard for guests to dine on at their convenience. Gussie’s pastillage sculpture sat upon a cake stand in the center of the dining table. On a tiny hall table, Kestrel spied her own little monstrosities, mostly concealed by sprigs of holly.
Juliette had changed into a black dress with white apron, and she smiled at Kestrel and lifted her tray of champagne flutes with an inviting look.
“No thanks, I’m still recovering,” said Kestrel. “But don’t you look pretty?”
“A maid’s tuxedo,” Juliette said, bobbing a playful curtsy.
“Hey, do you know where there’s mistletoe?”
Juliette pointed up. A sprig of deep green mistletoe dangled above the threshold to the drawing room. Directly below it stood Tom.
He was smiling at Kestrel, arms behind his back, waiting patiently, and in his formal attire looking more handsome than any human had a right to. Even so, part of her wilted sadly to see that it wasn’t Hank.
“Kestrel,” he said. “You look like a million pounds.”
“Thanks, Tom. You look like ten thousand a year yourself.”
“I am relieved you received my message. I intended to await you no matter how long it took, but if I still stood here at midnight, I would have begun to lose heart.” With his hands behind his back, he looked coyly up.
“Miss Spinster, do you know what two people must do if they find themselves beneath the mistletoe?”
“In front of all these people?” Kestrel said with mock shock.
Propriety was an excuse, because strangely, she didn’t feel like kissing devastatingly handsome, top-drawer conversationalist, and blue-ribbon snogger Sir Thomas Adani.
There was only one person in the world she wanted to kiss.
Yesterday, he had met her eyes and turned away.
But last night, she learned he’d come to woo her.
She felt tangled up with hope and confusion and fear and longing, and overwhelmed by feelings, her body desperately needed a physical diversion.
But this time, not diversion by kissing.
“Let’s dance instead,” she said. No matter how Kestrel was feeling, she could always dance.
The Charmings appeared at the top of the scarlet stairs, and like Hollywood royalty, they paraded down the red carpet.
“Kestrel!” shouted Charming, half her face taken up by a grin. “You were right, I do look like an effin’ goddess. Tally-freakin’-ho!”
“Tally-freakin’-ho!” Kestrel shouted back as if it were a traditional Twelfth Night greeting.
“Hey, did you catch a gander of my para-matador?” said Charming.
“Your what?”
“My inamaretto!”
Kestrel gaped, desperately wanting her brain to catch up with whatever words Charming was trying to say.
“She means me!” said Edwin with a Charming-sized grin.
“He really likes me, Kestrel!” said Charming. “Like, really! Not just for pretend!”
Tom and Kestrel held back while the new Charmings promenaded through the front hall and into the ballroom like the queen and king of the prom. Charming looked around with wide, enchanted eyes as if seeing it all for the very first time. Edwin only looked at her.
Tom led Kestrel after them, and she took a breath as she passed across the threshold into the ballroom as if she were about to dunk her head underwater. The music poured over her in a rush of cool welcome.
Over the past week and a half, Kestrel had peeked into that empty square room, imagining the splendor of the ball.
Her imagination hadn’t prepared her. The green walls appeared to be shifting gold in the electric candlelight of two chandeliers.
The movement of dancers, twinkling of lights, and swoops of music from a string quartet all swirled together to become one thing.
A magical creature. A huge, breathing, living organism, full of mystery and wonder, like a Christmas dragon in its cave, feeling both frisky and content.
Did that make sense? Kestrel was sure it didn’t, so she didn’t speak the thought to Tom.
She just felt it, this Christmas dragon alive and winding around her, inviting her to join its adventures.
A line of gentlemen and ladies were bowing and curtsying at the center of the room, the beginning of a dance. Mrs. Martinez and Lady Heartwright faced Mr. Houlihan and one of the Hardy Boys respectively. No sign of Hank.
All the couples not in the dance were standing along the walls waiting for a turn. But one couple in a corner was dancing anyway, moving in a very intimate and skillful waltz.
Juliette came up behind Kestrel, and noticing the direction of her gaze, whispered, “That’s one of the ladies I was telling you about, a guest who fell in love with an actor.”
“Really?” Kestrel examined them with renewed interest. The woman was tall, red-haired, and seemed completely at home in both the ballroom and the waltz. Her gentleman smiled hugely at her, dimples pressed into his cheeks.
“They live together in London,” said Juliette, “and they almost never miss a ball.”
“That’s really cool,” Kestrel said dreamily.
She couldn’t help shifting to look at Tom and feeling newly astounded at finding herself so close to such a gorgeous man, not to mention funny and fun and attentive and—damn, just so hot.
When he noticed her gaze, he smiled, and it seemed genuine. Maybe Tom really did like-like her.
“What thoughts possess your fine mind, Kestrel?” asked Tom.
“You,” she said frankly.
“Well then, I approve.”
Her gaze cast around, and she realized she was looking again for Hank. Even if he had initially come to woo her, he might have changed his mind. All the things that Anika had said stuck like thorns in her heart, and the ballroom floor seemed to tilt under her slippers.
She took a deep breath and tried to ground herself in the present moment. The music hummed inside her. The vibration of the dancers’ feet rose through the floor and into her heart. This didn’t feel like an ancient room—it shimmered as if new and relevant and now, now, now.
I’m here right now, she told herself. At a ball in Austenland. Enjoy it. Ride the Christmas dragon, Kestrel! Ride it!
Tom’s hand felt kind and warm on her back.
Mrs. Martinez was laughing as she do-si-doed around Mr. Houlihan, who looked lanky and uncoordinated but very game.
Jerome was spinning a carefree Gussie. The Charmings were sidestepping down the center of the dance line.
Everyone cheered at their passage, and Edwin looked so happy he might burst.
Now there was a second couple waltzing on the fringes—Mrs. Wattlesbrook and Neville! Waltzing very close. Neville gazed at her as if at a wonderful magic trick he couldn’t comprehend.
“Where is Mr. Culpepper?” asked Kestrel.
“I locked him up in the pantry, didn’t I?” said Tom.
She squinted at him, trying to detect the joke in his eyes. He looked deadly serious.
“Tom! You did not!”
“I did.” Tom pressed his hand on her back slightly firmer, moving her ear to a closer, more conspiratorial distance from his mouth.
“He is far too intense. I am certain in this mood he would have spoiled your ball. Besides, he’ll be fine.
There’s plenty to eat in there, and I left him an empty bottle in case nature calls. ”
Kestrel was still unsure if he was kidding, but she laughed and let him waltz her where they stood, and in the thrill and whoosh of the dance, falling in love with Tom felt possible, if not realistic.
As the prelude for the next country dance played, they hurried into the center of the dance floor to claim a spot, Kestrel in the women’s line and Tom in the men’s.
Kestrel had practiced the different forms and was able to flow through the patterns fairly easily.
And some part of her body relaxed and felt satisfied.
I danced to get here, she thought. And here, I dance.
A new prelude began, and Kestrel and Tom tried to stay, but even more dancers pushed in, till the lines were all clumped and confused.
The music faltered, waiting for the dancers to get into formation.
People on the edges weren’t sure if they were in or out.
Kestrel and Tom found themselves squished up close to the Charmings.