Heart Dance (16 page)

Nothing was going right with her work. Sometimes fear gripped her and she lived through it, sometimes she was optimistic.Too many changes and emotions.

But she wanted to work instead of messing around with socialobligations—and that was ungrateful. Passiflora had changed her life forever for the better; the least Dufleur could do was provide a screen for Holly politicking.

Which led her back to the upcoming ball.

Since it was mid-Alder and their Family color was crimson, Passiflora had informed Dufleur that most people would be wearing a touch of that color for this opening ball of the social season.

Crimson didn’t go with her coloring. It held blue tones, and Dufleur looked much better in red tones that held orange like scarlet. She snorted. Fussing about colors! But she knew the importance of making a good impression. So she’d bespelled her gown to a sheen of old gold and activated the wide embroideryaround the hem to be crimson.

All dressed up. Her hair done by the spell the hairdresser had given her, along with her cosmetics. Color and shading to accent her eyes and slick over her mouth. The hairdresser had told her that she had lovely eyes and a charming smile. Right now, she didn’t believe him. Anything he’d said.

She didn’t believe anything Passiflora or Holm Holly said about her dancing, either; she still felt as clumsy as ever. She had a spell for that, too, but all the steps blurred in her head, the line dances both modern and antique, even the ancient waltz.

This was going to be a disaster.

Fairyfoot had gone back to T’Ash’s to give a final mousing lesson.

After bolstering the front door with security spells, Dufleur had gotten ready. Too early, of course. She wanted to ensure her dress and jewels and hair and face were perfect. Biting her lip, she wondered if she should move through time just slightly, a few more minutes, no more than a septhour. In a quiet room where she anticipated nothing would happen, it wouldn’t take much Flair, and would disrupt no other lives.

But who knew what she might need her Flair for later? Like teleporting to the secret room to hide. She called up the dimensionsof her lab, the coordinates. Yes. A perfect sanctuary for escape.

She didn’t recall ever being so nervous.

She
had
wondered if her mother would come down and check on her, wish her well in this enterprise that was all her and D’Winterberry’s idea, but there had been no knock.

Softly, gently reaching out with her mind, she brushed her mother’s mind. Sleeping. Her mother had gone to bed. Even in her dreams, Dufleur could sense her mother’s doubt that Dufleur was capable of making a good match. A stray hope, but no real conviction. Worry about the upcoming examination on her fitness as WinterberryHeir. Worry that she might not be admitted to the Winterberry HouseHeart.

Dufleur withdrew her senses from her mother’s mind, came back to the present reality of sitting on a hard chair in her bedroom.Waiting. Fulfilling others’ needs—her mother’s and D’Winterberry’s, and D’Holly’s.

Not her own.

But she couldn’t truly categorize her current needs. They seemed amorphous. Her thoughts went to the HeartGift, flinched away from the idea of a lover and a mate. The only thing she knew she wanted was the peace and quiet and space and permission to work with time.

Biting her lip, she thought of the goal of her experimentation.To build a reverse-time vault that would not only stop time from passing, but turn it back, particularly reversing disease. That had been her father’s goal. He’d fai—He hadn’t been able to finish his experiments, to meet his goal, though she thought he’d been several steps ahead of what she was doing now. There shouldn’t have been an explosion of such magnitude that it destroyedtheir home. Perhaps if she looked at the papers one more time . . .

She stood, and the loud knock on the front door that echoed through the house jolted her from her hypotheses back into reality.Where she was about to make a fool of herself.

No. She drew in a big breath, stood straight, lifted her chin. She would surprise everyone.

“Coming,” she called, projecting her voice so the Holly footmanshe sensed outside the front door heard.

With a twirl, her new evening cloak settled warmly around her. She stepped through the door of her bedroom, climbed the stairs, and exited the Winterberry Residence into the winter night and to Passiflora’s waiting glider.

You look gorgeous.” Saille’s mother straightened his wide
collar where it had gotten caught in the shoulder of his new crimson embroidered vest. “You are the equal of any GreatLord there. Remember that.”

He stepped back and swept her a bow. “Thank you, madam. I will.” He hesitated. “Did you tell the rest of our Family that I’d be pleased to do consultations for them?”

She looked aside. Her hand went to the folds of her long tunic,and he saw how she pleated the fabric. “Some of the Familyhave added their names to your schedule.”

“And you?”

Shades of old pain drifted in her eyes. “My HeartMate’s been gone to the Southern continent as long as I can recall. We connected, but he never searched for me.” Her lips trembled as she met Saille’s gaze and touched his cheek. “I cared for your father. You must believe that.”

His father had been an arranged marriage by his MotherDamfor her daughter, weak in character and in Flair, and weak physically, dying when Saille was an infant. But his father had brought much gilt and several estates into the marriage as the last of a GraceLord line.

Saille caught his mother’s hand. “You can go after him. I’ll hire a retinue for you.”

“Me! Travel rough throughout Celta.” She shook her head.

“Then I can send a message to him. Call him here.”

She lifted her chin. “We never even met.”

"He’s your HeartMate.”

She just raised her eyebrows. “The link is so small that I rarely feel it. He’s had his life, I mine. Leave it be, Saille. Concentrateon your future.” She tilted her head, placed her hand against his cheek again. “You have new problems. Will you tell me?”

He hesitated, but said nothing.

She sighed, stepped back. “Go enjoy yourself. Don’t work too hard at the politicking. We do not need as many alliances as you think.” She smiled. “No one wants to alienate a Family who can lead to marital bliss.”

He just grunted as he donned his evening cape.

“Blessed be,” she called as he left the room.

Dufleur had never felt so awkward in her life. She, Passi
flora, and Trif Winterberry had arrived early for the ball, so Trif could consult with the orchestra hired for the occasion. Now Dufleur tried to stand nonchalantly as other women claimed territoryaround her and Passiflora D’Holly. In the pit of her stomach,Dufleur was sure that there was some maneuvering and placement was key, but she didn’t discern a pattern. The failure made her shift, and that caused her gown to caress her skin with a softness she’d rarely known—unless she’d been embroidering such material. She loved the gown, and now one of the glowing light designs bespelled was the correct shade of crimson.

She sipped small relieved breaths that she was neither the oldest nor the youngest member of a Family to be introduced this season. Still, she did notice that she held her body more stiffly than almost everyone else. The dancing lessons she’d had at T’Holly’s hadn’t cured her of that, though she was reasonablysure that she wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes.

Her gaze slid to some of the men. They were fully as colorfulas the women, though she noticed that earth tones were fashionablefor them, particularly a rusty fox red. Bloused sleeves and trous legs were even more extravagant for the men than in regular day wear, and instead of knee-high boots, most noble-menwore ankle boots—including a dagger sheath and weapon.

“There are a lot of weapons in this room,” she muttered to herself. Even some women wore jeweled sword or blaser belts. Dufleur considered herself a thinker, not a fighter. Nothing in all of Celtan society emphasized their ancient Earthan roots more than all those weapons.

“The weapons are mostly those made by T’Ash, another luxury decorative object to flaunt,” Passiflora D’Holly said.

“I know T’Ash better now, and I’m quite sure that he doesn’t craft mediocre weapons.”

Passiflora gave a little sigh. “Very true.” She watched the crowd gather, new arrivals enter the chamber, and Dufleur thought she shivered with delight.

How wonderful. Dufleur would much rather be back in her lab. But this was business for her—business and pleasure for Passiflora, but just plain business for Dufleur.

That was her last simple thought, as women surged toward them, greeting Passiflora and being introduced to Dufleur. Great excitement seemed to emanate from everyone, and only a couple of people “felt” malicious. More relief. She didn’t think she had the skills to deal with mean people. She only hoped she could watch those more sophisticated than she so she could pick up some tips. Or maybe Passiflora’s grace and charm would rub off. Dufleur suppressed a not-so-ladylike snort at that notion.

“Smile,” Passiflora said, with a whisking of her eyelashes and a charming, amused curve of her lips that Dufleur knew she’d never be able to master. She grinned.

Passiflora blinked. “I’ve never seen such a . . . grim . . . smile.”

With a burst of honesty, Dufleur said, “I’m being tortured here.”

Rippling, lovely laughter escaped Passiflora, drawing many gazes to them. Dufleur cringed inwardly.

Then the lady patted Dufleur on the shoulder, her gesture at odds with her coolly lifted eyebrow. “All you must do tonight is enjoy yourself like your Fam is doing.”

Dufleur repressed a shudder at Passiflora’s words. If she wanted to enjoy herself, she’d be alone in her laboratory. Fairyfootwas currently inspecting the musicians and touching noses with Trif Winterberry’s kitten, who sat upright in a basket.

Old GreatLady D’Alder had stared in disbelief at Fairyfoot, when the cat had insisted on an introduction in the receiving line, then used her as an excuse to retire. AlderHeir, her equally old sister, started, blinked, but her HeartMate had bent down and stroked Dufleur’s Fam. AlderHeir just shook her head and waved the animal on, then stepped aside to a companion to mutterabout antiallergy spells on the ballroom and dining room. She didn’t seem to think the one Dufleur had bespelled Fairyfootwith would be enough.

“Truly, Dufleur,” Passiflora said. “Converse a little, dance a lot. Listen to the music. I promise you, it won’t be difficult. Here’s Holm now to be your first partner.”

Holm greeted his mother with a bow and a kiss on both her hands. “Darling Mamá.” He winked at Dufleur, bowed with a bit more flourish as if singling her out. “May I have this dance?”

“Please,” she choked out.

“My pleasure.” He put her hand on his arm, looked around the room, and heaved a sigh. “The first ball of the social season and already I am taken for granted as HollyHeir again and old news.”

His mother tensed beside him. “Thank you for making the rounds with your father and me to the New Year’s parties.”

Lowering his voice, he said, “Mamá, it was Lark’s and my pleasure. I adore you. I love my father. Lark likes you both.”

Horribly uncomfortable at overhearing this, Dufleur studied the guests coming in. Saille T’Willow finished his greeting to the hostess, stepped away from the receiving line, and met her eyes with an intense blue gaze. She found herself staring at him, his broad shoulders in the midnight blue coat, the bloused trous that could not entirely conceal the muscularity of his thighs. He looked different. Polished. Sophisticated. Out of her league.

She wrenched her stare away from him, looked toward the small stage set for the musicians. They stood or sat, watching the line of guests diminish. Trif Winterberry glanced uncertainlyat Passiflora, as if she wasn’t sure when to strike up the first dance.

But Passiflora continued to focus on Holm. He was saying, “Lark will be here later, I have her word.”

“Tinne?” Passiflora asked.

“He’ll be here, and Father will arrive a few minutes after dinner to take you ladies home, as we strategized,” Holm soothed.

“Genista?” Passiflora said in a small voice.

Dufleur glanced at her. She’d never heard Passiflora so uncertain.

Holm closed his eyes, gave the tiniest shake of his head. “She didn’t change her mind.”

“Trif Winterberry needs your advice, Passiflora,” Dufleur blurted, thinking she couldn’t bear seeing the loving Hollys hurt.

Passiflora drew in a breath, relaxed, smiled with charm that even made it to her eyes. She glanced at Trif, then at the receivingline and the hostess, and lifted two fingers.

With a single note of her Flaired silver flute, Trif Winterberryalerted the guests that the dancing was starting. Six beats later she initiated a slow waltz.

The hostess and host, AlderHeir and her HeartMate, swept out onto the floor. They were the oldest of the FirstFamiles, and both seemed slightly frail, but as he whirled her onto the floor and she looked into his eyes, the HeartBond love they shared filled the room.

The waltz ended after a single playing of the melody, and the Alders stopped at one end of the floor. “We are pleased to announce that Passiflora D’Holly has graced us with a new Grand March. Let the social season begin!” AlderHeir declared,with a look at Trif Winterberry.

All the instruments sounded together in the first notes of the stately dance. Dufleur clutched Holm’s arm. He patted her hand. “Easy, we all start dancing at the end of the first refrain.”

Quert Apple, Passiflora’s brother, owner of the Enlli Gallery, smiled at Dufleur and offered his sister his arm. Dufleur figured the Apple Family was completely involved in Passiflora’s plan, too.

Couples moved to stand in the opening lines. Dufleur observedthat they were all arranged according to rank. She sent a discreet glance around the room and saw that not all danced. Saille T’Willow had collected several people around him, includingsome young women, and was deep in conversation. That shouldn’t have bothered Dufleur, but it did.