First one man, then another, then another, asks me to dance. I am twirled and curtsied around the length and width of the room. Mama would be so proud to see the lessons I threw fits about attending paying off so well. I laugh and make charming remarks. Why yes, I do love tropical flowers, why no, not everyone from Melei is as fair of skin as I am and in fact I envy them their darker shade, why yes, I am here to further my studies.
My partners are all charmed by my “exotic beauty.” I do not feel exotic. I feel strange and small and false, but I smile and smile and smile.
This building is a wonder. Not even the cold night can get through the glass, fogged with steam. Everything glows in a bright haze of progress, and I think I understand why Albion assumes it does the rest of the world a favor by installing itself and its standards wherever it lands. If they can bring the hot, green glory of Melei here, why can they not bring the rigid structure and social “progress” of Albion there?
One man, in his late teens with ginger hair and clever eyes, asks me to dance several times. I can tell he is pleased with his own deviance, happy to be the focal point of the room when I am on his arm. I don’t like being used that way, but he is pleasant and a good conversationalist.
“And how do you find the school?” he asks.
“Well, seeing as it’s always in the same location, it’s never very difficult to find.”
He laughs, delighted, and I can’t help but really smile. “Are all women from your island this charming?”
“Far more so, sir. That’s why they sent me here. I was a blight on the whole village.”
“I cannot imagine you being a blight on anything.”
Another man, this one older but indistinguishable from the last three with his well-trimmed mustache and slick-combed hair, taps my shoulder to cut in. I would rather turn them both down—I am out of breath and near dizzy from the heat and the spinning.
“If I may?” the older gentleman asks. My ginger-haired suitor looks disappointed and oddly worried. But he nods.
The new man smiles at me and I have the briefest impression of sharp teeth and sharper eyes, though when I shake my head to clear it his teeth are perfectly normal and there’s nothing remarkable about his face.
“I’m afraid I have to steal her away now,” a soft voice says next to me. I turn to find a woman I’ve never met, young and fair with reddish curls, her dress shimmering silver. “My brother, Ernest, has been monopolizing her. He can be quite selfish that way. If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, I’ve promised to show her the outer rooms and at this rate the sun will rise before she makes it off the dance floor.”
My foiled new dance partner bows to us, and my savior takes my gloved hand and puts it through her arm. Ernest gives his sister a glare softened with a smile.
She leads me away from the press of bodies in the center of the room. I try not to scan for Finn. I do not need to see him; I know he’s seen me. Everyone has seen me.
“Now then,” the girl says, “I’ve been watching you for some time and, seeing as how this gala is the first I’ve planned, I’d feel simply awful if someone were to pass out from overexertion. They’d never let me be in charge again. My brother, bless him, would dance you into the floor.”
I laugh, my throat raw. “I cannot thank you enough. Nor can my feet in these wretched heels.”
“I admire your courage, coming to the gala knowing how you would stand out.” She must feel me stiffen, because she hurries on. “I don’t mean to offend. Unlike many of my lovely associates.” She smiles at two women who hold fans over their faces and lean in to whisper as we pass. “I mean, I cannot imagine what it must be like to enter a room and know beyond a doubt that everyone will notice you. The very thought sets me to the edge of panic. But here you come to a new land and allow no one to tell you that you cannot stand out. Well done.”
“And if I admit tonight is among the worst of my life?”
“Is my brother really that terrible a dancer?” She laughs as I stammer to correct her, and shakes her head. “I know he’s awful. But I will proudly inform you that no one here would ever have guessed you were unhappy, so you have played your part to perfection.” Her face is narrow, the features too pinched to be traditionally pretty, but her eyes are clever and a beautiful pale color. I can certainly see the resemblance between her and Ernest.
“That is a relief. Now I would like to find somewhere quiet and hidden to sit and be unnoticed by anyone.”
“I can do that, as well. I’m Eleanor. I should have mentioned that sooner. My uncle is the Earl of South Deacon. He granted me the favor of being the planner for this event.”
I squeez
e her arm. “It’s incredible. Granted, I haven’t much to compare it to, but I cannot imagine a finer celebration.”
“I knew I was right to rescue you. Now, take a drink.” She turns me toward a long, white-covered table manned by a row of servants and covered with glasses of sparkling amber liquid. “Then wander until you find one of the quiet side rooms unattended by men looking to dance with the talk of the evening. Here is my card—” She slips me a tiny rectangle of thick paper. “I want you to visit me next week after your feet have recovered from this evening. I will take you to dinner to thank you for giving people something to gossip about. They’ll speak of tonight’s tropical flower of a girl for weeks and remember what a resounding success I am.”
I put my hand against my forehead, closing my eyes. “Was I that terrible?”
“No! You were that wonderful. Now go and hide.” She waves me away with a smile that lights up her face and I return it, surprisingly gratified to have made a friend. It is a small balm to the humiliation of tonight.
Drink in hand, I read the address on her card, then take the first trail that appears to lead away from the vast main space of the conservatory. Through one room dominated by lilies and another so saturated with the scent of roses I can scarcely breathe, I find one that, to my delight, is filled with fire-petals in full bloom.
I sink onto a bench in the corner, wondering how unforgivable a gaffe removing my shoes would be. I cannot make any stranger of an impression than I already have, so I slip them off and stretch my toes. I sip at my drink, wrinkling my nose at the bubbles. They tickle my raw throat, and I drink more.
If Eleanor is correct, whomever Finn dines or speaks with over the next few weeks will bring me up in conversation. He may have meant to mock me, or meant for others to, but regardless of their assessment I will be inescapable. I hope he is utterly plagued by my memory.