Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

I had to dance.

Dance with a man.

*~*~**~*~*

Six or seven minutes later, a young officer approached me and bowed. Colonel Malcolm. I remembered him from Sir Philip’s flood of introductions. Somewhere behind him I could see a few others, among them Lieutenant Ellingham, laughing quietly. ‘Miss Linton? May I have the honour of the next dance?’

The officer braced himself for the rebuff.

‘Yes.’

He stared at me, evidently taken aback.

‘Really?’

I pulled a face. ‘Yes, really. I said yes, didn’t I?’

‘Umm… yes, you did. It’s just…’

I rolled my eyes at him.

‘Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’

The music began to play. Getting to my feet, I grabbed the surprised officer by the hand and hauled him onto the dance floor, while his friends watched in awed amazement.

‘Are you wearing good, solid boots?’ I asked.

‘Boots?’ The young man looked at me with mounting confusion. ‘Yes, Miss. Why?’

‘Because I’ve never danced before in my life and I will probably step on your feet half the time. I don't want you permanently injured.’

He grinned a little boy grin. ‘That’s all right. I don't mind. I’m a cavalry officer you know? Had a horse step on my foot three times already. You don't think you’re heavier than a horse, do you?’

Suddenly realizing what he had said, he blushed.

‘Begging your pardon, Miss. I didn’t mean to imply that… well…’

Unwillingly, I had to grin back. This might just not be such an ordeal after all.

‘Hmm…’ I replied, pretending to contemplate the question. ‘No, I don’t think I’m quite as heavy as a horse. But nearly.’

He smiled, relieved. ‘Then I shall take care with every step I take.’

We danced. It didn’t turn out to be that terrible. Colonel Malcolm was - for a man - relatively quiet and well-behaved. He pointed me into the right direction without forcing me and didn’t complain when I trampled on his toes. When we were done with the quadrille, he bowed to me in a very gentlemanly manner and said with a light smile that this had been a very novel experience.

My next partners were not quite so agreeable. While my aunt watched from the shadows of the potted plants, I wrestled with various men who seemed to think dancing consisted of pushing around the female like a piece on a chessboard. Whenever they would get too overbearing, I would make good use of my heel and aim a solid kick at the gentleman’s feet, or use my fan to prod them in the ribs. This elicited very satisfying groans from the male monsters. In that way, I got through about an hour of dancing. Sweat was beginning to trickle down my forehead. I threw a pleading glance at my aunt.

She shook her head.

So I smiled at the next g

entleman and said yes, he could have the honour of this dance. The fight was beginning to go out of me. My kicks became increasingly feeble. After another half hour, I turned to my aunt again, this time clasping my hands in supplication.

She considered a moment - then nodded.

Thank the Lord! I was free. What bliss.

Staggering to a chair near the refreshment tables, I flopped down on it and leaned back, closing my eyes. Whoever knew dancing could be so exhausting? If this was what you had to do in order to catch yourself an eligible bachelor, I wondered at the fact that not more ladies had decided to try and go find a job of their own. Compared with this, even working for Mr Stoneface Ambrose looked like a piece of chocolate cake.