#will grahams sass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldenlaurelleaveswrites · 2 years

Text

Chords and Courtship ch 11

La Valse de L'Amour

Chords and Courtship (AO3)

Sorry for the long wait everyone and thank you for your patience! I needed to take a bit of a break from this, and then when I got back to it this chapter turned into a bit of a beast. 😅 Now for a little bit of housekeeping before we get started, I'm so close to finishing Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe, so once I get The Weight the Mask updated, I'm going to be focusing my energy there to try and get it done before January. So updates may be a little slower for this story, but I promise it isn't being abandoned!

With the housekeeping out of the way, grab a snack and/or beverage, because this is a long one! I hope you enjoy! 💖💖💖

______________________________________________________

She leaned closer to the mirror as she tilted her head, checking to ensure her curls were properly arranged. Behind her, Alya was slipping her orange gown over her head, not missing a beat in the lecture she had been giving her for the past quarter of an hour. She had managed to avoid Alya, and as consequence her interrogation and lecture yesterday. But she would have been a fool to think she wouldn't hear about it...

“…it would have been perfect. An entire evening with Adrien! But you ran off! It was so awkward after you left- and I had to try and find an excuse. I still don’t understand what possessed you to run off like that. And into a storm! And believe my surprise when I came by yesterday morning only to find you never made it home…”

She sighed as she stepped back from the mirror, satisfied with her hair. She still had to add the ornaments to it, but she would do that once she had her gown on.

“Marinette?” her attention snapped away from the mirror and back to Alya, who was now facing her.

“I’m sorry, Alya, but I just… I couldn’t,” she mumbled before adding, “And I did not appreciate the trick-“

“It wasn’t a trick!” Alya protested, despite the fact that it had indeed been a trick. “Besides, given the way you’ve been acting lately, you’ll never make any progress if we don’t-“

“Why don’t I help you with your gown?” Before Alya could respond, she had stepped behind her. Quickly and in silence she fastened the hooks into the eyes and began tightening the drawstrings.

She didn’t want to have this argument again. She didn’t want to be thinking of Adrien tonight. Not when…

“Your turn now,” Alya said as she plucked her new ballgown from the clothes press. Carefully, she slipped into it, mindful not to dislodge the curls piled and pinned atop her head. Once it was securely fasted, she crossed to admire herself in her mirror. Alya’s grinning face appeared beside her in the reflection. “I didn’t think this would be a colour you would choose. I’ve never seen you wear it before. It suits you.”

Despite her annoyance with Alya, she smiled. “Thank you.” She couldn’t have been happier with it. It was absolutely perfect. “We should finish getting ready."

Alya agreed eagerly.

The next few minutes passed with idle chatter. Chatter she adamantly steered away from the topic of Adrien whenever it veered close. And despite Alya’s best efforts, she was successful. Until the end.

“Adrien won’t be able to take his eyes off you tonight! I just know it!” Alya smiled as she adjusted the last pin in her hair. She had been able to place the hair ornaments — ones she had made specially to go with her gown—at the front and sides. But she had needed Alya to help her with the back. “But I am surprised at your choice.”

“Oh?”

“I thought cherry blossoms were your favourite.”

She shrugged as she pulled on her long, white gloves. “Tastes change,” she said absently, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. The completed look was more than she had hoped for.

“Oh, I cannot wait!” Alya squealed. “To think, we are finally going to a ball at the Chateau d’Estoiles!”

“Marinette!” Her mother’s voice chimed from the doorway. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Alya looked at her, but she simply shrugged in response.

“Coming, maman.” She followed her mother into her parents’ room and watched as her mother began rummaging through her jewelry box. “Maman?”

But her mother didn’t say anything. She just continued to rummage through the box. Finally, her mother pulled out a fabric pouch. Her heart quickened as her mother loosed the drawstring.

“Maman!” she gasped. “Your pearls?” The necklace was a precious item, rarely worn. And only for the most special of occasions. It had been given to her mother when she married, and in her life, she had only seen her mother wear it a handful of times.

Her mother turned to her, smiling softly, and nodded. “Tonight is a special night.”

Tentatively, she reached out to touch the pearls but stopped short. “Are you sure?”

Her mother nodded again, unclasping the necklace as she moved to stand behind her. “Of course, darling. Now, let me,” she said softly before draping the necklace around her throat.

The pearls were cool against her skin, and her mother's fingers were warm and comforting as she secured the clasp. When her mother was done, she turned her around.

Her mother’s smile was affectionate. And a little watery.

“Maman…?”

Her mother took a breath in and then reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re growing up so fast. I don’t know if your father and I are ready for it.”

“You said tonight was a special night…”

Her mother nodded; her smile was soft. “It isn’t Adrien, is it?” It wasn’t truly a question. But she shook her head in answer anyway.

“Marinette?” Alya’s voice floated into the room from across the hall. “Can you come help me with my necklace?”

“Go on, darling.”

She was two steps across the room when she turned back and pulled her mother into a tight hug. “Thank you, maman,” she whispered.

***

He huffed as he fumbled his cravat once again. His hands were shaking so much, from both nerves and anticipation, that the silky fabric kept slipping between his fingers. That had been his third attempt to tie it. And his third failure.

From where he was leaning against the clothes press, Longg laughed, watching him without a care in the world. His valet was enjoying this entirely too much.

“Believe it or not,” he muttered as he took the ends of his cravat in his hands for the fourth time, “but that is not helping.”

“You did not ask me to help.”

“Nor did I ask you to enjoy the show…” he grumbled.

Longg laughed again. But then he pushed himself from the clothes press and crossed to stand in front of him. Brushing his hands away, Longg took the cravat and made quick work of tying it artfully around his neck. Smirking the entire time.

“I don’t know who is worse, you or Sass…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Luka,” Longg said as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “We all know it is Kaalki.”

“That is true,” he admitted. He turned to check his appearance in the mirror.

He had chosen his best attire for the occasion. It only seemed fitting. And if he wanted to look his best for Marinette… could anyone blame him? He shifted, appraising his reflection with care. The dark blue brocade of his waistcoat and the even deeper blue of his tailcoat suited him well. And though the shades were far too dark, they still somehow reminded him of Marinette’s eyes…

Yet he could not help but feel something was missing.

He dropped his gaze as he fiddled with the buttons of the cuffs of his coat. “What time is it, Longg?”

“Ten minutes since you asked me last.”

Heat flared through his face. He had tried to keep his voice casual and light. But Longg’s tone made it clear he had seen right through him. “That’s all it has been?” Why was it that time was edging by so slowly? It was cruel how the time had slipped away so quickly that evening in the music room when now, it was crawling by.

“Your guests will arrive soon enough, Luka.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I only wish-“ A knocking at the door interrupted him. He frowned. Kaalki and Sass would be run off their feet right now, trying to prepare everything with the arrival of the guests so imminent. “Who is it?”

“Me,” Juleka replied flatly. “Are you decent?”

“I- yes-“ she was barging in before he had even finished his sentence.

She gave him an appraising look before smiling. “You look good.”

“Thank you, you do as well.” And she did. She had opted for a gown of black lace and sparkling jet beads. Many would find it untraditional—some might even say unsuitable—for a ball. But for his sister, it was perfect.

“I brought you this.” She held out her hand to him. Silver flashed in the palm of her hand.

With quiet reverence, he took the pin from her hand. “Where did you…”

“I wrote to ma. She sent it. We both- we all thought you would appreciate having it with you.”

He nodded quietly as he turned the kilt pin over in his hands. It had been his grandfather’s and his great-grandfather’s before that, going back along the Couffaine family tree. It had lost its lustre long before he had been born, tarnished by time and use. But that made it all the more precious.

He rubbed his thumb over the worn engraving of the family motto. “Thank you, Jules,” he murmured as he pinned the crest onto the lapel of his tailcoat. Right over his heart. “This… you know what it means.”

“I do,” she said quietly. Her smile was soft, but there was a flash in her eye. “It is about time you had it-“ she was interrupted by a knock on the door. A dangerously innocent smile crept across her face. “Oh, good. Come in!”

The door opened, and a rather harried-looking Kaalki entered. Followed closely by Sass.

“Good! You are all ready, and you look perfect! The perfect host and hostess!” Juleka snorted but was quick to cover it with her hand.

“Did you bring the-“

“Yes, of course, just as you requested.”

What had Juleka requested?

“Here, Luka,” Kaalki said as she hurried over to him. Over her head, he caught Sass and Longg exchanging smirks. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but in her hands were- “There,” she said proudly, as she arranged the sprigs so that they were nestled against his lapel, held in place by the kilt pin.

He turned, and looked at his reflection once more. The colour was soft against the deep blue of his tailcoat and the tarnished silver of the pin. They were exactly what he had been missing.

***

The moment she stepped through the doors of Luka’s home, she was left breathless.

She had been at the estate only the day before last, and yet everything was so different now. She couldn’t muster words as she walked beside Alya and her parents, who were all gasping and remarking on the beauty of the house with delight.

The remnant golden light of the setting sun slanted through the windows and glass doors, mingling with the light of the flickering candles in the chandeliers and candelabras. The light reflected off of the silver mirrors that had been polished to a shine and placed around the walls of the room, casting the room in a soft glow. The crystal that dripped from the chandelier and candelabras sparkled in the light, adding a shimmering, dreamlike veil to the already glowing room.

Everywhere she looked, there was shining silver and shimmering crystal. And flowers…

Vases overflowing with flowers that scented the air with their sweet perfume occupied every available surface.

Her eyes drifted over the flower arrangements; soft hues of pink and blue and white and… their flowers. In the centre of every arrangement, there were sprigs of their flowers.

She clutched her hands to her heart, which was flickering like the flame of a candle.

“Look!” Alya gasped, tugging at her arm.

She drew her gaze up to the ceiling to follow Alya’s.

The light seemed to gather in the silver and gold in the mural painted on the ceiling. The celestial mural was already breathtaking. But in the flickering light of the candles, the stars and figures of the constellations almost seemed to move.

She let her gaze drop from the ceiling as Alya tugged her further into the room. She floated along behind her friend, her eyes roaming to take everything in. The doors to the drawing and dining rooms were thrown open wide; guests dressed in their finest were flitting between the rooms, gossiping and chattering. She could hear her parents quietly commenting on what they saw to each other, but their voices were quickly swallowed by the voices of the crowd already gathering.

And by the music.

Music floated lazily through the air; the melody was gentle and inviting. There was something so achingly familiar about the music, though she knew she had never heard the song before.

But she could almost hear Luka’s voice in the melody.

She could almost hear the way he spoke so softly and gently, so earnestly and honestly.

She knew it was his music.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for dark hair and star-bright eyes. She rose onto her toes to try and look through the crowds as she blindly followed Alya to wherever it was she was leading her.

“Marinette,” she blinked at Alya in surprise, drawn out of her search by her friend’s hiss. Alya rolled her eyes and smiled knowingly. “Adrien and Nino are this way. Come on.”

“But-“

“I told you; tonight will be perfect. Adrien will have to take notice of you,” Alya whispered before plastering a bright smile on her face as they came to a stop in front of Nino and Adrien. “Nino,” Alya said softly, smiling at her fiancé before brightly adding, “Adrien! Is this not looking to be a most spectacular ball?”

Adrien laughed easily as he and Nino both bowed to them. “It is indeed! This is all very impressive, I must say…”

As subtly as she could, she craned her neck to continue her search for Luka in the crowd. The room was rapidly filling with guests, and she did not want to miss him.

But she could not see him anywhere.

There was a flash of blue by the door to the dining room. But it was gone before she was sure she had truly seen it.

Several of the staff, who were attending to guests with bottles of champagne, caught her eye. All of them broke their polite smiles to offer her genuine ones. Several of those smiles felt knowing. Like they knew who she was searching the crowd for.

“…is it not, Marinette?”

“Hmm?” She glanced quickly at her friends. Alya was staring at her with furrowed brows and the beginning of an exasperated frown on her face. “I beg your pardon,” she said, even as she let her eyes wander once more about the crowd in search of him, “what was it you were asking?”

“Is it not good to finally see the inside of this place? I have been so curious.” The whole town had been when the rumours had first flown, and of all the townspeople, Alya’s curiosity had been insatiable.

“Yes, it is wonderful to see it like this,” she murmured.

Alya’s eyes sparked. “And would it not be wonderful to see the room from the dance floor? What do you think, Adrien?” Of course, Alya would try something like-

Across the room, the crowd almost seemed to part, and her mind broke off mid-thought as Luka’s eyes met hers.

He was already making his way toward her, and all she could do was drink in his appearance as he drew close. He was like an angel who had just stepped out of a dream; his dark hair glinted in the light, and his smile was quiet but magnetic. She could feel the pull of that smile on her heartstrings. And in such deep shades of blue, his eyes shone all the brighter. Or perhaps it was the darkness of his hair or his smile that made them shine so bright…

Her heart paused in its fluttering when she saw the splash of soft purple, pale against the dark blue of his tailcoat.

He was wearing their flowers…

“…nette?”

The world dropped away.

There was only him.

Even the sounds of the party and the music were nothing but muffled noise.

All she could hear was her heart beating. Racing. Dancing in her chest.

“…ette?”

“Marinette.”

His voice was so soft, so quiet.

His words had been spoken for her ears only.

Her breath caught in her throat as he bowed to her, looking up at her with bright eyes and a gentle smile from under a curtain of dark hair.

“Lu-“

“M. Couffaine.”

She jumped at the sound of Alya’s voice, suddenly so loud in what had felt only seconds ago like such soft stillness. She had almost forgotten herself. Forgotten they were not alone…

His eyes lingered on her, giving her a glorious, quiet smile before breaking his gaze to look at Alya. “Mlle. Césaire,” he said with a bow before nodding to the others. “Adrien, Nino, it is good to see you all here. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Nino said, waving to the room around them. “You know how to host a ball.”

Luka chuckled at that, and she had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling like a fool at the way the tips of his ears turned pink.

“I assure you, I can take very little credit for this. But I will be sure to pass your words on to my butler and housekeeper. They are the ones to thank for all of this.”

“Will the dancing be starting soon?” Adrien asked.

The pink crawled down from his ears to tinge his cheeks as he nodded, and her heart began to flutter again. “Yes, very soon.” Her heart didn’t know if it should race faster or stop entirely when he caught her eye again.

Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, and she couldn’t bring herself to be bothered to try and will it away. There was something altogether wonderful about the warmth in her face when it was brought on by Luka.

“Wonderful!” Alya clapped her hands together decisively. “Who were you going to ask to dance the first set with you, Adrien?” Alya’s words were so very obviously a ploy.

But she was not at all bothered.

Because Luka was smiling at her.

And he was holding out his hand to her.

“Will you dance the first set with me?” he asked quietly.

Alya was suddenly silent for a moment, then she began to splutter. She thought maybe she heard Nino gasp. Perhaps not. She did not care.

Because just like Alya and the rest of her friends, she knew what it meant that Luka, their host, was asking her for the first set.

“Yes,” she said softly as she placed her hand in his.

And she smiled, just for him.

***

Were it not for the feeling of her hand tucked in his arm, he would have thought he was dreaming.

From the moment the crowd had parted and he had seen her standing at the other end of the room, reality had slipped away from him. The world had stopped spinning the moment her eyes had locked with his.

There had been nothing but her. Nothing but the way her hair glinted and gleamed in the light. Nothing but the way her eyes shimmered brightly against her flushed cheeks. Nothing but the curve of her rosebud smile.

Nothing but the pounding of his heart with every step he had taken toward her.

And then he had been standing in front of her.

He had been utterly breathless. He had thought seeing her in her borrowed blue gown was the most breathless he would ever be in his life. But, as he was learning, when it came to falling in love with her, he was not bothered when proven wrong.

And though she had left him utterly breathless, he had still managed to ask her for the first set. And when she had slipped her hand into his, his heart had soared. And when he had tucked her hand into the crux of his elbow, keeping her hand in his the entire time, the smile she had given him had filled his head with lilac clouds.

Lilac clouds that were the same shade as her gown. And the flowers in her hair. And the flowers pinned to his chest.

Right over his heart.

They were-

He still did not understand the meaning of the flowers. At least, not the meaning Juleka—and what felt like the rest of the world—was keeping from him. But he did know one thing.

They were their flowers.

And seeing the little sprigs of lilac—made so lovingly because she did everything with her whole heart— nestled amongst her curls, pale and delicate against the dark canvas of her hair... it was impossible not to smile.

He was grinning as a fool, still floating in lilac clouds as they took their place at the head of the line. Her hand remained in his as she slipped away from his side to take her place across from him. He had not let go of her hand since she had placed it in his, and he had no intention of doing so, despite what propriety might demand.

And was it really such a sin to hold her hand in his as they waited for the music to start?

As if in answer, the idle music he had written to be played as guests first arrived faded. The silence was filled with the beating of his racing heart. And then the music started, signalling the beginning of the first set.

Her face furrowed in confusion as the first notes played. “A waltz?”

He smiled at her as he rose from his bow and stepped beside her into stance for the Marche. “Tradition may say we open with a country dance,” he murmured as he drew their joined hands in front of them and reached behind her to clasp the other. “But some traditions need not be followed. And…” His breath hitched in his throat as his hand brushed against the small of her back as he found her other hand. “I have found myself rather partial to waltzes these past weeks.”

She glanced up over her shoulder at him as they started the first steps. Her smile was all it took for him to stumble.

But his fumble didn’t cause her smile to falter.

If anything, her smile grew.

“As have I.”

He almost stopped. He would have been perfectly content to just stand there in the centre of the room with her in his arms.

But this song… it was meant to be danced to.

He had written it for that purpose.

And it would be a shame to waste it.

Especially when he had been so looking forward to dancing this waltz with her.

He let the music carry him as he led Marinette. They floated through the steps as he drowned in blue eyes and lilac clouds.

There was nothing but the music, and there was nothing but her.

His heart was beating in triple time, discordant with the slow sweep of the music. And yet, it was somehow so perfect, so right.

She was still looking up at him over her shoulder. But she let her gaze drop. Just for a moment. And then she was peeking up at him through her lashes. “The music…”

The music shifted as her voice trailed off. And as it did, he released the hand at her back to allow her to spin into the next posture. He gave her other hand, still clasped in his, a gentle squeeze. Her eyes widened, and a small gasp slipped out of her lips as his hand found her waist as she spun to face him. The sound made his heart quiver. And then she smiled. It was a radiant and sweet smile. One that made her eyes put the stars to shame.

Butterflies erupted in his stomach as her hand found its place on his waist.

As steadily as he could, he guided their hands to the space above their heads, mindful not to raise them too high lest he cause her discomfort.

Even when their hands crossed his vision, he did not break eye contact.

It was impossible to tell if the room around them was spinning or if it was frozen as they floated through the swirling steps. The only measure of time was the music and his heart. Colours and light spun around them. But he paid it no mind. How could he when Marinette was smiling at him like that?

How could he when they were dancing as effortlessly as two notes coming together to form a dyad?

“The music…” her voice was breathy and soft. Despite how close they already were, he could not resist pulling her just a little closer as he leaned down. Her eyes sparkled, even as she ducked her head to hide the giddy smile making its way across her face. “It’s beautiful. It reminds me of…” she laughed as fresh colour flooded her face. “It may sound foolish, but it reminds me of the woods. And…” her eyes met his once more, and his knees wobbled. “And lilacs…”

He swallowed thickly. “I- I am glad that is what it makes you think of. That is what I thought of when I wrote it.” He was drowning in summer skies and endless bluebells. “I have not told you this yet tonight…” Everything was so fuzzy and warm. So much like a dream. And she was so…

The delicate purple of her gown made the blue of her eyes even bluer and brighter, like sapphires full of light. And at the same time, it made her lips and flushed cheeks rosier. The mix of pink and blue that came together to create the colour of her gown was the best of both colours. It held the warmth of the pink he had associated with her from the moment he first saw her and the soft clarity of the blue that resided in her eyes.

“You have not told me?” she asked timidly, expectantly.

What had he… Thoughts, let alone words were so so difficult when she was looking up at him like that. The only clarity he could find was in her eyes, bright under her sweep of dark lashes. But with the way she was biting her lip, pulling his gaze… thoughts were difficult…. She was so… “I-I have not told you this tonight,” he stumbled through his words as he fought to break through the blissful haze in his mind, “but you are beautiful.”

The pink in her cheeks grew brighter; she ducked her head as she let out a breathless laugh. But there was a pleased little smile on her face. “Thank you.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, and her smile turned utterly beguiling. “You look handsome. Not that you aren’t usually handsome. I mean, you always look handsome, but tonight you are even more handsome! And I-“ her words died in a squeak. Her cheeks were impossibly pinker, and her smile flustered. But it was just as beguiling as she gazed up at him. His own face was warm once more, and he was fairly certain his heart had stopped entirely. “I like your pin!” Her voice had come out too high, and her smile turned shy. But she still did not look away. And for that, he was grateful. “It’s a clarsach?”

“I…” Words. What were they? She thought him handsome. He had- he had known that. He had seen her drawing of him. But… “Y- yes, it is. It is my family’s crest.”

“It’s beautiful…” she murmured. “What do the words say?”

“Veritas in cantu et canticum in corde . It means truth in song and song in heart. It is my family’s motto.”

“It is fitting for you, then,” she giggled. “My family does not have a motto, but if my father could choose one, I think it would be ‘as the dough rises,’ or something silly like that.” He laughed along with her. But he could not help but fixate on the sound of her laugh and how it made him wonderfully dizzy and weak in the knees. “I haven’t seen you wear it before.”

“It’s been in Scotland, with my ma for- well, perhaps safekeeping is not the correct term.” When she looked at him in confusion he added, “She is a wild woman of the seas and moors. She is far from careless, but she is not precious with most things. But she was holding on to this for me. It is a family heirloom,” he said, looking down at the tarnished silver. “It was my grandfather’s and his father’s before that and so on. Juleka thought it was time I had it though, so she wrote to our ma.”

“Why did you not have it before? Oh, I’m sorry,” she yelped when his cheeks flushed, “was that rude? I didn’t mean-“

“It is fine,” he said softly. “I was just not ready for it. Not while we were travelling and unsettled.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but with the prying eyes and ears of the guests around them—he could feel them on them—he did not want to discuss at just what point in a Couffaine’s life the pin was passed down.

That was a conversation best kept for a moment of quiet. And privacy.

She bit her lip again, and he couldn’t help but fixate on the sight. He knew they were in a crowded room, surrounded by the entire village. But they felt so distant, like fog on the horizon.

It was so easy to imagine it was just them.

Just the two of them.

What would it be like to…

“Will you tell me about Scotland?” He blinked down at her as he tried to register her words in his mind. “What it was like? Growing up there? You told me of some of your travels and learning to play. But I was hoping to know more…”

There was still time left in the set.

Not enough to tell her all he wished to tell her.

But it was enough to start.

“We grew up on a farm where the loch meets the sea…”

***

She was lost in his eyes and his recounting of tales from his childhood. She could see the oceans and lochs of his childhood home in his eyes, flashing with the light of his memories. She could almost hear the music of his childhood and the sea breezes in his velvety voice; low and soft, his words were spoken just for her.

The music carried them as he led her through the familiar steps of the waltz. She had danced many waltzes before, but never one like this. Not even the first waltz she had danced with Luka could compare to this one. Something about his music breathed life into the measured and careful steps of the dance.

There was something exhilaratingly dizzying about this waltz. About gazing into his eyes as the world spun around them. Even when she stumbled over her words and rambled through her thoughts, she could not bring herself to break eye contact for more than a second. Every moment not spent drowning in his eyes was too long to bear.

He brushed a small circle against her hand, clasped in his and held over their heads in the space between them. The gesture was so oddly intimate it made her breath hitch. His eyes were glowing, but his smile was so quiet and gentle. The sight made her knees melt. And her heart...

What wondrous things that smile did to her heart.

Everything was soft and warm and right. There was nothing but him, his stories, and his music. It was just the two of them, and she didn’t want it to end.

But all too soon, the first set did come to an end.

As the last notes died in the air, she curtsied to him. And he bowed to her, as all the gentlemen bowed to ladies. But as he bowed over her hand, he glanced up at her through the hair that had slipped to fall into his face. His eyes were burning. And then, he kissed the back of her hand. He did not kiss the air just above her hand. He kissed her hand. It was featherlight; his lips just grazed the back of her gloved hand. But it was enough to make her knees buckle.

And then he was standing. He never once broke eye contact as he rose. He tucked her arm through his, and the spell snapped.

Suddenly, all the noise of the ball was back. They were no longer the only ones there. She could feel eyes on her, coming from all directions. And though she could not make out the whispers in the crowd, she knew that surely, at least some of those whispers were about her. Everyone knew what Luka had declared by dancing the first set with her, and the people of her village were wont to gossip.

But she did not care. She did not pay them any mind. She had far more wonderful things the focus on, like the phantom feeling of his lips on her hand and the way his voice made her heart flutter.

“Would you like something to drink?” Luka asked quietly. He was looking down at her unabashedly, with a quiet smile. “I noticed you were short on breath toward the end of the set.” He was so attentive and thoughtful. So considerate.

And though her breathlessness had nothing to do with being parched, she nodded. As badly as she wanted to dance the next set with him, there would be unwelcome talk that was more than just idle gossip if they danced three times together. And she had her heart on dancing the last set with him so that he would be her last memory of the ball.

Besides, sitting and sipping champagne with him while they talked would hardly be a hardship.

They made their way into the dining room, where refreshments had been laid out. She doubted her feet touched the ground even once as they made their way there, even with her knees feeling as weak as they were. They talked of everything and nothing. And when he complimented her dress and the flowers she had made for her hair, she would have floated away had it not been for the way her arm was tucked in his.

Once they had procured two flutes of champagne, he led her into the drawing room. It was just as loud as the other rooms the ball was being held in. Laugher from the billiards room and music from the hall floated through the doors. The sound a constant undercurrent to the ebb and flow of the talk and gossip of guests who had come to sit out the dances in comfort.

And somehow, even in all the noise, there was just him.

The bubbles of the champagne ticked at her throat as she took a sip. It was sharp and velvety, and its coolness was little to calm the blissful warmth in her face. She smiled down into the flute and watched the tiny bubbles rise and fall in the glass. The pale gold liquid reminded her of the effervescence that always filled her when she was with him.

She glanced up to meet his eyes. He hadn’t even touched his own glass of champagne. He was just watching her with a quiet and dreamy smile, one that that softened all the sharp angles and planes of his face into something devastatingly angelic.

“Luka?” She was careful to keep her voice quiet lest someone hear her being so familiar with him. But she could not help but address him by his name; it felt so right to say.

“Yes? Oh, sorry,” pink-tinged at his cheeks as reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I… I was wondering- hoping you would not mind if I stayed close to you this evening.” Her heart stilled at the shyness in his voice in in his smile. Surely, he had to know that was what she wanted. “I would very much like to spend as much of the evening with you as possible.”

“I would like that very much. Perhaps,” she said as she fumbled with her dance card. She had all but forgotten it in her awe at seeing the hall decorated for the ball. And when she had seen him… she had forgotten it entirely. She hadn’t even remembered to write him down in the slot for the first set she had been so-

Her eyes darted up to meet his once more as she unfurled the paper fan. Something in his face made her heart skip a beat—how was he able to make her heart flutter with such ease?—and the dance card slipped from her hand. “Oh, I’m so clumsy,” she groaned as she stooped to pick it up. But he was already kneeling, clasping the dance card in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His eyes glimmered like oceans at sunset in the flickering of the candlelight. Hues of gold touched bottomless blue. “Perhaps… perhaps you might save the last set for me?” His hand lingered on hers as he pressed the dance card back into her hand.

“I would like that very much,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Marinette.” They both jumped at the sound of the voice.

She turned in the direction of the voice, and her stomach dropped.

Flitting toward them, resplendent in silver silk, was Mme. Graham de Vanily. She could not stop her sharp inhale. Luka looked at her, concern welling in his eyes, but Mme. Graham de Vanily was upon them before she could even blink or try to gather her nerves.

She turned on Luka with a sweet smile that made her skin crawl. “I do not believe we have been introduced. Normally, I would have my dear son make introductions, but I believe we can manage a lapse in propriety this once, don’t you?”

“I… yes,” Luka said politely. But she did not miss the cautious edge in his voice. “Luka Couaffine,” he said, bowing over the hand Mme. Graham de Vanily extended to him.

“Amelie Graham de Vanily.”

“It is a pleasure.”

“Yes,” Mme. Graham de Vanily hummed, “It is. I believe you have already met my son, Felix? Was it not you he went riding with?”

“I did go riding with him, as well as-“

Mme. Graham de Vanily smiled. “That is my boy; such a kind and considerate man, making a newcomer to the village feel welcome.” She bit her tongue to keep herself from scoffing. She did not know how he did it, but Luka managed to maintain his polite smile. “I wonder if you could be so kind as to fetch me some champagne, M. Couffaine?” His gaze flickered toward her. And it seemed Mme. Graham de Vanily did not miss it. “Oh, do not worry, I will keep Marinette company. Now, off you go,” she simpered, shooing at him with her hands, leaving him no choice but to oblige.

As he walked away, he cast her a look over his shoulder. His brows were furrowed, and there was a promise in his eyes.

And then he disappeared into the crowd.

“Marinette.” Her gaze snapped away from the direction Luka had disappeared in. Mme. Graham de Vanily was gazing at her with a sickly sweet smile that sent the hairs on the back of her neck on end.

“Mme. Graham de Vanily,” she said as she dropped a curtsey. “H-how are you enjoying the ball?”

“How many times must I insist you call me Amelie, dear?”

“I’m sorry Mme- Amelie.” Her grip on her dance card tightened as Mme. Graham de Vanily gave her an approving smile. Felix’s mother put her on edge almost as much as Felix himself did. Mme. Graham de Vanily made no secret of her desire for her to allow Felix to court her.

“You look very beautiful tonight, Marinette,” she said, ignoring her question. “That hairstyle is very becoming on you. As is the colour of your gown, though I think silver would be even lovelier on you. And such fine needlework, though, of course,” she laughed, “that is to be expected of you.”

“I- thank you…”

Mme. Graham de Vanily’s eyes roved over her, appraising her. “And such a fine dancer you are, though I must say I was very disappointed you did not save the first set for my son. He is very smitten with you, you know.”

She fidgeted with the cord on her dance card. “I-“

Mme. Graham de Vanily sighed. “He is such a fine boy, my Felix. So clever and such a gentleman. But it can be difficult being such a high-ranking member of society. It does take its toll, you know.” Her pale green eyes flashed. “He will need a wife who can stand by his side. A lady with all the skills expected of a wife of a man of such rank. And, of course, she will need to be gracious. And beautiful.”

A swirling pit was forming in her stomach. She curled her hand tighter around her dance card to keep it from trembling and hid her other in her skirts as best as she could. “I am sure it will take time to find a lady such as he requires, then,” she said as evenly as she could, hoping Mme. Graham de Vanily did not notice the tremor in her voice.

Mme. Graham de Vanily’s smile morphed into the indulgent smile of someone entertaining a joke. “Oh my dear, you know he has already found the lady he will marry.”

A chill trickled down her spine. Where was Luka? Why was it taking him so long to fetch the champagne?

“I- I’m too young to marry.” The familiar excuse slipped out of her. She had given it too many times to count, but the note of desperation in her voice did not make her sound convincing.

Mme. Graham de Vanily tittered as if she had made a great jest. “Oh, my dear girl, your parents and I have been having that argument since you were sixteen. I would hardly say you are too young now. But your birthday is in July, is it not?” Her throat tightened. “Once you are twenty-one, you won’t need their consent. Though, of course, it is still desirable.”

“I-“

“But I am sure they will give you and Felix their blessings once you are of age, and they can no longer cling to the excuse of you being too young. I can understand how difficult the prospect of losing your only child is… Of course, when you move in, you will hardly be far from them.” Mme. Graham de Vanily’s smile shifted to a frown. An indulgent frown that made her sick. “I know you enjoy playing coy, but remember to be kind to him, dear. As much as he enjoys this game of yours too, a man can only be expected to be kept waiting so long.”

What was she to say to that? Mme. Graham de Vanily never heard her protests. Never entertained them. She choked on her words, desperately trying to think of something, anything to say that might convince Mme. Graham de Vanily that she had no interest in Felix. But it was as if there was a vice around her throat.

“Ah, mother, there you are.” The chill that had been trickling down her spine turned to solid ice at the voice. “And Marinette,” she turned to face Felix, who had a smug grin on his face.

“Oh yes, I thought Marinette and I might have a little talk; it has been such a long time,” Mme. Graham de Vanily said in her saccharine voice.

“I was looking for you before the dancing started.”

“Oh…” she said weakly. Desperately, her eyes darted around the ballroom, looking for any sign of Luka. A flash of deep blue caught her eye, but he was still a ways away…

“But I will dance the next set with you.”

Her nails bit into the palm of her hand, even through her glove. “That is very kind, but your mother and I-“

“Oh, do not be silly, dear. You do not wish to spend the entire evening talking with an old widow. You two go; enjoy your evening.” Mme. Graham de Vanily beamed at her as she shooed her toward Felix, who was holding out his hand expectantly. She turned back to face him, and over his shoulder, she caught Luka’s eyes.

He was frowning, his face creased with worry as he slipped through the crowd toward her. If she were to decline Felix’s invitation… Luka would understand. He would not begrudge her for it.

But…

But she had been looking forward to this evening ever since he had invited her. She had spent so much time on her new gown; she had spent so many hours dreaming of dancing with him. And one set was not enough. A thousand sets danced with him would not be enough…

If she wanted to dance with him again this evening…

She would not allow Felix to ruin her evening.

Reluctantly, she let Felix take her hand. As he started to lead her toward the hall, she shot Luka a look she hoped was reassuring. His face was still crumpled with concern. But even from a distance, she could see the glint of an idea in his eyes. She would recognize that glint anywhere; it was the same one he had had in the rain. When he had told her he was out riding with Juleka.

She didn’t know what he was planning, but that gleam in his eyes was enough reassurance to set her heart at ease. As much as was possible when she was with Felix.

“You look perfect tonight,” Felix said, jolting her from her thoughts as they took their place for the next set. Her skin crawled as he made no effort to hide the way his eyes raked up and down her figure. “Though,” he said, his face twisting in displeasure, “I think you should adorn yourself with something other than those flowers. Crystal beads would be better suited to you.”

She frowned. “I am rather fond of these flowers; they are my favourite. And I think they suit me rather well,” she sniffed.

“They are so… common. A lady such as yourself deserves jewels and other precious things,” he said as he bowed over her hand.

“I believe you and I have very different ideas about what makes something precious.”

“I think you will find-“

“Excellent, we made it just in time.” Her head snapped to the side. Luka had just joined the line of dancers, squeezing in between Felix and M. Barbot. He was bowing over Alix’s hand, but his eyes were trained on her.

The ice that had filled her melted at the warmth in his eyes. So that had been his plan… Despite being partnered with Felix, she smiled. Because of where he had positioned himself, Luka and Alix would be coupled with her and Felix when the pairs joined.

And even though she would only be dancing beside him, she would be able to imagine it was him she was dancing with.

***

A twinge of guilt had run through him as he had asked Mlle. Kubdel to dance; as the host, it would be rude of him not to dance, but his motivations were entirely selfish. And he had been unable to prevent his gaze from drifting to Marinette, even as he had asked.

But that twinge of guilt had dissipated when she coughed. Pointedly. He had forced his eyes back to her, only to find her smirking at him in a way that was eerily similar to the way Juleka smirked.

Any traces of guilt that might have lingered had disappeared entirely when she had declared she would dance with him, ‘seeing as it was safe, given he was obviously not trying to court her.’ And she had seemed to take great enjoyment from the disgusted look Felix had shot him when they had squeezed into the spot in line next to him and Marinette.

And then he had locked eyes with Marinette… and thoughts of Felix and Mlle. Kubdel had been far from his mind.

Even though they had not danced the set together, he had imagined it was her he was dancing with.

And for every set that had followed, they had done the same. Mlle. Kubdel had dragged him over to M. Bruel and Mlle. Haprèle, and outright told Mlle. Haprèle to dance with him. He had been utterly mortified, but Mlle. Haprèle had smiled at him and agreed, as M. Bruel had laughed quietly before offering him a smile of his own.

Every set, he and his partner danced beside Marinette, regardless of who her partner was. And at the end of every set, his partner would pass him off to another friend of Marinette’s. Though they all seemed to avoid passing him off to Mlle. Césaire. And each of them smiled knowingly as they took their place next to Marinette and her partners. None of Marinette’s friends seemed put out that his attention was on another lady. If anything, they had all seemed rather pleased.

Mlle. Beauréal smiled at him as the set came to an end. He was barely out of his bow when she glanced toward Marinette. He followed her gaze; Marinette was smiling at her friend, M. Kanté, with whom she had danced. When he glanced back at Mlle. Beauréal, she winked at him and then turned on her heel and strode off.

With a flush and smile, he turned his attention back to Marinette.

“Did you want anything from the refreshment table?”

“No thank you, Max. But thank you for asking.” Marinette smiled at Max, and the butterflies were back. “Your mother isn’t looking now; you should be able to escape into the gardens unnoticed.”

M. Kanté sighed in relief. “Thank you, Marinette. You are sure you will alright on your own? I thought I saw Felix… oh,” M. Kanté caught his eye. He smiled as he pushed up his spectacles. “I see you are not alone. Then if neither of you mind…”

“If you would prefer, you are welcome to my library,” he said quietly as he offered his arm to Marinette, who took it instantly. He had overheard M. Kanté asking Marinette what she thought the library of the estate might be like. “If you go through the far doors of the dining room, you’ll enter a sitting room. Beyond that is the library. No one should disturb you there.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your offer immensely.” M. Kanté nodded to him and then smiled at Marinette, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Thank you, for offering that to him.” He glanced down at her to find her beaming up at him softly. “He has never been fond of balls and dances; he only attends them because his family wants him to.”

“He is lucky to have a friend who looks out for him the way you do, Marinette.” She ducked her head, but he did not miss the flush in her cheeks or the smile curving across her lips. “I know he already asked you, but would you like any refreshments? I’m afraid I’m feeling rather peckish-“

“Then let us go get you something to eat,” she giggled. “If you are to make it to the last set, I had best not let you starve.” He laughed as they began weaving through the crowd toward the dining room. As they made their way through the crowds, he caught shreds of whispered gossip, and more than once he caught someone turning away from him and Marinette hastily, having been caught staring.

The room was rife with gossip, and he was sure rumours would be flying across the village in the morning. But he did not mind. In fact, he did not care at all. He had known what it meant to ask Marinette for the first set. He had known it would spark talk.

And if the gossip was what he suspected it was, it was not unfounded. She was the reason he was hosting this ball.

“This is delicious,” she murmured, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I thought you said you were not hungry,” he teased as she daintily plucked another small tart from one of the trays of hors-d'œuvre

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” Her smile was playful, and there was a delightfully teasing lilt to her voice.

“You are, but only if you will promise to tell me what your favourites are.”

“And why would you need to know that, monsieur,” she asked, fluttering her lashes as she giggled.

“So that I may know what to ask Duusuu and Orikko to prepare next time you are over for tea, mademoiselle.” He chuckled as her cheeks flushed. But then she joined in his laughter, and his own laugh caught in his throat at the way she tilted her head to the side just ever so slightly and the way her hand slipped up to cover her mouth as she giggled. The way the corners of her eyes were crinkled and her brows scrunched together. Hers wasn’t the polite and measured laugh of high society. It was so genuine and sincere. It was real.

It was unabashedly her.

“Luka?” He blinked. She was staring up at him, the last traces of her laughter fading from her face, leaving in its wake a shy smile and shimmering eyes. A curl had come loose from where she had piled them on top of her head. Tentatively, he reached out but stopped just shy of her face. Even though it felt as if they were in their own world, they were not. He let his hand drop to his side.

Shyly, she reached up and tucked the stray curl behind her ear. Her gaze was steady on him; her eyes never wavering from his. And when her hand dropped, it brushed against his. The contact was brief. Like a star arcing across the sky. But the warmth where her hand had brushed his lingered.

“Is everything alright?” She was leaning in toward him and he hadn’t noticed when he had stepped closer to her, but he was close enough to count the freckles smattered across her face.

“Everything is perfect.”

“There you are!” He jolted back at the sound of Juleka’s voice. He hadn’t noticed her approaching them, but from the look on her face, he knew she had seen everything. And that somewhere, someone had just won another bet at his expense. “Marinette,” she said, turning to smile at her, “your parents are looking for you.”

“Oh, do you know where they are,” she asked, craning her neck to peer around the room.

“They were in the hall, by the doors that go out to the gardens, last I saw them.”

Marinette smiled at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should go see what they-“

“I think they were hoping my brother would join you.” Juleka smiled at him, a slow and deliberate smile, like the way a cat might smile upon seeing a bowl of cream left out. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Best not keep them waiting,” Juleka said airily before turning and drifting off into the crowd.

“You would not mind…” he turned to find Marinette looking up at him, her face caught somewhere between hopeful and flustered, “would you? I- I should warn you before you agree, they can be… a bit… a bit much. My father especially.”

He offered her his arm. “I would be happy to join you.” It was the truth. He had not met them properly yet, but from what he had heard of them, they sounded like lovely people. How could they not be when they had raised someone like Marinette?

And it was high time he met her parents more formally. Especially if…

She beamed at him as she took his offered arm. And as they wove through the crowds, he was fairly certain he was walking on air. Not even the teasing little smirks his staff shot him made him falter.

As they wove through the crowd, out of the corner of his eye he saw her toy with the pearls at her throat. “I like your necklace, by the way,” he murmured quietly as he ignored a smirk Sass shot him. “They look beautiful on you.” They were like a string of miniature moons, and they almost seemed to glow in the light of her smile.

She ducked her head again, but he could see her flush and smile. “Thank you.”

“You did not wear them to the Agreste ball.”

“No,” she glanced up at him, a shy smile on her face. “They’re my mother’s…” her hand rose to toy with them once more. “She lent them to me for tonight. For- Oh! There they are!” She hurried forward, tugging at his arm. He followed closely behind her. But he did not have time to puzzle over her unsaid words as her parents came into view.

They were right where Juleka had said they would be. They were sitting in one of the settees that had been moved into the hall so that people could sit in comfort and watch the dancing if they wished. But once Mme. Cheng’s eyes landed on them, she laid a hand on her husband’s arm, and they both rose from their seats.

“Marinette!” M. Dupain boomed cheerily, as soon as they were within polite distance, “are you enjoying your evening, mon petit chou? And you must be the elusive M. Couffaine! I do hope you have been attending to our daughter this evening!”

“Papa!” she protested as she raised a hand to try and cover her flushed face with her dance card.

“What? What have I said to upset you, ma chouquette?”

“I have been doing my best,” he said, squeezing his arm just a little around her hand to calm her. “It is a pleasure to meet you properly, monsieur. Madame,” he said, stepping forward slightly. He bowed to Marinette’s mother, who gave him an appraising smile. And then he extended his hand out to M. Dupain.

M. Dupain’s eyes darted from Marinette to him, then back to his daughter, before finally returning to meet his gaze. Then he reached out and heartily took his offered hand and shook it with a very firm grip and great enthusiasm.

“The pleasure is ours entirely, M. Couffaine! It is good to finally be introduced properly! I missed you when you came to call on mon éclair. Bread to bake and all that, I am sure you understand.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said. M. Dupain was still shaking his hand and did not seem in any hurry to stop.

“Tom, dear,” Mme. Cheng said quietly. M. Dupain glanced at his wife, who nodded to his hand, still clasped in her husband’s.

“Ah, sorry about that,” M. Dupain said sheepishly, letting go.

“No need to apologize,” he chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Marinette ducking her face behind her dance card once more.

“This has been a lovely evening so far,” Mme. Cheng said.

“I am glad you have been enjoying it. It is my first time hosting a ball.” His gaze drifted once more to land on Marinette. As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned, lowering her card from her face. The flush in her cheeks was still there, but her face softened into a dreamy smile. Her loose curl had fallen from where she had tucked it behind her ear, and it took everything in him not to reach out and tuck it behind her ear once more. “I am relieved to hear it has been an enjoyable night so far,” he said as he forced his gaze back to her parents.

He turned just in time to catch the two of them exchanging a look he could not quite decipher. He was sure he had seen such looks before, but as it was, it was incredibly difficult to wrack his brain after seeing her smile at him like that.

“Marinette, dear,” Mme. Cheng said, turning to her daughter with a firm but affectionate smile. “Why don’t you go fix that loose curl.”

“But maman,” she began to protest.

But her mother cut her off. “It is alright dear; M. Couffaine can keep us company for the time you are gone. And it would not do to be dancing with hair in your face.” Mme. Cheng’s voice was gentle, but it left no room for argument.

Marinette hesitated. “It is fine,” he reassured her quietly. Her face softened, and she nodded. But as she turned away from her parents, she mouthed what appeared to be an apology to him. Once she had disappeared into the crowd of guests, he turned back to face her parents.

M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng were both watching him with unwavering and appraising eyes. He swallowed, suddenly filled with nerves.

“We have not had the chance to thank you.” Mme. Cheng’s voice was light and casual. But there was a weight to her words and voice that was reflected in her gaze.

He blinked. “Thank me? For-“

“For sheltering Marinette during that terrible storm, of course.” M. Dupain said. His voice had dropped from its booming volume, and there was something lurking in his brown eyes…

“Y- you have no need to thank me! Neither does she! My sister and I were out, and I- we were only doing what anyone would do!” Something about the glance M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng had exchanged, and the way they were both watching him so intently had him suddenly feeling very warm. And there was a lump in his throat that was very difficult to swallow.

Mme. Cheng offered him a veiled smile. “She was in such high spirits when she returned home yesterday,” she hummed.

He fidgeted under her- their watchful eyes. Why did this feel so much like a test?

“She spent all of yesterday sewing,” Mme. Cheng continued. “And she was humming the entire time; she was in such good spirits.”

“She was?” Had she… had she been humming one of his songs? One of the songs he had played for her?

“Oh yes, she spends many a day consumed with her sewing.” Something flashed in Mme. Cheng’s eyes, but he could not tell what it was. Or why she had mentioned Marinette humming, only to drop all mentions of it a moment later. “She is very talented.”

“She is,” he agreed wistfully, his mind filling with the drawings she had done in the music room. “She’s an artist.” He shook his head and forced the visions back. If this was a test of some kind, he would do well to focus. The last thing he wanted to do was fail.

“She’s been looking forward to this ball for some time.”

“I am glad she has been able to enjoy it, then. That you all have been able to enjoy it.”

“We noticed you dancing with her.” M. Dupain’s eyes narrowed, and it struck him that the thing that had flashed in M. Dupain’s eyes was suspicion. It seemed an almost odd look on his face, given the way Marinette had described him and the jovial way he had introduced himself. “The first set,” M. Dupain added emphatically.

“Yes,” he said carefully. There was no doubt this was some sort of test. It had to be. “I enjoy spending time with her. We share many interests.”

“And she is very beautiful, is she not?” M. Dupain asked.

“She is,” he sighed, unable to keep the foolish grin from his face. Of its own accord, his gaze drifted in the direction she had gone. “She is the most sincere and inspiring person I have ever met. And the kindest. I have never met anyone like her before…”

He shook his head. What was he doing? M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng were testing him and here he was, unable to even pay attention to them. His gaze snapped back to them just in time to catch the tail end of the look they exchanged. Their eyes seemed to speak a thousand words in silence.

And then they both turned their attention back to him.

M. Dupain’s bushy moustache twitched, and his stomach dropped. Had he…

M. Dupain’s eyes flashed, suddenly filled with warmth. “Of course, you have not!” His voice was jovial once more, and he was grinning broadly under his bushy moustache. Mme. Cheng was watching him, still quiet, but there was warmth and… and approval in her eyes. “Our Marinette is an exceptional young lady!”

“Though you seem to know that well, M. Couffaine,” Mme. Cheng said knowingly and with a kind smile. “I hope we will have the chance to become better acquainted with you.”

“I- I would like that very much. I would be honoured to have you and Ma- Mlle. Dupain-Cheng as my guests for dinner.” He swallowed thickly as her parents exchanged the briefest of glances at his near slip. “If it would please you both-“

“Pleased? We would be delighted, son!” M. Dupain let out another booming laugh. He staggered forward as M. Dupain clapped him on the back.

“Careful, dear,” Mme. Cheng said quietly, resting her hand on her husband’s arm. “I do not think Marinette would appreciate it if you broke him, especially as they still have one more set to dance.” Her pleased smile somehow made his face flush with embarrassment.

“Of course, dear. Sorry about that, son.”

“It is not a problem-“

“There you are, M. Couffaine.” He turned at the sound of the voice to find Mlle. Césaire standing behind him, staring at him, determination burning in her eyes.

“Mlle. Césaire,” he said cautiously. He had to stop himself from furrowing his brows. From his few, brief interactions with her, he had gathered that she held no great fondness for him. What reason could she have to seek him out? “Ma- Mlle. Dupain-Cheng has just gone to fix her hair. She should be back at any moment.”

Her eyes narrowed at his slip.

“I was not looking for Marinette.” If she was not looking for Marinette… He could not stop his brows from furrowing this time. He had been wholly focused on Marinette when he had first seen her this evening, but he vaguely remembered Mlle. Césaire asking Adrien- “I do not have a partner for this set.”

Her implication was clear.

“Alya, dear, we were just talking with M. Couffaine-“

“I had my heart set on dancing. I am particularly fond of the minuet.” Her jaw was set in a challenge, and her eyes were flashing.

“Perhaps Nino or Adrien might dance this with you instead, Alya.“

He set his own jaw; a response to her challenge. “It would be rude of me to force a lady to sit out a set, Mme. Cheng,” he said, turning to face her. “May I be so bold as to ask we continue our conversation after?”

Her eyes darted toward Mlle. Césaire, but when she met his gaze again, her face softened, and she nodded. “We will be looking forward to it. When we see Marinette, I will be sure to let her know.”

“Thank you, Mme. Cheng. M. Dupain.” He nodded to them both. M. Dupain winked and smiled from under his moustache. With one last nod, he turned back to face Mlle. Césaire and offered her his arm.

Once they reached the dance floor, where the other dancers were lining up in preparation for the minuet, she tugged at his arm, pulling him toward a spot between two other couples. “I think this place in the line would be best.” It was only once they were in place that he saw the reason for her choosing that spot.

He watched as Adrien led Marinette to the end of the line of dancers; to one of the last few open spots. Far down the line from where he and Mlle. Césaire stood. Even from a distance, he could tell she was trying to surreptitiously look about the room, searching for-

She glanced in his direction and did a double-take. A frown formed on her face as her eyes darted between him and her friend. When her eyes met his again, he smiled at her reassuringly. She was still frowning, but her crumpled brows softened.

“M. Couffaine.”

He turned back to face his partner. She was watching him like a hawk might watch a field mouse.

But he refused to be the mouse.

He met her look for look. Stance for stance. Measure for measure.

“Mlle. Césaire.“

They danced in silence as they sized each other up. He had been in enough courts and high societies to know when games were afoot. And as great as his distaste was for such games, he knew how to play them nonetheless.

She had chosen to make the first move by forcing his hand for this dance. He would leave her no choice but to make the next as well. As much as he lived and breathed music, he knew the power of silence.

Mlle. Césaire went through the steps impatiently. Several times, she let out long sighs and drawn-out exhales. Clear ploys to goad him into speaking. But every time, he only offered her a placid smile. He was a patient man. He could wait.

They were more than halfway through the second dance of the set when their silent war came to an end.

“She’s been in love with him since she was thirteen,” she said, her eyes hardening as she nodded her head toward the end of the line, where Marinette and Adrien were dancing.

“Has she?” he asked as his gaze trailed to land on Marinette. She didn’t look unhappy. But her shoulders were not relaxed the way they had been when she had danced with her other friends. Or him. He caught a flash of her face as Adrien spun her. Her smile was small, and while not tense, it was not like the smile that graced her face when- As if feeling his eyes on her, she glanced down the line of dancers and met his eyes. Her entire face brightened. And the smile she sent his way made his knees wobble.

“You have only been here a short while.” The accusation in Mlle. Césaire’s voice snapped his focus back to her. “But surely, you must have heard the talk in the village. Adrien himself is the only one that does not know.”

“Gossip is usually best not believed in full. If at all.”

They danced the way he and Sass played chess. Every silence was calculated. Every word was deliberate.

She narrowed her eyes. “I am her best friend. I know these things better than anyone.”

“Better than her?”

“She has always been prone to nerves. And to… distractions.”

“Is that what you think I am to her?”

“Twice now, you have prevented Adrien from asking her to dance.”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“You asked her for the first set.” Her eyes were burning flint.

“I did,” he said evenly, refusing to waver under her stare.

“You know what that means. What you were declaring to everyone. To Adrien.”

“Only a fool would not know.”

“And I know you have asked her for a second set tonight. That is two balls you will have danced two sets with her.” If her eyes were flint, her voice was steel. “She has worked so hard for so long. I am concerned for her happiness.”

“Her happiness is also of great concern to me. And if it pleases her, I will do everything in my power to ensure it.”

Around them, the rest of the men were bowing to their partners as the music came to an end. He bowed to Mlle. Césaire, but only as low as propriety demanded.

“Then you will step back?” It wasn’t truly a question.

Rising, he offered her his arm. “As I said,” he said firmly as she took his arm. Moving with haste, he began leading her toward Nino, who was loitering awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. “I will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness if she permits it. Thank you for the set,” he added when she looked ready to say more. “Nino,” he said, nodding to his friend. “Mlle. Césaire,” he added, far more stiffly. “If you will excuse me, I have other guests I must attend to.”

He ducked into the crowd before Mlle. Césaire could find some excuse to detain him in conversation. He wove through the crowd, nodding and stopping to talk politely with his guests. But always, his eyes were wandering, searching for lilacs in dark hair in a sea of people.

Finally, he found her.

Adrien was laughing brightly. But Marinette… her smile was tight, and she was fidgeting. And her eyes were darting around, searching. Searching the crowd the way he had. Her eyes locked with his as he strode forward, and she immediately brightened.

“Adrien,” he said the moment he was close enough for polite conversation. “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” He couldn’t stop his voice from softening when addressing her.

“Luka, I feel I haven’t seen you since before the dancing!” Adrien laughed. “This has been a most wonderful ball!”

“Thank you, Adrien. I am glad you are enjoying yourself. But I wonder,” he said, his eyes making their way back to Marinette, “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng and I were conversing with her parents when we were interrupted, and I believe they had more they wished to discuss with us. May I escort you back to them, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, you may. Thank you for the dance, Adrien.”

“It was great fun,” Adrien said with a smile. “I suppose I should go find Nino; I have not seen him for some time...”

“He is back that way,” he said, nodding his head. Adrien nodded his thanks and then drifted off into the crowd. Wordlessly, but with his heart on his sleeve, he offered her his arm.

She slipped her hand into the crux of his elbow and tucked herself close to his side as they made their way back toward her parents.

***

If it weren’t Luka’s music, she doubted she would have heard the swell of the song filling the room. But as it was one of his, she heard it in its entirety. She heard every word hidden in the notes, and she saw every smile in the melody. She floated on it as she and Luka whirled about the room in the last dance of the night.

A waltz.

His eyes were burning with gentle flames, and he was gazing down at her with that quiet smile of his. Her heart was somehow steady and quivering under his gaze as she drowned in him and the music. Time was standing still as they swirled around each other in the steps.

There was only him. Only them. Only this moment.

And yet, she was transported.

She was in the hedge bordering his lawn, flustered and nervous and inexplicably enthralled by him as he moved his instruments into his new home.

She was in the assembly halls, watching him play for the first time, utterly enchanted by music spoken in a language she had never known before.

She was in the lilac woods, surrounded by flowers and with butterflies in her stomach. He was giving her flowers she had never properly appreciated before.

She was in the Agreste’s ballroom, bubbling and light as champagne as she danced with Luka for the first time. He was calling her an artist and putting her heart at ease as they exchanged effortless conversation.

She was in the rain, soaked to the bone and filled to the brim with the warmth from his coat and his eyes. He was reassuring her with his velvet voice and quiet smile. He was walking beside her in the storm. He was calling her by her name.

She was in his music room, in a borrowed dress and with her heart on her sleeve. He was playing just for her. He was admiring her designs and the portrait she had not intended to show him but couldn’t regret him seeing. Sparks were dancing on her skin where his ungloved hand brushed against hers, warm and comforting. He was listening with earnest sincerity as she shared her hopes and her dreams.

His hand at her waist pulled her a touch closer as they whirled through another spinning pirouette. Her breath hitched in her throat, and his eyes twinkled; she melted into his hold. How he was able to say so much with just his eyes alone… She gazed up unabashedly into his eyes. They were so full of colour; countless shades of blue and silent words melded into azure.

She was in the gardens of his estate. The music room. The dining room. The hall. There was laughter and light. There was Juleka with her quiet words and enigmatic smiles. There was his staff, with their kind eyes and wide smiles. There was him.

And there were children.

The evening they had spent in his music room, sharing their hopes and dreams for their futures, she had told him all her dreams but one. She had not told him the dream of the future she was building in her mind.

A future with him.

Warmth bloomed in her face as the dream flitted through her mind’s eye. But she did not let her gaze waver from his face. His eyes were brighter than stars, and his gaze was so wholly focused on her, she could not stop the giddy smile on her face. And his smile… it was dreamy and far away. Her gaze could not help but be drawn to its gentle curve… To his lips…

What would it be like to…

The heat in her cheeks grew warmer at the thought. It was so easy to forget they were not the only ones… that they were not alone. And it would hardly be proper. Yet… she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to…

***

Her laughter was echoing inside his head, though they had long since slipped into silence. Or at least something akin to it. Could it truly be silence when her eyes sang with endless symphonies?

His heart was racing, leaping and bounding like the notes of a jig. In the whirling, spiralling steps of the waltz, gazing into her eyes was both dizzying and steadying. They were glimmering like stars… and her smile was so soft and radiant… he could spend an eternity getting lost in her eyes.

The world dropped away. There was only them. Now. In this moment.

And yet…

He was in the undergrowth of the woods, seeing her eyes for the first time and finding himself utterly transfixed as she gazed into the woods.

He was in the band’s balcony at the assembly halls, playing the music of the light in her eyes.

He was in the lilac woods, enchanted by the vision of her amongst the flowers. Her eyes were meeting his, and he was stunned into speaking speechless words as his hand tingled where they had touched.

He was in the Agreste’s ballroom, fretting over dropped fans and getting lost in her eyes and words. He was floating on clouds at the feeling of her hand fitting so perfectly into his.

He was in the rain, without his coat and soaked to the bone, and yet so full of warmth. She was walking beside him, with her hand on his arm. She was the clarity in the song of the tempest. She was calling him by his name for the first time.

He was in the music room, stunned speechless by the vision of her in blue. He was playing his very heart for her as she poured herself into her art. She was sharing her art with him, her generosity shining in her every pencil stroke. He was holding fireworks in his hand, where their bare hands had brushed. She was listening to every word he spoke and played for her with utmost understanding.

He pulled her a little closer; the swirling steps of the waltz were the perfect excuse to do so. He caught the sound of her breath hitching in her throat, and it made his heart dance, even as heat crept up his ears. And then she melted into him. He was dancing on air as she gazed up at him with her bright eyes, brimming with words that did not need to be uttered to be understood.

He was in the gardens. The music room. The dining room. The hall. There was laughter and light. There was Juleka with her quiet quips and wicked smirks. There were his staff, with their knowing looks and teasing smiles. There was her.

And there were children.

The evening they had spent in his music room, sharing their hopes and dreams for their futures, he had told her all his dreams but one. He had not told her the dream of the future he was composing in his mind.

A future with her.

The heat in his face flared brighter at the thought of that dream. But he refused to let his gaze drop from her face. Her eyes were so bright and so focused on him, he would have thought it impossible, but his smile grew. And her smile… his gaze flickered down to take in her smile. So sweet and dreamy, it was almost impossible to look away from it… From her lips…

What would it be like to…

His cheeks burned at the thought. He had nearly forgotten himself so many times tonight; it was so easy to forget the rest of the world. But they are not alone. It wouldn’t be proper. And yet… he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to…

24 notes · View notes