Chapter 117: founder’s ball XII

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: founder’s ball XII

Vivienne crossed the ballroom with measured steps.

At least...

She hoped they looked measured.

Inside, however, her heart was beating far less elegantly than her appearance suggested.

Calm down.

You’re only walking toward your fiancé.

Your perfectly handsome, perfectly dignified, perfectly unattainable fiancé...

No.

Not unattainable.

She had already promised herself.

Nothing would change if she continued standing still.

Vivienne slowed to a stop before him.

"Anthony."

He turned almost immediately.

"Lady Beaumont."

"...Is now a good time?"

Anthony blinked.

"A good time?"

"I mean..."

She glanced briefly toward the guests who had only just left him.

"I know you’ve been occupied all evening."

"I wasn’t sure whether you were needed elsewhere."

Anthony followed her gaze for a moment before looking back at her.

"...Not at present."

"There is a brief interval before the next reception."

Vivienne’s eyes brightened.

"Oh."

"Then..."

She smiled.

"I’m glad."

Anthony felt a quiet pang of guilt.

He had, after all, escorted Lady Beaumont to the Founders’ Ball.

Although they had shared the opening dance—as tradition required—he had scarcely spoken to her since.

"My apologies."

He inclined his head slightly.

"I fear I have neglected my duties as your escort this evening."

Vivienne shook her head almost immediately.

"No."

"I know you’re busy."

"You’re the Student Council President."

"And..."

She smiled warmly.

"I don’t mind waiting."

For reasons Anthony couldn’t quite explain...

That answer only made him feel a little more guilty.

--

The orchestra began another waltz somewhere across the ballroom.

Laughter drifted through the hall.

Students passed by in twos and threes.

For a few moments...

Neither of them spoke.

Vivienne’s heart fluttered.

All right.

We’re together.

This is exactly what you wanted.

...Now what?

Vivienne smiled at Anthony.

Anthony returned the polite expression.

Silence.

...

She continued smiling.

Anthony waited.

...

Another silence.

Anthony had long since grown accustomed to Lady Beaumont seeking him out.

What he had never grown accustomed to...

Was knowing how these conversations were supposed to proceed.

Vivienne, meanwhile, was having an entirely different crisis.

Come on, Vivienne.

You’ve got him.

Say something.

Anything.

She looked at him.

He looked back.

...

Why is he so handsome...?

Focus.

The silence stretched just long enough for Anthony to begin wondering whether he ought to excuse himself after all.

Then Vivienne remembered.

No.

Nothing will ever change if you keep doing nothing.

Move.

Before she could lose her nerve...

She took a small step closer.

Not enough to be improper.

Only enough that they stood comfortably beside one another amid the bustle of the ballroom.

Anthony noticed immediately.

His brows lifted almost imperceptibly.

"...Lady Beaumont?"

"Hm?"

"You seem..."

He hesitated.

"...a little closer."

Vivienne blinked.

"Oh."

"Am I?"

She smiled as though she had only just realized it herself.

"I suppose I am."

Anthony simply inclined his head.

"...I see."

Silence returned.

Vivienne’s pulse quickened.

Good.

He noticed.

Now...

What’s next?

She drew a quiet breath.

"Anthony?"

"Yes?"

"...May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She tucked a loose strand of silver-blonde hair behind her ear.

"...Do I smell all right?"

Anthony blinked.

"...Pardon?"

"My perfume."

She laughed softly, suddenly feeling much more self-conscious than she had expected.

"I was worried I may have used a little too much."

Anthony instinctively caught the faint fragrance surrounding her.

Light.

Fresh.

Elegant.

Not overpowering in the slightest.

He realized, rather unexpectedly...

He had never consciously noticed Lady Beaumont’s perfume before.

"...No."

He answered after a brief pause.

"It is..."

He searched for the proper word.

"...pleasant."

Vivienne’s smile brightened almost immediately.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I’m glad."

She looked genuinely relieved.

Anthony found himself wondering...

Why had his opinion mattered so much?

He said nothing.

Vivienne, however, was trying very hard not to smile too widely.

He noticed.

That’s one.

Now don’t celebrate yet.

There’s still the rest of the plan.

She looked toward his coat.

"Oh..."

"I think there’s something on your sleeve..."

Anthony followed her gaze.

"My sleeve?"

"Mm."

Before he could inspect it himself, Vivienne reached out.

Her fingertips lightly brushed the dark fabric near his forearm.

Once.

Then again.

She frowned with convincing concentration.

"Hm..."

Anthony glanced down.

"I don’t believe there’s anything there."

Vivienne blinked.

"...Really?"

"I believe so."

She looked again, as though unwilling to concede defeat.

Then, after another brief inspection, she laughed softly.

"...You’re right."

"I suppose I imagined it."

She withdrew her hand with an embarrassed smile.

"I’m sorry."

"There is no need."

Anthony looked once more at his sleeve.

There had been nothing there.

He was almost certain of it.

...

Then why had she—

His thoughts paused.

As children...

Lady Beaumont had often tugged on his sleeve.

Whenever she wished to show him something.

Whenever she wanted him to stay a little longer.

Whenever she wanted his attention.

He had long ago grown accustomed to it.

This...

Should not have felt any different.

Yet somehow...

The brief brush of her fingertips lingered in his awareness far longer than it ought to have.

Anthony quietly dismissed the thought.

She was no longer the little girl who chased after him through the Ashford gardens.

Naturally...

Some things would feel different.

Nothing more.

--

Vivienne stole a tiny glance at him.

He’s thinking again.

That’s... probably a good sign?

At least he hadn’t immediately changed the subject.

Or walked away.

That had to count for something.

All right.

One more.

Her heart thumped loudly against her ribs.

Come on.

You can do this.

She took another small breath before speaking.

"...Anthony."

"Yes?"

"I’ve hardly had my escort to myself all evening."

There was no accusation in her voice.

Only quiet amusement.

Anthony lowered his gaze briefly.

"...You are correct."

"I owe you an apology."

"You don’t."

"I do."

His expression remained composed.

"It was my responsibility to accompany you."

"I allowed my other obligations to take precedence."

Vivienne shook her head.

"I understood."

"I know you weren’t avoiding me."

Those words struck Anthony with unexpected force.

Of course he hadn’t been.

He had simply...

Found it easier to remain occupied.

Before he could dwell on the thought, Vivienne smiled.

"Still..."

She hesitated.

Then, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed...

She gently slipped both hands around his arm.

"There."

Her voice carried a small note of satisfaction.

"Now I have my escort back."

Anthony went completely still.

There was nothing improper about the gesture.

None whatsoever.

They were engaged.

They had arrived together.

Any observer would find it perfectly natural.

Even so...

He became acutely aware of the light pressure of her hands against his sleeve.

Of how near she stood.

Of the faint floral fragrance he’d only just noticed.

"...Is something wrong?"

Vivienne asked softly.

Anthony realized he had yet to respond.

"...No."

His answer came perhaps a fraction too quickly.

"Nothing is wrong."

Vivienne searched his face.

"...Are you sure?"

"I am."

He was.

...Wasn’t he?

She smiled, apparently satisfied.

"Good."

Anthony looked ahead at the dancers circling the ballroom.

He ought to say something.

Anything.

Instead...

He found himself oddly conscious of how naturally Lady Beaumont rested against his arm.

As though she had every right to be there.

Which...

She did.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain...

That simple fact only made him feel more strangely self-conscious.

Beside him, Vivienne was trying very hard not to grin.

He didn’t move away.

That’s progress.

Her heartbeat fluttered excitedly.

Okay...

Last step.

Just one more.

Her gaze drifted upward.

"...Anthony?"

"Yes?"

She leaned ever so slightly closer.

"I think..."

Her eyes settled on the neatly tied cravat beneath his collar.

"...Your collar is a little crooked."