also danced with them all night, had it been in a more private setting. But a ballroom, choreographed dances, scores of people watching? Not for me. I was born in the wrong time, or perhaps the wrong place.
It was the year 1801 in England. Despite my unwillingness to dance, I was open to the possibility of finding a pretty girl to spend some time with. As the second son of a wealthy gentleman, I had no aspiration to any greatness; I was pretty content to live a life of leisure spending my father’s money. Girls wanted me for my name and title, but I never wanted them as much as they wanted me. I got bored quickly. Until that day.
The day I saw her .
It felt like love at first sight, but I wouldn’t have known back then what that meant. I can’t explain what I felt as I watched her dance, because my memories of that night are all centered on her and the way she looked, and not anyone else, not even me or my feelings. She danced happily, making mistakes and laughing when she did. Her eyes were brown and bright, her figure slight, and her smile striking. She was so young, and so full of spirit. I could not take my eyes off her, as I stood there lurking in a corner, unseen by my friends.
After her dance, an even younger girl grabbed her arm and guided her away. They slipped through a door on the opposite end of the room from where I stood, away from the dance floor and out of sight. Intolerable. As if under a spell, I followed after them, delayed by the crowd that filled the room. When I finally made it to the next room, I saw her before a group of people that included my parents, brother, and sister-in-law. I stopped in my tracks as all eyes turned to me.
“Ah, there he is,” my father called. “Come here, son; I was just talking about you. This is my youngest son, Corben.” As I approached the small gathering, not twenty feet away from me, my eyes locked with the witch that had cast the spell on me. She looked at me with a knowing smile.
“Son, you remember the Misses de Mayes. Miss Charlotte”—my witch bowed, keeping her smile and eyes on me—“Miss Marie, and Miss Louise.”
“Of course,” I lied smoothly while bowing as was proper; grateful for the custom that allowed me to hide my bewilderment as I processed what was happening. De Mayes . Pleasure erupted in me. I had met these young ladies about two years before, although I did not exactly recognize them now. “Ladies,” I addressed them.
“Monsieur,” they all replied with a curtsy. My witch’s smile widened, and my heart raced.
Charlotte de Mayes—I remembered her then. She was the eldest daughter of Baron de Mayes. My parents, my brother, his wife, and I would be staying for a few weeks there, in her father’s house. I was to stay in a house with her .
“And the lovely Mrs. de Mayes….”
My father kept going around the circle, reintroducing everyone, and I kept bowing in greeting, glad I wasn’t forced into conversation other than a polite, “ How do you do ?”
The baron’s wife, Mrs. Pauline de Mayes, whom I did recognize from some years before, was the liveliest talker and promptly took over the conversation along with my mother. I remembered interacting with Mrs. de Mayes and meeting her daughters; how the oldest had been but fourteen when I had first met her. I kept stealing glances at Charlotte, to confirm that I wasn’t imagining her beauty.
The conversation turned to dancing. My mother declared that both of her sons were wonderful dancers. Under normal circumstances I would have been affronted by her lie, but that night I was glad for the excuse. Compelled by civility, someone asked me to show my alleged dancing prowess. I replied that I would be glad to. Then I turned to my witch.
“May I have the next dance, Mademoiselle?” I asked Charlotte, hoping to impress her by letting her know I remembered her preference of Mademoiselle over Miss , even though she had spent most of her life in England. She had only been
It was the year 1801 in England. Despite my unwillingness to dance, I was open to the possibility of finding a pretty girl to spend some time with. As the second son of a wealthy gentleman, I had no aspiration to any greatness; I was pretty content to live a life of leisure spending my father’s money. Girls wanted me for my name and title, but I never wanted them as much as they wanted me. I got bored quickly. Until that day.
The day I saw her .
It felt like love at first sight, but I wouldn’t have known back then what that meant. I can’t explain what I felt as I watched her dance, because my memories of that night are all centered on her and the way she looked, and not anyone else, not even me or my feelings. She danced happily, making mistakes and laughing when she did. Her eyes were brown and bright, her figure slight, and her smile striking. She was so young, and so full of spirit. I could not take my eyes off her, as I stood there lurking in a corner, unseen by my friends.
After her dance, an even younger girl grabbed her arm and guided her away. They slipped through a door on the opposite end of the room from where I stood, away from the dance floor and out of sight. Intolerable. As if under a spell, I followed after them, delayed by the crowd that filled the room. When I finally made it to the next room, I saw her before a group of people that included my parents, brother, and sister-in-law. I stopped in my tracks as all eyes turned to me.
“Ah, there he is,” my father called. “Come here, son; I was just talking about you. This is my youngest son, Corben.” As I approached the small gathering, not twenty feet away from me, my eyes locked with the witch that had cast the spell on me. She looked at me with a knowing smile.
“Son, you remember the Misses de Mayes. Miss Charlotte”—my witch bowed, keeping her smile and eyes on me—“Miss Marie, and Miss Louise.”
“Of course,” I lied smoothly while bowing as was proper; grateful for the custom that allowed me to hide my bewilderment as I processed what was happening. De Mayes . Pleasure erupted in me. I had met these young ladies about two years before, although I did not exactly recognize them now. “Ladies,” I addressed them.
“Monsieur,” they all replied with a curtsy. My witch’s smile widened, and my heart raced.
Charlotte de Mayes—I remembered her then. She was the eldest daughter of Baron de Mayes. My parents, my brother, his wife, and I would be staying for a few weeks there, in her father’s house. I was to stay in a house with her .
“And the lovely Mrs. de Mayes….”
My father kept going around the circle, reintroducing everyone, and I kept bowing in greeting, glad I wasn’t forced into conversation other than a polite, “ How do you do ?”
The baron’s wife, Mrs. Pauline de Mayes, whom I did recognize from some years before, was the liveliest talker and promptly took over the conversation along with my mother. I remembered interacting with Mrs. de Mayes and meeting her daughters; how the oldest had been but fourteen when I had first met her. I kept stealing glances at Charlotte, to confirm that I wasn’t imagining her beauty.
The conversation turned to dancing. My mother declared that both of her sons were wonderful dancers. Under normal circumstances I would have been affronted by her lie, but that night I was glad for the excuse. Compelled by civility, someone asked me to show my alleged dancing prowess. I replied that I would be glad to. Then I turned to my witch.
“May I have the next dance, Mademoiselle?” I asked Charlotte, hoping to impress her by letting her know I remembered her preference of Mademoiselle over Miss , even though she had spent most of her life in England. She had only been
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