First at Last

Chapter Six

"Where have you been?" Mother hissed as I walked up to her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked quite distressed.

"Oh . . . I was dancing." I lied. "Didn't you see me?"

"There is no way that you were dancing. I haven't seen you all night, Erika." She snapped, arms crossed.

"Alright, fine. I was not feeling well so I took a walk in the gardens." Of course, it was another lie, but it was better than admitting the truth. She would not be pleased if she found out what I'd really been doing.

She narrowed her eyes at me, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I see . . . and is it just a coincidence that Prince William was missing also?"

Immediately, I felt my face heat up and I opened my mouth to deny the accusation imbedded in her words, but she was already nodding her head, her eyes holding a knowing look that was all too familiar, but infuriated me, all the same.

"Erika," she said, her voice holding a note of condescension. "You do know—"

"Yes, Mother. I do know." And I don't need you to repeat it again, are the words that I wanted to say, but could not.

She inclined her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "Then you would be wise to listen to me, dear." she said softly. Her steel gray eyes—the same as my own—held a warning that words could not express.

I felt myself backing down under her cold gaze. I bit my lip and looked away.

She smiled coldly at me and patted my arm. "That's better. Now, be a good girl and go dance with at least a few men before we leave."

My hands were shaking; I was so angry. I was about to reply, but she did not give me a chance.

"Ah, here we are." She said, smiling to someone behind me.

I turned to see who she was looking at and found an attractive man standing close by.

"Perfect timing. Erika, this is Jeremiah de Clare. You two should get to know each other." The smile that was plastered onto her face was sweet and charming and possibly the most superficial thing I'd ever seen.

I looked at Jeremiah, who had bright green eyes and golden hair the color of wheat. He smiled timidly at me. "Would you like to dance?" He asked, holding out his hand. His voice was deeper than expected.

No, I wanted to shout. I do not want to dance with you. But, just as Mother expected, I set down the book William had given me, and took Jeremiah's offered hand and let him lead me between dancing couples until we were in the middle of it all.

I curtsied and he bowed and we began to dance. Unfortunately, two dance lessons were not enough to make me a dancer. I stepped on his foot occasionally and stumbled once and I felt as though I could die from embarrassment.

Finally—it was the longest few minutes of my life—the song came to an end and we stepped away from the dancing couples.

"Well, that was . . . erm . . ." I could tell he was trying to find something nice to say about it, but was failing miserably.

"I'm terribly sorry. I know I can't dance." I said, my face burning.

"No, no, you were alright." At least he was a gentleman, trying to spare my feelings.

"Just tell my mom that it was lovely and then you never have to see me again." I answered flatly.

He did not argue. "Well, if you insist . . ." He bowed and walked away, leaving me by myself, in a state of misery.

I stood back, in the shadows, watching happy couples dance and laugh merrily, many of them intoxicated after too much wine. I saw Jeremiah de Clare dancing with Alice not long after and it just made me want to curl in on myself.