It started like any proper fairy tale should: with a boy and a girl and a dance.

Riff had only entered the ball room to perform a quick headcount of the servants and to double check things were running smoothly. Lord Gladstone always seemed to blame him in particular if something went wrong, and Riff would really rather avoid the chastisement.

He was broken from his counting when a young woman collided with him abruptly, all green satin skirts and soft dark hair. "God above, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, but I- He won't stop pestering me, and he wants to take me to bed, but he can't, and…" The girl clutched at Riff's upper arms as he steadied her instinctively, unable to really protest around her explanations.

The ridiculousness of the situation earned a startled laugh from the servant. "Understood, milady," he finally said, taking a careful step away. "Please, feel free to use me as a shield as necessary," he added, releasing her shoulders with a small smile.

The young woman looked startled for a moment, before flushing. She still took his offer, glancing backwards and paling further. "I thought I lost him…" she muttered under her breath. One gloved hand caught his sleeve, and she turned green eyes up to him again. "He can't see me alone. Dance with me? Please?"

For a split second, Riff gaped at her, completely frozen. Dance? Him? This was- She clearly had no idea- She seemed to take his flabbergasted silence as disgust, and flushed deeper. "I know it's quite forward of me, but I haven't an idea as to what else to do. I don't possess the social skills or patience to turn him down-he won't listen!"

"No, madam, it's nothing of the sort- I understand the situation, believe me, it's simply…" Riff hesitated again, but she looked so scared and alone… The blond man caved, taking one gloved hand to bow over it. "…You must forgive me my clumsiness," he finally said instead. "It has been… years, since I last danced. May I have my lady's name?"

She looked startled, beautifully so, and Riff called himself ten kinds of fool for thinking it, but she was blushing again, pale pink lips parted and green eyes wide as she stared up at him. They matched the emerald tones in her dress…

"Mary," she finally whispered. "Mary Harrell. May I have your name as well? There are many people here I am familiar with, but… I'm afraid to admit that I don't know you at all…" She folded his fingers in hers, reluctant to release him when Riff moved to drop her hand at the question.

"I… I am not surprised you do not know me, milady. My name is Riff Raffit, and I… work in Lord Gladstone's manor."

"Oh." The woman blinked at him, and Riff wondered if it was only now that she'd noticed the tailcoat he wore was made of only cotton and wool, not the finely woven and tailored evening wear her peers sported. Riff swallowed and wondered if he should pull away, but she was still smiling up at him and still blushing faintly. "And it is your master that I am hiding from," she said instead, fingers still firmly laced with his. They hadn't loosened at all, rather tightening instead.

Riff was rendered speechless for the second time in less than five minutes. She continued, eyes bright in something very close to amusement. "I've often found the servants at these sorts of parties kinder than the guests. Though I'd hate to get you in trouble…" She stepped forward slightly, leaving Riff to automatically rest a hand on her waist. "If not, I certainly don't mind that you're a servant, Mr. Raffit."

"Even if you do, I believe it might… might be worth it," Riff decided, loosening her grip, before bringing her hand out to the side, leading her to the corner of the dance floor. As conscious as he was of the various eyes, his partner (and really, the nerve he had to even think of her as such) ignored them, as if she were used to stares. And, really, little surprise there at all, considering how beautiful…

He cut the thought off again, biting his lip and resting a shy hand on her waist, trying to remember-leading starts with the left foot, doesn't it? Then forward-The thought was abruptly shortened again, but this time it was instead because Miss Harrell had stepped forward as he did, colliding with him. She made a singularly frustrated noise, then started apologizing-the same instant he did.

"I'm so sorry, milady, I had hoped to warn you-"

"No, I'm unforgivably clumsy, I'm such a-"

"Haven't danced in years, can barely remember which way to lead-"

"Blasted fool-"

"I'm so sorry." They spoke together, and Riff couldn't help but laugh. "I'll forgive your clumsiness if you'll forgive my lapse of memory?" he bargained, adding a quick "milady," that he was immediately reprimanding himself for forgetting.

She laughed in return, a shy, startled sound that slipped from high to huskily low and back again. "Perhaps…" she said slowly, green eyes mischievous again. "Perhaps dancing is something neither of us is quite proficient at."

"No, indeed," Riff agreed reluctantly, taking a step back and off the dance floor again. "Though I'd hoped to protect you," he added, more quietly.

He hadn't meant for her to hear him, not really, but the fact that she had was immediately obvious. She looked up at him again, eyes wide and searching his face closely, for… something. "Protect me," she repeated quietly, almost thoughtfully. "I think…" and for a moment, there was something Riff might have called calculating in her gaze, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure, "I think I should like for you to protect me."

A hard hand gripped his shoulder, and the illusion that the two of them alone existed evaporated with the back of a hand colliding, hard, with his cheek. Caught by surprise, Riff stumbled, one hand flying to his face, the other hand reaching out and catching a silk clad shoulder to steady himself.

"You are monopolizing my guests," Lord Gladstone hissed at him, and he straightened almost immediately, releasing Miss Harrell's shoulder as soon as he realized that was what he'd been touching. "My dear lady," he continued, voice dripping honey-poisoned honey, Riff thought spitefully, careful not to let the anger show on his face-"I fear I must apologize for my staff." Another reminder of what, for only a moment, he'd been able to forget, the damned debt he owed to this lord and master. "I apologize for the indiscretion."

Again, Riff schooled his expression, closing his eyes. "If you'll forgive my saying so, Lord Gladstone," he said quietly, "The lady requested a dance. I have less right to refuse than I do to concede to the lady's wishes." Some of the bite leaked into his voice regardless of his will otherwise. Another backhand to his cheek, but this time he was expecting it, and barely flinched, letting his head turn with the blow and not touching it again afterwards.

"He has mistaken perceptions of preference above his station," Lord Gladstone bit out. "Again, my apologies. Some dogs cannot be trained well."

"Forgive my ignorance in the subject," Miss Harrell's voice finally responded, "But in my experience, a dog mistreated has a harder bite than most, and is far more likely to use it. Leave him be, my lord. Dance with me," she finished, granting the nobleman a beautiful smile-if, Riff noted, one fragile, sharp, like broken glass. Faintly dangerous. The servant couldn't help but watch as the two walked away, his master folding her hand into his own and sliding his other arm about her waist.

A brief flicker of jealousy, of anger, sparked up, but Riff did nothing, quieting the desire with the reminder-he had no right, not when she was a lady and he nothing but a footman, however high ranked.

He hadn't even been able to protect her, Riff realized with a sickening drop in his stomach. Lord Gladstone had been the man she'd hoped to avoid, and yet she danced with him now… With a sigh, and the realization that he'd been practically staring, and for far too long, Riff turned, shifting uncomfortably through the crowd to return to the corridor. The hallways, the back staircases, the lower rooms… the only places appropriate, or fit for the servants.