Elizabeth hardly noticed that room was now silent, all eyes upon the pair. All she noticed was the firm yet gentle way Sebastian's hand clutched hers – and the speedy beating pace of her heart.
Sebastian looked at her coyly as he bowed, bringing his lips to the top of her hand.
"My Lady, it would seem our time has come. Please, grant me the honor of dancing with you now."
A smile brightened her face as she answered warmly, "I don't think I can refuse you, Lord Michaelis."
Returning the smile, he held her hand high to avoid the dense crowd - though unnecessary for long, as the crowd parted, allowing them through to the center of the room.
No, she did not notice the gawking stares and whispers. Her attention was focused only on the man in front of her, the man holding her closely with a gentle hand placed on the small of her back and the other grasping hers delicately.
In that moment she was terribly happy to have worn such high heels, for without them he would have towered over her even more so. Her left hand rested on his upper arm and could feel muscles hidden beneath the thick fabric of his jacket.
The music began, the melody sensual and enriching to romantic nature of the Waltz.
"Congratulations," Elizabeth started sweetly, only moments after their first few steps, "And welcome back."
"Thank you, my lady," Sebastian bowed his head in gratitude, leading her about the floor. "Hearing you – especially – say that…is the highest privilege I have received tonight."
She giggled, "Now, how could I give you that?"
"You don't believe me? Well, now you've wounded me," he teased lightly. Adding in earnest, "Lady Elizabeth, it is your support for me, on this sort of occasion, that is both surprising and encouraging. Evidently to all present." He nodded toward to gawking crowd.
"Oh," she glanced around, keeping up with his steps. The crowd was staring fixedly, some clearly confused and others clearly suspicious.
My support, she repeated mentally.
Yes, her support of him was surprising - to herself as well. This man had claimed her late-fiancé's estate, "taking" it from her family. Sebastian had taken his title, his home, his company - and the man wasn't even present at his funeral. Why was she supporting him?
Considering for a moment, she found her answer.
She continued thoughtfully, "It is true, that my supporting you should be a surprise - to everyone -" she smiled nodding to the guests - "I suppose... it is because I know that his affairs and estate are in good hands. You're the only one I'd want for this. I trust you, Sebastian."
A lightness washed over her. He spun her away, and pulled her back in tightly against his chest.
"You are far too kind," he whispered in her ear, before spinning her back around to face him.
More couples joined them on the floor, temporarily silencing their conversation.
A proud expression crossed her features, "I don't think I am. Supporting you...That's my honor. It's no secret I was Ciel's intended. I only want the best for Phantomhive, even if can't be its Mistress."
Sebastian dipped her lowly, and – holding her gaze – whispered, "You still could be."
Slowly and tenderly, he set her upright, and she searched his face for any sorts of joviality - yet found only seriousness.
She still could be. She still could be the Lady of Phantomhive.
Had he just offered her...marriage?
She could marry Sebastian.
Elizabeth missed a step. With a quick move Sebastian was able to cover, convincing the watching guests they had executed a rather difficult move, and not a slip.
"Sorry," she apologized, praying her cheeks didn't appear as hot as she felt.
"Don't be," he grinned, ignoring his comment from before, "You're an excellent dancer."
Elizabeth cut her eyes upwards at him and pursed her lips, only making him grin wider.
No, she could not marry Sebastian. It was not the title of Phantomhive she had wanted so long ago, it was to marry Ciel.
But why does refusing him seem the wrong choice?
An awareness came upon her of just how warm he felt, and she flushed deeper as realized just how close they were; their bodies pressed together far more than necessary - and oh…so comfortably. With a simple turn of her head, she could rest against his shoulder - an act she resolutely objected to.
His gaze was intently set on her; his cool expression returned.
"You are absolutely beautiful, Elizabeth."
Looking up shyly, her eyes locked with his, and found a secret, almost indecision just within.
She parted her lips to speak, but hesitated.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said after a short pause.
In the following turn, they managed to separate, if only slightly.
Couples glided around them, paying no more mind to the small blonde dancing with the handsome Guest of Honor.
The Waltz had reached its end. With a sweeping spin, Elizabeth found herself resting inside the crook of his elbow. A raw moment of silence passed between them, unmoving from their central place on floor.
Quiet, paced clapping evolved into roars of cheer and applause. The guests watching on had adored their Waltz, a beautiful spectacle that had drawn every eye.
Slowly, she dared to lift her eyes to him.
Peering down, Sebastian grinned, "Dancing with you, my lady, has been a great pleasure and honor. I'd much like another one, sometime."
She nodded playfully, "Of course, Sebastian. I would love that."
He gently squeezed her hand, turning her attention to the audience directly in front of them. Not just the audience, but one member in particular:
Her mother.
Catching eyes with her daughter, Francis gave a short and discrete gesture, signaling for Elizabeth to approach her - immediately. Her expression was blank, plain; but her daughter knew very well this as a calm before the storm.
A feeling of dread chilled Elizabeth. What had she done? She wished Sebastian would sweep her away from her mother, perhaps to get them glasses of champagne, but – Oh, no! He released her, and led her directly to her ice-cold mother.
"Lady Francis," Sebastian bowed with a smirk, "I am pleased to see you could attend."
A cut of the eyes alerted him in advance that his standing with her had in no way changed. "Lord Michaelis," she used every fiber in her body to be polite, "I believe a 'Congratulations' is in order. That was skillful dancing you displayed."
"I am honored," He placed his hand over his heart.
"Yes. Very much so," she continued, a bit impatiently, "Now, if you would excuse us, I need a moment with my daughter."
Panic rose in Elizabeth.
Sebastian lowered his head, "Of course, My Lady." He took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it once again, deliberately prolonging it. Lifting his lips, he caught her eyes with a slight grin. "Goodnight, Lady Elizabeth."
Elizabeth curtsied, wishing he had – not just done that.
Francis latched onto her daughter and pulled her away, leaving Sebastian staring after them. They stopped short before doors to an empty terrace.
"Mother, what is it?" Elizabeth asked slowly.
Her mother breathed in deeply, "You are aware that you are 'my' daughter, and that Charles is soon to be your fiancé, correct?"
"What-"
"Have you forgotten your approaching engagement? Your very reputation - 'our' reputation? Are you risking all of that on purpose, or have you just gone dim?" Francis kept her volume in check, but her tone was growing in rage.
Elizabeth stayed silent, still wondering what she had done to enrage her mother.
"Because," her mother continued, "If you had remembered any of that, then you would not have displayed such…vulgarity in public."
She recoiled as if slapped, "Vulgarity? A simple waltz is not-"
"No, a 'simple' waltz is not. But what you were doing - clinging to a man in such a way, a man who is not only the Guest of Honor but is Sebastian Michaelis! You should be ashamed."
It stung her deeply to hear such words from her mother. Elizabeth had not once considered any of those things. Thinking back on the dance, she had not "clung" to him, not in any sort of fashion. His height had been a little issue, but…she had truly enjoyed every moment, even her slip.
"I wasn't...'clinging' to him in any such way," she sought for an explanation, "He's very tall mother, and it was the only way to dance comfortably."
"You had no such trouble with Lord Phipps,"
"We weren't dancing a Waltz. That was a Mazurka. It's... different. Others seemed to enjoy our dancing, as well."
Her mother glared, "Do not speak to me as though I am a fool. The way you looked at him…I have told you before to stay away from him, but I'll excuse this once for the ball. Do not let it happen again."
Composing herself, Francis stalked away. Her daughter stayed behind, reeling from their conversation. Fortunately, no one had seen their spat.
"Lady Lizzie!"
Charles Grey sauntered toward her, the bemused grin of a hunter on his lips.
"Earl Grey," she lowered her head.
"May I speak with you outside?" He gestured to the empty terrace.
"Ah," she looked to rest of the mass, none of them noticing the two. She caught sight of Sebastian giving another girl, beautiful and young and brunette, a glass of champagne.
Complying with Grey, she nodded, "Yes, you may."
He took her arm, guiding her outside. The cool air struck her sharply, sending chills along her body. The fairly large terrace was lit up by outside lanterns, and was almost unrecognizable from its recent renovations – like the rest of the manor.
Upon reaching the edge, he released her quickly, as if her skin had burned him through his gloves. But when she looked at him directly, expecting him to lash out at her as Francis had, she saw something else entirely.
He was calm, not angry or upset - only, he seemed to be hiding something she couldn't quite place...
Sadness?
"Lizzie," Oh, how she wished he would stop using that name for her, "I hope you have enjoyed your night. I am sorry I have not spent much time with you."
"That's quite all right. I have enjoyed the ball, anyway."
He laughed heartily. "My absence, no doubt, the cause."
Confused, she eyed him carefully, "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, Lizzie," he smiled bitterly, "I am not blind, nor a fool. It has been...evident, for a long while, that you do not care for me. In fact, I'm quite sure you loathe me."
Whether from the glow of the party or the countering moonlight, his usual sardonic smirk appeared sad and tired, and his eyes, though shining with his honest pride, were melancholic in their gaze. And for the first time, she found him pitiable.
Silently she studied him in this state, readying an argument, a denial.
"But," he silenced her coming refusals, "No matter that. Unlike our last time alone, this is in fact, a marriage proposal."
Swiftly, he took her hands in his, looking her in the eye.
"Charles," she whispered nervously. So quickly, so soon. Her father hadn't even...her father.
As if reading her mind he continued, "This is not my formal proposal. When your father returns, I will formally ask you then, but..."
Her heart was pounding, and a lump caught in her throat. Elizabeth felt positive that her face was beet red.
"I know I'm not who you want. But who you want is dead. I'm here, alive, vying for you against a dead man."
"Charles, I'm not..." Stop.
"I don't need an answer right this moment. Just, please consider it, Lizzie...Before someone steals you away."
His face was dangerously close to hers, though no hidden intent behind the proximity.
Her gaze fell to their clasped hands, his grip surprisingly gentle.
This is what her mother had been preparing her for. Marriage. To Charles Grey. The only man pursuing her. She suddenly wished she had accepted Sebastian's offer.
Sebastian. Her thoughts stuck to him, over Charles, over her mother, over her future. The beautiful girl he was with came to mind, and she tried shaking all thoughts of him away - Sebastian wouldn't want her anyway.
Her attention was drawn back to Charles as his warm, slightly chapped lips kissed her cheek. He drew away, looking at her pleadingly.
"I do...love you, Elizabeth," another bitter laugh broke forth, "Even if you can't bear me. A consideration...that's all I ask."
He stepped back, hard smile fading.
"I suppose we should rejoin the party. Shall we go inside?" He offered his hand to her.
She needed a moment alone – a moment to breathe, to think. "I... Thank you, but...I'd like to stay out on the terrace for moment, if you please."
He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "All right. I'll leave you be."
After one last once-over, he went inside.
Shaking, she rested against the iron rails, her head falling into her hands. "Oh, God...Help me."
"I'm sure there are people on earth that can help you just as well."
Startled at the sudden voice, she spun around quickly, connecting her elbow with Sebastian's chest.
Doubling over, he gaped at her, surprised and momentarily sore.
Seeing his face dumbed in pain, she gasped in embarrassment. His hand had instinctively pressed against the surely bruising spot, right in the center of his stomach.
Several apologies spilled off of her lips. The surprise had stunned him into silence, leaving her to ramble on. Embarrassed and flushing, she reached out, sliding her hand beneath his over the sore spot.
"I'm so very, very sorry! I didn't know you were so close-"
Finding his voice, he stopped her, "-My lady, I am fine. I have felt much...much worse. You merely surprised me."
Carefully, he lifted her hand away from his chest. A twinkle played in his eye.
"It is for the best really. You'd return in good graces with your mother if you tell her," he joked.
"You heard,"
Drawing her hands together at the base of her bodice, she offered a small, apologetic smile.
"I am sorry."
He grinned, "Apologies accepted."
She smiled sheepishly, "Thank you. May I ask what brought you outside?"
"This is my manor, I'm sure I can go where I wish."
Her flushing seemed endless tonight. "I understand... I will go inside if-"
"-Why? In truth, my lady, I'd wished to enjoy your company alone for moment."
A shawl hung over his arm caught her eye. Although she looked back to him, he lifted the shawl to her, having noticed her fallen gaze.
"I brought this out for you. It's quite chilling tonight, isn't it?"
"Yes – in many ways," she smiled weakly, "Thank you, Sebastian - er, Lord Michaelis."
He laughed halfheartedly, "Don't start that, now. As always, just 'Sebastian,' please."
"Sebastian," she whispered unintentionally aloud, unintentionally lovingly. So easily, so naturally his name fell from her lips. She surprised herself, thinking in such a way.
Taking a step nearer to her, he draped the warm shawl over her, hands lingering.
She hugged the soft fabric to her body, gazing at him with a small curl of her lips. "Thank you, Sebastian."
Looking down through long, dark lashes, he absentmindedly massaged circles over her shoulder where his hand still lay.
"Lord Michaelis!" A servant burst onto the terrace, heaving with deep breaths.
Sebastian dropped his hand abruptly.
"What is it?" He asked sharply.
"There's an issue with Lord Baker and the Viscountess of Druitt. Your presence is needed."
Sebastian sighed deeply, cutting his eyes to the poor servant. "I see. Please excuse me, My Lady."
The servant led him toward the door
"Wait!"
He turned, facing her. She reached out tentatively, fingers grazing his cheek as she tucked away a stray lock of obsidian hair.
"Can't have you looking unpresentable," she smiled shyly, her touch lingering beneath his jaw line.
Lips curling ever so slightly, he bowed, thanking her, and followed the servant inside.
Alone once more, she groaned audibly.
What am I doing to myself?