V. Brighton

It was easy to keep Juliet under constant surveillance while he danced with Isabel, Henry found. He just had to turn his head this way or that—never quite fitting the dance steps they made or the direction the dance figures led them, but manageable. He chose to ignore Isabel's low huffs of annoyance, and deep inside he knew he was going to regret that later; but for now it couldn't be helped.

Later he would swear there had never been a longer waltz in the history of balls, and most certainly never a more agonising—which was in no way the waltz's fault, or Isabel's. Or Henry's, for that matter. It was being condemned to helplessly witness the proceedings around his sister that made time slow down so excruciatingly for him.

While he and Isabel did the first few dance steps, he saw Will Lawrence performing an awkward bow to Juliet and then hastily retreating to the other side of the room, all but running.

Juliet, smiling unaffectedly, watched the dancing couples and then searched the room while swaying slightly in time to the music. Henry saw her looking expectantly to a group of young men who had gathered near the dance floor; but none of them seemed to be aware of her, or of the fact that there was a girl in the room who had yet to be asked for a dance. In fact, it was as if they deliberately looked everywhere but where Juliet stood; and her hopeful glances bounced ineffectively off their backs.

Then Waldo Bosham left a giggling Victoria Wainsworth with a rather amateurishly executed hand kiss and a low bow and ambled towards Juliet. Waldo Bosham, youngest son of Lord Pennington andyoungest member of the House of Commons, a tall strawberry blonde fellow with more freckles than Henry had ever seen on a person's face—exactly the type of man Juliet had a soft spot for ever since she had been fourteen and seen a production of 'Much Ado About Nothing' with a tall, strawberry blonde, freckled actor playing the role of Benedick. And, predictably, Juliet bestowed Young Waldo with the most charming smile and came his way a step, making an inviting gesture.

He was on the verge of leaving Isabel alone on the dance floor, when Bosham, pretending he didn't see her, ever-so-casually redirected his steps and strode away from Henry's little sister, looking straight the other way.

"Is everything all right, Henry?" Isabel's question after his subsequent misstep didn't sound like an inquiry, but like a warning. "You do remember that this is supposed to be a waltz?"

Henry had never seen her so indignant, but then again he never had failed so much at being a perfect gentleman and dance partner. For some reason, though, the displeasure made her face even more beautiful. Somehow vivacious.

"It was you who distracted me from the dance, Isabel," Henry whispered into her ear. "How can you expect me to function properly when you look so perfectly beautiful? When your eyes challenge the stars, your lips make the roses pale, and your hair—"

"I'm surprised you noticed that, Henry." Isabel was not the average, easy to pacify girl: she wouldn't let him get away with just a bit of flattery, even though she did look slightly less vexed. "Now stop cajoling. Dance."

Henry must have looked rather sheepish at that, because Isabel's features softened even more, and then she actually smiled and said in a low voice, "You may sweet-talk me after the dance. If you behave."

He vowed to himself he would behave. Oh, he most certainly would behave. Just one more check if Juliet was all right. Well, apparently she was. She had found her way to a group of other young girls, most of whom looked vaguely familiar to Henry.

He was about to turn his attention back to Isabel when there suddenly was a bit of a commotion in the group, with several girls speaking at the same time and a lot of snickering only barely concealed by hands, and then he watched how one of them addressed Juliet with a face that spoke of spite and condescension.

Juliet couldn't entirely hold back a hurt expression, but she composed her features quickly, raised her right eyebrow and said something to her assailant that, in Henry's experience, could only be a biting retort. It didn't come as a surprise when the girl's visible gasp confirmed his suspicion.

And then Isabel hissed, "Would you mind looking at me while we dance, Henry? At least from time to time?"

The tone of voice was too much like a reprimand from Juliet to ignore it, and something Henry would rather not hear from the woman he planned to spend a lot of time with for, let's say, the rest of his life; and so he dutifully looked at Isabel's exasperated face.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Her lips formed a thin line. A very thin line, thinner even than the thread of hope Henry had for reconciling with her tonight. And then she said pointedly, "Oh, you most certainly are."

Henry cringed. He didn't dare to look back at his sister, and when he finally found the guts to do so, Juliet had vanished. For the rest of the dance, Henry considered whether it was more important to pacify Isabel or to look after Juliet once the music died away.

ooOoo