Chapter 17

John stood in the corner of the ballroom watching the dancing. The New Years ball was on a smaller scale this year, but still it carried on. Just another way to show the Germans, or so Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson said. John wasn't entirely sure what they were supposed to be showing the Germans, but it was an excuse to dress up and see Anna enjoy herself.

Anna looked radiant. She was in blue, something that had perhaps belonged to one of the young ladies, dark and shining, with her new brooch pinned to her throat and her hair in a different style than usual. John's eyes followed her everywhere. She never wanted for partners. Men were scarce: Mr. Crawley was away, having recently left for duty, as had most of the staff. The neighboring young men had not turned up for the evening as they had in the past. The dancing men consisted of Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson, Mr. Branson, Mr. Molesley, William, and some men from the gardens and stables John didn't know.

Before his injury, John had been a fine dancer. His height and natural ease with his body made him a sought after partner, especially during the early days of his military career. John loved the feeling of a woman in his arms, guiding her around the room, touching her but barely, eyes only for each other until the music stopped. When he and his mother and brother returned to Ireland after his father's death, he rarely missed a ceiledh at his uncle's pub. John was the only dancer in the family, and the only one who wasn't musical. His brother played whistle, his uncle played flute, and his mother was expert in mouth music and she knew all the old ballads. She maintained they were strictly Irish, no matter how many times or how many people told her the same songs existed in bloodier versions in Scotland and sadder versions in the Appalachian Mountains of America. Perhaps she was right. The old songs did seem somehow uniquely Irish to John in their fixation on faery lovers and loss and mysterious women.

John's favorite dance of all was the reel. High energy, a little rough, and with the variety of dancing with all the women between returning to the familiarity of his partner. A night of dancing at the pub was young John's best evening. His favorite tune was TheWindthat ShakestheBarley. As the whiskey flowed, his uncle's band would play faster and faster until the dancers all but collapsed in a heap when the music suddenly stopped, like the wind on a stormy summer's day.

Tonight's dancing was much more polite. More elegant. It was just as well: John didn't want Anna to be partnered with anyone but him for anything that might turn rambunctious. She was dancing with Mr. Molesley now. John took a few steps forward, his eyes never moving from them. Mr. Molesley looked nervous. Good. Anna was looking indulgent. She was too kind. Every time she passed John, he caught her eye and smiled or looked sternly at Mr. Molesley's back. Anna choked back a laugh and Mr. Molesley looked even more dour than usual. Had he figured it out yet? Had he discerned who this mysterious and keen admirer was? He would before the night was out, of that John was certain.

Anna's next partner was Mr. Branson. He was safe. John could freshen his drink and mingle. He found himself standing next to Miss O'Brien. John had hoped the festive spirit would inhabit her, preventing her natural personality from manifesting, but it was too much to ask. If anything, a room of carefree celebration mixed with mulled wine enhanced her sourness. No one had asked her to dance except an elderly stableman who couldn't quite rid himself of the distinct odor of his profession, and the Earl, out of sympathy. Tonight her venom was against the young women, especially Anna. She commented that Anna was looking perky. That she had a new piece of jewelry that looked right nice. That she must have a fancy man. That it would all come to nothing. John looked at Miss O'Brien and said it was no wonder a beautiful woman would have beautiful things, and if she indeed had a gentleman, he was the luckiest man in the world. He smiled and walked away. John needed to claim a partner for the final dance of the evening.

Anna smiled as John met her eyes. He leaned his cane against a chair and slowly, as gracefully as he could manage, made his way to her.

"I was hoping I might claim a dance."

Anna was surprised. John took her hand to his lips. That was safe in ballroom.

"Oh, yes, but…I thought…"

"You thought that I didn't dance. I thought I'd make an exception, and I promise I'll try not to fall on you."

They grinned at each other. John was sure the room was staring at them. He felt they were giving off light.

John didn't trust himself to manage anything with elaborate footwork, but he had not lost the ability to hold himself and his partner elegantly. Effortless gliding across the floor was not an option, but he could hold her in his arms and look into her eyes and move with her gently. They could smile together. They could talk softly. They moved to a discreet edge of the room, in case, and managed a slow box step.

"I think Miss O'Brien is jealous." John wondered if he was leaning too close. This dress showed more of her neck and than he was accustomed to seeing in public. The cut of the bodice flattered her small bustline and her trim waist. She fit so perfectly in his hands. He could never touch her enough.

"Oh? Jealous of whom?" Anna looked up at him, the corner of her mouth smiling. John's heart skipped a beat.

"She seems to think you have what she calls a fancy man." He could rest his chin on top of her head.

"I wonder what makes her think that."

John raised his eyebrows as he looked down at Anna.

"I can't imagine." The smile consumed both of them. Were people looking? Did they know? Did he care?

It was very late, and Anna's eyes were shiny. John wanted to stop moving and wrap his arms about her and hold her there against him. Her hair was starting to fall from the low, loose arrangement she'd chosen for the evening. He liked it; the golden strands caught the candle light and he liked seeing it uncovered and in something other than the severe bun. He was vexed that Anna was slightly disheveled and he had nothing to do with it. He was frustrated that this may be as disheveled as he would ever see her and it might never be because of him. A curl had fall below her ear. John released her hand long enough to smooth it back into place. His finger traced behind and below her ear and along her neck and shoulder before he returned his hand to hers. Anna's eyes never left his. Make the best of what they had. She sighed quietly. John was afraid his knees were weakening. Did they know? Did they care? Did he dare?

As the music began to slow, as the new year came in, John leaned forward and kissed her. Slowly, softly, not so passionately as to cause alarm but passionately enough to leave no doubt as to the nature of their relationship. They did not embrace. They were barely touching. The kiss was relaxed and profound rather than deep and searching. It was as if they were sighing together. When the music stopped and the dancers began clapping, John gently pulled away. They couldn't stop smiling, and he wanted nothing more than to lean in again and pull Anna towards him. He felt eyes on them. Everyone knew. What had he done? Did anyone care? Did Anna care? What would the new year bring?