VII. Dance

The summer festivals are in order. It is widely known that it is the king's favourite time of the year, and as such festivities swarm the castle and its grounds. Tonight is something special to behold – a dance. A grand ball, as some would say. Every courtier is in attendance, as are many guests from some of the most affluent cities in the country.

It is a bright, jovial affair, an evening filled with diversions beyond count. The whole court is seemingly boisterous on drink as entertainments pass us by. A troupe of talented players performs pieces, capturing us with their stories until we laugh and weep on their command.

Once the players are through, the musicians lift their instruments and the hall if filled with bright, moving music. Adelaide is thrilled – she passes from partner to partner, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She basks in the delight of being noticed. No doubt her feckless youth is attractive to many of the guest nobility who grace the hall. Fernanda is equally enjoying the evening's proceedings. She is attempting to charm her way through a mass of older nobles, no doubt hoping to snare a wealthy widower with her young, rosy looks.

As for me, I partake in the dancing, but only with a mask of amusement. I would much rather observe the dance then participate. Since Adelaide and Fernanda brought it to light, I have begun to fully notice the way men observe me and it makes me uncomfortable. Their lingering stares I can do without, and I long to make it clear to them that I have no desire to return their affections.

There is one most vile man whom I have not yet managed to dissuade. His name is Sir Edward, a recently-made knight some ten years my elder, though he does not look it. His appearance is that of a much younger man, and his boasting attitude suggests young age rather than a seasoned warrior. His looks aid him in attracting the ladies' eyes much more than his egoism does. He has auburn hair, which is a rarity and sparks much interest in my fellow ladies. However, much to their disappointment and mine, he pursues me with a single-minded manner and ignores all the others.

For these past few days, he has continuously asked for my hand in a dance and for some reason I cannot fathom, I am always placed as his partner. If it is some curse of fate that brings me to him, then I curse fate all the more. As I am the Lord Chamberlain's daughter, I cannot refuse his demands outright without causing a volatile explosion for the entire court to hear. I am bound by politeness, and I despise it.

Unfortunately, my continued partnership with him has caused ripples of whispers across the court, so much that Adelaide and Fernanda are among those who think Edward is my secret lover. All I can hope is that once these festivities pass, my father's disapproving look will send Edward running, unless I find some way of doing so beforehand.

That is why I currently find myself trapped in his embrace as we sail across the dance floor to the tune of a merry jig.

"Do you like to dance, my lady?" he asks.

If such dancing leads you to dropping dead from exhaustion. It is a daft question, in the wake of having danced with me for three consecutive days. I smile as sweetly as I can, even though my thoughts are as far from sweet as can be.

"It is a pleasant enough pastime."

"You should enjoy it more," he says. "Clearly it is the most merriment a woman of the court encounters." He chortles.

I do not like the sound of his laughter. It is harsh and coarse and profoundly ugly. "You are amused, my lord." I do not mean it as a question. Edward clearly finds whatever slips past his lips entertaining.

"Of course I am, lovely lady," he says.

I burn inside. No one addresses me as such – except one. And he is not Edward. I restrain the burning in the pit of my stomach and force my expression into a saccharine mask.

"Ow!"

"My lord?" I ask, feigning bewilderment.

"My foot," he says harshly, his eyes flaring.

"My deepest apologies, Sir Edward," I say charmingly. "My feet are so clumsy, it is astonishing that I have learned to dance at all."

"Ah, of course, of course," he says. "You ladies live such sheltered lives; this obviously does not come naturally to do."

I wrinkle my nose. I can smell the sourness of drink on his breath. "Evidently, my lord."

He laughs again. "Ho ho! You agree. Of course you agree; you are the perfect portrait of obedience, Lady Ophelia. As are most women in this court, as I hear."

My smile is continuous. My cheeks are beginning to ache. I wonder whether he has noticed that I have not changed my expression since we began this dance.

"It is difficult to find a lady who dares to live a little," he says in an off-hand manner. "You with your embroidery and gossip, staying aloof high in the castle walls. Women do nothing for themselves. It is no small wonder that you are so reserved when you lock yourselves away like that."

"Of course," I say. I make my voice monotone, wondering whether he will notice. He views me as a puppet in his arms, and puppets have no expression. "Would you have us all be like country girls?"

"They are much more interesting." He pulls me close and flicks one of the flowers in my hair. I scowl, but he doesn't seem to take note. "They are uneducated and daft," he says, "but they have spirit. I have met many such a peasant girl on my travels."

My cheeks burn red. I am not so innocent as to not understand the meaning behind his words; he does not cloak them well. A simpleton would understand. I have a strong desire to exact some kind of vengeance on him for all those girls who have gone – most likely unwillingly – to his bed.

"You do a fine impersonation of one for a lady of high rank," Sir Edward says, eyeing the flowers in my hair. "I should dearly like to meet the girl who made this garland. She has a fine eye for beauty."

I set my jaw. "Thank you, my lord," I say through my teeth.

"What?"

"You look upon that girl right now."

His eyebrows rise. He chortles. "Indeed? How… quaint of you, Lady Ophelia. By your pale complexion, I would have expected you to have stayed indoors for most of your life, like a good lady should."

I am seething now. "Contrary to your beliefs, sir," I say flatly, "I quite enjoy the outdoors. In fact, most of the ladies of the court do. However, I doubt they will find your endearing comparison to the peasant girls so fine. As I am merely a silly, young, sheltered woman, I clearly do not have the intelligence to keep such a piece of information to myself and no doubt it may slip past my lips to my friends. And as they only have the combined intelligence of a flock of birds, it will slip past their lips to their friends – and so on and so forth until every lady in this court knows what Sir Edward of the Auburn Hair thinks of them." I cannot resist putting in the insult to his hair colour. Though it is was the ladies call him when they speak of him, from my lips it is an insult. I smile and return to my previously sugary ways. "Undoubtedly, the queen – a great lover of the outdoors herself – will hear of it, too. I believe she may not be all that impressed." I bat my eyelashes for added effect.

Sir Edward has gone very pale.

"But as we are all such silly women," I finish, "nothing should come of your hasty remarks, now will it, Sir Edward?"

He stares at me, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"That is your logic, is it not?" I add. "That all women are so foolish that we must be lead around by the men in our lives? Would you like to put that belief to the test, Sir Edward?"

He blinks his eyes, dumbfounded into silence.

"Oh dear," I sigh. "And here I thought I had found a man who could at least keep up his end of the conversation. Unfortunately, it looks to me as though your lips are sealed. Poor me. I had such great expectations for a knight." The dance comes to an end. I curtsey to Sir Edward and say, "Thank you for your time, my lord. I doubt I shall be needing your acquaintance any longer."

I turn, smiling triumphantly to myself, and disappear through the crowd. As I make my way, I see the queen twirl to a stop in the arms of the king's brother. Where the king is, I do not know, but he has a better liking for drink than dance. The queen is giddy and laughing, her eyes full of light. As she walks away, she nearly collides with me.

"Oh, Ophelia!"

"Your Majesty." I curtsey.

"Oh, that is not necessary, my dear," the queen says, waving the formalities aside. She looks flushed, even in her royal glamour. "It is a trifle hot, do you not think?" she says as she fans herself. "Come, let's take a walk."

"Yes, Your Majesty," I answer and I follow her through the crowd. The next dance has started. I see Adelaide whirl by, giddy with delight. She waves to me over her partner's shoulders. I wave back, glad to see her frivolous side content.

Through a part in the crowd, I can make out Sir Edward, standing with several of his friends. His face is flushed red and he does not look at all pleased. The men accompanying him are howling with laughter, supposedly at him. I feel triumph's glow. Now he knows the consequences of dealing with an educated woman. Hopefully he will remember it – he acts as though his advances have never been thwarted before. I make note that I should relate this story to my dear Hamlet in my next letter. No doubt he will find it amusing.

"Are you enjoying the festivities, Ophelia?" the queen asks as we walk down a silent corridor outside the grand hall.

"To some degree, Your Majesty," I reply.

She shakes her head. "Please," she says, "do not address me so, dear one, when it is just you and I."

"My lady?"

The queen sighs. "I have a confession to make, Ophelia," she says. "You are very much like the daughter I have never had. I have become very fond of you, and as you have no mother, I…" She falls silent, but I do not need to hear the words she cannot bring herself to speak. My eyes are wet; I can feel the onset of tears. I blink them away. I do not wish to weep; I weep far too easily. Feeling a curtsey would be inappropriate here, I take a risk and embrace the queen as I would my own mother. She seems startled for a moment, but she accepts it.

"Thank you, dearest," she says softly.

I let go and step back. "My thanks are yours, your…" I cut myself off. "Gertrude."

She laughs at the familiar address. "It is not very often that I hear my own name," she says. "Let us walk. The Lord knows one cannot stay in that hall forever."

"It is boisterous," I agree. "Perhaps that is why I can only enjoy part of it. I prefer the peace and quiet."

"Yet you partook in all the dances."

"Sir Edward was persistent."

"Hm. A persistent man is difficult to ignore."

"Until you trick him into embarrassment," I say. "Only then, when he finds himself outwitted, will he leave you alone as he is too much a coward for your sharpened tongue." I pause. "In your private ear, Sir Edward is a vile man and I hold no affection for him whatsoever. He is bawdy of mouth and as such, it was easy to dupe him."

Gertrude laughs. "I should very much like to hear this tale," she says.

I smile and agree. I tell her the story of how it occurred. She proves to be an excellent audience, laughing and shaking her head at Edward's woes and taking offence at his words.

"He has shamed himself by attempting to court you," Gertrude says when I come to my conclusion. "Poor, vile man, indeed. I do say you have caused quite the fracas, Ophelia. This story will spread around the court like wildfire. You stirred the imagination of the nobles these past few days simply by speaking to Sir Edward in the first place. When word of your… words to him spreads, you will further ingrain your reputation as a lady who has no interest in men."

"That is true enough," I say, glancing through the window at the starry sky above. "There is no man at court who interests me."