The Cinderella Connection: Cinderella Connection, #5

The Dance

LeAnn Mathis

Copyright 2016 By Hearth Publications

All rights reserved

Email HearthPublications@gmail.com

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Cover Art: Ballet Shoes. Royal Winnipeg Ballet at UApresents. The University of Arizona. Web. 20 July 2016. .

Donald

Royal Visit

Under the Palace

Back Below

Donald

A mother’s duty is to marry her daughters off to advantage. At least that’s what mine believed. Advantage meant wealth, position, and power. And she succeeded. One by one, four of my older sisters married men of great importance and power. Never mind the fact that they were boring when they weren’t condescending.

Now there were only two of us left. I wished I knew how the princesses did it. Twelve of them, but none of them were married. I asked my mother if there was something wrong with them, and she slapped me across the face. We do not gossip about the royal family in this household.

Point taken.

But I still wondered.

I wanted my future husband to be interesting, brave, kind, and handsome. I longed to dance with someone who was not family and have compliments whispered in my ear.

After my sixteenth birthday, Mother said I was finally old enough to come out. I danced around the room. Mother chided me, but I skipped through the door and pranced around the house, telling all the servants. When I found Margot in the music room, I twirled her around in a circle. I’m finally coming out.

She tightened the embrace. Congratulations. That means you get to perform with me at the next assembly. I’m singing Gestreuet mit Bleumen.

I wrinkled my nose. Isn’t strewn with flowers a wedding aria?

She wiggled her eyebrows. Mother hoped it would be ‘inspirational.’ After all, two seasons is acceptable, but a third, and you might as well declare yourself an old maid.

We laughed. Margot walked over to the piano and picked up another group of papers. This one must be yours. They were delivered at the same time.

My mouth fell open. O fröhliche Stunden, o herrlicher Tag? Only Michelle could have hit all those high notes. I couldn’t even hit all the alto ones. I had the vocal range of a worm. What is she thinking?

That if you spent more time singing and less time dancing everywhere, then you could expand your talents.

I jumped. Hello, Mother.

She didn’t leave the doorway. The singing tutor will be here this afternoon. I suggest you pay attention because you don’t want to be embarrassed next week.

I gulped and flipped through the pages again. Maybe if I practiced enough, Mother would finally acknowledge it really wasn’t a talent of mine, and I could do a dance performance instead.

I sang for hours every day, but that made my voice hoarse, and I sounded even worse than normal. I begged my mother to let me do something else, but she shook her finger at me. No one can sound as bad as you unless they try. Your sister’s voice will sound heavenly compared to yours, but I still expect an adequate performance from you.

Can’t I just dance or do an oration.

She shook her head. I know you can do this. I hoped having an audience would help you take this skill more seriously, but it hasn’t shown up in your practices. She walked to the door and turned around. Let’s hope you find your voice on stage.

I was left with my sheet music, a broken voice, and no choice but to perform.

The night of my coming out, I could barely garner enough enthusiasm to lift my arms and tilt my head when the maid directed me to. No matter how hard I tried, I still screeched like a cat on the high notes.

All the guests gathered in the music room. After the pianist performed a concerto, Mother nodded at me. I took a deep breath and walked forward.

I nodded at the pianist and turned toward the crowd. I focused on a section of the wall above everyone’s head. Hoping that if I didn’t have to look at them, I wouldn’t feel their disappointment.

The first laugh startled me. I glanced down and saw Henri Patrimoine cover his mouth with a hand. The young man next to him was pressing his lips together. At least he stayed silent during my performance, but when I failed to hit a high note, he grimaced.

I returned my eyes to the spot on the far wall, and when I felt them straying, I closed them. This was not the happy hour or blessed day the song promised.

As soon as I was finished, I left. I had publicly humiliated myself. My mother couldn’t demand anymore from me. Maybe next time she’d believe me when I said I couldn’t do something.

Leaving the party would have been unacceptable, but the garden would be the next best place. No one would come out there for a while.

I walked along the flower beds, letting my fingers trace over the delicate tips before sitting on a fountain bench. I dipped my hands in the water and watched each drop return to its source – slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. 

When I was younger, I was convinced there was music everywhere. You just had to listen for it. I still looked for patterns.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I startled. I thought I’d have a few more moments of quiet before people started entering the garden. The young man who had been sitting next to Henri adjusted his neck tie. Do you mind if I join you?

I shrugged, and he sat a few feet away from me. It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?

I looked up. I guess.

How long have you been singing?

I cringed.

You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

I shook my head. No, it’s okay. I just...I know tonight didn’t go well. I didn’t think it would and tried to get my mother to let me do something else, but she wouldn’t listen. I lifted my hand and flicked the water back at the fountain. At least it made my older sister look good.

He frowned. What would you have rather done?

Dance. I sighed. There’s nothing I like more than twisting and turning in time to a good country romp.

Then why aren’t you in there? He tilted his head toward the music.

Because then I’d have to face my humiliation again. No, thank you. Who would want to dance with the disgrace?

Just because you can’t sing doesn’t mean you can’t do other things well. Look at me. I can’t walk straight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ride, shoot, or manage books.

I looked at him. You can’t walk straight?

Nope. He shrugged. It’s been a problem since birth.

I placed my hands on my hips, preparing to tell him off for mocking me when he took his shoes off. He then proceeded to walk, and its rolling half-kick was not what I had expected. I covered my mouth. No offense, but that looks exactly like a...like a...

He shook a finger in my direction. If you say waddle, then I will knock you backwards into the water and pretend it was an accident.

I laughed, and he handed me a shoe. My cobbler back home makes the shoes especially for me. It helps reduce the, um, sway in my step, but it doesn’t take it away completely.

I traced over it while he put the other shoe on. He had found a way to hide his weakness – but had revealed it to make me feel better.  I handed it back to him.

He took it and looked at me. I’ll make you a deal. If you agree to come back and dance with me, then I will let everyone see my kick step.

You would do that? Why?

He sighed. Because no one should be teased. Whether it’s for their legs, their walk, or their voice. We are more than just a part of us.

He had only heard me sing and had no idea if I could actually dance or not, but he was willing to take that chance. All he knew was that it would make me feel better. I smiled. I like that. Yes, I will dance with you.

I cocked an ear to the side. I hadn’t planned to go back tonight and had let the music wash over me. But now it was time to find out where we were in the program. I glanced at the young man. The next song is going to be fast. Do you want to wait?

He shook his head. No, I can keep up. I may not be the most graceful dancer, but I will be there when you need me.

I looked at his legs and shrugged. If he thought he could do it, then maybe he could. I stood up and dusted my skirt off. Then let’s romp.

Inside, the music had switched to one of the fastest country dances in the lineup. I raised an eyebrow and he nodded. He then led me to the middle of the floor. Gutsy. I liked that.

I leaned toward him. What’s your name, anyway?

Donald Williams. At your service. He stepped back and bowed as the dance began.

He lacked style and grace of his own, but he wasn’t watching me for mistakes. He just encouraged me to jump higher and twirl faster than I had gone before. Every time I needed him to be there for me, he was. I felt no pressure – no expectations – and danced better than ever. I was free to move to the music as it called to me.

This was what dancing should be.

After the song ended, more people asked me to dance. Donald backed away and let me have my moment. I wanted to thank him for the chance he took on me and reserved a slow song for him later in the evening.

He was doing his grand tour – an event intended to refine English gentlemen – and would only be here a month or two before travelling on to his next country. I didn’t want him to go, however. If I ever felt stupid for telling a bad joke, making an unladylike noise, or spilling on myself, all I had to do was look at him, and I knew it would be all right. Nothing could be worse than my singing, and people had learned to overlook that.

My parents arranged to present me to the king, and I wanted to take him with me for moral support, but his time in France had ended. We promised to write to each other while we were away. My parents weren’t ecstatic when they heard about it, but it was perfectly proper, and it sustained me as I prepared for the second scariest thing I had ever done in my life.

Royal Visit

Remember, curtsy as soon as you walk into the room, and again when you are introduced. There is no need to say anything. The king probably won’t say anything at all to you, but if he does, then I can answer for you.

I nodded and looked out the window. We had already reached the royal grounds, but the palace itself was still several minutes away. Mother rapped