“Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.”

George Bernard Shaw

I settle comfortably into the chair, and observe the row of dancers with interest. The musicians play the waltz, the second dance of the ball today. The first is a polonaise according to tradition, in which all guests without exception must take part. The list of partners was drawn up in advance; if a gentleman wanted to dance the first dance with a certain lady, he would engage her a week before the ball, or even earlier, to make sure that nobody beat him to it.

My case is somewhat different: I am dancing with Viscount Leon Shiro, with whom I am on strictly friendly terms. We do not feel any strong emotions, either positive or negative, towards each other, so the dance progresses peacefully, to our mutual satisfaction. As soon as the last notes fade, Leon walks me to the chairs arranged for the convenience of the guests, and goes on to play cards at one of the tables prepared for this purpose.

So now I'm relaxing and watching the dancing couples. This season pastel colors are in fashion, so the women's dresses are dominated by colors like pink, yellow, ivory, pale blue. As it should be at a ball, the dresses are luxurious. Lush due to the layered petticoats, decorated with colored ruffles at the edges, as well as lace and bows. Ornaments adorn the fabrics, depicting various flowers. Because of the abundance of decorations on the dresses, accessories such as brooches and necklaces are almost out of fashion. Narrow sleeves extend to the elbow. The high hairstyles decorated with feathers alone are reminiscent of works of art.

The soft colors of the women's dresses make a nice contrast to the darker and richer colors of the males’ coats. The most popular choices are deep blue, dark green and purple. The vests are fortunately rather plainer; otherwise the men would look like parrots. From under the outerwear peek out snow white collars and cuffs.

For a while I observe how Mireya and her new partner gracefully whirl around the dance floor. Well, at least this one isn't a musician, if that helps our dearest Duke any. After the recent incident in which her brother almost caught her lover, Mireya has grown noticeably colder towards the latter. I do not know what has caused her to change her attitude, but the fact remains: he does not visit her chambers again. The red-haired Earl however, with whom she is currently dancing, seems to have a chance to become her new favorite.

My gaze gradually shifts, sliding from the dance area to the far wall of the rectangular room. There really is something to see. The wall is covered from end to end and floor to ceiling with a fresco depicting a lovely garden. Rose bushes, flowering cherry trees, even the clouds floating in the sky look so realistic that it seems as though if you just close your eyes, you will smell the exhilarating scent of roses. As far as I know, one courtier even mistook the painting for a real garden and tried to enter it. To be fair, he was thoroughly drunk. The accident ended in a slight concussion, and a vow never to drink so much again. However, I don't guarantee that the last promise was fulfilled.

This mural is the creation of Pablo Eskatto, arguably the greatest artist of our time. His work has graced a few walls of the palace. His work is incredibly expensive; he happens to work for the noble people of the country; he also travels abroad at the invitation of members of royal families. Speaking of which, there are rumors that he, too, at one time spent a lot of evenings in Mireya's boudoir.

"Well, how about that," drawls Ilona, turning over a small ivory snuffbox in her hands, "they're saying you quarreled with Cameron Estley again."

My friend Ilona Dennis is also Mireya's lady in waiting, but in the court she is known not because of her position but because of her eccentricity. She dresses, talks and generally behaves somewhat differently than the others. While fashion and etiquette prescribe that ladies be soft, gentle and mysterious, Ilona prefers frankness, swears frequently, and has a number of habits that are usually considered masculine. For example, she sniffs tobacco and sips brandy, and calls red wine sour. She hates ladies' saddles and loves prodding the horse to a gallop. Her movements have something angular about them, and her mannerisms are sometimes overly sharp. Even her clothes are different from ours: a bit more practical, a little less jewelry, no bows nor bright colors. Living at the court means following fashion trends — it is an immutable law of the palace. The only way to not be a slave to fashion is to be the one creating it. However, not everyone has the power and status necessary for the latter. For example, Mireya can do it, but not I. Yet Ilona manages to be a rare exception to the rule: she does not follow any fashion trends, but she is forgiven. Perhaps due to the breath of fresh air she brings with her eccentricity to high society.

Trying to set the young woman on the right path, supporters of more traditional behavior present a seemingly sound argument: if you do not behave as a woman should, men will not love you. Supposedly this is airtight logic. But the paradox is that Ilona doesn't suffer from a lack of attention from the opposite sex. She has lovers and admirers. Yes, her relationships usually do not last long and do not turn into anything serious, but, honestly, who among us — classical and traditional ladies — can boast that?

"Yes, but it was not exactly a quarrel..." I wince, making it clear that the word she chose was too strong. "We just had a small conflict of interest. He intended to catch Mireya with a man, and I was not going to let him. In the end, I managed to get the better of him."

"That's not good," says Ilona, placing her snuffbox on the adjacent empty chair. Such a reaction from her surprises me.

"Not good?" I ask. "Why? Would you prefer that the Duke and that windbag Estley caught Mireya's lover in her bedroom?"

"That's not the problem." Ilona shakes her head.

"What then?"

"The fact is that with such men as 'the windbag', you need to keep on your toes. Beating these people is risky; when dealing with them often winning costs you more in the end than losing would. Sooner or later he will want to take revenge on you, and he is an extremely dangerous opponent."

"Come on, don't demonize him," I protest. "He is, of course, a right bastard, but not that terrifying." I bite my tongue, but to my relief no one has heard me. Ilona has a bad influence on me: in her presence, I also begin to speak more vulgarly than is appropriate for a court lady, especially at the ball. "And besides, you know I am not easily frightened."

"I'm aware," confirms Ilona "and that's why I consider it necessary to warn you. Courage is of course, a great virtue, but sometimes it can lead to dire consequences. Heroism leads the army to victory, but often ends badly for the hero."

"The two things are not even comparable!" I shrug off her philosophical metaphors. "Heroism is out of the question. After all I'm not throwing myself chest forward onto a sword."

"There are worse things than a sword," Ilona disagrees. "What do you even know about Cameron Estley's affairs? Especially about those that do not relate to Mireya and her brother's eternal quarrels? He is in fact involved in much more serious issues.

He takes part in the investigation of major crimes, and in the sentencing; he helps settle conflicts with foreign ambassadors. Did you know that he drove Count Kroyton to suicide?"

"I didn't," I respond, shocked. "I’ve never heard of Count Kroyton nor his suicide. And why did Estley treat him so horribly?"

"I have no idea. The details of the case are unknown; people mostly spread rumors in murmurs about it. The only thing they agree on is the name of the perpetrator."

"Well, if it's just a rumor, and not exactly from a reliable source, then, you know, Estley's guilt is also questionable," I shrug. "Maybe the poor old Earl had just died from a common cold and Estley and was careless enough to visit him a few hours before his death."

"It's possible of course." Ilona does not argue, but from the look in her eyes, I gather that she herself doesn't question the involvement of Cameron Estley in Kroyton's death. "But it is a widely known fact that he is personally present at some interrogations. And what kind of methods are used in those interrogations is no secret either."

"So what?" I grimace. "He's not going to put me in the interrogating chair just because I was able to get a man out of Mireya's chambers at the right time."

"That's for sure," Ilona agrees with me whole-heartedly. "He's not the kind of man who would send a woman to a torture chamber for such a minor transgression. Moreover, in this regard, you are quite well protected. After all, you are a count's daughter, even if do not keep in touch with your parents, and are also under the patronage of Mireya. This is a good position. I just want to emphasize that you're playing with fire."

"If he leaves Mireya alone, I won't bother him anymore!" I snap. “And if I never see him, all I will have to say is good riddance. Why did he latch onto her? Surely with his intellect he can understand that it's undignified of an aristocrat, of a man, even, to fight with a woman, trying to sniff out what's happening in her bed!" I grimace with disgust. Ilona smiles.

"Do I have to remind you that Mireya regularly thwarts the works of her brother?" she replies. "For example, the time when the Duke wanted to promote his man as a senior assistant to the ambassador. Mireya, behind his back, appealed to the King, putting forward the candidacy of her own protégé."

"So what's wrong with that?" I come to Mireya's defense. "Her protégé was no worse, I would say — even better than the one the Duke offered." Ilona laughs, looking at me, and I become flustered, realizing the way I am sitting, sticking out my chest, as if I were really ready to jump on a sword to protect my mistress.

"In any case," I continue more calmly, relaxing my stance, "then, if you remember, the Duke got what he wanted. In the end his man received the position, and not without Estley's intervention. "

"That's the thing. Estley's task is promoting the interests of the Duke. Mireya constantly interferes with this mission. This turns her into an enemy who must be neutralized. How exactly? She is the sister of the Duke, so the option "put a bag on her head and make sure no one is the wiser" is not viable. What remains? The most effective way to keep her under control is blackmail. But what can he use for blackmail? She does not break the law, is not involved in any political conspiracies, and does not sniff “purple dust”. Her only weakness is men. Everyone knows that she's not exactly virginal. Mireya herself doesn't make a big secret of it. However, as they say: "no body, no crime". You cannot blackmail based on popular palace gossip. Hence the Duke via Estley tries to catch her on the spot. The only problem is one restless lady in waiting who always butts in and ruins their plans."

"And I'll continue to butt in as long as they use such dirty methods," I snap.

Laughing, Ilona picks up her glass of brandy.

"Well, as I expected, my soul-saving talk was in vain," she sums up.

She sips her drink, rolls it around her palate and swallows, closing her eyes in pleasure. "Good intentions, as always, lead to nothing. Well, it serves me right." She takes another sip.

"Would you like me to read you a lecture, too, about the dangers of alcoholic drinks?" I suggest slyly.

Hearing this idea causes Ilona to choke and cough, and then back off from me, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Anything but that!" She pleads. "Let me enjoy the ball in peace."

"If you want to enjoy the ball, go dance," I suggest. Ilona expressively winces.

"I'm too lazy" she admits in a low voice. "Besides, these pumps chafe my feet horribly."

"What part of them could chafe your feet?" I ask in surprise, looking down on my friend's shoes. "They barely cover the toes. In this new fashioned model there is not even space for buckles!"

"I'm actually glad about that," snorts my friend." Nevertheless, it has still managed to graze my foot."

"Lady Ilona!" Baron Growly greets us both with a polite nod, emerging from the crowd. He is a peppy and cheerful thirty year old man who looks five years younger than he is, likely due to his energy and enthusiasm.

"Would you like to dance?"

Ilona sighs dolefully and looks at me plaintively, as if I could do something to help her. I pretend not to notice this, and take a sip of weak "sour stuff" from my glass.

"Mazurka?!" Even more painfully Ilona moans, listening closely. "All right, Ralph, so be it, I accept your offer," she says jokingly. Fortunately their friendship guarantees he would not be offended. "But keep in mind: those wacky new shoes chafe my feet, so I'm going to limp and may even stumble."

"Do not worry, my lady, I will support you," with a smile the Baron promises.

"If I stumble, I may begin cursing," ominously warns Ilona.

"I'll survive," says Growly. "I hope this concludes the list of threats?"

"It does." My friend's sigh expresses hopelessness, but her eyes don't seem sad. "Come on, if you're so persistent."

Growly leads her to the dance area, and I am left behind all alone. That, however, doesn't bother me in the least. Furthermore, I decide to escape from the hall before someone decides to join me. It would be nice to have a little breath of fresh air in the garden. I could return just in time for dinner.

Across the room, I notice Cameron Estley speaking with Lady Clara Wharton. More precisely, Lady Clara is clinging to the Count and passionately telling him something, while he carefully maintains a moderately civil expression on his face, which is clearly no easy feat. That is unsurprising. Estley's companion is an elderly lady, who somehow inexplicably manages to combine enthusiasm and tediousness. This rare combination of qualities is simply deadly, almost fatal for those who are unfortunate enough to find themselves at the center of her attention. Escaping her attentions without violating the rules of behavior in decent society is possible only after the old lady herself tires of lecturing you. However, this usually takes a very long time. Therefore, passing the couple, I mentally rub my hands together in glee. Serves you right, Lord Cameron, I think to myself. I really hope that she tortures you for another thirty minutes.

"Lady Inessa!"

That raspy voice hits me in the back, like a bullet between the shoulder blades. Truly, the gods have decided to punish me. You should not wish such suffering upon your fellow man. Even if that man is as intolerable person as Lord Cameron. With a barely restrained suffering sigh, I turn and hurry to put on a friendly smile.

"Lady Clara! How nice to see you! How are you feeling? Are you enjoying the ball?"

I fire these questions in rapid succession, deliberately leaving her no time to answer, and slowly backing towards the door. Alas, Lady Clara stops my attempt to retreat, tenaciously grasping my hand. However, she is in no hurry to let Estley go, either.

"I just told the Count, it's downright indecent." The lady does not respond to my questions in any way, remaining faithful to her old habit of listening only to herself. "Two such prominent personalities of the court cannot have such a cold relationship. You just do not have the right. It's bad form!"

Unable to restrain myself, I roll my eyes. How many times will she repeat the same idea, using different expressions?

"You hold such significant positions under such important people," continues Lady Clara, thankfully unaware of my reaction. "Your behavior must set an example to others. Your squabbles are just intolerable! In my time, ladies and gentlemen would never allow themselves to behave that way." She shakes her head in disapproval and tut-tuts at the same time, clearly relishing the action. "You must change your line of conduct. Do you hear me? You must!"

"I'm sold," unexpectedly announces Estley, drawing his wrist from Lady Clara's clasp and after a brief bow, staring me straight in the eye, and says:

"Lady Inessa, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

I admit, I am a bit befuddled. But what would you have me do? In general refusing an invitation to dance without a sufficient reason is frowned upon. But dancing with Estley… Still unsure how to proceed, I meet the Count's eyes.

"Just try to refuse me," he hisses furiously.

I realize that in that case Estley would make sure I suffer. For instance, he could make me have tea with Lady Clara every night for a month. Besides, a dance is indeed not such a bad idea, as it would allow me to escape the company of the bothersome lady.

"Of course, Lord Cameron," I declare, and curtsy in a manner befitting the occasion.

"I hope you'll excuse us, Lady Clara."

Without waiting for an answer, which could have lasted for a whole dance even if it were positive, Estley leads me to the dance floor.

"One minuet, and you're free to go," the Lord assures me with a stony face. "Lady Wharton will calm down and find a new victim." I incline my head in agreement, halting beside him.

"How fortunate that we don't have to dance long," I say in a casual tone, extending my left hand to him, while gently moving my right one to the side.

"Do you dislike dancing in general, or do you have something against the minuet specifically?"

I have something against this particular gentleman. But I couldn't say it to his face, especially since he clearly already knows.

"Just because otherwise you and I will have to make small talk," I explain, taking a sliding step back.

"And that frightens you?"

His eyes flash with mockery, which clashes with his movements which, by the nature of dance, are meant to express admiration for his partner.

"I am not of the easily frightened type, Lord Cameron."

My tone does not conform well to the atmosphere dictated by the minuet's movements either.

"I know." Something I don’t fully understand — either curiosity or approval — flickers in his eyes. "That just makes it even more fascinating."

I arch my eyebrow questioningly, requesting him to clarify the meaning of his words. However, the Count does not take the hint, and asking him to explain would be beneath my dignity. We are silent for the next few steps.

"So, Lady Inessa," Estley speaks first, apparently remembering my words about the necessity to make small talk. "Tell me one little secret. Dressing up men in female dresses – is it a hobby or a perversion?"

That means he has realized what kind of lady in waiting in a wig left our company in such a hurry. Well, I am not particularly surprised.

"One day, you'll know," I smile promisingly.

It is his turn to raise an eyebrow, and mine to remain mysteriously silent in response.

"Well," he continues, as we step on our tiptoes toward each other. "In this case, answer me this: Why do you dislike men so?"

I nearly trip at hearing such a question, and stare at my companion with unconcealed astonishment.

"Why on earth would you think that?" The initial shock has passed, and I am able to pull myself together. "Lord Cameron, your ego knows no bounds. You should not presume my attitude towards you personally to be an indication of my feeling toward the male sex as a whole."

My lips curve into an acid smile. He responds approximately in the same way.

"Lady Inessa, if you expect to offend me with that statement, I am sorry to disappoint you. Many people hate me — such is my occupation. If I were to have suffered because of every person who feels an aversion towards me, I would have become a monk a long time ago."

"It would suit you," I assure him, sounding as though we are discussing the weather.

"I doubt it. But let's get back to my question."

"Frankly, I do not quite understand the gist of it."

"You are very tepid towards men, Lady Inessa. No — I'm not suggesting that you have other preferences. That you like women, or animals, or, for example, corpses."

"What?!"

My eyes widen in shock after hearing these assumptions; he seems to have been waiting for just that. He maintains a serious expression, however, the corners of his lips lift in a hint of a smile, giving him away. But I have no doubt: Estley enjoys watching my reaction to his affronting and ridiculous statements, which is why he has made them in the first place.

"Oh, Lady Inessa, believe me, in the civil service, one sees far more terrible things," he complains. "However, I repeat, I do not believe that any of this applies to you. No, your tastes, without a doubt, are much more traditional. I know that you have dated men. Nevertheless, you don't indulge in this part of life. According to my information, in the four years that you have lived in the palace, you have only had three lovers and those were long ago, near the beginning of your time here. Compared to most other young ladies in waiting that is a very small number. Can you tell me why?"

I can't believe it, what exact details he knows! He has probably conducted a whole investigation. I recognize his methods. I smile frostily.

"I'm curious. What could be the reason, from your point of view?" I throw the ball in his court. But such a move doesn't floor him.

"I see only two possibilities," eagerly replies Estley, not even trying to accuse me of avoiding the question. "Option one: you have been very disappointed by men. The most likely culprit is your last lover. Apparently, this idiot seriously screwed up, and as a result you have decided to dissociate from the male sex in general."

"So what is the second option?" I ask enthusiastically.

"The second option is simple: you are still in a relationship with someone; you're just keeping it a secret," says Cameron. "The most likely candidate, again, is your last lover. Has he left the country, or am I mistaken?"

I just snort in response. How can you be mistaken if you have carefully checked the information in advance?

"You might occasionally correspond with him, and are faithful to him," continues Estley. "I do not know which of these options is correct, and it is none of my business. I just want to emphasize that either way you are making a big mistake. You must learn to enjoy life."

"So how do you do it? Changing partners as often as a woman changes clothes, and every week taking someone new to bed?" I am still smiling, but my eyes turn hard.

"Do they really say that about me?" Estley pretends to be appalled. "Don't listen to them, Lady Inessa! The court consists of nothing but gossipers and enviers."

"Some revelation!" I snort.

Estley smiles fleetingly.

"It is not necessary to change partners every week," he says. "But don't bury yourself while you're alive, either. Look around. I'm sure you'll find a decent man."

"Lord Cameron, what is this really about?" I frown. "Be honest: why did you even start this conversation? What do you care whether I have a man or not? Or maybe you just want to anger me? If so, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it is not so easily done."

"Don't worry, Lady Inessa, I have plenty of time to anger you," he laughs. "I'll be honest with you: I really would like you to stop neglecting your personal life. At the moment, all your efforts go towards serving your mistress. It makes my work somewhat… difficult. When you finally have a social life of your own, you will devote less time to Mireya Almikonte's affairs. And that will be to my advantage."

"Do you really think that after this admission I will follow your advice?" I am surprised.

"You should consider it carefully," advises Estley. "Because whatever my purpose, following my advice would be in your own self-interest."

We stand diagonally from each other, right shoulder forward. A few more movements and the dance ends.

According to the rules the partner should escort the lady to the place where he asked her to dance. However, if Estley had brought me to Lady Clara, I would have had to strangle him with my bare hands. He apparently suspects as much, and decides not to risk it. Therefore, following my request, he leads me to the chairs, and then immediately disappears into the crowd of guests.

I pick up a fan someone left on the seat and begin to fan myself thoughtfully, sitting on a nearby chair. How did you put it, Lord Estley? Enjoy life? Find lovers? I smile weakly. That's not going to happen, milord. I will somehow survive without your advice. And my last lover has absolutely nothing to do with it. I did not even know that he had left the country. And besides I only dated him for a couple of weeks, and even then only for fun. And if I do treat men with a fair amount of caution, it is not because of him.

Besides, you are doubly wrong: I do not hate the male sex. I'm just too lazy to spend time and energy on frivolous, fleeting romances. As far as a long-term relationship and marriage go... I have nothing against it, but only if I meet the right person. One who would fulfill all my criteria. Someone who would be a really good husband. Gentle, kind, well mannered. Unable to insult a woman, not to mention more serious forms of aggression. Educated, loves to read. Domestic, cozy. In short, a good family man.

So far I have not met such a man; even if I never do, I'm not going to cry about it. Unlike many women, I am convinced it is better not to marry at all than to have a failed marriage.

My thoughts are cut short by the sound of a gong, calling the guests to go into the next room, where dinner is served. Lowering the fan, I look around in confusion, as if just awakened from an afternoon nap.

Damn. In the end, I never go to the garden. However, there is no hurry. The echoing gong reminds me that it would be a good idea to get something to eat. Especially since the dishes served at the ball are truly divine (even though we at the palace can't complain about the food even on regular days). Only who will I go with now? We are supposed to go into the dining room in pairs: ladies must be accompanied by gentlemen. Typically the last partner in the dance would fill that role, but I have missed that dance. I do not know how Lord Cameron has spent the last few minutes, but it would be foolish to hope that he will show gallantry and hurry to my rescue. I'll have to look for one of my acquaintances.

"Excuse me, Lady Antego?"

An unfamiliar voice causes me to raise my head, frowning. In front of me stands a young man, I would say twenty-five years old — that is, about my age. He is quite attractive, though not handsome. Brown hair to his shoulders, curled according to the latest fashion. Dark brown eyes, a round face, a cute dimple in his chin, of average height. His lips curve into a pleasant smile, though his facial expression reveals some embarrassment.

"My name is David Limon. Baron David Limon", he corrects himself, looking questioningly at me. "You may recall we were introduced at the beginning of the ball?"

"Ah yes, I remember."

I hurry to put a polite smile on my face. Indeed, we were. But at such events you are introduced to so many new people that it's impossible to remember everybody.

The Baron looks relieved at my confirmation. Apparently, he is afraid that I would not remember our acquaintance and deem him coming over to be impolite.

"May I accompany you to the table?" he asks, encouraged by such a promising beginning. But immediately after this he becomes flustered again. "Or perhaps you have already promised someone?"

His behavior makes me laugh good-naturedly. That's what I call manners. What a contrast to my recent dance partner!

"You may," I graciously agree, and laugh again.

David offers me his hand, smiling, and I rise from my chair, taking the fan with me. We join the number of guests traveling to the next room.

"I don't think we've met before," I say. "Have you just recently arrived in the city?"

"Oh, not at all," He replied. "I have lived here since childhood."

"But you don't visit the court?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Almost never. We have a villa here; I live there with my mother. And, frankly, I find all of these receptions and events too noisy. I prefer a calm pastime with a book and a glass of wine. Or sitting by the fireplace among friends."

When we pass the high doors, he lets me cross in front of him, without letting go of my hand. He leads me to the table, pulls out a chair for me and sits only once he makes sure I am comfortable.

"Shall we toast our meeting?"

Our glasses clink softly. What did I think just a short while ago? Such men don't exist? Well, maybe I was wrong. While you, Lord Cameron, perhaps were right about something.

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If you like this book, please consider buying it:

Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno

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