Acker glanced at the coffeehouse they hadstopped before. “Come inside. Sit and talk with me.”
Part of her wanted to spend more time withAcker, but she needed to get home to Maman. Besides, she couldn’trisk it. The shield she had tried to form around her heartthreatened to crumble when she learned he had been looking for her.She couldn’t risk that pain again. “I can’t. I need to gethome.”
“Let me walk you.”
Juliette pulled her hand from the crook ofhis arm. “No. You cannot know where I live.”
“Why?” He pushed his fingers through his hairin what she suspected was frustration.
“Maman still does not want me to associatewith English Gentlemen.”
He opened his mouth as if in shock. “Shebrought you to England. Did she think you would meet aSpaniard?”
Juliette couldn’t help herself and chuckled.“She has nothing against Englishmen. Just gentlemen,” sheemphasized.
Acker tossed his hands up as he spoke. “Butwhy?”
Juliette straightened, no longer smiling.“Because they consider dancers little better than whores.”
The color drained from his face. “I nevermeant. . .”
Juliette turned to walk away, feeling betterfor having said the words.
“Wait!”
She stopped but did not turn around.
He rushed forward and stopped before her.“Please, let me explain.”
She studied his face. There was sincerity inhis eyes. Did she trust him again? “I must go.” She moved to goaround him and Acker gently grasped her arm. If she wished,Juliette could easily shake his hold so she did not feelthreatened.
“At least meet with me tomorrow. I need toexplain.”
She swallowed but would not look up at him.Would his explanation make her feel better or worse?
“Please?” he begged quietly.
“The day after tomorrow, in the flowermarket.”
Acker let his hand drop and Juliette walkedaway without glancing back. She was a fool for agreeing to meetwith him but how could she live not knowing what he wished to sayto her.
Maman was sitting in the small parlor justinside the door when Juliette returned home. “Where have you been?”Her voice was weak, nor was there any color to her skin. Sheshouldn’t be out of bed.
“I’ve been looking for work,” Julietteanswered as she hung her cloak on a hook.
“I’ve been thinking, Juliette.”
Her mother’s firm tone concerned Juliette.“Yes, mother.”
“I don’t believe you should dance anylonger.”
Juliette’s heart stilled. Certainly hermother didn’t mean this. She began dancing thirteen years ago andknew nothing else. Ballet was a part of her, who she was. If shewasn’t a ballerina she wasn’t sure what she was.
“You haven’t danced in a year,” Mamanreminded her with a weak, sad smile.
But that didn’t mean Juliette didn’t practicethe steps of every ballet she had ever learned each night in theparlor after everyone had gone to bed. If she were to keep herskill it was something she had to do.
“Why?” Juliette finally asked after shedetermined she was sufficiently recovered from the shock of hermother’s words.
Her mother signed. “It is for the best. Youwon’t dance this year and next will be too late.” She turned herhead away when a cough came upon her. Juliette rushed to her sideand poured a fresh cup of tee. Maman was careful to crumple thehandkerchief and ball it in the palm of her hand but there was adrop of dark blood on the edge of her lip. Juliette smiled sadly,took her own handkerchief out and patted her mother’s lip.
The woman looked up at her, slightly alarmed.“You know?”
Juliette nodded and settled into a chairbeside her mother. “I’ve not told Genviève or Hélène.
“Thank you.” Maman picked up the cup of teaand sipped slowly.
“Why don’t you wish for me to dance?” Herheart wanted to pound out of her chest. If she didn’t dance whatwould she do?
“I don’t wish Lord Acker to discover you arein London.”
Juliette simply stared at her.
“He attends the ballet as I am sure does hismother. It is better this way.”
“For who?” Juliette cried. “What is wrongwith Lord Acker?”
“He is one of them.”
“Them?”
“Gentlemen of society and you are better offhaving nothing to do with them.”
Juliette fell back on her heels. She did notcare about her mother’s prejudice against English gentlemen but shedid care about dancing. She was a ballerina. “I don’t know how todo anything else,” Juliette reminded her.
Her mother pursed her lips in thought. “Finda school and teach.”
Maman made the suggestion as if it were aneasy task.
“This is for the best.” He mother dismissedand looked away as if the topic was finished. She leaned back inthe chair and closed her eyes. Perhaps Juliette should insist thewoman return to her bed. She was not well enough to be up and howcould she ever get better if she did not rest.
Juliette didn’t understand her mother andpossibly never would. It was maman who first took Juliette to theballet and encouraged her when Juliette said she wished she coulddance. She was the one who insisted Juliette never miss a lesson,even when ill. The one who yelled at her when she didn’t thinkJuliette was practicing enough and now the woman wanted her to givedancing up as if it were a past hobby and find something else todo! She was a ballerina and her only source of income.
Now she wanted her to simply teach? What ifthere were no schools? What if they didn’t want to hire her? Itwasn’t as if she were known in London. There were no other optionsavailable. She was five and twenty, on the shelf by the standardsof Society, not that she was in Society. Now she was probably tooold to be of interest to anyone wishing for a wife, and she wasbeing denied the one thing she loved. She couldn’t give up theballet. Where would that leave her?
Juliette took deep breaths and fought not tolet the panic overcome her.
Her mother opened her eyes and turned herhead toward the open window. “We should have never come back,” hermother said quietly.
“Why?” Was her mother finally going to tellher what had been so upsetting that
