A scattering of stars swept up as Elias turned Dora past the corner of the dance floor, and she glanced behind them, watching with awe. When she looked back at him, there was a new warmth in his expression. “You are smiling,” Elias said softly.
Dora blinked slowly. “I suppose I am,” she murmured, dimly surprised. And in fact, she could feel a distant, serene sort of smile on her face. “This is very nice, isn’t it? Just for the moment.”
A similar, contented smile blossomed across the magician’s lips, and the warmth in Dora’s chest grew with it. “It is very nice,” Elias told her. He searched her face with a gently curious expression. “Are you happy just now, Dora?”
Dora blinked slowly, thinking on the question. “I am... very content,” she said. But the trickling warmth in her chest increased as she continued to look at his smile, and she sighed suddenly. “No,” she said. “I think I am happy. What a lovely feeling. I am dreaming, and I don’t want to wake up.”
The music fell, and they came to a pause along with the other dancers. Elias leaned closer towards her under cover of the dim starlight. Dora stared at him, entranced, as his forehead pressed lightly to hers.
“I don’t want to wake up either,” he whispered.
She felt his breath along her cheek as he said the words. The whisper shivered its way into her heart, and Dora thought: Oh dear. Because she was now quite sure that she was in love. Every remaining ragged fibre of her half-soul shivered with the awareness of it.
“You will have to dance another time with me,” Elias murmured. “You did promise.”
“I could not imagine dancing with anyone else,” Dora said honestly.
She did not, however, keep very good track of just how many times they did dance, as the night went on. Dora knew that it was far more than was proper. But as the stars scattered away, she could only hope that everyone had quite lost track of who was dancing with whom at any given time.
It was supper that finally interrupted them, somewhere just after midnight. By the regretful look on Elias’ face, Dora surmised that he had not intended to stay quite so late. As he released her reluctantly, she found herself feeling decidedly cold for the first time in years.
“Thank you very much for the diversion,” Elias said quietly. “I fear I must now return to more unpleasant tasks.”
Dora’s smile wavered at that. I do not want you to go, she thought. But that was very selfish of her, especially as she knew how little Elias wished to confront his hopeless endeavours again.
“I was pleased to see you,” she said instead. “I am glad that you came.”
Elias stepped back—but he took her hand in his, and leaned down to kiss the air just over her glove. For once, the gesture did not seem ironic in the least. “I will call on you again as soon as I might,” he said. “If you could endeavour to be at home, of course.”
Dora laughed quietly at that. “I will endeavour,” she said. “But I do not know how successful I might be. Wherever your dragon-slaying accoutrements are, I suspect that you must bring them again.”
Elias shot her a tired smile. “We shall muddle through together somehow, I suppose.”
He let go of Dora’s hand and gave her one last nod, before turning to leave.
Dora found herself next to Vanessa for supper, during which time exclamations abounded over the magical evening. Clearly, the Lord Sorcier had stopped by and personally conducted the display—a most uncharacteristic whimsy, someone assured the gathering, since he had once put Lady Rhine in fear for her life after being asked to perform “some magical party trick.” No indeed—the conversation supposed that the Lord Sorcier must have attended in order to impress some lady in particular; and as ladies and gentlemen both compared recollections, Dora slowly found herself the object of much attention at the table.
“Surely not!” one of the ladies said in astonishment. “The older Miss Ettings? Don’t you mean the younger one?”
“There is an older Miss Ettings?” a gentleman murmured in confusion.
“She danced with him all night!” a younger woman cooed. “How romantic! Are there no other magicians in London this Season? I really must find one for myself!”
Vanessa smiled at Dora, squeezing her hand beneath the table.
“Is it true?” asked the girl on Dora’s other side. “Did you dance with the Lord Sorcier all night long?”
Dora gave her a look of mild interest. “I danced with him twice,” she lied, with utmost serenity. “Anything else would surely be too much.”
This lie was accepted with more or less scepticism by different people at the table. But as for Lady Cushing, she could not possibly have been happier—she was loudly telling anyone who would listen at the foot of the table how fond she was of the Lord Sorcier, in spite of his unconventional manners, and how she had always made a point of sending him an invitation out of sheer good manners. Dora privately thought that poor Elias might have resuscitated his reputation by mistake with his little bit of magic; for his flight of fancy had instantly made Lady Cushing’s ball the most exciting event of the Season, and now every party in the city was certain to hope for his unexpected attendance.
The stars in the ballroom lingered through dinner and even into the early hours of the morning—whereupon they began to fade with the encroaching false dawn. Dora had halfway expected to hear some recriminations from either her aunt or the countess in the carriage on their way back; but to her surprise, none were forthcoming at all. They rode back to Hayworth House in sleepy silence instead—and
