Wildwood Dancing

in the bodice or so low in the neck. In this dress, I certainly didn’t look flat-chested.

“Iulia, would you mind doing my hair?”

When the time came, I went downstairs alone. Tati muttered that she would come later. I thought she would put in an appearance, if only for the sake of avoiding Cezar’s attention, but it was clear that she intended to play as small a part in the festivities as she could get away with. Since Iulia was refusing to come down early in the gray gown and Paula was occupied with helping Stela get dressed, it fell to me to stand beside Cezar and my aunt to greet the first arrivals. In the crimson gown I felt as though everyone was staring at me. Iulia had pinned my hair up high, exposing my neck and upper chest, and Cezar’s eyes had gone straight to me the moment I appeared in the party chamber. I would have felt very much alone in the crowd if I had not had Gogu nestled safely in my pocket. After Dark of the Moon, I hadn’t dared suggest he stay upstairs.

The weather was bitterly cold. Outside, men from Varful cu Negur?a were leading horses away to the shelter of the stables and setting chocks under the wheels of carts. The kitchen was full of women from the neighborhood, putting finishing touches to pastries and sweetmeats under Florica’s supervision.

In the grand room with the pillars, where a fire on the broad 230

hearth was smoking more than was quite desirable, the air was chilly. The village band sat in the little gallery, blowing on their fingers.

“It will warm up when everyone’s down,” Aunt Bogdana whispered in my ear. “Now, be especially sweet to that lady in the purple, Jena—her son stands to inherit a very grand estate near Sibiu, and the uncle’s a voivode. Ah, Elsvieta, how delight-ful to see you! Paul, how are you? And this is your son? Vlad, is it? Allow me to introduce my niece. . . .”

One by one, my sisters came downstairs to join the increasing crowd. Paula—uncomfortable in her pink—had a forced smile on her face as she greeted Aunt Bogdana’s friends. Stela, who did in fact look charming in her lacy dress, glanced desperately around for anyone her own age. No Ildephonsus here; no friends for dances and daisy chains. If these folk had younger sons and daughters, they had left them behind, in the care of servants. At least Stela could plead weariness and go to bed early.

Next down was Iulia. There was a ripple of disapproval as she came along the line, and I heard a whistle, sotto voce, from one of the young men. Now the shawl was gone, I saw that the neckline of the gray gown had been drastically altered and a generous expanse of winter-pale flesh was on view. The kind of bodice our aunt had deemed acceptable on me was decidedly immodest on Iulia, with her far more womanly figure. For a thirteen-year-old, the gown was shockingly inappropriate. As if to have the last laugh on Aunt Bogdana, Iulia had sewn a tiny frill of fine lawn across the plunging decolletage, a wisp of transparent fabric that only served to emphasize what was on 231

show. Her shoulders were back; she held her head high. Cezar was staring, and so was every other young man present. Aunt Bogdana’s cheeks went scarlet.

“Good evening, Aunt,” said my sister. “Good evening, Cezar.” Her smile was sweet, her eyes sparkling. I saw that she felt like a woman—she felt beautiful.

Cezar’s eyes raked over her. He did not smile. “Go back upstairs and fetch a shawl,” he said. “Cover yourself up before your guests.”

Iulia went white. It was as if he had hit her. She turned without a word and fled. Perhaps Cezar thought this had been a prank; I recognized it as simply a misguided attempt to be more grown-up. Paula excused herself and made for the stairs.

“Jenica,” said Aunt Bogdana loudly, pretending that nothing had happened, “this is Raffaello, son of my acquaintance Maria Cataneo and her husband, Andrei.”

Raffaello was tall and pimply. He bowed over my hand and introduced his friend Anghel, who was short and had a weak chin. Gogu stuck his head out of the pocket for a better look, and I squashed him back in. The music began—something not too lively, out of respect for the family’s recent loss. I wished Uncle Nicolae were here tonight, with his twinkling eyes and bluff humor.

“They say your elder sister is a rare beauty,” said Raffaello.

Evidently this was his idea of starting a conversation.

“Yes, they do,” I said. “She’ll be down soon, I expect.”

There was a little silence. Anghel cleared his throat.

“You enjoy hunting?” Raffaello asked, his eyes scanning the crowd.

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“Not much,” I said. “And since my uncle’s recent death, even less.”

“Mmm-hm,” he responded, proving that he was not listening.

A fool. An idiot. Strike him off the list.

“I’m so sorry,” said weasel-faced Anghel, who was paying marginally more attention. “A terrible tragedy —”

Before I could say a thing, Cezar was beside me. “Mother seems to think that dancing is in order,” he said. The look in his eyes made the two young men step backward. “Jena, will you honor me with the first?”

“I suppose that would be appropriate, Cezar.” This was going to be the longest night of my life. “You upset Iulia.”

“Your sister requires discipline. Lacking your father’s presence, and in view of the evident inability of Tatiana and yourself to provide strong guidance, the job falls to me. Iulia must learn not to make a spectacle of herself.”

I thought of poor Iulia’s stricken face and the fact that even in the unseemly gown, she had looked remarkably pretty. “Discipline,” I echoed, with my heart full of resentment—not least because, in part, he was right. “Maybe so. But discipline should be administered kindly, don’t you think? Girls of Iulia’s age are so easily hurt.”

“I’ve no interest in talking about your sisters tonight, Jena,”

Cezar said, drawing me closer as the dance began. “Let us enjoy the evening. Mother tells me you’re all novices at dancing. Do you know any of the steps to this one?”

I looked into his eyes and shook my head.