Page 9 of The Duke's Dream
Verón nodded repeatedly. "Of course, upon my honor, we won't recreate the Carmagnole. Mr. Langley has already written a new ballet. We are about to choose the principals."
She danced several feet away, but her essence lingered. The scent of rosemary had glazed his lungs, but there was more, the ghost of lilacs crushed underfoot on a moonlit path or the hush of rain evaporating from warm stone. The smell of his dreams.
Could this be a ploy by his enemies—a means to unnerve him? Nonsense. No one, absolutely no one, knew the content of his dreams.
William gripped the chain in his pocket hard enough to bend the gold. "I trust this production will not carry disruptive ideas."
"It has nothing to do with war." Verón gestured animatedly. "Inspired by Walter Scott's writing, it tells the tale of a Scottish Laird who is haunted by a sylph, a fleeting spirit of the forest. He is about to marry another, but he's entranced by the creature."
The words echoed in his mind, setting off a storm. "I see. When the English must meet the demands of war and empire, Sir Walter Scott is hymning the wild romanticism of the Highlander. And how will you call this new ballet?"
Verón smiled. “La Sylphide.”
All the hairs on William's body lifted.
His gaze returned to the ballerina.
She had given the being who haunted his dreams a face.
And now it had a name. La Sylphide.
"Doyouthinkifwe had stayed in France, you would be oiling hinges?" Louise asked without lifting her head from her political pamphlet.
Helene tinkered and twisted with a borrowed screwdriver, attempting to realign her lock's stubborn components. "If we had stayed in Paris, we wouldn't have a head atop our shoulders, so yes, I prefer to oil my door's lock."
Her hand hurt, but no matter what she did, she couldn't make the ward turn. Helene scowled. Why couldn't she use ballet's techniques to navigate the everyday living?
Meanwhile, Celeste lay on her tummy, her perfectly arched feet crossed behind her, leafing through an oldLa Belle Assembléemagazine, oblivious to Helene's epic domestic struggle.
Louise threw her paper aside and glared at the rain castigating the glass. "I can't stand this dreary weather."
"I enjoy living here," Helene said, kneeling closer to the door. "Celeste likes it too, don't you, dear?"
"Celeste doesn't like the English," Louise said. "They snivel like maggots."
Celeste sighed, an apologetic smile lifting her ruby lips. "Well, if they spent more time in the sun, they would be more emotional. But we're not tan either—it's winter, after all."
Louise scoffed. "Tan or not, I cannot stand them. On my way here, I witnessed another pillorying. A race that humiliates and kills their subjects because they love their own sex? France is different. Napoleon's freedom—"
"Freedom achieved at the mouth of a cannon is no freedom at all." Helene dropped the tool and slid back to the floor. Her knees hurt, and the sole of her left foot was cramping from dancing en pointe.
Celeste looked up from her magazine. "Perhaps if you called the locksmith."
"I can't, not until I receive the paycheck next week," Helene said.
Celeste bit her lip. "You can come back to live with us…"
They had all lived in Madame La Roux's building for years, a haven where the retired opera singer welcomed the theater's artists. But since Helene's promotion to soloist, she had rented the garret. She adored her friends, yet while she danced, her body was not her own. Here, behind her door, she did as she pleased. A wry smile lifted her lips. Well, assuming she could actually close the door.
Louise threw a pin at her. "Why are you so pensive, anyway? You should be thrilled. Langley saw you dancing on the tip of your toes. If he doesn't choose you to be his flying nymph, he's more oblivious than I thought."
Helene sighed. "It is a sylph, and Langley is a genius."
"You better not be mooning over that aristocrat who came to the theater this morning," Louise leaned forward, trying to capture Helene's gaze.
"Absolutely not." Helene averted her eyes, feigning deep concentration on the lock.
She wasn't thinking about him—not at all. Of course, she had to admit his male beauty was impressive, and his eyes had left her quite breathless…
