Page 109 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“When it comes to costumes, it’s always worth going that extra mile,” Michael says. “Now we must make haste, our carriage awaits!”
“You didn’t really hire us a carriage, did you?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“A carriage of the Uber variety. We shall close our eyes and pretend it’s a horse-drawn town coach.”
The guildhall is already teeming when we arrive. Walking into the imposing building, with its high ceilings and ornate chandeliers, feels like stepping into a costume drama. I want totake a photo, but no one has their phone; Michael insisted we leave them behind.
“There are no phones in the eighteen tens. No chewing gum either, thank you, Noah.”
Michael holds out a gloved hand. Noah frowns and then spits it out. Apart from wanting to send Jess and Ethan a selfie, I’m glad to be without my phone tonight; I want to try to enjoy the evening without any distractions.
Inside, the ballroom is thrumming with people. As we walk in, we hand our invitations to the herald, a barrel-shaped man in a dark tailcoat, who announces our names as we enter the main room.
“Master Noah Philips and Miss Anna Appleby,” he calls in a booming voice. The formality of it is enchanting. A string quartet plays to one side as the dance master calls for the cotillion. Michael and Jane hurry to take their places, while Noah and I hang back.
“Do you want to dance?” Noah asks, tugging at his collar.
“Maybe not quite yet,” I tell him as we find our table at the side of the room. “Shall we get a drink first?”
As we watch the others form into lines, dancing and twirling in their sets as the string quartet plays, I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to Will. He had his Eiffel Tower date last night. Jonathan told me he went with a woman called Céline, someone he met online and wrote about in last week’s column. Is that why he hasn’t called? Maybe he is still with her and hasn’t even gotten around to reading our article.
“Are you okay?” Noah asks, and I blink a few times, realizing I was somewhere else.
“Sorry, yes, just taking it all in,” I say, mustering a smile.
“I think you’re very brave,” he says quietly, eyes shifting to the floor. “Writing what you did.”
“Thanks, Noah,” I say with a smile. “Brave or foolish.”
“No, just brave,” he says firmly. Then he reaches for my hand. “Come on, we should get into the spirit of things.”
When they announce the next dance, Noah leads me onto the dance floor.
“Thank you for coming with me, I know it’s not your thing,” I say, forcing my focus back to the person I am here with.
“Thank you for getting me to leave the house,” says Noah with a wry smile.
As we dance, I glance over at Michael and Jane. She is the most accomplished dancer in the room, showing everyone else the steps, and Michael is gazing at her with undisguised wonder. Then when I look back to my dance partner, he is not where he’s supposed to be. He’s stepped back out of the line, and someone is tapping him on the shoulder. A long arm, in a black suit, dark hair leaning in to say something in his ear. A man dressed in black tie, asking to cut in.
Will.Will is here.
What? How? Why is he here?I blink, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Noah bows, steps back, and Will takes his place in the dance. He looks at me, green eyes shining with delight, his mouth a broad smile. I am frozen to the spot, and it is only when my neighbor nudges me that I step forward to meet him in the dance.
“What are you doing here?” I murmur, surprised I can speak at all because my heart is in my throat. “And what are you wearing?”
“There were no Regency costumes to be found between here and the Eurostar,” he says, beaming down at me as we both step forward to join the other dancers in a turn. “Appleby, can I just say, you look phenomenal.” He spins me around but doesn’t know the dance, and now the rest of the set are moving and we’re tripping people up. A man with a gray mustache mutters, “Keep up, keep up.” I take Will’s arm, turning us around and guiding him to the right place.
“You came all the way here, today?” I ask, still unable to compute his presence.
“I got the first train I could—” But now we’re being forced to change partners, and we lose each other in the line. Will is swept away by an older woman in a long purple gown. As she takes his arm, she glares at Will’s outfit in disapproval. Will’s eyes stay on me, and I feel panic as he disappears across the room, lost to me already.
He politely disentangles himself from the woman in purple and tries to dance back to me, but now he’s messing up the whole set, so I step out of the line, offering my apologies to the other dancers, before taking his arm and pulling him away, across the room, and slipping out onto the balcony.
“Did you mean what you wrote?” he asks, reaching for my hand, stroking his fingers across my palm. Looking up at him, I don’t know how it’s possible, but Will looks even more handsome in black tie. He’s dazzling.
“Yes, every word,” I tell him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks.
