The Tomcat (1)

"Two, two, three, four. Step right, raise your arm. There you go, now spin."

It was four days before the ball, and the grand hall of Whitefield Manor echoed with the sounds of another rigorous dance lesson. Elise stood to the side, having rushed back from a hunt just an hour prior, still clad in her practical white blouse and black trousers. She watched as her sister attempted the waltz with their instructor.

Mr. Stanley, a patient yet unyielding dancing master who had trained the Whitefield children for years, guided Annie through the steps with meticulous precision.

"Alright, now release my right hand and pivot, eyes fixed on that corner," he instructed, loosening his grasp.

Annie did as told, her eyes locked on the southwest corner as she shuffled in a frantic circle before returning to him. Just as she reached for his hand again, she slightly stumbled, bumping into his chest with a soft oomph.

"Oh dear!" she giggled, pulling back with a wavering sway. "I'm so sorry, sir! I'm just too tiny. My little legs can't possibly keep up with your great big strides."

Mr. Stanley sighed softly, long accustomed to these shenanigans. "Size has little to do with grace, Lady Annabelle. It is a matter of rhythm and core strength. Let us try again."

Annie stuck out her tongue in a playful pout before falling back into position. They began again, and for a few measures, she managed the sequence. But as they approached the final turn, her foot accidentally hooked her other ankle, and she stumbled once more. She let out an airy, self-deprecating laugh, leaning against Mr. Stanley in slight embarrassment.

"I must be your most hopeless student ever," Annie sighed, standing straight and patting down her skirts.

"No, my lady, you are not," Mr. Stanley said, his tone kind but weary.

"You needn't lie to spare my feelings!" she chirped, already slipping her hands back into his as if they were confidantes.

Elise, her observation complete, finally spoke from her place by the wall, her voice calm and analytical. "Your posture is the issue. You're hesitating before your turns, which throws your center of gravity off. Keep your shoulders down and distribute your weight evenly into the floor."

Annie's smile tightened. The cheerful glimmer in her eyes flickered and died for a split second before she fanned it back to life. She turned toward Elise with a dramatic, wounded pout. "Well, that's easy for you to say! You're so tall and built so... sturdy. Of course you find your balance easily. It must be like standing still for you."

The descriptor was deliberately chosen, implying breadth, solidity, and lack of delicacy.

Elise brushed it off, her face a mask of cool composure. She stepped forward and extended her hand, now wearing clean, white gloves not used for hunt. "Here. Dance with me. I am not as tall as Mr. Stanley. He can observe your form from the side."

Mr. Stanley's face lit up with relief at a new tactic. "A capital idea, Lady Elise! Although... can you lead the gentleman's part?"

"I will replicate your form to the best of my ability," Elise stated, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

Annie hesitated, a protest forming on her lips, but Mr. Stanley was already gratefully releasing her hands and stepping aside to make room for her sister.

Left with no choice, Annie begrudgingly placed her hand in Elise's. As they began, Elise's lead was unmistakably firm and controlled, effortlessly guiding her younger sister through the steps with the same precision she used to wield a blade.

"Straighten your spine," Elise instructed, pulling her closer by the waist with a definitive pressure. "Step left. Now right. Do not let your arms go limp."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Annie complained, her voice a whine, though her feet obediently followed.

To Stanley's visible delight, her movements were instantly smoother, her footwork more precise. They glided through the motions nearly flawlessly, Annie completing two turns in a row without a stumble. Her seafoam green dress flared beautifully, the loose waves of her chestnut hair catching the light.

"One, two, three, four," Mr. Stanley counted, beaming. "Two, two, three four. Excellent!"

"Open your shoulders." Elise's correction was a swift, precise squeeze before resuming the hold. "Stop looking at your feet. Your eyes are up here."

Annie's frown deepened, irritation plain on her face. As she came back from a reverse turn, her foot "accidentally" came down hard on Elise's boot.

"Oh no!" she gasped, placing a dramatically dainty hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Elise! My foot just slipped!"

Elise said nothing. She didn't even flinch. She merely shook her head once and stepped back, her expression unreadable.

Mr. Stanley, ever the optimist, motioned for them to continue. "Again, from the top!"

Elise held out her hands. Annie took them with palpable reluctance.

Once more, Elise guided her through the motions, her grip unyielding. And once more, just as they finished, Annie's foot came stomping down.

"Oops!" Annie chirped, a little too brightly. "I guess I lost my balance again! So clumsy!"

The third time began identically. The dance was smooth, Annie's steps were improving under the ironclad guidance—until she subtly tensed for another "accidental" stomp.

This time, Elise moved with a vampire hunter's reflexes, shifting her foot a mere inch. Annie's heel slammed into empty floorboards with a satisfying thud.

Annie yelped, her balance tipping wildly forward—right into Elise's waiting, solid embrace.

Before she could crumple to the floor, Elise caught her effortlessly, one arm banding around her waist, the other bracing her shoulder.

Then, without missing a beat and with serene calm, Elise hoisted her petite sister clean off the ground—and into a dramatic, sweeping waltz spin.

Annie's shriek was cut short by the centrifugal force as she was whirled through the air, her skirt blooming into a perfect circle of seafoam green, her hair fanning out around them like a silken banner.

She clung to Elise's shoulders for dear life, her face a mask of utter shock.

After three flawless, theatrical rotations, Elise set her down as easily as she'd lifted her, her hands withdrawing the instant Annie's slippers touched the parquet.

Annie stood there, swaying slightly, her face flushed a brilliant, humiliated scarlet.

Elise simply adjusted her own stance and clasped her hands neatly behind her back.

"You seem particularly uncoordinated today," she remarked, her tone flat, but the barest ghost of amusement playing at the very corner of her eyes.

The room had fallen utterly silent.

Mr. Stanley blinked. Then blinked again.

Around the edges of the room, maids who had been dusting and a footman adjusting a curtain had frozen mid-task, their eyes wide. One young maid let out a tiny, stifled squeak.

Then—

Clap, clap, clap.

"...Marvelous! Simply marvelous control, my ladies!" Stanley finally burst out, applauding with uncontainable delight. "Oh, what a spectacular flourish! The Duke himself would be impressed!"

The other servants broke into warm, impressed applause and smiles. Even Hammond, who had been observing from the doorway, offered a single, slow, deeply approving nod.

Elise, her expression once again a mask of stoic poise, gave a small, perfect gentleman's bow, one gloved hand over her heart.

Annie's embarrassment instantly curdled into pure, incandescent fury. "I-I've had quite enough of this!" she sputtered, her voice trembling. "I refuse to waste my afternoon being... being manhandled!"

Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, her head held ridiculously high even as her ears burned red.

The maids by the door exchanged wide-eyed glances.

"What happened? Why did Lady Annabelle leave in such a state?" one whispered.

"I'm not sure," the other whispered back, fanning her own flushed face. "But she looked like a storybook princess being swept off her feet!"

A third maid sighed dreamily. "I want Lady Elise to carry me like that~"

Stanley glanced toward the door through which Annie had fled, then back at Elise, his expression tinged with mild concern. "Will the young mistress be quite alright?"

"She will recover," Elise replied, her tone as flat and final as a closed book.

"Ah, good. Very good." Stanley, ever the professional, cleared his throat and smoothly extended his hand toward her. "Well then, Lady Elise, shall we continue? A little practice for the lead as well, perhaps."

Elise nodded and placed her hand in his.

The moment their hands met, she stepped seamlessly into the waltz, her posture flawlessly erect, each movement flowing with a natural, powerful grace that was in perfect time with Mr. Stanley's counting. Every turn was precise, every step executed with unshakable confidence. Where Annie's dancing was airy and lighthearted, Elise's presence commanded the floor, the very epitome of controlled elegance, even in her hunting trousers.

As they danced, Mr. Stanley found himself, not for the first time this month, utterly mesmerized.

The grand windows framed a breathtaking sunset—streaks of crimson, violet, and gold painting the sky and casting a warm, hazy glow over the polished floor. The dying light caught Elise's delicate features, setting her pale blue eyes alight like frost kissed by dawn. It skimmed over her short golden curls, creating a faint, ethereal halo against the darkening room. But even bathed in all that gold, she remained distant, a statue gilded in sunlight. The warmth of the scene could not penetrate the cool stillness that surrounded her. She looked otherworldly, so untouchably refined it felt like dancing with a portrait.

I remember when she was a serious, intense girl. Now, she'd grown into a... profoundly beautiful woman, he thought, not for the first time since their lessons had resumed after a hiatus of years.

From the corner of the room, a young maid unconsciously clasped her hands together over her heart. Another let out a faint, dreamy sigh. Even Hammond, normally an impenetrable fortress of propriety, seemed to pause in his silent inspection of the curtain ties, his gaze lingering on his lady for a telling moment before he returned to his duties.

It was a shame, Stanley reflected as he guided her through a turn. A true shame. Even when he first started training her as a little girl, she had never smiled. Not once. No matter how perfectly they moved together, no matter how many hours of physical contact they had shared over the years—first in her childhood, and now again this past month—there was always that invisible, impermeable barrier. Elise Whitefield remained unreadable. Distant. Unreachable.

As the final notes of the imagined music faded, Mr. Stanley came to a stop and gave a deeply satisfied bow. "Lady Elise, your technique is, as always, impeccable. You are the most proficient student I have ever had the privilege of teaching. You follow with perfection, yet you lead with undeniable authority. It is a rare gift."

Elise simply tilted her head in acknowledgment and stepped back into a neutral position, her hands clasped behind her back, waiting for his next instruction.

Mr. Stanley hesitated, then offered a small, kind, and ultimately foolish smile.

"If I may be so bold, my lady... you should try smiling while you dance." His voice was gentle, meant as kindness. "Such a beautiful face... it would certainly please your partner a great deal more."