The fuzzy outline of the room began to clear.

“Oh,” screeched a woman with her gray hair styled in an intricate bun. “And who are you?” Although the woman had been initially surprised, a smile overtook her face, and her eyes sparkled with warmth.

Cora looked up at her. “Aunt Nellie?” The woman didn’t answer, but seemed not to remember her. “Cora Rey. I’m one of the Americans.” Cora tried to push up to stand, but her legs were weak.

Several other people with Nellie stood as if they were frozen. Cora glanced from the woman in front of her to the walls of the room and from there to the woman again. She was glad to be sitting on the floor because she was sure that she was dizzy enough to fall if she weren’t. The room was possibly the same one, but it was different, too. It had fewer portraits. She checked behind her—no mural. What in the—?

“You’ve arrived! You’re friends came hours ago. Not that you’re late, but here you are.” Aunt Nellie’s voice sounded excited. “That makes five of you—all in a day. And all Americans.” She turned to a man entering the room. “That’s a record, isn’t it? Have we had so many at a time?”

“As you say, ma’am.”

Back to Cora, she said, “Stay right here. I’ll be back with you.” Then she chuckled. “Of course you will. You have nowhere to go, really.”

Cora looked at the windows. Dull evening light radiated through the heavy curtains that covered them. “But it was midnight … I was at the ball.” Her pulse increased, and a little fear bubbled through her stomach. With some effort untangling her skirt from around her legs, she stood, though a bit wobbly.

Aunt Nellie pointed to each of the people with her, giving them assignments. “Ring Cook for the cream puffs, macarons, fruit tarts, and those pretty little tea cakes she made today. Oh, and my special blend of tea. We’re going to need plenty of that.”

A beautiful woman sat on a velvet settee at the far end of the room. From the style and fineness of her dress, she seemed more regal than anyone Cora had seen at the immersion experience yet. “Aunt Nellie, I’ll wait for my daughter in the next room while you take care of your new guest.”

“Nonsense. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

The woman inclined her head and walked over.

“Let’s have tea here.” Aunt Nellie chose a table near the door. Soon, a maid arrived with a tea tray.

Cora could see why the other woman’s bio had included a title of nobility. She could carry that part well.

“Lady Cottrell, may I make known to you Cora Rey? Cora, this is Lady Bethany Cottrell.”

“My pleasure,” both women said.

Lady Cottrell added, “Welcome.” Then to Aunt Nellie, she said, “Now that I see you have a guest, I’ll plan some events.”

“Oh, yes. Miss Rey seems just the age to get on with your Lady May. They’ll have a time of it, won’t they?”

“I think so, too.” Lady Cottrell turned a bright smile to Cora. “Our family is closely associated with Aunt Nellie. I’d like you to meet my daughter. In fact, I was here waiting for her. She should be back soon. When is it you’re from?”

Cora opened her mouth to ask if she meant “where,” but Nellie interrupted. “My other guests will start arriving in half an hour for the ball. We’ll have to get you ready quickly.”

“I’m not sure what … ” Cora felt … off. This wasn’t making sense.

“This is very disorienting, isn’t it?” Nellie patted Cora’s hand. “I understand. Really, I do. This is not my first trip to Piccadilly Circus.” Lady Cottrell giggled at that, but Nellie continued. “Oh, I almost forgot—the tea. The aroma helps you a bit, but when you drink it, well, that’s when it’s special.” She began to arrange the little desserts on plates. “I imagine you have a few questions. What’s the last thing you remember before the flash of light?”

“My friends. Where are they? Are they—”

“Fine. Fine. Your friends arrived about an hour or two ago. The magic isn’t very predictable, but you all arrived safe and sound. Well, bewildered is more the truth of it, but that’s temporary.”

“They’re here too?” They had stood near the mural together, but now they were all separated—in little more than seconds. She shook her head. Was she dreaming?

“Well, not here here. They’re either getting dressed or resting up for tonight. Oh, you must be so excited for the ball. Aren’t you?”

“I was already at the ball, then we went upstairs, and stood … ” Cora looked back at the wall. Her head felt thick and slow.

Aunt Nellie said, “It’s faerie magic. That’s what causes this lovely little mess you and your friends got caught in.”

“Magic?” Cora looked at Lady Cottrell, who smiled at her in return. Cora wondered if she was playing along with the script, and they expected Cora to as well. “Mess?”

“This home is built on ancient ley lines. The fissures burp out magic during the full moon. In ancient lore, that magic was the way the fae took care of the earth, to renew the world. Now it’s just a nuisance. We’ve built this monstrosity of a house to cover it up, but it jerks people into other time periods willy-nilly.”

Nope, she wasn’t buying the story. Cora looked at Lady Cottrell, who nodded in agreement with Aunt Nellie. “True. True. But for some of us, we’ve found what we never could have otherwise.” She turned a kind smile toward Nellie. “Thank you for that.”

Nellie patted the woman’s hand and continued telling Cora her story. “The mural you stood beside was used to send you back to your own time strand—oh, more than a century ago. The magic in the paint worked like a lightning rod, which is fascinating, really. If you’d been standing anywhere else when the magic belched, you probably wouldn’t be here now.” Her eyes lit with excitement, and her smile dimpled warmly at Cora.

“The mural was made in the past, and I stood by it in the future. Are you saying that I’ve been to the past before?” Cora asked. The confusion was grating on her. She wanted to leave—go somewhere that made sense again.

“No. You just got here.” Aunt Nellie began to pour out the tea. “It was painted in the past that was then in your future, so you could go back to the future from your future past.”

Cora stared at Aunt Nellie, trying to understand what any of that meant. She wondered if they were still playing a part—if their Regency experience had veered into fantasy. They seemed too sincere to be acting. “That’s circular reasoning. Something didn’t happen before it can happen,” Cora said. She pressed her palms against her temples.

“Oh? I suppose this all makes sense to you?” Nellie gestured her arms wide around her. “No? Then perhaps I’m right. Time isn’t circular or linear, dear. Time is a fuzzball. Things happen out of order all the time precisely to keep things in order.”

“Then send me back,” Cora said.

“Yes, I will. But I can’t. At least, not now.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ll have to stay as my guest.” Her voice rang with kindness, but the words sounded final. She picked up some tongs and a cup of sugar cubes. “Do you take sugar or cream, Cora?”

“Both, please.” Cora needed something to calm her nerves. Maybe if she humored the crazy lady, she’d get some information to help figure this out.

Lady Cottrell leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s all going to make sense very soon. She’ll send you back as soon as she can, and that’s on the next full moon. You needn’t worry. In fact, I’m sure you’re going to have an amazing time for the next few weeks.”

As Nellie completed the service, Cora decided to play along until they had a reasonable explanation. “What happened? You were in the future, too. That was you, right, Aunt Nellie?”

“Yes. I suppose I’m in a lot of futures and pasts.” Her voice turned melancholy. “That’s the way of faerie folk. I don’t like to dwell on it.” Then she brightened her smile and added, “Drink up.”

Cora looked around the room. No electricity. No central heating vents. The house was the same, but different. She felt stunned. What if Nellie’s explanation was true?

Aunt Nellie lifted her teacup again and raised her eyebrows at Cora, who tipped her cup also. The first touch of tea on her tongue was like Pop Rocks to her mouth, but the sweet taste invigorated her mind and calmed her heart rate. After the second sip, warmth spread throughout her body, radiating … calming. Cora loved it here. She loved Nellie. She loved her friends. She loved Lady Cottrell. She loved … wait! She pinned Nellie with a stare. “Is this some type of magical faerie roofie?”

“Yes, of course. Drink up. It will help you accept all of this and move on, and it will save me a lot of time. It’s a big change for you, after all.”

“I’d forgotten how lovely this special tea blend of yours is,” Lady Cottrell after she drained her cup. “Might I have a bit more? The pot refills itself, right?”

Nellie poured for her.

Lady Cottrell giggled. “It makes me feel a little like that time in college when I … well, never mind that.” She took a sip, then asked, “What made you come to England in the first place, Cora?”

Cora found the truth spilling out of her lips with ease. “I wanted to live in a dream for a few days. I felt compelled to come—that there was something here I couldn’t live without.”

“It was that way for me. too,” Lady Cottrell whispered. “I’ll introduce you to my daughter tonight at the ball. I hope you’ll want to visit with us while you’re here.”

“I’d like that very much. Thank you.” Although Cora expected that it was the magic talking, she told herself she should finish the tea. Complete, though maybe temporary, happiness and acceptance about her situation were better than confusion.

In a few moments, Cora, feeling quite mellow, was escorted to her room. Her head felt much clearer as she lay at the end of an enormous feather-topped bed, putting the pieces together. The effects of the roofie were wearing off, but she retained her understanding—minimal though it was—of her situation. Aunt Nellie was a faerie, who guarded a magical Twilight Zone. Cora was in 1850 England. And she’d be there until she wasn’t.

A month ago, she had earned a Master of Education degree in special education from The Ohio State University. A week ago, she traveled to England with her college roommates for a celebratory vacation in honor of their combined graduate status. An hour ago, she was sucked backward through time and ejected into Victorian England, with a crazy lady as her guide and no idea what exactly made that happen.

A tap on her door brought her attention to a black-haired young woman who curtsied and looked suspiciously like Miller. “May I help you dress for the ball, miss?”

Whoa. Déjà vu. “That’s you, isn’t it, Miller?”

The woman bobbed another curtsey, “Yes, ma’am.”

Cora felt several surprises pass through her mind. “Is everyone here always here? I mean, are you fae like Aunt Nellie?”

“Yes, ma’am. May I help you dress?” Miller raised her hand when Cora opened her mouth to ask another question. “Aunt Nellie is the person to get answers from. I’m here as your lady’s maid in this time and place.”

“I’m … I’m ready.” For whatever comes. Her grandfather had been a true-blue-through-and-through Texas cowboy, and he had a saying. “When life gives you cow pies, burn them for heat.” She always thought that might have been the grossest thing imaginable, but she’d learned the gist. Make the best of everything. Honestly, getting stuck in Victorian England for a while seemed like a win.

Cora sat up. She’d wanted the vacation of a lifetime. Well, you couldn’t get better than a little time travel thrown in. When in Rome—go native.

Properly dressed and coiffed, Cora joined a packed ballroom of guests. Her dream was coming true. A crowded ballroom. Elegant dresses. An orchestra and a dance card tied around her wrist.

Her friends were at the ball before she arrived. They met on the side and repeated everything that had happened—lightning, Nellie, fuzzball.

“I’m going with this. It will be great,” Cora told them before they drifted apart to join in. She certainly hadn’t planned a real trip into the past because that would be crazy, but it had happened just the same.

A couple of hours later, the dream had officially ended. The only bright spot had been meeting Miss May Cottrell, the daughter of the woman she met at tea earlier. They planned to meet up the next day to get acquainted. As for the rest of the night, the dance card had become like an albatross. No one had sought her out for a dance. No eyes had turned jealously toward her, and she knew that the debutantes were glad they weren’t her. How long would she be stuck here? She had no way of knowing. Frustration built.

Two things were guaranteed to ease Cora’s mind—creating music and hand-to-hand combat. Although she was itching for the second, it was improbable in the nineteenth-century ball gown she was wearing. Music would have to do for tonight.

       Images of Cinderella escaping only to lose her shoe flitted through her thoughts as Cora Rey deserted the ballroom completely unnoticed half an hour before the midnight chimes would ring from the large clock in the hall. Her dancing slippers whispered against the marble floor as she charged toward the south end of the manor house, taking very unladylike steps.

Incredibly, she was living part of that old fairy tale—no cars, no phones, and no immediate way back to her own century.

Fewer sconces dotted the hallway before her, and the smell of paraffin candles burning became less pronounced. No one would be in the morning room since the party was in the exact opposite corner of the sprawling mansion.

Tonight, she had made a huge error by telling one of Aunt Nellie’s friends her age. At twenty-seven, she was irrevocably stamped an old maid. Ineligible. Undesirable. The news spread faster than Twitter, and she was left to sit in the shadowy corners or to retrieve drinks for the caustic matrons seated nearby. She did that gladly to avoid hearing them cluck their tongues and say, “It’s a pity you didn’t come to England earlier. You might have had a small chance to marry,” or, “Someone will find use of you. You’ve a pretty face.”

Trolls on Facebook have nothing on these old biddies.

Yes, she wanted a husband and children. Someday. She just didn’t think she was past an imaginary time limit. She hadn’t noticed so much as one tock or tick of her biological clock.

In her real life, one hundred sixty some years in the future, she was a teacher—and loved it. Maybe her students filled that place in her heart reserved for her own children, and she never thought to hurry that part of her life.

Her hand swept out and snatched a lit taper from a hall table, and she continued on her way. I’m supposed to be an heiress. For all they know, I’m as rich as the queen of Spain. I’ll be leaving here soon, anyway. A twinge of panic pinched at her heart, but she didn’t explore it—she would go back. She was sure of it.

When she reached the end of the hallway, she eased a door open and peeked inside. The room was dark. Perfect.

The morning room was on the far east side of the home. A long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows welcomed the morning rays that rose above the lake and woods beyond. But tonight, she came here for the pianoforte. As Cora set the candle on the music shelf, she pushed her breath out.

She shoved her disappointment away, instead imagining notes carving out a familiar reality, one where she sat in the study, her father at work at his desk, the smell of lilacs thick on the breeze through the window. She was grateful for the solitude—thankful that no one would hear her play. No judgment would be made. Sometimes the mere look at an instrument caused gut-tightening performance anxiety. She reminded herself that there was no audience. It would just be for her. Cora’s shoulders relaxed, and she closed her eyes to choose a piece to fit her mood. As her fingers hovered above the keys, the tips lightly brushing the ivories, the door she’d just entered rattled.

Cora quickly licked her fingers and thumb and snuffed out the flame, then eased behind the heavy damask curtains.

The thick walls of the home left a space at least three feet deep in the window alcoves. Thank goodness since her dress filled the space. In fact, she was fairly certain that her dress wouldn’t even make a little pregnant-looking lump in the drapery.

She could hear the door creak open and someone enter, then close the door with a quiet snick. The sound of boots on the tile hinted to her that it was a man. Cora squeezed back into the corner as far as possible. The silvery moonlight might still give her hiding place away if her shadow fell on the curtain. She hoped the light was too pale and the curtain too thick.

       The sound of the boots stopped, and the sofa creaked.

       Someone came here to sit in the dark? Now?

       She strained her ears for the slightest movement. The handle on the door rattled again. For the love! Does everyone come to the morning room in the middle of the night? It’s obviously a misnomer.

She didn’t have to strain to hear the couch creak again and boots walking quickly to where she was hiding. Suddenly, the curtain drew away from the window, and a man slid in beside her. He was tall, maybe a foot above her five feet two inches.

       His eyes opened as wide as she felt her own. They both drew their fingers up to their lips, silently shushing each other—as if either of them wanted to be overheard.

       The door opened and closed another time, slamming. Then she heard the tumbler fall as it was locked. Cora threw her shoulders and palms up in an exaggerated shrug. He just smiled widely. This time, she recognized the sound of dance slippers and boots moving across the room.

       A single candle brightened the room a bit. A woman’s breathless voice said, “My mother won’t miss me until the midnight supper is served.”

       Oh, no! She so did not want to hear this.

       The man beside Cora turned as if to leave their hiding spot, but she grabbed him by the sleeve and shook her head emphatically.

       “That only gives us ten minutes.” The new man’s voice was followed closely by the obvious sounds of panic-induced kissing, moaning, and sighing.

       On second thought, Cora wished she had let the man beside her interrupt the tryst. This could get embarrassing fast.

       The handle rattled another time. Repeated knocking pounded on the door, and a man shouted, “Lucy, are you in there? Open this door.”

       Cora was startled, and the man beside her jerked to attention. She shook her head toward him again. Wouldn’t it be just as bad to find them together behind a curtain as to have the couple get a few minutes alone? She pulled him down to sit on the floor as a second man dove behind the curtain and landed literally in their laps.

       “Lucy, do you hear me? I’ll get the key if I have to. Open. Now.” The pounding on the door took on a new intensity.

Cora considered her options. Stay hidden and wait for everything to blow over. Reveal herself and bring the whole thing to an end with a little embarrassment. Or create an alibi. A midnight make-out session was probably a capital offence even for consenting adults, but still, it was probably embarrassing for the woman to be caught by her father in that position. An alibi might work.

        “Stay!” Cora commanded the two men. Then she jerked her dress from under her legs and crawled from behind the curtain, shaking her dress out to stand. The woman in the room gasped in surprise.

       “It’s okay. I’m your alibi. I came here to play the piano. You came to listen.” Cora moved the new candle to the music deck and pointed the woman toward the sofa. “Sit. I’ll get the door. My name is Cora Rey, by the way.”

The young woman curtsied. “Lucy Radnor.”

       Cora turned toward the door and called out, “Coming.” Perhaps she should have felt more nervous than she did. She planned to tell the truth—she had come here to play the pianoforte. She just hadn’t expected or wanted an audience.

When she opened the door, a man with a thick mustache, twisted at the ends, and bushy sideburns stomped into the room. His equally bushy eyebrows pressed toward the center of his face as he looked at Cora.

“Are you a piano lover, too?” Cora asked, her voice calm and inviting. “I was just going to play a new piece for Lucy. Would you care to listen?”

The man huffed and pivoted, surveying the room. “You … she was … where is … ?”

Cora waited while he spun this way and that. When he stood before them, blowing a frustrated breath through his nose, Cora said, “I only have time for one more song. Would you like to stay or not? We really want to get back to the midnight dinner that’s starting soon.”

The older man looked around again, his eyes squinting into the dark corners. Cora felt a little uneasy as he paused, looking toward the sofa and window beyond. Why should she care if the men were discovered? But she did. She had a soft spot for the first man she thought might have tried to escape the ball the same way she had, and for the other, whose escape looked a lot more fun than the first two.

“Lucy.” The man held out a hand to her, which the woman took. They walked to the door where they paused. He asked Cora, “May we accompany you back?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be along for a minute or two.” She turned away and walked toward the piano, dismissing them both. After a long moment, Cora heard their steps retreating down the hall. When she returned and closed the door, both men surged out from behind the curtain, laughing. The second man grabbed a candlestick from the piano’s music deck and touched the flame to the oil lamp overhead. Soft, buttery light brightened the room.

       The men slung their arms around each other’s shoulders. The man who had been hiding beside her had light hair and dark blue eyes. Cora was mesmerized as his smile transformed his face, making him look more youthful than she had first guessed. She couldn’t help it—she thought he looked like a Ken doll. Tall and broad-shouldered, perfectly sculpted nose and jaw, thick, wavy sandy-blond hair, right down to the full-lipped smile and dimples.

       The man beside him with curly white-blond hair was of a slighter frame and height, though still much taller than her. He turned toward his friend. “And why might you be hiding in the curtains, Simon? And with a woman I don’t think I’ve met.” He bowed at the waist toward Cora. “Miss, I am delighted to serve as a witness in your claim against him, or for him, as it were.” His face was alight with mischief. “You’ve been caught in the parson’s mousetrap, Simon.” Then he addressed Cora again, giving a deep bow. “Well done, miss. You’ve won my sincere admiration and a fine husband.”

Simon’s face flushed, and his eyes darted toward Cora with a look of fear just before he bowed as well, but his throat bobbed once deeply with obvious worry.

       Cora couldn’t help but let the pause extend. Make them sweat. She knew the rule of this day—caught alone, save her honor, marriage required. She walked back to the pianoforte, considering how she might turn this situation on its ear, and ran her finger slowly around the edge of the case.

She smiled and rolled her eyes, then addressed the shorter man. “I was hiding there first.” She turned then to Simon. “You were the trespasser. Marriage isn’t required—I didn’t compromise you. I can’t imagine marrying a man when I don’t even know his full name.” In this century, getting caught kissing would be grounds for a marriage offer. Kissing him might be fun. Definitely worth a try. Marriage—no.

       He stared, his mouth dropping open, but he only said, “Thank you. But only you can be compromised—I cannot.”

His friend barked a loud laugh. “It seems I am in need of an introduction.”

“I’m Cora Rey.” She noticed the taller man didn’t offer his name, so she extended her hand. “Since we’re certainly familiar enough to hide together in the dark …” She paused and smiled at Simon. “Or have you lay on my lap.”  She looked at the shorter man. “I’ll give my own introduction, thank you very much.”

Simon stepped forward and took her hand, not in a clasp but gently by the fingers and lifted as he again bowed. Before his indigo eyes left hers, he said, “I’m Simon Tuttle. My friends call me Albans.” He completed his bow, bringing Cora’s fingers to his lips.

Time seemed to stop for Cora—maybe even her breathing—as his lips lingered and his hand beneath hers slid across her palm, his fingers caressing her wrist. Her stomach tumbled and fizzed as she watched him slowly rise to his full height again, towering above her. Oh, my! Now she realized who he looked like. Her nine-year-old self had fallen in love with John Smith in Disney’s Pocahontas, and the man standing before her was the flesh-and-blood version.

He inclined his head to the left and said, “And this rake here is Mr. Everett Hawley, who will one day be leg-shackled for the price of a single kiss.”

       Everett bowed. “Miss Rey. You’re one of the Americans.”

“Please call me Cora.”

Then Everett replied to his friend, “That was the closest Lucy and I have come yet to getting caught out. Her father is rightfully suspicious.” But then his face and voice softened. “I believe she’s bound my heart. I would much rather offer for her than for her to think I’m forced.”

        Cora caught the look on both Everett’s and Simon’s faces—Everett appeared sincere and Simon sad though he nodded as if with understanding. She sensed that there was something left unsaid between them but fully comprehended by both.

       Simon cleared his throat. “May I escort you to dinner?” he asked Cora as he winged his right arm toward her.

       “Do we have to go back?” Cora asked, causing Everett to laugh again, but she continued. “I hate playing the games that are going on in the ballroom.”

       Simon winked at her. “Then change the rules, or the game, to please yourself.”

The three walked the long hallways back. Everett strode ahead of them as if he were a lookout. Maybe he was. Simon paused when Everett stopped at a corner, then turned to Simon and nodded. He and Cora continued on, reaching the same corner to see the room emptying through doors at the other end.

“I’ll go ahead. I’d like to find a spot near Lucy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cora.”

“And yours, Everett. It’s a delight.”

       He left through the doors, and Cora took a step away as well. Simon’s hand covered hers at the crook of his arm. “I would be pleased to share your company. If you so choose.”

It wasn’t a question, but Cora heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Yes, thank you.” She could not think of a better way to end this dreadful evening than to sit with a new friend.

       Simon led them to a table in the corner of the room and seated them in a position to watch the throng of guests filling the massive hall. She looked around and saw her friends at different tables. Shortly, a dinner of venison was served. Honestly, Cora had never understood people’s aversion to the gamey taste of wild meat. Her appreciation of all things hunted began early in life—and this was heavenly. Someone sure knew what they were doing in the kitchen.

       Each time a couple passed their table and caught Simon’s eye, the man and lady bowed their heads and said, “Your Grace.” Simon appeared to take it all in stride, but Cora was in awe at the respect Simon received by the simple greeting.

       “What interests do you have?” Simon asked, spearing a white carrot.

       Cora quickly popped a small bite of meat into her mouth to buy a little time, considering which of her interests to choose that might be reasonable for this time period. Teaching children—no, not with her current status as an heiress. Krav Maga—definitely not martial arts. “I enjoy music.” Yikes! Now I have to remember who was popular at this time.

“Do you have a favorite composer?”

Called it. “I don’t think so. Currently, I like Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, but Schumann’s piano concerto is wonderful as well. I would love to see Wagner’s Tannhauser. There’s so much incredible music right now.”

“I agree.” He was slow to continue. “I haven’t … ” He swallowed hard. “I haven’t had as much enjoyment in recent days.” He took a breath as if to continue, but his lips pressed together like he was damming up the words.

Finally he asked, “Do you also play an instrument?”

My answer for this question could make me a Regency rock star, but I don’t think I want to go into all the instruments I play. “Yes.”

His eyebrows lifted in expectation of her continuing.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cora said, emphasizing his title, hoping to pull off the snarky comment, but she couldn’t hold back a giggle. He joined with her, and the sound of it shot through Cora, straight to her heart.

She pondered how she had always read about companionable silence, but she never understood it until now. This man was comfortable to her. He just felt right. When they finished their meals, Simon escorted her back to the ballroom.

“They’re Grace-ing you again,” Cora whispered, somewhat closer to his ear than she had intended to, then raised a fan to conceal a sly smile.

       “You can’t throw a cat without hitting someone or another called ‘Grace’ or ‘Lord’ at this or any other society party,” he answered.

       Cora nearly snorted. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“My mother’s family is Scottish. They have a colorful way of saying things.”

“Sorry. Your comment gave me a very vivid picture of a mangy cat landing on some man and then scrambling from table to table in a fright-filled panic.”

       A low laugh rumbled in Simon’s throat. His eyes twinkled. Cora found her hand pressed to her stomach, chills erupting across her skin. How she loved that sound. For the way he was dressed and the deference he obviously received from the gathered crowd, Simon was a man of respect, yet he was genuine.

When they were back in the ballroom, they stood where the other guests were gathering. Music greeted Cora’s ears. Not a song but instruments tuning—violin, cello, French horn, flute, and more. She listened, picking out the different instruments that were readying to play. It signaled the recommencement of the ball, causing an ache in her gut. She would not resume her duties babysitting the matrons in the corner.

At the same moment that Cora said, “I suppose I’ll leave the party now,” Simon asked, “May I have this dance?”

She found she couldn’t say no. Her imagination leaped into action, envisioning his warm hand on her back. In fact, it was hard to speak at all, but a broad smile broke across her face, and her chest filled with excitement when she nodded her assent. “One dance before I leave.”

He led her to one end of the ballroom and positioned them near the orchestra. Soon, couples filled the room. The first strains of the waltz don’t just require that they assume dance position, but given their difference in height, she reached up for him, and he leaned nearer to her. She understood why the waltz had been frowned upon earlier in that century. There was immediate intimacy in the dance position, and her chest filled with tingly expectation.

With the rest of the instruments silent, the light, quick touch of the piano keys began the first notes of Chopin’s “Grande Valse Brilliante.” She knew there was a special difficulty with this piece—the small string section and woodwinds played the melody, lilting in two-four time, while the background bass viol and oboe carried the typical three-four time needed to dance the waltz. Unless the dancers were confident they could follow the right instruments, they might choose to sit this one out. She had believed the piece was written for concert performance for the piano and not for dancing, but here they were.

Simon’s grasp at her waist tightened as he led her backward into the first step. It was warm and comforting to be held by him, and her hand fit perfectly in his. They rose and swayed together in the close hug. With the room circling far beyond them, they stepped through dizzying turns and slow or quick steps as the varying tempo demanded.

Cora marveled at his strength and grace and gave herself up to his arms. Now she felt like Cinderella, swooped up in a dream dance with Prince Charming.