I put my hand in his. The minute our fingers touched, an electric shock coursed through me. I felt my heart speed up. So different from when I was dancing with his brother.
I launched into the dance with him immediately, taking one short step right, then left, before turning underneath his arm. As Auguste started the turn beneath mine, I gazed at him, amazed that he was really here, that his presence wasn’t some cruel joke being played on me by Lady Catherine or the dauphin. I completed my second and third turns and watched him do his. His height and broad shoulders were different from yet highly reminiscent of those from a certain prince I’d just been dancing with. But those eyes—a clear sea green that that held just a hint of shyness. Those eyes I remembered.
We danced side by side for a moment, our hands clasped, one arm stretched above our heads, the other behind each other’s back. He held me close and firm, and it took my breath away a little.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were at the market?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the chatter of the crowd and the clapping of heels on the floor.
We pulled apart, and I spun again.
“I’d hoped that you would realize who I was when I asked the merchant to include the oranges with your order. I’m not too proud to admit that it stung when you didn’t,” he said, our hands clasped again as we swayed back and forth across from each other.
“You wore a cloak that covered your entire face. For all I knew, you were just a presumptuous stranger,” I said as we danced back to back before turning into the final spin.
“I know. It was silly of me.”
The final spin brought me up against his chest, our faces close together. We stood, unmoving, unspeaking, until applause rang out around us and our fellow dancers began to bow and curtsy. Startled, I stepped back to gain some much-needed distance. I truly couldn’t breathe in this corset; it was much, much too tight, that had to be why I was feeling so overwhelmed. Auguste had grown in the intervening year, but he wasn’t so changed as to have been unrecognizable. He was still the friend I remembered.
“I’m so happy to see you!” I cried, throwing my arms around him in an overwhelming burst of joy.
I pulled back just as quickly, suddenly aware of the impropriety of such a public display of affection. No one seemed to be paying me any attention anymore now that Prince Louis was gone, but we couldn’t be too careful.
He grinned, and for a moment, he looked like the boy who made fun of etiquette lessons with me.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” I whispered.
My preferred stool was taken, unfortunately, as were all the others, but I spotted a relatively unoccupied window embrasure closer to the entrance of the Salon of War. Perhaps most of the other courtiers considered it too far away from the dancing and the king’s dais, which was a boon for us. It was quieter there. More secluded. The only other occupants were a young couple sequestered in the shadows on the very top level of the tiered seating, wrapped in each other’s arms. I blushed to see them. But they didn’t even notice Auguste and I approach and sit down.
The massive window was partially open, allowing for a gentle night breeze to waft in and cool the warm air. As soon as I got myself properly settled, I turned to face Auguste, who glanced away when he saw me looking. He’d behaved this way when we were first introduced in Lady Celia’s lessons, all shy and nervous, even as he was friendly and chatty. It was very sweet and very endearing. At least that hadn’t changed.
All that confidence from the market seemed to have evaporated. Maybe that was why I hadn’t recognized him. I wasn’t used to Auguste being so forward. But of course I would never tell him that.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you before,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder gently to get him to look at me. “I was distressed that day. And flustered.”
Auguste laughed and nudged me back. “It’s all right. Really. I was mostly joking when I said you hurt my feelings.”
“Mostly?” I teased.
“Well, it did sting a little, but I don’t hold it against you. And I’m sure my evasions didn’t help matters,” he said with a sheepish grin.
“No. They really didn’t. I couldn’t wait to get away from you,” I said, smiling.
Auguste winced and clasped a hand to his heart dramatically. “Your words wound me, mademoiselle!”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I rolled my eyes. Everything felt so natural between us, like the past year hadn’t happened. We could have been on our way back from one of Lady Celia’s lessons, joking around like we always did. It was nice to slip back into my former, lighter self with Auguste and pretend nothing had changed.
“You shouldn’t have worried about upsetting me; I would have been overjoyed to see you. We could have had this conversation ages ago.”
“You’re right. But I didn’t want to put the burden of having to interact with a long-lost friend on you when you seemed so busy. I hoped the oranges might help you remember, and that we would be able to meet again soon.” At my skeptical look, he continued. “It was a harebrained idea. I see that now. To be honest, as soon as I left the market, I realized I was being ridiculous. That’s partly why I mentioned seeing you to Lady Françoise. I hoped she knew where you lived so I could apologize.”
Auguste’s slightly crooked smile was soft and genuine. I couldn’t help but believe him, but I wasn’t ready to let everything go just yet. “You neglected to tell me who you really were a year ago,” I said. “It was an accident that I found out at all!”
Auguste winced again, this time seriously. I kept my expression carefully neutral so I didn’t start laughing. It would be nice to see him squirm a little.
“You found out? How?”
“Do you remember the ball that the king threw a year ago? The one I told you my father wouldn’t let me attend? I snuck in and saw you there with your brother and the king.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Auguste blurted, his face turning a bit red. “I thought about telling you so many times, but I never mustered up the courage.”
“Why not? I wouldn’t have been upset. I didn’t care when you told me . . . well, when you told me that you were illegitimate.”
I watched Auguste’s shoulders rise and fall as he drew in a deep breath before answering me. “It’s different when you’re the king’s illegitimate son, when your mother was his mistress.”
“Does that matter more?”
Auguste laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It matters. People treat you differently when you’re a prince. They want things from you. Favors, titles, patronage. Anything, really. And they hang on your every word, and flatter you, and throw parties in your honor in the hopes that you’ll give it to them. Especially when you’re heir to the throne.