After a light lunch consisting of half a pork roast sandwich that was slathered with a sweet mustard and a fresh salad, I make my way back to my room with Mary accompanying me. I wanted to go out to the gardens for a little bit, but my mother insisted that I needed proper attire for my ballroom dancing lessons. According to her, my entire outfit was completely unacceptable for dancing, though I personally couldn’t understand why considering it was just supposed to be introductory criteria today. The outfit I had chosen this morning was a simple dress with a brown pleated skirt and crisp white blouse. The matching flats I had on were designed for comfort as opposed to fashion, and Mary had put my hair up a braid that was wrapped around my head, not dissimilar to a French braid, with the excess collected in the back, coiled into a tight bun.

  Once in my room, Mary promptly heads to my closet and picks out three very formal dresses for me to pick from.

  “Aren’t those a b-bit to formal for lessons?” I ask, eyeing the dresses as she brings them out.

  “Her Grace was most insistent on you wearing formal wear for your lessons, Miss.” She responds curtly. “If it is any consolation, I am keeping it to a selection designed more for comfort than fashion, but even then, your available selection is far from what could be considered as practical… She also insisted you practice in heels, so I chose a selection of lower heels that match these three.”

  I grumble a bit to myself, not fully understanding why I would need to practice in formal wear, but knowing how strict mother could be when she wanted to, I acquiesced and pointed to the dress in the middle which was a deep forest green.

  “That one.” I say, and Mary returns the other two dresses to my closet.

  Mary helps me out of my current dress and into the formal gown, taking care to not mess up my hair in the process. Once I am in the dress and secured by the tight lacings on its back, she hands me a pair of shoes with a short one-inch heel.

  How hard can this be? I wonder. The heels were only about as tall as those on a cowboy boot. I had worn cowboy boots before as Michael and didn’t remember them being particularly difficult to walk in. The only difference with these was that the heel was narrower and slightly tapered in comparison.

  I slip the shoes on and stand, instantly feeling a little wobbly before catching myself. I walk around my room for a few turns, trying to get used to the shoes which, while not being overly challenging to my balance, required me to distribute my weight a bit differently on my feet. On top of that, they pinched my toes slightly which was not a level of discomfort I was expecting. Once I feel comfortable enough in the heels to more around confidently without fear of breaking my ankle, we make our way down to the doors leading into the ballroom.

  My mother was waiting for us in the hall leading into the ballroom where, upon appraising my gown and shoes with a critical eye, she nodded in approval and motioned for Mary to open the doors.

  Waiting for us inside was a stern-faced older woman wearing a dark purple gown with her grey hair pulled into a tidy bun and a young man who appeared to be around my age with light blonde hair, grey eyes, and a thin frame.

  I offer a polite curtsy and greeting.

  “Welcome Mrs. Christies. T-thank you for taking time out of your busy s-schedule to instruct me.”

  “Hmph.” Mrs. Cristies says, then turns stiffly to my mother. “I see her manners are still up to snuff.”

  “My daughter has always been a polite and well behaved, if sometimes stubborn, young lady.” My mother replies with a gleam. “Now, you are here to teach form and dance, Agatha, not critique her behavior off the dance floor. She has Mrs. Finnley for that.”

  “Ah, that explains the behavior. Well, Old Fab is good at what she does.” Mrs. Christies replies curtly. “Since the Lady Beira here is older than the last time I was here, I suspect getting her to focus will be much easier.”

  She gestures to the young man beside her.

  “I brought my son, Guntar, to assist. He will be her dance partner which should speed the process up a bit, yah?”

  The young man, Guntar, steps forward slightly and dips into a deep bow.

  “It is a pleasure meeting both you, Your Grace and Lady Beira.” He says as he straightens. He flashes me as toothy smile and I swear I could see a sparkle emitting from one of his teeth.

  “What a smarmy bastard.” I hear Damian say in my had with a little chuckle. “Best steer clear of him as much as you can. You don’t even want to know what he is thinking about right now.”

  Where have you been?

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  “Around.” He replies, avoiding my question. “Make sure you keep control of his hands; they will try to wander.”

  “Good, now that you two are acquainted,” Mrs. Christies says curtly, “come over here and show me how you would greet a dance partner, then we will go right into a waltz so that I can see how much work we have ahead of us.”

  I look to my mother and she nods before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

  I approach Guntar a bit hesitantly before straightening my back and continuing forward confidently. This is an area where the bleed over from the original Beira benefits me. She knew when to and how to show strength and confidence, something I was still having to learn considering I had always been a bit timid and standoffish in my life as Micheal.

  I stop a few feet in front of him and curtsey. He holds out a hand and I take it delicately. We both give slight bow to each other, eyes locked, then he guides me into his arms. From somewhere, music starts and we go straight into the dance. I have no problem keeping up with Guntar, the memories from the ball on the night that Beira was attacked help to guide my steps, though I do misstep a few times. As we dance, Mrs. Christies corrects my posture by instructing me on the minor things I am doing wrong, after all, relying on Beira’s memories aren’t going to make me be able to perform perfectly. A couple of times I have to reach back and slide Guntar’s hand back to my waist when it tends to wander down towards my butt. Each time, he just flashes me that skeevy smile of his. I tried shooting him a warning look a couple of times but he just seems to take that as encouragement. My frustration starts to grow the fifth time his hand starts to creep but it seems this time Mrs. Christies notices what he was doing and produces a fan from somewhere and quickly raps his knuckles, causing him to jerk his hand back up to my waist.

  When the music ends, we both step back, keeping only my hand still resting in his. We both formally bow and he then tries to kiss the back of my hand but receives a whack to the back of the head from his mother as I jerk my hand away.

  “Lovely, My Lady.” Mrs. Christies says with a stern edge to her voice. “It seems you have retained some of your ability to dance. We will work out the wrinkles, obviously, and return you to top form in time for the ball, worry not. I would continue our lesson, but it seems I must provide my son some private… tutoring, before we proceed. You are dismissed for the day, My Lady.”

  “Too bad you won’t be around to watch this.” Damian says, his voice cheerily popping up in my head. I hear the sound of popcorn popping and could swear I smell butter. “I’ll give you a play by play later if you wish.”

  I’m good, thank you though.

  “Your loss.” I can feel his shrug in my mind.

  I turn to leave the ballroom when I notice a group of musicians sitting quietly on the stage, watching the mother and son with amusement. I have no idea when they got there, I don’t remember them being there when I came in and I never heard them setting up. One of the violinists, a young woman with dark brown hair, notices me looking their way and gives me a smile with a shy wave. I lift my hand and give a little wave back before heading out the door.

  Mary is waiting for me outside the ballroom and, after I close the door, leads me back to my room. Once there, I change out of the gown and get dressed in a more sensible outfit. I get Mary to take my hair down and brush it out, enjoying the sensation of the brush running through my curly hair. How she can manage to keep my hair tame, much less do anything with it, boggles my mind. I don’t know what I would do without her.

  When she finishes with my hair, I look around my room, trying to decide what to do. Eyeing my reading nook, I decide to read for a bit until time to go down to meet my parents for dinner. I walk over and look at the books on the shelves. All of them seem to be romances based on titles such as ‘Winning the Earl’s Heart’, ‘Knight with a Rake’, and ‘Becoming the Dragon’s Treasure’ to name some of the tamer titles in the collection. I reach for one with the title ‘The Demon Lord’s Dark Pact: A Tale of Love and Revenge’ which sounds deliciously spicy and pull it out.

  I settle into the plump chair and curl my legs up under myself. Cracking open the book, I begin to read. The story is about a young woman named Anna who is ostracized from her village after being publicly raped by the mayor’s only son, a character that all the other women in the village are obsessed with getting the attention of. Anna, beaten and bleeding from the injuries she received for her ‘crime’ makes her way into the dark woods on the outskirts of the village. Lost and alone, she makes her way deeper and deeper into the woods before passing out. That is where our hero, the demon lord named Magnus, finds the dying Anna. Recognizing her beauty, he wakes her, offering to heal her if she will become his queen. She agrees and he takes her to his castle that is nestled in the deepest part of the forest where the two seal the pact by making love to one another. As Magnus’s essence flows into her with the sealing of the pact, her wounds are all healed and she experiences a surge of power unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

  As I reached the end of the chapter where Anna and Magnus sealed their pact, Mary informs me that it was nearing time to head to dinner. I sigh to myself and look around for a bookmark but don’t see one nearby.

  “Mary?” I query.

  “Yes, Miss?” She responds.

  “Do I have anything to mark my place in this b-book? I am loath to dog ear a page if I d-don’t have to.” I explain, holding the book up.

  “Dog ear?” Mary says in reply, a look of confusion crosses her face for a second. “Um, I think there was one around here somewhere…” Her voice trails off as she walks behind me to the bookshelves and I hear her shifting several books on the shelves around. I look back just in time to see her take novel off of the shelf.

  “Ah, here is one,” she exclaims. “It is marking where you were at in ‘An Orchid for a Squire’ from before your accident, My Lady. Would you like to use this one or would you prefer I find another? There should be several in here since you used to read several books at a time.”

  I reach out my hand.

  “No, this will do. It’s not like I would remember where I was at in that story after all this t-time anyway.” I say with in slightly dejected tone. “In fact, when you have time, will you f-find all of my bookmarks and leave them on the t-table there?” I point to the nearest table beside my bed. “That way, I can keep track of them until I need them.”

  “Of course, My Lady.” She replies with a smile. “Now, shall I escort you to the dining hall?”