“A capital night,” enthused Mother, as soon as he was near. “Dinner was so delightful, and now this!”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Maddy,” said Mother, “don’t you think it’s a capital night?”
“Most capital,” Madeleine said, stroking her hand along the garland by her hip. “And what lovely flowers.”
Colonel Astor frowned at one of the garlands. His shirt was ivory linen, immaculately ironed and starched; beneath the chandeliers, the ruby studs tracing a path down his chest flashed all the colors of the roses. “Do you like them, then? I feared they might be too much. I had Dobbyn arrange things somewhat on the spot, poor fellow, so I can’t blame him for the excess.”
“Everything is perfect. American Beauties are my favorite.”
“Are they really? They were my mother’s favorite, as well.”
Which, of course, Madeleine already knew. It had been mentioned in the papers more than once. She was not entirely without wiles.
“What excellent taste your mother had.”
The colonel opened his hand. “Will you dance with me, Miss Force?”
“I would be so happy to,” she answered, sincere. She passed her punch glass to her mother and accepted his hand.
She was wearing a Fortuny gown of dove silk with glass beading along the shoulders （brand new, perhaps a little much for the evening, but Katherine had declared it perfect）， and the long, tiered folds of the overskirt floated above the floor as they walked, rippling and falling like the wings of a slow-skimming moth.
They turned to each other. She had the sense of eyes watching them, of conversations broken off, but it didn’t matter. He lifted his chin, lifted her hand. Then, with a dip of his shoulder, he led her into the next measure of a waltz.
She was a good dancer; she knew that. But he was equally as good. Madeleine couldn’t count the number of times her toes had been mashed by some awkward partner, boys who’d blushed bright as beets at having to go so far as to place a hand at her waist. But she and the colonel glided across the polished wooden floor as if they’d rehearsed together for years, their steps at once perfectly matched, their timing synchronous. She felt a flash of understanding of that old chestnut they moved as one, and in her mind the phrase transformed a little, became even better: they moved as one beneath his lacework of roses.
Madeleine couldn’t help grinning up at him. Colonel Astor grinned back, and the room was crimson and gilt and teal plastered walls, and it was fine that they sailed practically alone across the elaborate parquet as everyone watched. It was fine, because they were touching, they were dancing, they were together.
*
He handed her a fresh glass of punch. It tasted more of champagne than of the fruit it had an hour before, and that, as it happened, was also fine with her. The music played on, and the people danced on, but Madeleine and the colonel had retreated past an open set of French doors to a balcony silvered in moonlight, where the breeze felt cooling now instead of chilly, and the soft, persistent scent of roses was washed away clean.
They weren’t really ever alone. There were people wandering in and out, spying the balcony, admiring the view, going back. There was a pair of servants, footmen in black jackets and crisp ties, who stood unobtrusively at either side of the doors, awaiting the colonel’s next instruction.
The balcony jutted out over a bluff. Thick cedar braces dug into the rock face beneath them, rugged pink granite that crumbled gently down into the woods. Looking out straight ahead showed her only more forest, mysterious and dense. Golden, flickering lights occasionally glinted past the trees—torchlights or cabins or lost spirits, Madeleine couldn’t say.
They stood in silence. She tried the punch again, savoring the bubbles popping along her tongue.
“Might I ask a favor of you, Miss Force? Would you call me Jack?”
“Yes,” she said, “if you will call me Madeleine.”
“Not Maddy? I’ve heard your mother and sister calling you that.”
She laughed, feeling warm and bold. “No, please. I’ve tried for years to get them to stop. It’s so undignified. Maddy. I’m not a child anymore.”
“It is a lovely name. Madeleine.” He said it again, under his breath. “Madeleine.”
“Thank you. At least I am grown to someone.”
He smiled at the trees, a wistful smile, one that tugged at her unexpectedly, that lodged itself in a tender place somewhere near her heart.