By 'make my move' I meant waiting on the outskirts of the room until I saw a good opening to approach my target. After all, timing is everything in these types of plots.
I did spend some time observing Count Graye and hoping to catch his interactions with his mother, but she only made a brief appearance and disappeared soon after the ball started. It was frustrating on my part, but I could hardly blame the woman for being so skittish after all the horrors she's experienced at her son's hand.
Lord Pendleton, on the other hand, was clearly prepared for a long night at the Graye Estate. He had arrived somewhere in the crowd of 'important' nobles but before the 'super important' nobles, and then gone straight for the alcohol and his friends from the academy.
They stood in a circle laughing loudly and infringing rudely onto the dance floor. Occasionally, one of them would ogle some poor girl walking past and down his drink before following behind her. About half of those who did so ended up returning to the circle minutes later after what I'm assuming was a firm rejection.
I know the bar for men in this kingdom is low, but I was impressed at how many of them managed to take no for an answer.
"Marquess Easton Wulfstan!"
A wave of excitement spread through the ballroom as the doorman suddenly announced a late comer. I think he might have been the latest guest to arrive, actually. He was dressed in his usual shades of black and green, looking incredibly bored (also per usual).
At the bottom of the stairs buzzed a swarm of maidens, eagerly awaiting the Marquess's descent to the dance floor.
See, whether he arrived late or not, he always received this kind of attention at social events. It's one of the many reasons I refused to allow him to associate with me in public. I can't even imagine what that group of fangirls would do to a woman they saw by their beloved idol's side. But I was sure it would be bad for my business. And probably my health.
"But that's not my problem," I smirked, taking another sip of my champagne. It was delicious. Expensively delicious. Rich people really do live different lives than the rest of us.
It was just then that I spied Lord Pendleton breaking away from the circle of degenerates. He was more subtle than his cohorts (after all, he had the role of a doting fiance to uphold), but he was definitely chasing a flashy pink skirt.
Now it was really time to make my move.
I set my glass on the tray of a passing servant and strode off in the same direction. If my timing was right, I'd approach the poor guy just as he was reeling from a fresh rejection and dreading having to return to his degenerate circle in all his shame.
I wove between people offering occasional smiles and greetings, trying to ignore some of the more pointed stares. I wasn't the only one who'd come in a form-fitted gown. Or a strapless piece. I spied some backless dresses as well.
But still, eyes followed me.
I suppose Lady Abigail's gift for creating incredible dresses simply couldn't be hidden.
Lord Pendleton stopped at some balcony doors and looked over both shoulders before proceeding through them. The pink skirt had gone through only a few moments before, looking a bit tipsy.
Great. Now I felt like I had to get there quickly to prevent some kind of crime.
Fear not, pink skirt, I will save you! I picked up my pace a bit. But the crowds around the edges were thicker, making it trickier to move quickly. My smile was getting closer to a grimace with each 'acquaintance' who stopped me.
"Wow, Madam Opaline you look stunning!"
Thank you, Random Noble Lady #3. You look stunning as well. But please move.
"I haven't seen you in so long, Dear! How have you been?"
I'd be doing better, Random Noble Lady #4, if you would let me pass.
After an exhausting barrage of polite exchanges, I finally reached my target. There was no screaming or anything coming from the balcony, so that was a good sign.
… Or possibly the worst sign.
Quickly I reached for the doors, but a body slid in front of me, blocking my grasp. I could hardly force my fake grin this time. Honestly, these side characters were getting out of contr-wait.
"Oh, hello again, Count." I dipped into a curtsey, regretting my earlier thought. I'd take ten more chatty side characters over this guy. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go out for some fresh air."
"Ah, I believe this balcony is already occupied," the Count replied graciously.
No way. Was this punk really defending that slimy Lord right now? If I had my notebook, I would be scribbling furiously.
"Is that so? Oh well, I've come this far, and I wouldn't mind the company I'm sure," I cooed, putting a hand on my cheek.
Please just move already!
"Actually, I was hoping to ask if you'd join me for a dance." Count Graye ignored me entirely, extending his hand.
Ugh, again with the hand! And what on this sweet earth could possibly compel Count Auden Graye himself to ask me for a dance?
I would have to ponder that later, though. There was a much more pressing matter at hand and a poor woman who might be in danger.
"Ha ha," I laughed a bit too mechanically. "I'm actually a terrible dancer and my husband gets quite jealous, so if you'll excuse me-"
"I don't mind." The count scooted over, more fully blocking the doors. "It's rather impolite to leave a gentleman hanging like this, don't you think?"
Actually, I don't think that's impolite. I think blocking a lady's way and trying to force her to dance with you is impolite. Curse this patriarchal society and its chauvinistic 'rules'.
I clenched a fist at my side. "I will tumble the entire patriarchy myself."
"What was that?"
"I mean-" with great displeasure, I unclenched my fist and gently placed it into the Count's outstretched hand, "-one quick song wouldn't hurt."
I decided to believe that the lack of shouting and/or screaming coming from the balcony meant that Lord Pendleton was not currently assaulting a helpless young lady in a pink skirt. And hopefully that would still be true by the time I managed to return.
Count Graye let out an unmistakable chuckle as his fingers curled around mine. Then he guided me back through the crowd I had worked so hard to maneuver. (This time, notably, everyone stepped aside like a great ocean parting.)
We reached the dance floor just as a waltz was starting.
The Count led us to the center of the floor, twirled me around to face him, and placed a hand on the small of my back.
Literally my back. Skin to skin.
Note to self: DO NOT ever order another backless dress.
"Are you feeling alright?" The Count asked, his smile still as wide as ever. Under the ballroom lights, his jawline looked especially chiseled. It complemented his high cheekbones and defined nose impeccably. Not to mention his[An unnecessary description of handsomeness has been omitted for readers' sake.]
I was definitely not feeling alright. But as a professional, there was nothing I could do but toss my hair over my shoulder and return his smile.
"Of course. Let's get started."