“No, she’s claimed already for nine and ten, but eight is clear, right, Sam?” Izzie piped up. I turned to face her, hoping she could feel the daggers I was shooting her way.

“Will you hold my punch, darling cousin?”

“Delighted to help you in any way, dearest cousin,” she replied with a wink.

I followed Viscount Dubois onto the ballroom floor, wishing it was eleven already so the mindless dancing could cease and we could eat dinner and not have to dance anymore.

It was a minuet, quite an old-fashioned dance that normally wasn’t featured in balls today, but the Chestertons were a family renown for their love of esoteric dance styles.

The minuet was a dance composed of small, almost mincing steps and it required one’s constant attention. Much as I did not really appreciate the art of dance, I knew I wasn’t half bad. My poise was good, and my steps lively.

I found myself enjoying it despite myself. But perhaps this had something to do with the fact that the viscount didn’t speak once during the dance.