Heart Dance (28 page)

“Yes.” Dufleur endeavored to insert a little sincerity into her grim smile.

Passiflora laughed. “Better.”

I am here, too
, Fairyfoot said.
People will want to see Me. Especially now I have My Collar.
She swiveled her head so Passiflora could admire it.

“The collar arrived a few minutes ago, since we decided on more stones. You’re the first to be shown it.” Dufleur smiled.

“I’m honored,” Passiflora said, then put a gloved hand on Dufleur’s locked fingers, and Dufleur met her eyes. “You should truly try to smile genuinely more often, Dufleur, your real smile is . . . radiant.”

My FamWoman is beautiful when she smiles
, Fairyfoot agreed.

Dufleur stared.

Rolling her eyes, Passiflora said, “Surely you know that.”

“I always thought people complimented me on my smile becauseI’m plain and it’s something else they can say.” She lifted her hands and let them drop, another awkward conversation. The whole day had been talking, talking, talking, and she was getting worse at expressing herself. Lady and Lord knew how she’d handle the gallery opening. Smile. Small talk.

“You are
not
plain. You are attractive. And your smile is incredible.You believe that, Dufleur.”

“Yes.” She’d agree to anything. She was glad she hadn’t eaten a heavy meal.

“You’re nervous.” Passiflora patted her hands. “As I was duringthe first reception after the soiree where my first composition was debuted. Dufleur, your embroidery is gorgeous. Can you believethat?”

“Yes.” She knew it. She just wasn’t used to people looking at it as art, or complimenting her on her work.

“Remember that I am here to support you. This is your night, Dufleur, your moment.” Which meant that Passiflora wouldn’t be doing any obvious politicking, Dufleur supposed, then felt ashamed at the thought. Her emotions were too vivid, not under control.

“I don’t think foxes like gallery openings,” Dufleur said.

Dufleur didn’t know whether the list helped or not. She breathed deeply, settled into her center. For a moment she wished that her real work was more social, she’d know how to handle people better.

“All the Apples will be there, and all the Hollys. Even Genista, Tinne’s wife.” Passiflora hesitated. “I promised she could have her pick of your work, or that we would commission something special for her, whatever she liked. I think the idea of being with beautiful art and away from T’Holly Residence soothed her spirits.”

“I’d love to embroider something for Genista. She’s a lovely woman and complements anything she wears.”

Passiflora eased beside her. “Yes, she is. If you would say that to her, I’d be grateful. She’s had a hard time lately.”

“Of course.”

The glider stopped, and they were there.

Twenty-one

Dufleur’s breath came rapidly
.

"Calm.” Passiflora put a hand on Dufleur’s arm and drained away the nerves. Dufleur closed her eyes in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“I’ve perfected the calming spell. I use it often enough on my journeywoman, Trif.”

Dufleur smiled again and let it widen at the Holly footman as the door opened and she stepped from the glider. He blinked and appeared a little dazed.

“I told you that your smile is potent,” Passiflora said.

“Surely I’ve smiled at him before.”

“I don’t think so.”

Fairyfoot purred at him in appreciation, then hurried up the cold stone walk to the door. An Apple doorman enveloped in a weather shield held back one side of the arched wooden doors, and warm air laden with the sounds and scents of the gallery rolled over Dufleur.

“We’re fashionably late, as an artist should be,” Passiflora said as they left their outerwear with another Apple. Without letting Dufleur drag her feet, Passiflora linked arms with her and brought her into the showroom of her and her mother’s work.

Breath caught in Dufleur’s throat. The presentation of her pieces was dazzling. Her embroidery was lit in subtle ways that accented the time Flair in her stitches so the most Flaired pieces appeared three-dimensional.

As soon as he noticed them, Quert Apple, Passiflora’s brother, surged to them, kissing Dufleur’s hands, tucking one into his arm. He led her to a tall, older gentleman with shaggy gray hair, a handsome face, and intense turquoise eyes the same color as Passiflora’s.

“Dufleur,” Quert said, “may I introduce you to my father, T’Apple.”

Dufleur froze. The greatest artist of Celta.

Fairyfoot pranced up, pawed at T’Apple’s shiny leather dress shoe, opened her green eyes wide, smiled, and sent loudly,
You may paint Me in My beautiful collar.

Quert looked stunned, T’Apple surprised, and a ripple of laughter came from Passiflora that made Dufleur smile.

T’Apple’s eyes narrowed on Dufleur’s face. “That smile.” He rubbed his fingers together. “That smile has Flair.” Then he, too, smiled. Glancing down at Fairyfoot, he said, “We’ll see. My portrait appointments are filled for several months.” He made a half-bow to Dufleur. “I admire your work.”

Dufleur stared at him. Passiflora nudged her with an elbow. “Thank you,” Dufleur squeaked.

T’Apple took her hand from Quert’s arm and shifted it to his. “I have a question about technique . . .”

From that moment on, the evening passed in a daze. She thought she found words to explain her creative Flair to T’Apple,without talking about time. He nodded and muttered to himself, then she was passed back to Quert Apple who introducedher to others who had purchased more than one piece of her work—including D’Birch.

That interlude stood out, the GreatLady smiling coolly, apparentlycondescending to forgive Dufleur her rudeness the eveningbefore because she was pleased with a small tapestry Dufleur had done of a slice of Noble Country—one that showed the entrance to the Birch estate. As Dufleur suspected, no rumorsabout the Thymes came to her ears, and she doubted if it circulated.

Saille Willow had been in the gallery before Dufleur had arrived,and she watched him with sidelong glances. The link betweenthem was strong and, to her, evident, but she hoped she was shielding it from others. She shrank at the thought of even more gossip. Still, she knew that he watched her even when she felt him turn his mind to business. In some way, his presence both energized and eased her. Unqualified support came through their link, as did an underlying desire, anticipation of the night to come. She hadn’t thought she’d spend the night with him, but he had no doubts.

She would rather he stay with her in Winterberry Residence, but didn’t know how to manage the bed, though the couch they’d slept on the night before wasn’t quite as wide as her bed. Perhaps she could convince Fairyfoot to sleep at T’Willow Residence. The Fam had taken a particular liking to the conservatory.

Fairyfoot and her collar were praised, too. An Apple had been assigned as a companion to “honor” the cat, though Dufleur figuredQuert didn’t trust the Fam with embroidery and lace.

Her meeting with D’Sea was very pleasant, especially since her Mind Healer had purchased a couple of her pieces. Smiling, Dufleur chatted with D’Sea, and when the woman nodded decisivelyand complimented Dufleur, she knew that she was spared another appointment. Even as she watched the older woman walk away, she felt perspiration dampen her palms. But it was warm in the gallery.

By the end of the evening, Dufleur had sold all of her work, and her head buzzed with compliments. When someone spoke of a commission, she referred them to Quert Apple. As the gallery emptied, she took one last look around and found that most of her mother’s lace had sold, too. She sighed in relief. Her mother would be pleased and would avidly check the newssheets for reportsof the event the next morning. Dufleur was a little interested in what they might say, too.

“I have accepted three commissions for you.” Quert Apple beamed in satisfaction as he approached with Passiflora. Everyoneelse—except Saille Willow—was gone. “I had requests for more, but I know you have other commitments, and I want to ensure your exclusivity.” His smile broadened further. “We have a waiting list.”

“Good,” Dufleur said faintly. She thought she had an idea of the new rhythm of her own life factoring in the social season and would have to sit down and make a schedule—for experimentingwith time, working on her embroidery, resting.

Playing with Fairyfoot
, the little cat added, prancing up, moving her head so light caught her collar and everyone could continue to admire it.

“I’ll take Dufleur home.” Saille T’Willow joined them.

Dufleur frowned at him. “You didn’t commission anything, did you? You have a great deal of my work as it is.”

“Does he really? I’d like some unsold pieces.” Quert sent him a glance.

“Not for sale.” He picked up Dufleur’s hand, made a small bow, and kissed her fingers. “No. I didn’t commission anything more.” His eyes went half-lidded, his mouth quirked at the corner. “Though I’m considering an embroidered comforter for the Willow generational bed.”

“The Willows have such a bed?” Quert asked. “They are very rare. Usually made in the first or second generation of colonization.” A considering look came to his eyes. “I wonder if I could do a show—” He stopped himself. “No, I’m sure no FirstFamilywould loan such a wonderful object.”

“You must be mad,” Dufleur blurted, folded her arms across her chest. “I will
not
embroider a bedcover for a man who has a FamCat sleeping on his bed.”

Myx would ruin it
, Fairyfoot added.

Saille winced. “Oh. Good point.”

Passiflora raised her eyebrows at Dufleur. Quert looked away, as if something had caught his attention. And Dufleur knew beyond a doubt that she’d revealed too much.

Saille said, “No, GreatSir Apple, I would not loan my bed. As you said, it’s too valuable. As for other FirstFamilies.” He shrugged. “I don’t know who else might have such a bed. Every Family has secrets.”

Just that easily he’d asked them to keep quiet, Dufleur realizedwith wonder.

“Very true, very true,” Quert agreed.

Passiflora’s smile held a trace of melancholy. “And some Families’ affairs are known and gossiped by all.”

Quert put an arm around her shoulder. “You’re tired, my dear. I know Holm sent your glider here an hour ago. You’ve been doing a great deal—”

“My health is perfectly fine.” Passiflora freed herself from her brother. She lifted her chin. “In fact, the Healer, T’Heather, scrutinized me while we spoke earlier.” Her smile softened as she looked to Dufleur. “He wanted to convey to me his thanks once again for the softleaves you embroidered for his lady, and notes that they have now become quite valuable.”

But Dufleur reacted to the first part of her speech. “You’re not the only one who had an interesting talk with a Healer. D’Sea was here.”

“Oh.” Passiflora’s eyes filled.

Dufleur managed a smile. “My health is fine, too.” But she felt closer to Passiflora than she had for a while.

Quert took his sister’s arm and led her away. “Holm will be waiting for you, you know. You’re overtired.”

“This social season is important to us.”

“I know, and you have been such a good HeartMate ...” A door closed.

“My glider awaits, too,” Saille said. “Come, Dufleur.”

She eyed him warily. “No comment about HeartMates.”

“Of course not.”

They looked at each other. A half-smile was on his lips. Their link was wide and pulsing with emotions—affection, pride, desire.

Fairyfoot rubbed Dufleur’s ankles back and forth, circling her, sending love and pride and purring. She crooked her tail.
We spend the night at Willows’s.
Her whiskers twitched.
Food here is acceptable, but Willows give Me cream before bed.

Dufleur stared at her cat. She wouldn’t be small if she kept that habit.

With smugness, the FamCat sat and looked up at Saille.
You should put Fam door to the other rooms, so I can use them.

“Other rooms?” Dufleur asked.

“I’m using the consort’s rooms. They’re equal in size to the head of household’s.”

“But, that bed . . .” "MotherDam had a special bed made for herself. She put the old Willow bed in storage, I had it moved to the consort’s suite.”

She couldn’t prevent the small, fake smile from flickering on and off her face. That bed scared her, it spoke of generations. Of all the time of the Willows. “So Fairyfoot wants to use the head’s suite as her own.”

Saille smiled. “Cats don’t have a problem with self-confidence.”

“No.” She smiled, too, though she knew she was all too full of self-doubt.

He gazed down at Fairyfoot. “Dufleur has invited me to stay with her.”

The cat flicked her tail.
Bed is small.

“Very true. I wondered if you’d like to stay in the Willow conservatory.”

Fairyfoot purred louder.
One or two mice there in from the winter. Fresh mouse as snack. Then cream. Then sleep in glass house smelling like summer.
“Yessss.”

“Then I’ll—” He lifted a hand as if to ’port her, but she had already popped from view.

Saille shook his head, then he scanned the room and eased. “It has been difficult pretending that you aren’t my HeartMate, that we are casual acquaintances. That I might be thinking of wooing you and not that I’m ready to HeartBond tonight and wed you tomorrow.”

Dufleur took a step back, stopped. “I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”

“No. But I promised not to push. I suppose that means rushingyou, too.”

“You are moving at the speed of light.”