What Comes of Attending the Commoners Ball

by Elisabeth Aimee Brown

“It’s for commoners, isn’t it? Aren’t I as common as anyone else?”

“Gloves?” “All the ladies wear gloves.” “I could keep my mittens on, but that would inhibit the feasting a bit.”

My whole village could easily fit inside, chickens and hogs included, although they’d be more out of place than I am. Or would we be equally out-of-place? Am I really more refined than a hog?

I get distracted by a large painting on the wall—very blotchy in style, but what do I know about art?—and forget to listen to whatever comes next.

The man is still considering me. “Does Miss Smith have a first name?” “No,” I blurt. “My parents couldn’t afford one—commoners, you understand.” Hugh laughs, but I flush deeper. What am I saying? The man’s lips almost twitch. “How—unfortunate.”

Hugh chuckles again and releases my arm, but not before pressing a warm kiss on my palm. I wipe it on my skirt without thinking. “Now, I am insulted by that!” Hugh says, but his eyes are bright.

When Lucas isn’t paying attention, I’ll feel those velvet drapes.

Well, there goes that hand too.

“Superstitions!” I sniff. “It’s not just superstition! My Mum had a neighbor whose cousin’s husband’s great-aunt’s daughter was taken to a Folk glade, and when she finally came back she cried all the time, they say.”

“You’re squealing again! Besides, I don’t think sharing a jacket is anything near as wonderful as sharing a crumpet.”

A flash of humor, so brief that I may have imagined it, cracks his face. “To proceed, eh?” Finally, he turns back to me. “Tell your mother before you leave. She’ll want to crow.”

Lucas swallows and steps closer to me. “You should have. You—you should kiss me whenever you want to.”