Silence fell as the grand doors swung open, allowing a gust of icy wind to pervade the ballroom. Mr. Cavendish, a young gentleman, peered towards the entrance to follow where every head was turned. His breath ceased upon seeing what must have been a vision.
A lady of silver-gold hair stood before the onlookers in a radiant gown of frozen stardust. There had never been a creature among men so brilliant, thought the young man. He blinked, unsure if he was awake, and adjusted his dress coat. Mr. Cavendish looked about him as jealous whispers and admiring gasps filled the air in place of the music.
There was a scuttle of steps from footmen who scrambled to discover the name of the mysterious guest, until at last, the bravest among them approached her. The lady turned to him with a movement of ethereal grace only an angel could naturally possess. With a clearing of his throat and an awkward shift of his uniform, the footman announced:
“Lady Noelle Everleigh, of Winterbourne.”
“Of Winterbourne? Did I hear that true?” a lady said in a low voice.
“Surely, there must be a mistake,” assured an old Viscount.
Men drew near Lady Noelle, utterly entranced. Despite the unfortunately nervous disposition Mr. Cavendish was well known for, he found himself among them. Her pleasing frame flitted at times, appearing translucent against her porcelain skin.
After being properly introduced and forcing her to endure his polite conversation, he bowed, “Lady Noelle, would you…if it is not too forward of me to ask…do me the honor of dancing this waltz with me?” He held his breath, awaiting her reply.
“It would be my pleasure,” she smiled at him knowingly. “Shall we?”
Mr. Cavendish, who had prepared himself for a gracious decline, gawked for a moment as other gentlemen of higher renown scowled with resentment.
The lady glided across the polished floor as she held the young gentleman’s arm, who walked beside her like a frightened toy soldier. Mr. Cavendish gulped, admiring her unnaturally blue eyes and the silver-gold ringlets cascading over the side of her pale cheeks.
He trembled, placing his hand on the small of her back as the orchestra started the waltz. Mr. Cavendish clumsily led the dance, feeling ashamed for his lack of dignity when coupled with her refined poise. She was a forgiving partner, however, and offered many encouraging glances.
“You mustn’t be so timid, Mr. Cavendish,” she said.
“Forgive me, I’m afraid that I do not possess the grace of movement which you are blessed with,” he nearly fumbled his step as he spoke.
She let out a breathy laugh, finding his awkward state rather endearing. “A proper waltz is an art, just as any painting or song. I do admit that I have had much practice, this dance was always my favorite…” she said, looking away from him.
His heart sank, noticing the hint of sadness in her voice. “Well, you perform it beautifully, if I may say so, my lady. If only I had been a more suitable partner your talent would be properly admired.”
“I thank you kindly, but please, do not be so severe against yourself on my account,” she smiled wistfully. “Come, let us enjoy our time on earth the best we can.”
The unlikely couple whirled about the ballroom in a rapturous daze. She was light as a feather, as though they were not truly touching. Many eyes were upon them as her crystallized gown gently rippled among the sea of dancers. The orchestra slowed to a close and the partners reluctantly pulled apart, staring deeply into one another’s eyes.
A resounding chime from the gilded clock struck midnight, marking the new year. The guests cheered and clinked their champagne glasses in celebration. The two of them remained silent.
“Thank you for a most wonderful evening, Mr. Cavendish,” she said.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied, kissing her cold hand. Melancholy swelled within him as he watched glimmering tears fall prettily from her eyes.
“Goodnight, sir,” she whispered with finality.
The chandelier lights above them flickered, startling the guests. Silence fell as another gust of icy wind pervaded the ballroom, and Lady Noelle was gone.
