Page 14 of The Red Slippers

“Why the change of heart? Last night you were so...” He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind him. “What is wrong, princess?”

“Dancing in the ballet was wonderful. Performing for the queen, meeting Madame Camargo, and,” she found it hard to swallow. “And meeting you.”

She had pushed him so far away that she felt alone standing next to him. One last touch. That’s what she needed. She gently laid her hand on his chest and fought hard to hold back her tears. “Thank you for everything.” Her voice was a whisper.

Without another word, she turned and hurried out the door. Her only thought was to get away from him. Touching him was a mistake. She could still feel his quickened heartbeat and his warmth. She hadn’t gotten too far when something tugged at her back. Perhaps one last glimpse.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Her breath caught. Avery stood at the studio door staring at her. They remained that way for minutes without moving. Parisians walked between them, laughing, talking, while tears ran down her face and her heart broke.

Go back. Into his arms. Beg him to forgive you.

The last place she wanted to go was the palace, but that was her future. Her destiny was with the butler’s son.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You danced. You have a memory to hold on to. And him. You will always hold onto the memory of Avery.

Cosette turned quickly. Plodding up the palace steps to the queen’s suite, she knew there was no use trying to stop the tears. They would come anyway. She entered the queen’s apartment, began mending, and didn’t stop until late afternoon when she was cried out.

Her needles and threads packed away for the day, she folded and put away the garments, slipped out the door, and went to the servants’ dining area. This was to be her life. No more dreams of the ballet, no more dreams of Avery, no more dreams at all.

“Cosette.” She looked up from her dinner.

“Hello, Marcel. Did you have a good day?” The words froze on her lips, the ache in her heart still there. How dare she say the words to someone else. They werehiswords and belonged to no one else.

“Yes, I did.” He gave her a broad smile and sat next to her. “Our fathers have been talking. We’ve known each other a long time. You suit me well.”

Cosette lifted her eyes and stared at him, really stared at him, and listened more carefully. He went on and on about attending the king. She tried to be interested and tried not to yawn, although one or two slipped out.

“I could walk you home.” He tried to disguise his annoyance, but he didn’t succeed.

“Forgive me, Marcel. The week has been strenuous.”

“Talk of you and the ballet,” he spit out the word as if it was a curse, “is all over the palace. I’m surprised that you would consider leaving your post and jeopardize your position.”

“I’ve dreamt of it for some time. You used to watch me dance and every so often even joined me.”

“Children playing, nothing more. It’s not a real job. Dreams. I dream I’m a rich man. What does dreaming do for me?”

She leaned forward. “For one night I did make my dream a reality. All you have to do is want it bad enough and work hard.” She sat back. “I don’t think you want to be rich.”

He gave her a cold stare and said nothing.

“Marcel, other than a footman, what are you passionate about?” Perhaps his veneer was difficult to get through and there was something underneath his outer crust.

He glared at her in a hungry way. “Cosette, I thought that subject would take a bit longer to address and certainly not in a discussion. I believe in demonstration.”

His eyes darkened dangerously. She glared at him and said nothing. Instead, she got to her feet to leave. He started to stand. “No, please, you stay. Finish your dinner.”

Before he could say another word, she was gone. After that discussion, a long walk was in order. Many routes led out of the servant’s hall, Cosette chose the quickest one.

What was to become of her? How long would it take her to forget dancing with the ballet? Dancing with him? Loving Avery? As she climbed the stairs to the apartment, she had her answer. Never.

She entered the apartment. Her mother was at the table.

“You were at dinner with Marcel.” The last thing she wanted to do was talk to her mother about Marcel. “You were quiet.”

“He did all the talking. He told me about working for the king and that dancing was for children and not a real job. It’s been a long day. I need to lie down.”

“I know you’re disappointed, but you’ll see.”

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