The chum and the sparkle

Here we go again. Stiff, sweaty, uncomfortable, at yet another dance party he didn't want to attend; steering at the changing couples from one dance to another, noticing secret glances and remembering the beautiful summer evenings in the country.

He genuinely had no choice. This year he must accompany his mother and sister to all the made up by the ton parties. Brianna, his younger sister, made her debut.

So he sits and waits for hours, just like the porters stuck up at the door. He, for one, has no intention of making even a non-compulsory gesture. And he is not alone. Lord F. sighs not 10 feet away, as resigned as he is.

Mother is obsessed with Brianna's success. She renewed her ties with all the acquaintances from whom she had been separated for twenty-five years since she started living in the country. However, nobody can convince father to leave his estate. Now, seeing himself stuck in the middle of so many interested people, Paul fully understands him.

He is boiling. Paul Beltran feels rivers of sweat running down his skin, covered by four layers of different fabrics. He seriously considers going outside, in the garden, but She could be present. No, it's better to stay still. He has found himself an excellent spot from which he can survey unhindered the entire ballroom.

“Good evening, milord. Are you glued here for the entire evening?”

Paul stares at Miss Alma. He looks her directly in the eye, because she is remarkably tall, as Paul had never seen another taller one.

“Good evening, Miss Alma. To be honest, I am. I have to remain here as long as necessary. I am to accompany Brianna.”

“It surprised me that Brianna was already out in the world. She seemed so young to me!”

Alma knows Brianna. Given Paul’s nearly being engaged to Her, it couldn’t be any different. With Agatha, Alma's older sister.

“I'm surprised too. And tired. Perhaps also terrified that other years might follow this one,” he answered, then realized his mistake. He looked scared into Alma's eyes. “My apologies,” mumbles shamefaced.

“Sorry? Why?” asks the curious young woman. “Oh, I see,” she continues, because she finally understands. “No need for apologies, milord! I don't want to get married. They have forced me to leave the estate for two entire months for the fifth year in a row. It’s the last one. That's the deal with my mother.”

Paul Beltran, future baronet, looks at her, deeply annoyed. Miss Alma differs from all the young women he has met so far. To be honest, there are not so many. However, she is so unsimilar (even if the powder shade of her spring dress suits her remarkably). 

“When you're the youngest, in a herd of six, you allow yourself to be different,” she continued. “The parents’s stubbornness somehow dilutes. Four of us got married, and Alan will eventually get married too. There is no doubt about it.”

Alan is Alma's twin brother. From the first tune, he is on the dance floor and continues to smile with delight at a remarkable number of beautiful young ladies.

“Don't you want to get married? Don't you want children?” Paul asks her curiously.

“I don't dislike either husbands or children. I only hate how I have to get them.” 

“Is there a specific way?”

“Don't play the innocent with me,” the woman replies, smiling. Her gray eyes turn purple when she laughs.

“It is pure curiosity. I really don't understand what mode you are referring to. Get a husband,” he continued, looking at her half amused, half intrigued.

“It's a modus operandi known since the beginning of the world. For example, the two of us are getting acquainted. You like me, it can't be otherwise. I can sense your gaze upon me. Then, I continuously smile at you, discussing only your interests and wearing the perfume you love. I will show I prefer you more than any other young man. And you, excited by my interest, go to the next step. The fatal step.”

“Meaning?”

“Courting me in front of everyone. Starting from that moment, you can't go back.”

“But you can change your mind,” he replied with a sigh. The discussion has lost its charm.

Alma nods silently. She should have minded her own business. Her sister had rejected Paul Beltran. Agatha had simply changed her mind.

“I apologize. I was rude.”

“Miss Alma, you don't have to apologize either. Some days, I’m certain it was better like that.”

It would still be impolite to ask him what happens on other days. She looks at Agatha. Radiant in her husband's arms. They got married three years ago.

Alma is considering retiring. Now that she's greeted him, maybe it's better to leave him alone.

“If you were to realize that you like me, Miss Alma, what subjects would you bring up in conversation?” he hesitantly asks her.

“It's simple, my lord. Opera.”

“And what perfume would you use?”

“Lemon scent.”

Paul looks at her in shock. When courting Agatha, he loved talking about the opera the most. Opera music and lyrics and everything enchants Paul!

“It is well known that you are a music lover. I would discuss the opera and categorically avoid the subject of hunting dogs.”

It's true. As a child, a hunting dog bit Paul.

“Which topics interest you for discussion, Miss Alma?”

It's her turn to be surprised. She didn't expect to be asked, not seriously, what her favorite topics of conversation were. When she's preoccupied, the violet glints in her eyes turn dark blue. "Fascinating," Paul thinks, unable to help himself. “Agatha’s eyes lack the same number of shades as her sister’s.”

“Peculiar words. Betting on horse courses. Maybe aromatic oils.”

“Miss Alma, who would have expected you to be passionate about betting on horse races?”

“That is precisely why it is not advisable for me to discuss my curiosities,” she grumbled, displeased. “Considering the family I come from.”

Paul knows exactly what she's talking about. Her parents considered options names for their children, such as Acelynn and Afina.

“Alma is a beautiful name,” he tells her slowly.

“Yet strange enough. Personally, I would be happier with Alexandra or Alice,” she replies sharply.

“I would like to discuss them,” he continued encouragingly. “Curiosities, I mean.”

Alma looks him straight in the eye. It's easy, given that they're the same height. When she gazes into the young men’s eyes, they often frown and avert their gaze. Paul, however, continues to smile. Their familiarity breeds tolerance for her stature. He doesn't seem scared of her.

“How about I bring you a plate with some appetizers? And then, let’s discuss horse betting, shall we? The Grand National race is days apart!”

“Alright! We have decided. But take my advice, my lord. Do not touch the pastry. Inside information.”

Smiling delightedly, Paul walks away determinedly. Stiff or not in the ballroom's corner, there's no reason to go uneaten. Alma's appearance dispelled his boredom. It might be an easy evening to digest. Thank God's mother didn't even glance at him! There are parties where she forces him to dance with the sisters of Brianna's potential suitors. Eventually, poor lord F. was compelled to take the floor.

Paul Beltran, a bachelor in his mid-twenties, has loved just once. In-love by Agatha, Alma's older sister by two years whom he had courted for an entire season. He was determined to propose to her. He hadn't realized that Agatha was interested in another young man, the one she married and with whom she now never stops dancing.

Beyond his crushed pride, Paul did not understand what had happened to him. He firmly believed that She was just as in love with him. Their eyes spoke, he was certain.

Alma stood thoughtfully, watching him go. She had always liked Paul. The brown shade of the eyes, the wide smile, the firm line of the jaw, the nonchalance with which he sat in the chair, dozens of details that made him a pleasant young man, from her point of view. She had always enjoyed having him around. Even after the disaster with Agatha, it seems just as familiar to Alma. She likes him more than her now brother-in-law.

“Miss Alma, are you dancing?”

Lord F. had approached her. A distant cousin of her mother, Lord F. always does his duty and invites her to a dance.

“I'm afraid she got my dance. Would you mind?” Paul’s voice reaches their ears.

Alma doesn't know what to believe. Lord F. is as polite as ever. What got into Paul?

Lord F. does not insist. Mumbling a “Maybe later”, he leaves Paul and Alma to end up on the dance floor. The weirdness of the incident makes Alma smile. 

“Sorry, I couldn't let him take you to the dance. We have to debate peculiar words. It's a serious discussion that can't wait.”

Paul doesn't understand what's gotten into him, either. Lord F. had only asked her to one dance. After that, they would talk with no further interruptions.

“And what exactly should we start with?” Alma asked him suspiciously.

“Anything. I accepted your advice. I didn't touch the pastries.”

He returned so fast, likely swallowing nothing.

“So, what word do you like the most, Miss Alma?” he asks, but the series of two pirouettes delays her answer.

“My absolute word is flapdoodle. Means nonsense. Oh, and circumbendibus. Means an evasive way of speaking.”

“I disagree, Miss Alma. You cannot be a nonsense either an evasive speaking. You are a sparkle.” 

“One may dream, my lord. Anyway, I am certainly not shining nor glittering. And sparkle is not a peculiar word!”

For a young lady, Alma is remarkably funny. Paul is staring at her in disbelief. In appearance, she seems so much to Agatha (which makes him feel uncomfortable) but in wit they are two opposite people. 

“And what would be my peculiar word, Miss Alma?” he cheekily asks her.

She briefly ponders for a moment before responding.

“You are a peradventure, my lord. A perhaps.”

He bursts into laughter, attracting everyone's attention.

“I was wrong? Who are you then?” she asks him anxiously. 

With a big smile on his cheeky face, Paul answered,

“Your chum, miss Alma. Your very new best friend!”

Luckily, the music stops. She is definitely a flapdoodle.

The end

If one is curious enough, here are the Cambridge dictionary's peculiar words definitions:

Chum: friend, buddy, pal

Sparkle: shine, glitter, twinkle

Flapdoodle: nonsense, silliness, ridiculousness 

Circumbendibus: a roundabout way

Peradventure: perhaps, maybe, possibly