After a short consideration, Sir Thomas asked Crawford to join the early breakfast party in that house instead of eating alone. And the readiness with which his invitation was accepted convinced Sir Thomas that the suspicions that led him to arrange this ball, were well founded. . . .

Mr. Crawford was in love with Fanny.

Sit Thomas had a pleasing anticipation of what would be. His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just done. She had hoped to have William all to herself the last morning—an unspeakable indulgence. But though her wishes were overthrown, she was so unused to have her pleasure consulted, or to have things go her way, that she rejoiced in having carried her point so far.

Shortly afterward, Sir Thomas again interfered a little with her inclination, by advising her to go immediately to bed. “Advise” was his word, but it was the advice of absolute power.

While Sir Thomas retired to an adjoining room to speak with some of the gentlemen guests in attendance, Fanny obediently rose from her seat, and received Mr. Crawford’s very cordial adieus.

She had every intention to make her way directly to the entrance-door of the ballroom, when Lord Eastwind appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and stood before her. With a tiny inclination of the head, he was offering his gloved hand.

“Miss Price. You have promised me the honor of a single dance tonight. The night may not end without it.”

Fanny felt a quickening in her chest, a shortness of breath, while a blush spread to her cheeks and filled her, like ancient fiery wind of the desert.

“Sir—I am rather tired. And it is late.”

And yet, even as she said it, she knew that she must acquiesce, and she felt the warmth of his gaze upon her like a thing tangible.

“You . . . promised.”

Fanny looked up and for the first time fully met the gaze of his strange familiar eyes.

The world turned. The candlelight flared, seeming to glow more golden, and the dance music gathered around them with a rich swell of the Nile overflowing the boundaries of all.

Fanny took his hand, feeling a jolt of awareness at the touch. All her weariness fled. She was suddenly aflame; she was sun itself, as he led her into the dance.

They spoke not a word. He held her close in moments of coming together as the dance required; and at other times they touched fingertips like reeds moving in the current, gentle, separate yet joined by the flow of waters. . . .