“She lives in a faraway kingdom,” Emily interrupted with all the certainty of a six-year-old safely ensconced in her father’s arms. They were strong arms, too, not wavering under their burden even once. “Were you at the ball, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” Lila glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and held back a sigh.

As much as she would have preferred to stay hiding down here for the rest of the night, she was eventually going to have to suck up her pride and face the ballroom. Patrick would still be there, of course, but some things couldn’t be helped.

“I should probably get back there before anyone notices I’m gone, but…” She cast a look down at her attire and bit her lip.

“But you can’t possibly go without an escort?” Ford offered. Even though his arms were already taken up with Emily, he managed to crook an elbow at her. “It’s the least I can do after you rescued my daughter. She doesn’t take to just anyone, you know. You must be something special.”

“Oh, I’m really not—” Lila began, more flustered than she cared to admit. She couldn’t tell whether it was the girl, her father, or the dress that was making her feel most out of her depth, but the room was definitely spinning around her.

“If it’ll help, I promise not to smile any more than absolutely necessary,” Ford said with a shake of his elbow. “It’ll be nothing but frowns and glowers as far as the eye can see.”

Because he wore a particularly attractive smile as he said this, Lila wasn’t fooled. She didn’t have a chance to call him on it, however, since he winked and turned his face toward Emily. “I specially requested The Hokey Pokey from the orchestra. It’d be a shame if we missed it.”

“Daddy!” Emily protested with a giggle. “You did not.”

“Of course I did. Why do you think it took me so long to come find you?” He gave up on the elbow and dropped a liberal kiss on Emily’s cheek instead. “I also asked them to play the Macarena, YMCA, and, I’m sorry to say, Gangnam Style. Emily doesn’t have the most sophisticated taste. I, on the other hand, am an arbiter of great music. I made sure to add the The Chicken Dance to our lineup.”

“The Chicken Dance?” Lila echoed. She thought of the string quartet that had been hired for the evening and suppressed a laugh. She’d known the violinist to throw his bow at anyone requesting a composition not written before the eighteenth century. “I don’t believe you.”