Dance they shall. Dance they do, him taking her by her little hand, hot like a coal with something he can't quite place. It's all off but he ain't gonna pry. Someone else? He would. Her? Not gonna ask directlike. Might sidle up to Dorian later, see if he knows what's what.

Maybe get an idea as to how best work the mood around. It ain't right, Benevenuta being all joyless. She should be holding court like Madame de Fer, not floating aloof like a wisp.

"Think this might even be one'athe more respectable dances." He bows over her hand, offers a smile. It's a thin, strained thing, him not so good at pretending all's well as she.