James was regarding Anthony with some gratitude for the civilizing influence. Robert gritted teeth.
Mr. Dalton Irving got quiet again.
Mrs. Irving chattered, words like pearls dropping on glass, “Of course you’ll be married by special license—we’re certain you won’t want to wait, having waited so long already—Dalton will be twenty-one in precisely three weeks, so you can be wed just as soon as he’s properly of age—”
Dancers spun and came together and separated like water at his back: a ribbon, a weaving on a loom, a pattern. Fate, right here in this ballroom. Where Robert should no doubt ask his fiancé to join the tapestry. James was staring at him as if attempting to shove him forward by sheer force of will.
He needed air. He needed to breathe. He needed to rip off this cravat, which
