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But the reality was that the dance masters talked to their students constantly. Granted, it was
mostly a matter of counting out the beat or saying “Slow” “Hold” or “Left,” “Right,” or “Now,” but
most of the instructors had acquired the skill of ventriloquists, carrying on these primitive
conversations without moving their lips. The students rarely spoke in return, and were thus the
dummies, Tatiana supposed, but as she watched she could see that Ella was openly talking and that
Konstantin had tilted his had gracelessly close to her in an attempt to listen. He noticed Tatiana
above them at some point and their eyes met briefly. Impossible to read his expression or to guess
what news the grand duchess might be so determined to convey under the guise of a waltz.
Tatiana sat down in one of the small chairs and began to lace up her dancing shoes. It would not
do to show any more interest in one of the swirling couples beneath her than the others, but she could
not help but notice that Ella, while by no definition a skilled dancer, was one of the ones who loved
it. You could tell by the way she finally stopped talking and tilted her chin back, closing her eyes as
they moved. Konstantin often instructed his partners to close their eyes. The better to hear the music,
he would say. The better to lose your embarrassment at performing under the watchful gaze of
others.
But it was also romantic, Tatiana thought. This voluntary self-blinding made it easier for the
woman to submit to the movements of the man, to be truly swept away, to slip off the confines of her
everyday self. Not being able to see where you were going or how close you were to other couples
on the floor certainly made it easier to follow, for really, under such circumstances what other choice
does one have? Ella had settled back into Konstantin’s arm, and it was abundantly clear to Tatiana, if
to no one else in the room, that she liked this feeling of a man’s arm around her waist, drawing her
steadily in, and the gentle pressure of her hand in his. Even if the man was but a lowly dance master,
even if they were surrounded by dozens of other people in the middle of the day.
Something is missing in her life, Tatiana thought. Perhaps it is the same thing that is missing in
mine.
She was not jealous. When a woman is married to a powerful man and having an affair with a
less powerful man, and when she is playing her dangerous game in a well-lighted room, then jealousy
is an emotion she cannot afford to indulge. Besides, Ella was not a threat to her. No woman, not
even a woman possessed with Ella’s pedigree, would risk dishonoring the Romanov family with an
indiscretion. Not in word, not in deed, not even by implication. If Tatiana’s ankle was in a trap, Ella
was buried alive, and had been since the day she first touched Russian soil.
Tatiana knew she had been staring too long. That was always her challenge when Konstantin