Chapter Text
The ballroom was alive with the lively murmurs of soldiers and the flustered ladies. Among those ladies were Angelica and Eliza, most certainly in their element; gawking at all the soldier boys and providing extensive criticism and reviews from fleeting glances they had received from them.
For Peggy however, she was quietly lingering with her girlish friends. Her friends' activities were majorly synonymous with Angelica and Eliza’s, all of them simply staring and blushing whenever one of the soldier men caught their eyes. Peggy was in her own world, buried deep in her own thoughts. Some self-deprecating, some simply wondering when this boring night would come to an end. “They all had pretty hair and pretty skin”, she thought as she scrutinized their conventionally pretty porcelain skin and pin straight hair, she glared down at her tanned skin and curly hair as if to will it to change into the same as theirs.
Her predicament was confusing to say the least. She was always pushed away as though she was an ugly black sheep of the family, which she always thought was contradictory as often men had complimented her on the street; some simply complimenting, some flirting, some simply having had too much to drink. Or maybe it was the fact she was a Schuyler, many a time had men looked at her and her sisters like they were freshly butchered turkeys on a butchers window when they caught a scent of their graces and nobility. She always thought this was rather rude.
Wasn’t love or marriage meant to be a unanimous and undying agreement of each other's adoration for the other? It baffled her to no end that the world had twisted what was meant to be beautiful into something simply transactional or obligatory. All these borderline philosophical thoughts whirled around her head, leaving her completely unaware that a very awkward and nervous French man was standing in front of her.
She started immediately and curtsied quickly, afraid to disobey any unspoken law of propriety. The french man was dressed in a royal blue coat, seemingly a soldier she decided. The man had beautiful tanned skin and brown curly hair and pristine posture, although at this very moment his stature was practically vibrating from sheer nervousness. He bowed, almost at such deepness he nearly stumbled. He opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it again and managed a stammered sentence “Good evening mademoiselle”. His voice sounded melodic and definitely foreign, a french lilt perhaps?
She smiled shyly and bashfully looked to her hands folded in front of her. “Good evening sir”, her voice came out a pitch higher than normal,why had she subconsciously adopted shyness around this man she had never met? The man drummed his fingers against his sides and looked as though he was ready to combust and melt onto the floor at that very moment.
He mumbled in his melodic voice, “I-I was wondering, if madam would like to share a-a dance, s’il vous plait – bah I meant please.” He smiled at that moment, albeit awkward and intensely shy. Peggy, having lost all hope of having fun that night a long time ago and open to impulsively dance with this man she had never met, obliged.
Unfortunately, as if all the fates in the heavens all conspired together to make this moment even more problematical, the band began to play a slow waltz.
The man timidly took her hand and danced gently and slowly with her around the ballroom.