By Alma Sinan
I have been watching him all evening. When he strides across the hall toward me, I can barely breathe and my heart pounds so loudly, I think everyone can hear it. He offers his gloved hand and I accept it far too eagerly. Silently, I reproach myself, yet I can hardly contain my excitement. He leads me to the floor where we and the other dancers form two lines; ladies facing gentlemen. We stand poised, waiting for the dance to commence.
Woodwind instruments trill the introduction and are joined by violins, signalling us to honour our partners. As I curtsey, the hem of my gown splashes like buttermilk across the hardwood floor. I lower my eyes demurely, and then as I rise, I meet my partner’s gaze. Ebony curls spiral and brush the top of the white cravat tied intricately around his neck. His waistcoat is as green as holly leaves and matches his eyes. I venture a flirtatious smile and he returns it. My pulse quickens, before the dance even begins.
We link hands with the couple beside us, forming a circle of four. We do eight slip steps to the left, keeping pace with the lively music. The couple with whom we are dancing, move with precision. The gentleman wears red regimentals and his steps are as vigorous as a pounding heart. His partner, by contrast, treads so lightly it looks as if she’s floating. Her gown flutters around her, as pink as the inside of a seashell. Pearls bounce lightly against her collarbone. We switch direction and slip step the remaining eight counts to the right and return to our original positions.
The circle breaks and my partner offers his hand so that we may lead down the middle of the set for four counts. I rest my fingers in the cradle of his palm, and for a few moments, brazenly wish there were no gloves separating us. What would his touch be like? As we walk back to place, I steal a glance at him. His black curls look as though they’ve been tussled by a fitful wind. He grins back and playfully squeezes my fingertips. Before letting go of my partner’s hand, I give him my warmest smile. I cross by left shoulders, with the soldier in red. My partner crosses by right shoulders with the lady in pink. And then we cross this way once more. I love this final figure. It feels as if we’re stitching two neat X’s into the fabric of the dance, before starting the figures all over again with the couple beside us.
As we work our way down the set, the sound of merriment fills my ears. Faces flush with exertion, laughter bursts from parted lips, and gowns swish in a silken serenade. The ribbon of romance weaves itself around us, bringing us all closer together.
We, with our modern sensibilities, but dressed in Regency costumes, feel the centuries dissolve in that perfect moment. For while we dance, we can almost believe, that we’ve stepped back in time.
For more information about the various types of dances done during the Regency era here.