"No dress."
"No fancy shoes?"
"No fancy shoes."
Annie's brow knit with the seriousness of a child trying to understand rules that had always been used against people like her. "And I don't have to already know all the things those girls know?"
"No," Charles said. "Only the dance."
The answer seemed to steady her and transition the room at the same time. A woman in silver silk near the donor tables murmured to the man beside her, "This is becoming terribly inappropriate."
Margaret Doyle, standing near the back with two folded tablecloths draped over one arm, muttered, "It crossed that bridge three minutes ago."
Charles ignored both voices. He bent just enough to be nearer Annie's height and said, more quietly now, "Listen to me. If you can dance the waltz, the rest is not a problem. Not tonight. Not the dress, not the room, not the people watching. Just the dance."
Annie breathed in. She looked down at her shoes, polished but worn, then at her mother, still in her service uniform, still holding a tray she had forgotten to set down. Annie's voice came out almost in a whisper. "If I do it, Mama gets to stay with me."
Charles answered without delay. "Yes."
"And you'll help her, too?"
"Yes."
"You swear?"
Charles's gaze did not waver. "I swear."