It's not so hard, she thought to herself. Waltzing is just like stepping. Only, different. There's a beat to it and there's the way one steps.

She had the hang of it now.

Just then, he stepped on her foot. Pain shot up her leg like a lightning bolt flew from the sky. Her thunder was her scream

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so clumsy, you know that."

There's also the partner to contend with, she thought gloomily.

Marc seemed to have a horrid talent of stepping on her toes. He never actually heard the beat, so he was always a step behind. Normally she had to make sure she avoided his steps, but today they'd been doing so well she'd forgotten.

"Is something the matter, Isabelle?" Maria, the dance tutor, sashayed over to them.

"Nothing out of the normal, Miss Maria." Izzy smiled her charming smile and waltzed away from the woman, pulling Marc along.

Maria always seemed to have an eye on her. Izzy didn't like it. She was always an arm length away and never further. Izzy desperately wished she could banish the woman to the opposite side of the earth, but the county only went so far. Besides, her father would never allow the woman to leave.

He was the one who began all this. Not that she minded so much, but it seemed almost frivolous. There were other important things to be minding, like the border wars. That was her older sister's territory, though. Tara never thought of anything else. It was proper, though. After all, the eldest inherited.

Izzy sighed loudly, catching the attention of her partner who had been paying rapt attention to their feet. As soon as he took his eyes away he promptly stepped on her foot again.

She gasped in pain but did not yell. She didn't want Miss Maria to jump in fright again. That woman was flighty enough.

"Sorry," Marc muttered. "I heard you mumble something under your breath."

"Did I?" She absently wondered what in the world she could have said. Did she mention his incompetence? That would be most embarrassing – and very opportune. Perhaps he'd give up and she'd find a new partner. "What did I say?"

"I didn't quite hear. You mumbled whatever it was."

She nodded unhappily.

"The Snow Ball next week," Marc said, "are you going?"

She stared at him awed by his extreme stupidity. "Of course I'm going. Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He didn't say anything further.

Taking it as an end to the conversation, Izzy drifted back into her thoughts again.

If only she were Lacy. Lacy, second youngest and finest of them all. Completely different from their manly oldest sister Tara, Lacy was elegant and refined. Her choice fabric was lace and she never went anywhere without her lace gloves. All the men doted on her. Lacy was also an amazing dancer. She could learn a complicated step in one hour, while Izzy had to practice it for months.

"Who are you going with," Marc asked, jolting her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"I said who are you going with?"

"Where?"

"To the Snow Ball." He frowned at her. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Fine."

"So?"

"So what?" She frowned right back at him. What in the world was he talking about?

"Are you going with someone?"

His question nearly blew her away. What did he mean by it? Surely he knew that she would never attend with him. He danced horribly.

She had to think of something quick so he wouldn't ask her. What could she say?

"No, the marquis of Arbon County is taking me. He asked me a week ago." There, she thought. That settles it.

"Armond? You're going with Armond?"

She cursed to herself. How stupid could she be? Armond was only the worst dancer in the entire country. He was definitely worse than Marc. Marc, at least, knew he was horrible. Armond thought he was the toast of every ball.

Hastily, she amended, "Well, maybe. He has that strange flu that's going around lately. He might not make it."

"I see." He looked back down at her feet.

Izzy let her breath out cautiously. She'd barely saved that one. But she still had some work to do. She'd have to make sure Armond didn't attend. The problem was how. Maybe Emmy could do something about it.

Emily was the third oldest sister. She really didn't have so much she might be noticed for. She liked books and was averagely intelligent. But that was as far as her talents went.

Emily was Armond's best friend. Izzy wondered if someday they might marry, but that seemed a bit far-fetched. Emmy liked to keep her friends separate from her suitors.

There was also Caitlin. Fourth oldest and middle child. She had a talent for all that was magical. She studied under the aged magician Marginion, and performed tricks in front of guests. Although it wasn't real magic, most thought it was.

The real sort of magic was Mary's specialty. Mary had true talent, her father said. It was a good thing, too. After all, Mary was fifth in line and hardly stunning. Her magic would lift her up and keep her in the limelight – something that wouldn't happen otherwise.

The limelight was what Ellen basked in. She was the real performer of the family. Actor, musician, singer, and poet, Ellen had a knack for catching attention. Her soliloquies were wonderful, her songs were heavenly, and anything else she did was pure marvelous.

Izzy sighed again. If only she had any of her sisters' talents she wouldn't have to learn how to dance. She could have made up for it in other areas. But that wasn't what happened.

Isabelle was the youngest and twelfth daughter. She couldn't remember who her other five sisters were – they were all married off and ill with children.

Untalented, uninteresting, and ugly; Izzy was the one who hid in the shadows, the one who saw everything but was never seen. Poor Izzy had to take dance lessons, singing lessons, embroidery lessons… she had to take so many lessons they made her dizzy. She became so dizzy, in fact, that she pretended to faint. Everyone believed her, of course, and that came in handy. She could manage to miss dancing twice a week, arithmetic thrice, and embroidery once. She had to make sure, though, that her fainting spells were evenly placed in the week. Otherwise someone might catch on.

He unceremoniously stepped on her toe again.

"Marc," she hissed. "Keep your feet to yourselves."

"Keep your attention on dancing," he said.

She looked up at him, really looked at him, and realized he was angry with her. Why? She hadn't done anything wrong. He was the one who'd misstepped.

"What is it," she said.

"You never care, do you? You never care that I'm trying my hardest. It's not good enough for you. Nothing is ever good enough for you."

"I don't know what you mean," Izzy said as haughtily as she could.

" 'Ouch! Marc! My feet! Oh woe is me, you evil person! How dare you step on my precious feet!'"

"Oh shut up," she breathed, glancing around. No one was listening to them. The other students were properly concentrating on the dance.

"No, I won't. I've been silent for ages, listening to you complain about how unfair your life is. I won't listen anymore, Izzy. I'm tired of you. I hope you find a better dance partner. Perhaps Armond would be nice." With a turn and a flounce Marc shuffled out of the room, leaving Izzy flustered on the dance floor alone.