"Oh, yes," she assured him, all her attention at once focused on him. "I'm sorry, it's nothing -- the excitement, is all."
The excitement. Inwardly, Beauty groaned. It was an excuse that came too easily from her mouth, an excuse she heard used over and over during those endless Parisian galas her sisters forced her into. Usually it was the signal for a young lady to be escorted to the quieter (and darker) areas of the garden or the study of their host. Here in the City, Beauty was sure it meant nothing of the kind. But she hated that she'd just used the vapid excuse, herself. Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and smiled again at the good doctor.
"I'm not much of a dancer," she explained. "The last time I did it, I was in the eighteenth century, you see. I don't know the modern ones, yet. But fortunately for me, my-my date happens to know the same dances as I do. I expect I'll coax him out onto the dance floor before the night is out."
She should be smiling right about now. She knew it, and smiled.