I knew that I would be able to enter the Assembly Rooms, as my clothing was beyond reproach. Even if I was not recognized, on seeing me everyone would assume that Mrs. Allen was beyond reproach, if only because of her stylish, expensive attire.

They would not know that the attire was sewn entirely by my own hands, and my mother’s. There were certain advantages to being in my line of work.

When I first entered the rooms, many men and women did look at me, but few appeared to recognize me. I spoke briefly with one or two clients, but all of them were part of married pairs, and nobody appeared eager to ask me to dance.

Everything changed when I saw the man from earlier. He had just finished drinking wine, and was striding back toward the musicians with a frown on his face. Apparently, he was not having an interesting evening, and that small fact was certainly something that I could change.

As soon as I saw him, I took a deep breath. Respectability, I decided, was a habit as much as it was anything else. Just as I would not think of walking the street in shoes that did not fit, and that slapped about on my heels, so I could not imagine speaking to the man without either an introduction or some kind of pretense. After all, I frequently spoke to strange men in my shop, but the circumstances were such that I never felt awkward.

I did feel awkward as I walked up to him, and my face was burning, but I simply curtseyed. After all, I had seen the way his eyes were fixed on me earlier, and unless he had found an even sweeter amusement I knew that rejection was not likely.

“Would you care to dance the next with me?” I asked him.

For a moment, the rakish veil lifted. The man had clearly never heard those words in his life.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you wanted to dance,” I told him, growing impatient. “But perhaps you would prefer to take a turn.”

My nerve failed me as we danced, and I thought to rescue the exchange and bring it back into the realms of polite society.

“I suppose we should introduce ourselves,” I said, but he only shook his head.

“It is better for us both if we do not know,” he said. “Unless you are interested in me due to my conversation? Would you perhaps care to hear what I think on the exhibition of paintings that I saw this afternoon?”

I started, hoping that no one else had heard the impertinence of his words. The assembly rooms were both loud and crowded, and I satisfied myself that nobody had.

“I would not object to it, sir,” I said, not too quietly. After all, if we only whispered the entire time, an observer was sure to know that there was collusion between us.

“But you wish to hear me on other topics first?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to prevent myself from flushing. If I had entertained any doubts of the gentleman’s intentions, I could not hold on to them any longer.

“I should suppose so,” I said. “That depends.”

He scoffed, but I saw that my point had been well taken. No more impertinent words emerged until we left the rooms together.