Content warnings can be found here

Serafina said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mary.”  

“I mean, that’s an Earl. A peer of the realm. That trumps a mere Pipwhistle. And isn’t he handsome?”

Serafina smiled, wan, “I really hadn’t noticed.”

That elicited a laugh, “Of course not. You are too wound up in your mind about a certain Treasury clerk whose name shall remain an article of the highest secrecy. You, however, are a sly little fox. I saw you blush, I saw you.”

“Well, it was a fearfully embarrassing situation. Being hauled up in front of all those eyes, with everyone waiting to see me stumble on the hem of my gown. I’m fairly sure I heard a wager being made as to whether I’d make one of of my tediously waspish comments, or if I’d grovel to the aristocracy like everyone else.”

“And let’s be honest about it, Serafina, you were hardly your usual, bluestocking self, were you dear?”

“I was mortified, my sweet Mary. Lost for words.”

“You mean overawed by the blueness of his blood. You jade. After quoting all that Rousseau, you’re just as shallow as the rest of us.”

“I hardly think it’s a sign of a defective character than I refuse to perform on command. There are times, in one’s circle, where one must abide by the social contract, or bring pain to the people one loves.”

“Oh, could we have one evening where you didn’t blither about garlands of flowers covering the chains that bind us?”

“That depends, Mary. Could we have one evening where you don’t suggest that, beneath a veneer of learning, I’m an intolerable flirt?”

“But you are an intolerable flirt. All that philosophy is merely a gambit to draw the attention of men who find themselves bored by silly airheads like me. I can prove it.”

“How?”

“Because you dance. A proper bluestocking would have said she found dancing a frivolous occupation, and that she was here merely to provide solace to her aged mother.”

“My mother isn’t aged, Mary.”

Mary laughed.

“Besides,” Serafina insisted, “if I were to turn down Lord who-ever he is, then I would have had to sit out the next two dances which I have no desire to do. In fact, unless I wanted stares that could sever limbs directed at me by every parent and guardian here, I should probably have to sit out the rest of the night. And I refuse to do that, Mary. I like to dance.” 

“Because you’re a flirt.”

“Am I not permitted idle enjoyments as well as worthy ones?”

“Well, that depends,” said Mary. “What does Mr Thornton say on the matter?”

“Miss Tooting?”

Lord Forthenby was standing directly before them, his face expressionless, his hand extended. Mary squeaked, and hid decorously behind her fan. Serafina spared her one last, reluctant glance and took the proffered hand. 


Stepping out to join the rows of dancers with him, Serafina forced herself to stand tall. Come now, you aren’t some simpering maiden. But there was something about this man that cowed her. Perhaps it was his expression, haughty, cold. When he had requested the dance, it had not seemed to occur to him that she might refuse him, that anything about his manner might be offensive to her. 

Yet, Serafina was offended by everything about him - from his cold, disdainful gazes, to the too hard pressure of his hand upon her own. Indeed, the offence went deeper than his repulsive manners, or even his arrogance, for there was something in him that needled her into recalling breathless nights in the privacy of her bed, her mind fevered with dark, scandalous imaginings in which her wit and self-determination mattered no more than the strength of her arm. There was something in the way he gripped her, the way he spoke to her, or walked her across the room without speaking that made her think of the very worst, the most sensational, of her novels.

And worse, far worse than that, was the way that the look upon his face was so very similar to that which Richard had worn when he had insisted that he would marry her, as though her thoughts upon the matter were the most irrelevant thing in the word. 

No. 

Mr Thornton was a decent man, one who esteemed her. Lord Forthenby was clearly another proposition entirely.

As they joined the lines and - naturally - began to lead the dance, he said nothing at all, not even the usual enquiries as to her health, or enjoyment of the evening. Instead, he stared at her with that same, indecent gaze, the one that seemed to expose her to everyone present. 

At the first, she was cowed by its starkness, its cruel, deceptive edge of flattery. Then, it began to anger her. 

“My Lord Forthenby,” she said, as they came together, “I’m afraid I must insist you make conversation. It would not be proper for me to do so without your prompting, and I am fear we cannot dance this entire set in silence.”

He smiled, as though she were an exotic bird, trained to mimic human speech, and had somehow let out a faintly amusing obscenity. “Can we not, Miss Tooting?”

“No,” she said. Then she corrected her tone to be softer and more winning, “No, I do not believe we can, my Lord.”

“How touchingly artless you are.”

Serafina felt heat rush up the back of her neck, prickling.

“If you insist upon conversation, madam, I am afraid you must select the subject. I am not much versed in prattle.”

Serafina held her back very straight and concentrated on her footwork. “Then I apologise for forcing it upon you,” she said, in her most measured and polite tones. “However, if you will not aid me, then I must admit something which troubles me. Your face is familiar to me, my Lord. I cannot rid myself of the sensation that I have met you before now.”

“I hardly think that possible, Miss Tooting.”

“No, my Lord. I suppose it is not.”

They continued in silence for another few steps, until his superior manner began to tell once again, and she insisted, “Now, my Lord, I am afraid it is for you to choose the topic.”

“And if I do not wish to do so?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, you should. When I dance, I do it merely for the pleasure of admiring my partner.”

That went into her, with all its sharp edges. He expected her to not to distract his admiration with something so tiresome as her opinions? 

Part of her wished to make her anger plain, but she suspected that doing so would give him some satisfaction which meek surrender would not. Therefore, she permitted the dance to separate them, and bring them back together again without speaking, and suffered the tickling touch of his appraising gaze to travel down her throat, across her chest, her hips, the movement of her feet.

In that silence, she considered whether there wasn’t something refreshing in his rudeness. Serafina had danced with plenty of men who clearly felt similarly about the function of young ladies, but preferred to hide their contempt in empty courtesies. It was as she thought about such chatter that she caught an angle of his face she had not seen before, and said, ““Edward Valance!”

He glanced up, quick and affronted. 

Serafina realised how that might have sounded on so slight an acquaintance. “I am sorry, my Lord, but you are Edward Valance, Lord Forthenby.”

“I am.” His lips curled at her liberal use of his name.

“I do beg your pardon. It is only that I have had the pleasure of meeting one of your cousins, my Lord. He mentioned that you shared a name.”

Lord Forthenby made a small sound that could be taken as an affirmative.

“It is merely that you resemble him. I meant no disrespect, I...” And why was she now stumbling like a fool?

“Which cousin?”

“I... I’m sorry, my Lord?”

“Which Edward Valance, Miss Tooting? There are several.”

“Oh. I believe he called himself a Westlehill Forthenby.”

“Then the acquaintance does you no credit, madam.”

“No, my Lord,” she said, feeling obscurely shamed. “I met him only twice.”

His silence seemed to expect something more of her.

“What... What I mean to say, my Lord, is that though he seemed most agreeable, we were forced to drop the connection when...” She was being impolite. She knew she would not be explaining at all were she not so dreadfully muddled. 

There was also the vexed question of why she was scrabbling to maintain the approval of Lord Forthenby.

“His reputation is blot upon the family, and no doubt it offended your sensibilities.”

“Merely that it would not have been proper to -”

“And who, pray, disclosed to you the facts of my cousin’s character?”

“You can hardly expect me to reveal that to you, my Lord.”

He said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.

“That would be the height of indiscretion, my Lord.”

He gave her a look which made it clear that her honour, and probity were of less concern to him than the filth his boot-boy would scrape from his heels at the end of the day.

“I was told in confidence, my Lord.”

“I scarcely think your confidence outweighs the honour of my family in this matter.”

“My Lord, suffice to say it was a gentleman concerned with...”

“His name, madame.”

She hesitated. Lord Forthenby continued to stare at her with the manner of one accustomed to immediate obedience. Eventually, she said, “I can only tell you that he is a gentleman whose honesty and discretion I have no reason to doubt.”

“I would hardly say discreet, if he is speaking ill of my family to such company.”

That was too much. “My Lord, he spoke in confidence.”

“Then you should not have mentioned it to me.”

Serafina wanted to scream. Uncertain of whether it would be weaker to rattle off a string of excuses, or accept the reproach in silence, she took advantage of a momentary separation in the dance to gather herself. 

When they rejoined, she said, “It appears to me, sir, that as you are already amply acquainted with your cousin’s character it is no more detrimental to your family’s honour for me to mention such things than it is for you to verify them.”

“Impertinent little thing, aren’t you?”

Serafina used her considerable self-control not to snatch the fan from off her wrist and hurl it into his face. 

“There’s no need to blush,” he said. “Spirit is a fine thing in horses. I happen to like it in women, too.”

They danced the rest of the set in silence.