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The dress which Serafina was wearing was uncomfortably grand. Indeed, the room itself was altogether too fashionable and elegant.

Yes, she would acknowledge that she had looked remarkably well before the glass in her chamber, and that her dress was one of the most beautiful she had ever worn, and that the paste jewels in her hair and around her throat sparkled very prettily, but everywhere about her were actual Ladies, with genuine diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. 

Mary Dunning – looking very fetching with her brown hair curled about her ears – was similarly cowed by the eminent company in which they found themselves.

At least neither of them had gaped too much when they had been announced, but any hopes that they might be overlooked as unimportant were dashed. Serafina knew, of course, that her name would feature in the Society Pages as the girl who had captivated the young Earl of Forthenby, hoped that the story as reported had the least possible brush of scandal, but she had not thought of how she would be received by those who knew her fiancé, those who inhabited his world. 

Therefore, as Mr Tooting brought himself to Lord Forthenby’s attention, Serafina clutched Mary’s arm and steered them to a chair that was out of the most obvious lines of sight and had whispered behind her fan. “Should we make a bolt for it?”

“Courage, my love,” Mary had replied, gripping her a bit tighter. “Think of them all staring if we did that.”

“It’s them all staring now that makes me want to do it.”

“Come now, they’re all just jealous of your good fortune. The Serafina I know would simply despise them for it.”

“How well you know me.” And steeling herself, she cast her eyes about, seeking for someone on whom she could focus her wit, only to find her sense of the ridiculous had been somewhat knocked by recent events. “I can’t do it, Mary.”

“Then I must do it for you.” Mary drew a breath, as the pair of them spread their skirts and sat. “Well, your father looks like a mouse dashing about a hen house, surrounded by all those strutting cockerels.”

 “Scurrying about under those puffed out breasts?”

“So many gaudy feathers.”

“Such a fine collection of coxcombs.”

She smiled. 

“And in the middle of it all,” said Mary, “that gilded bantam you’re marrying.”

“How long have you called him that?”

“Oh, it came to me just now. Look at him! They’re all the same: all fine legs, padded coats, and not a thought in their heads. What a lovely view.” Mary closed her fan, cracking it against her palm in a manner that bordered on the unladylike, “I have said it before and I shall say it again, my dear. Miss Tooting, you are a very dark horse.”

“Don’t tell me you find him appealing?”

“Oh, let me see,” said Mary, making sly eyes over her fan. “No, no, you’re quite right. There’s no interest there whatsoever. I must own, he’s very graceful - but who wants to marry a dancer? Inconstant creatures, all of them. And handsome, yes, very handsome, even. But that’s too much trouble. I should have to fear for every scheming minx who crossed his path. Better to marry a plain man – even an ugly one. And as to that other thing he has, that quality which seems to hang about him, imbuing him with a certain authority and making all those other popinjays defer to him? It’s not fashion, not in that coat, what is the word for it?” She paused, teasing.

“A title?” Serafina supplied. “Or did you mean a fortune?” 

“Yes,” Mary agreed, “yes that’s the one. Money and rank – who on earth would want those? No, my dear, I see your point, he has nothing to recommend him whatsoever. Give me a pauper with a club foot and a hair lip.”

“I do not believe you’re in danger of that, Mary.”

Mary fanned herself, and her expression did not change, with that delicate care every gentlewoman in society knew. “All the same, I can see why a person might prefer your old bank crow.”

“So do I, my dear,” said Serafina, still smiling, in case her father turned their way. 

“Are you terribly unhappy?”

“Dreadfully,” she said, as lightly as she could.

“Chin high,” said Mary. “As far as anyone else here knows, you’ve made a remarkable coup, and have every right to show a little pride.” 

“And let everyone condemn me for a fortune hunter?”

“They’d do that anyway. We are women are we not?”

“Mr...” she stopped, remembering the name no longer allowed. “My dear crow would not.”

 “Oh, I don’t know,” said Mary, “I always felt he was judging me. Big black birds like him can be so intimidating. Something about the eyes.”

“I rather liked that about him.”

“Yes, I thought you did. Still, this golden bantam has quite a glare on him. Very fierce. He must be a fighting cock. We should put spurs on him and see how he holds up in the ring.” For a second, her eyes widened. “Lord, where’s he gone? He’s not behind me, is he?”

Serafina laughed. Good old Miss Dunning, “You’re quite safe. I think it’s merely that he has escaped my father at last.”

“In which case, I almost pity him.”

“Which of them?” 

“So difficult to choose, isn’t it?”

“Well, one is an undersized tyrant of execrable character,” said Serafina in an undertone, quite forgetting propriety, “and the other is my fiancé.”

This produced a little silence. Even with Mary, she must watch herself. 

Serafina looked down at her hands, breathing carefully, trying to control her temper. 

Mary touched her hand lightly. “I wonder why none of these swains feel it necessary to ask us to dance. There’s a good number here.”

“Perhaps we’re not grand enough for the room.”

“We are a pair of dowdy sparrows, alas. Or, rather, I am. I suspect your bantam is strutting about, scaring off all the applicants for your attention.” She sighed, tapping her fan against her hand, “Mama will be most disappointed. She was very keen to let me come here, you know. Thought I might snag a husband of similar mettle to your own.”

I would sooner wish any fate upon you than that. 

“You mean a notorious rake?”

“Exactly how notorious?”  Mary fanned herself. 

Recognising her vein, Serafina smiled, “My dear, he’s a consummate villain, and doubtless a vile seducer.”

“I wouldn’t mind letting him seduce me,” Mary said, in an undertone, and then, as though hearing herself. “Only a little, mind. Not enough to be anything improper.”

“That is my fiancé you are being perfectly proper about.”

“And we all know how jealously you guard his affections.”

“Oh, but what would your poor, gallant Captain Wren do if I did not?”

“Or Mr Pipwhistle,” said Mary.

“Of the Glouscestershire Pipwhistles,” they finished together, helpless with giggles for a moment. 

During which, the Master of Ceremonies chose to approach them, and stare down a little sternly. 

Behind him, a moderately plain young man in a very beautiful coat was overcome by a fierce blush. “Excuse me, Miss Tooting, Miss Dunning. The Honourable John Harris requests your better acquaintance.”

Serafina did her best not to catch Mary’s eye. An Hon John was rather too much of a gift for her current mood. 

“Tell him we would be honoured,” Serafina said, with as much poise as she could muster.

Hands were bowed over, and Mary was asked for the next dance, to which she hastily acquiesced. Led over to the floor, she soon disappeared into the glittering company, leaving Serafina to her own devices. 

Do not be too shy, she thought, but it was difficult, knowing as few people here as she did. The people back home would be fearfully disappointed in how easily you are cowed. Serafina held her head high, and smiled faintly at everything that passed her by, as though she regarded it kindly, but with slight scorn. 

Or, at least, she did until Forthenby appeared, clutching a glass of champagne. He held it out to her without speaking.

She rose and curtseyed, and did not look him in the eye. 

“Good evening, Miss Tooting,” he said. “Do take the glass. It’s fearful swill, but I’ve heard the ladies present are partial to it.”

“I am afraid I’m not thirsty, my Lord.”

“Pray, do not be tedious, my love.”

“I had no intention of being so, my Lord.”

“Is this my Miss Tooting? She’s normally so much more inventive when sharpening her tongue on me.”

“What do you want, my Lord?”

“Why,” he gave her one of those loathsome glances that seemed to strip her naked, “the pleasure of your company.” 

He held out the glass in a gesture to unambiguous to be missed by anyone observing them. 

She took it.

“There’s a good girl.” He took her arm and lead her away from her corner. His voice was mocking and superficial. “Play to the room, now. We’re wildly in love and soon to be married.”

“Unless you are contemplating breach of promise, my Lord.”

“Why? Are you, my dear?” He turned to her, a vile provoking expression upon his face.

She looked down at her slippers, and heard him breathe out in satisfaction. 

“In which case, I wish you to come up to Forthenby. It’s right that you should see your future home.”

“You will need my father’s permission for that, My Lord.”

“I already have it.”

“Then you are merely informing me of the fact.”

“You are very quick, my dear.” He laughed. “And you flush so prettily when you’re angry.”

“I have no right to be angry, my Lord, I am gratified by your generous attentions.”

“So very sharp,” he said, and his grip on her hand tightened, pulling her closer against him. “Do be careful not to cut yourself.”

“Are you threatening me, my Lord?”

“Not at all. Now. I wish to dance.”

“I have not finished my drink, my Lord.”

“I thought you weren’t thirsty,” he said, and smiled his loathsome smile.