"What’s wrong, Mr. Smith?" Calliope asked.

A fretful look crossed his unremarkable features. He shoved a glass in her hand. "I thought something might be amiss, Miss Stafford. You looked distraught."

She smiled. He had used her present pseudonym. No one in the hall knew her real name. "Everything’s fine, though I appreciate your of concern."

Terrence nodded and scowled at the marquess. Calliope smiled at the reproach by the otherwise timid little man. He was such a dear.

A shrill giggle drew his attention to Lucinda Fredericks. He had developed a tendre for the vain debutante who allowed him a single dance each night, and only because her guardian forced her to do so. Calliope found his infatuation incomprehensible. But she supported her friend, which meant she reluctantly left Lucinda out of any damaging drawings.

Terrence was Calliope’s only friend among society and as far as the ton was concerned they shared many traits. Everything about Terrence made him fodder for the sharks, from his timidity to his lack of looks and fortune.

Calliope took a sip of the saccharine lemonade and restrained a grimace at its taste. Too much sugar. Again.

Terrence continued to gaze longingly at Lucinda, who glanced at him in irritation before touching Angelford’s arm in a coy gesture. It was time to sidetrack her friend. "Mr. Smith, how are you progressing on your book of poetry?"

His drooping face perked up. "Quite well, actually. I have penned several poems this week."

"How wonderful. I’d love to read them."

He shot her an anxious look. "I’m… I’m still revising."

Terrence was no different from any other young man of his age and station. He dreamed of fortune, fame and winning Lucinda Frederick’s hand. He knew writing would not give him any of those things, so he invested in one harebrained scheme after another.

Calliope assessed his apparel. His outmoded coat showed the ineffectiveness of his ventures.