Unfortunately, my watch was curtailed when I was drawn into a conversation with which obligation demanded I pay strict attention. Mrs. Marston complained bitterly about her verrucas, and though I would have liked to politely disengage myself from discussions of oozing and the merits of potatoes planted in the garden at midnight, she was the oldest woman in attendance and therefore due the courtesy of my attention. Lady Ransom soon joined us and proceeded to expound upon the vagaries of the Methodists. Here, at last, was a discussion with merit, though of course I could not share the extent of my true opinion. Freddie had repeatedly warned me that I should never reveal the depth of my mind or then I would have nothing left to show.

Several other women joined us, and I gradually realized that no one in the circle was within twenty years of my age. The other young women, all engaged to be married or already wed, huddled in conversations of their own. In between discussions of Mrs. Marston expounding on colonics and elderly Mrs. Gentry bellowing (she being rather hard of hearing) herbal remedy suggestions, I could hear the prittle-prattle of my peers.

“… scandalous education…”

“… uncle even permits her to use a sword!”

Of course I knew their talk to be directed at me, but one gaze in return, and they smiled charmingly at me as though I were a child or a pet dog begging for treats.

Dinnertime arrived at last, and I consoled myself with the thought that surely Mr. Mysterious had managed to sneak into the party without my notice. At last I would see him, for he could not possibly bypass the meal.

“Isabella, you simply must sit next to me,” Catherine said, drawing me to her side at the lengthy table loaded with platters of food. “I have the most delightful person selected for your dinner companion.” She leaned toward me confidentially. “The man of whom I spoke, Izzy.”