Signor Antonio and I sparred diligently, as was our custom. Our fleurets met, parted, and met again, our blades clanging with metal against metal. However, I could scarce keep my concentration as I daydreamed about the Ransoms’ party of the previous night. Flora’s superb work on the new dress still enthralled me, as did the memory of the slippers. They had been works of not only beauty but comfort too. After dinner, we had adjourned to the ballroom, where a four-piece orchestra played for the remainder of the evening.

“Ah! You are slowing. Too much dancing last night, eh?” Signor Antonio beamed. I could see sweat forming behind his mask as we broke. “If you must participate in useless exercise, you must know your limits. Reserve your strength for fencing.”

I nodded as we continued. If only Signor Antonio knew that I had not set even one of my beautifully slippered feet to dance. Phineas Snowe had kept me cornered all night with his fustian chatter, waving off all who approached. Not that any man would willingly dance with me!

Signor Antonio broke free, gesturing with dismay. “Signorina Goodrich, it is not like you to lose your concentration. If you are not willing-”

“I am sorry, Maestro,” I said, bowing. “Please forgive my lack of attention.” I assumed the stance.

Uncle Toby paid poor Signor Antonio handsomely every week not only to keep my unladylike secret but to train me well. Why, I do not know, but I had accepted my practice all these years without question. Before my first failed social season, however, I fretted that the skill would be all for naught. When I thought I would marry, I knew I would eventually have to put away my sword as a childish plaything; it would serve no purpose in my womanly future.

Now, however, I could foresee a future of freedom to pursue my beloved sport.