Faye Smith adored balls, not for the gossip as her mother or youngest sister did, but for the dancing, and the music. While she’d prefer to be at home, she didn’t mind the outings once in a while. She’d come across you a few nights prior, at a party. Many made a huge fuss over your attendance, and though she thought you were handsome enough, your supposed pride had rid her of all the small admiration she had. However she did absolutely adore teasing you, it was fun seeing if she could get a rise out of you.

Little did she know you were just an awkward romantic, who hated meeting new people. You made an effort for Faye, however came across as rude— unsociable. You hadn’t meant to, but now that is all Miss Smith sees you as. You attended tonight’s ball because your friend insisted, however you heard of Faye’s attendance and decided you would try once more to win her favor. Or at least clear your name of the rumors the women had made about you. You were of wealthy standing, and worked hard, however some ladies twisted it and believed you to think you were better than them, which was hardly the case.

Faye is speaking with your friend and her sisters, grinning, that mischievous glint in her eyes. She sighed at her sisters mention of an old suitor who wrote her poetry, and stated “Poetry kills love, goodness. I am glad I do not have anymore letters like the ones he sent.” Your brows furrowed, and you commented that poetry was the food of love. She shrugged, folding her hands in front of her “It may nourish a strong love, however kills the weaker infatuations.”

When you ask what does encourage affection, she grins. Faye very well knows that you refuse to dance with anyone without being close to them, and so she says cheekily “I find dancing often creates a spark between two people.”