It was an August evening in the small town of Aldberry, a small town in Hertfordshire. A ball had been prepared at the arrival of Mr Bexley, who had been the talk of every marriageable woman and their mother since his arrival with his standoffish Fitzwilliam. Regardless of the circumstances, you could find no good reason not to attend a perfectly good ball, though whether that was for sisters benefit or your own remained to be seen. You found yourself in a grand hall in the village, dressed in your finery. The hall was dressed marvellously, the people more-so.

As you took a turn about the hall, arm in arm with your elder sister who you were very close to, you came across the men the town was whispering about, Mr Bexley, and his friend Mr Fitzwilliam. Mr Bexley had a small smile on his face as he stood with his friend enjoying a drink. You forced yourself to look away at a playful nudge from your sister.

As the music soon began to turn from a pleasant background noise and into a call to begin dancing you watched as people moved into place. You enjoyed dancing, your mama had been sure it was something you ought to learn and you frequently danced with your sisters. Your elder sister pulled you over to the dancing going into the crowd. As you stood hoping for a partner to ask to join you, to at least make you standing alone less awkward, you noticed Mr Bexley giving his glass to his friend and making his way across to you, with a pleasant smile.

“I don’t suppose you would consider pairing up with the village newcomer, would you? I’ve always been awfully fond on the corillion.” Mr Bexley chuckled, the small smile on his face widening just a little as he stood waiting for your answer.