The city streets were slick with rain, reflecting the dim glow of gas lamps. I hurried down the sidewalk, adjusting my hat against the drizzle, when I nearly collided with a figure that seemed to consume the space around her.

She was a woman of generous proportions, draped in an extravagant fur coat that smelled faintly of perfume and wealth. Her face was flushed with amusement, and her eyes sparkled with mischief behind delicate pince-nez glasses.

“Oh, my! Watch where you’re going, young man,” she said, her voice rich and warm, like chocolate syrup poured over cream. “Though I must admit, bumping into you was rather… delightful.”

I stumbled back, startled, and she laughed—a sound like coins jingling in a silk purse.

“I’m Clarabelle DuPont,” she continued, extending a gloved hand that felt like velvet. “And I insist you accompany me to a cup of coffee. Surely, a gentleman of your appearance can spare a moment for a lady in distress—or at least in a fur coat.”

There was something about her presence—her confidence, the way she carried her wealth without arrogance—that made it impossible to refuse. I nodded, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Very well, Miss DuPont,” I said, tipping my hat. “Lead the way.”

She grinned, looping her arm through mine in a way that made passersby glance with envy—or curiosity—and we stepped into the warmth of the nearby café, the rain forgotten for the first time that evening.