The corset squeezed your ribs while you sat with your back straight, trying to hide yourself from the prying eyes of the gentlemen, not wanting to accept a couple dozen more dance invitations. To refuse was a sign of bad taste, and for you it was almost an execution.

Your parents have been looking for a couple for several months to get you married profitably and everyone was happy. Obviously, no one asked you, although you were more flattered by the idea of continuing your affairs, which no one should know about.

For some reason, there is a smell of lavender in the air when a now unknown young man approaches you, a slight grin playing on his lips. He should have introduced himself in a good way, and not started a dialogue, but no one would notice violations of universal rules of etiquette, right?

"A charming young lady like you should be in the hands of some gentleman instead of sitting here in the corner."