“Uncle says such things are for London balls and society seasons. I am fortunate he even hires musicians. If he had his way, there would be no dancing. The music does interfere with business conversations, after all.”

As if on cue, the musicians strike the first note. And in a blink, there is a young man in front of Emily, asking for the dance. Perfect.

I am about to tell her to have fun when a sweaty-faced man of forty appears in front of me.

“Can you dance?” he says, in the same doubtful tone with which one might inquire whether a sow can fly.

“I fear not,” I say. “I have twisted—”

Emily is already being led onto the dance floor and doesn’t hear my excuse, interrupting with, “She dances very well, sir. Join us!”

I try not to grimace. Before I can try again, the gentleman has me by the hand, which makes me jump, the casual contact quite untoward in my own world.

“Come on, then,” he says, as if he’s leading that sow to market.

I have no choice but to dance. And because I do not lack pride, I have no choice but to show him how well I dance. I told Emily that my interest outstripped my aptitude. That is only because my interest is “exceptional,” and my aptitude is merely “quite good.” Quite good in London is different from quite good in the country, and in trying to show this lout that yes, I can dance, I attract far more attention than I intended, and I find myself unable to leave the dance floor, as both Emily and I have a line of prospective partners waiting.

This is most inconvenient. Let it be a lesson to me that there are times when my pride must take the blow. It will survive.

I am on my fifth dance when a figure appears at my shoulder, giving me a start.

It is the ghost.

“You must stop dancing,” he says, looking alarmed. “A country dance does not last into the wee hours of the morning. You have work to do.”

I try not to glower at him. It’s not as if I want to be dancing. Also not as if he’s been here, ready to show me around.

He is right, though, that I must get out of this. There is only one thing to do. Swallow my pride and lie.

When the dance ends, I feign breathing heavily, hand to my chest. “Oh my, I have quite overtaxed myself. I fear I must sit down.”

When Emily looks over, I make a face that has her laughing. Then I motion toward the edge of the dance floor where there are chairs and small tables, telling her that I will rest there.

I follow the ghost. He leads me through those thronged at the edge of the dance floor. Everyone seems to be inside now, and it is quite crowded, the temperature rising enough that my brow beads in sweat.