Arrayed in a gown in her favourite turquoise with a dark-blue jacket, she set out for Delmonico’s, where she had arranged to meet Mary Louise and Jane for dinner. The restaurant, on Fourteenth and Fifth, near Union Square, was a ten-minute walk away. Last year Jane had, despite her best efforts, failed to persuade the Press Club to invite any female writers to the dinner given in honour of Charles Dickens unless they stayed hidden behind a curtain. Defiantly, she had, with Mary Louise and several other like-minded businesswomen, formed the Sorosis Club. Lorenzo Delmonico has offered them the use of the private dining room for their inaugural meeting, the first restaurant in New York to admit a ladies’ only club, and since then Jane and Mary Louise had become regular customers.

Tonight was not a club event, with just the three of them for dinner, which meant waiting in line with the rest of the diners, for Delmonico’s policy was to offer tables on a first-come, first-served basis. When Margaret had first explained this in a letter last year, Julia had been outraged, not only by the notion of ladies actually queuing up to eat but by the idea of ladies dining in public. Victoria, in contrast, made no secret in her letters that she envied the various freedoms Margaret enjoyed and relished reading every detail of her shopping trips as well as the delights of Delmonico’s extremely expensive menu. In fact, Margaret found the atmosphere of hushed reverence in the luxurious restaurant rather overpowering, and the food too rich for her taste—though Marion had revelled in it—but she was looking forward to catching up with Jane and Mary Louise.

She arrived early, and having ascertained that neither of them were in front of her, she took her place. Her friends had still not arrived by the time she reached the head of the line, and she was in the process of informing the maître d’hôtel that she was expecting two friends, when a stranger approached her. Dressed in an expensive brown wool suit, he looked to be around thirty. With short dark hair and brown eyes, he had the kind of frank, open expression that made him neither classically handsome nor memorable but genially attractive.

“Excuse me, miss. I wonder, if you are still waiting on your friends to arrive, would you mind giving your position up?” he asked, indicating three older men standing some way back in the queue.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ah, you are English. A visitor to New York, no doubt. I hope you are enjoying your stay in our fine city. Now, if you could oblige me, I would very much appreciate—”