She demanded to know when she could expect us at the assembly rooms, now that it was October and the season was upon us, with a dress ball on Monday nights, a Wednesday concert, a fancy ball on Thursday, and a card assembly on Friday. I hadn’t the nerve to tell her she might wait for some time, as neither I nor my sisters knew well enough how to dance, and so made excuses. But she’d abide no excuse when it came to Whitsuntide in spring, because the Norwood Rooms would be done by then, and there was talk of the officers of the East Riding militia planning a dance.

How desperate I was to please Jane, to win her to my cause, which was simply the cause of me. I wrote to her again and again, keeping up the semblance of my pretend-gentility. At night I’d labor over my letters to make them seem I hadn’t, spewing quotations wherever I could, copying out whole poems or passages, exhausting myself. I begged her pardon for the freedom of my style, such as it was, equal parts mimicry and faux-philosophy, weak in grammar and spelling, at which Jane excelled. I felt singularly toward her, and wanted her to feel the same. I knew the other girls talked mostly of hunting husbands; all I wanted to will into the world was a perfect friend.

So, if the East Riding ball was Jane Arden’s magnificent obsession, it would be mine as well. If Eliza and I could get through it, show that we were worth knowing, worth dancing with, worth anything at all—the trajectory of our lives would be forever altered. At school we had dancing lessons, paired off girl with girl. I managed to be with Jane some of the time, volunteered to play the man, and occasionally held the soft curve of her waist, felt her palm in mine. But she was the best dancer, graceful and sure of herself. Everyone wanted her.

We sisters danced in our room till late at night, practicing our steps. Eliza counted down the days in her diary, with a list of dances we must know, and by when. No, I said, we don’t have time to learn them all, but must concentrate on one or two, and dance them well enough that people assume we know the rest. Everina was too young to go to the ball, but I let her try on my gown and walk about in my shoes. She read the rule book aloud to us, committed parts of it to memory: “Young ladies are cautioned not to cluster together.… No improper company should be permitted.… Brides and strangers are permitted to call the first country dance of the evening.… If there are more Ladies than Gentlemen, two ladies may dance,” and so on.

Eliza pressed me at least once a week, “Please secure a promise from Mama to be our chaperone.”