“I’ll give you some advice,” he said. “Pick out the young man you want. Then, every time you talk to him, look at him right in the eye. No matter what he says, and especially, no matter how idiotic it is, tell him that he just had a tremendously interesting idea. Young men are nervous, and they don’t like to be corrected.”

Sissy was looking up at Patrick as if he were an oracle. “Do you think so? Because my mother has always said that I should keep up my end of the conversation, and so often I find myself doing all the talking!”

“Let them do all the talking,” Patrick said cynically. “Men like the sound of their own voices, you know. And don’t tell ‘em how much you know. Once you’re married, you can lecture all day long on ocean currents, if you wish.”

Having reached the head of the line, Patrick and Sissy started their progress down the floor: around, around again, up, back, step left, twirl right—and Patrick swept Sissy to a gentle stop in front of her mother.

He bowed, with a flourish. “Miss Commonweal, this dance has been a pleasure.”

She curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

Patrick bent close and whispered in her ear, “And get rid of those plumes, Sissy.”

With a final wink he was gone. Sissy stared after him, repeating his words in her mind. When she turned, her mother was smiling, a thin smile that boded ill for the future but signaled the need for a show of warmth between mother and daughter.

“Dearest,” she was saying. “I would like to introduce you to Fergus Morgan. Mr. Morgan is the son of Squire Morgan, over in the next county. He has just returned from an extended trip abroad.”

Cecilia looked over the young man quickly as he bowed before her. Pleasant blue eyes, a little bald, but he looked nice.

“I understand that you’re quite a literary expert,” Fergus said a trifle nervously.

“She certainly is,” her mother interjected. “Cecilia knows everything about literary matters!”

“I’m afraid my mama is exaggerating,” Sissy said in a dulcet tone, looking straight into Fergus’s eyes.

“That’s a pity,” Fergus replied, a tiny frown appearing on his forehead. “Because I was hoping to start a poetry club. I just returned from Germany, and poetry clubs are the rage over there among younger people.”

“Oh, what a tremendously interesting idea!” Sissy said, her eyes glowing. It was nice that she actually believed it.

Fergus visibly perked up. “May I accompany you to dinner, Miss Commonweal? After this dance, I mean?”

Sissy smiled and barely restrained herself from declaring dinner to be a tremendously interesting idea. “I’d love to. Perhaps you could tell me more about your idea for a poetry club.”

Back at the pillar, on the other side of the room, Braddon and Sophie were, in fact, having an argument, just as Sissy had surmised.