I smiled. “You could never be set aside.” The judge was my usual dance partner. My first one, when I arrived in New York. I’d been so scared then. I’d tripped over both my feet and his, but he’d guided me through it, never questioning my gracelessness. For months, till I found my dancing feet, I had only partnered with him or Uncle Henry. “I’ll save a dance for you.”

“Will you? I shall try to wait patiently. Duncan seems a fine lad. Major André is certainly very high on him, and André is quite the rising star.” There was something gritty in his voice, but just as I noticed it, his gaze was pulled to the dance floor. “Ah, look. Some fearsome brigands have arrived to spoil the party.”

The “fearsome brigands” were actually the groomsmen, who flowed into the parlor wearing black breeches and cloaks with hoods pulled low over their faces. A few wore swords at their hips. They played their part comically, stalking and creeping toward Liesje and Devoor like bandits.

“Get her!” they shouted suddenly. “Steal the bride! Kidnap the bride!” They rushed the final steps to the dancing couple, then, with the courteousness of true gentlemen, offered Liesje an arm and shepherded her from the parlor.

The judge let out a weary sigh. “Youth.”

“What was that?” Even now, there were customs I wasn’t familiar with.

“Wedding games. Steal the Bride, in this case. Sometimes the groom pretends to run off before the ceremony as well and has to be hauled back, but I think young Devoor was too nervous for that with this rowdy lot. Typically the assembly chases after the bride to rescue her, as it were, but with the rain soaking the roads I’m told only the wedding party is going.”

That was just what we did. Minutes later, Charlotte, Lucy, and I piled into waiting carriages with the rest of the bridesmaids and the groom.

“I told you Liesje would spare nothing,” Charlotte said excitedly as she accepted wine from a servant. Through the open carriage door, I could see guests crowded in the glowing windows of the Vissers’ grand home, smiling and waving at us.

Devoor climbed into our carriage and we were off, rollicking through the rainy night.

“How do we rescue her?” I asked. “Do we need muskets? Spados?” The Spanish word for “swords” slipped right through, like a hiccup from my mind. The entire thing was stoking the fires of my imagination and I was ready for an adventure.

“Goodness, no,” Charlotte said. “We will simply drink champagne and toast the wedding couple—and hearty cheers to you, Devoor.” She took a sip.

Liesje’s new husband plucked the glass from her hand. “I thank you, Miss Winters. Cheers to myself.” He tipped it back, draining the rest.

I wanted more than cheers. I wanted peril and daring deeds. And champagne.