Walking into her shop later in the afternoon, Fancy couldn’t help but think of Mr. Sommersby and how a misunderstanding had nearly led to them not becoming friends. Although perhaps she was being overly optimistic there, and they were more acquaintances than friends. She rather wished he’d be at the ball—a familiar face among the crowd. A gentleman of leisure, he might be welcomed. Although as he was residing here and not in a more exclusive fashionable area, it was doubtful he associated with the aristocracy.

No, if she was to spend any more time with him, it would have to be here. Although perhaps she’d enjoyed their evening together far more than he had. At one point, as his thumb had traveled over her face, she’d thought he was on the verge of kissing her. Had wanted him to. Out of desire more than anything, but also curiosity. She didn’t want to be a complete innocent when she made her debut. She was well aware the men who would dance with her had no doubt kissed a staggering number of women. They wouldn’t be judged as immoral. But women, women were supposed to remain pure, untouched, pristine. But sometimes she had an urge to get a little dirty.

However as a by-blow, she’d never be seen as pure. She might as well do a little something to earn the judgment. Perhaps she should have kissed him, rebelled just a little.

But she wanted to do nothing to put her own dream at risk, her dream of finding a man who would love her, in spite of her beginnings. Her only fear was that a time might come when she would have to choose between fulfilling her mother’s dream or her own. It caused a roiling in her stomach to even contemplate marrying a man she didn’t love. Taking into her body a man who stirred nothing in her heart would in all likelihood destroy her.

As though sensing her morose thoughts, Dickens rubbed up against her leg. Bending down, she lifted him into her arms. “I’m being a silly chit, worrying about things that might never be. I must make the most of my freedom while I have it. And it’s a glorious day outside.”

She climbed the stairs to her lodgings, set Dickens on the bed, and proceeded to change out of the elegant frock she’d worn to church into something with fewer flounces. She pinned a smaller hat into place. The wind had nearly ripped the broad-brimmed one from her head as she and her mum had walked home from church. A smaller one would serve better.

Taking her key from her reticule, she slipped the brass into her pocket. Strolling over to the corner, she picked up her kite. Dickens mewled. Meandering by him, she gave his head a quick scratch. “Yes, I’m going out for a while.”