Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, K. 550 III. Menuetto. Allegretto.

The taste of dust and fear lingered upon Jack’s tongue. Urgent shouts from his men echoed in his ears as a wave of enemy soldiers emerged from the cannon smoke.

“Are you quite well, Captain Clifton?”

He shook his head, drawing a shaky breath to steady himself before nodding to the mildly confused doorman at the entrance to the Wintersley Manor ballroom.

Though the ballroom was not grandiose, it exuded an air of luxury and sophistication. Gold leaf-kissed scrollwork graced the ceiling and elaborate chandeliers hung from above, scattering prismatic light throughout the room.

Attempting to maintain an air of cool decorum, he navigated with some discomfort through the humid throng of people and exchanged pleasantries. Each nod and firm handshake was a performance he had practised at home, with increasing nervousness, before compelling himself to depart.

Laughter hurtled through the air above champagne coupes and crystal wine glasses. Cloying strains of a minuet filled the room, played by a quartet under the leadership of Christopher Tolnay, the town’s esteemed music teacher, who presided over the harpsichord. The beguiling harmony ebbed and flowed through the space, luring guests into a dance that transformed the ballroom into a mesmerising phantasmagoria of colours.

Resplendent pastel gowns billowed and swirled, vibrant with elegance. Delicate floral and geometric patterns, intricately embroidered in coloured threads, bestowed an extra layer of opulence upon their ensembles. The gentlemen, arrayed in their understated yet meticulously tailored coats and waistcoats, presented subdued shades of blue, brown, and grey.

Jack stood to the side, his crisp military uniform setting him apart and giving him an air of dignified distinction, accentuating the hard lines of his physique against the crimson fabric.

It was excessively tight. He had donned it because he did not know whether Miss Hartford preferred a man in uniform. He had read enough to comprehend that many women did. Thus, he had dusted it off and put it on, albeit reluctantly, once more—just in case.

Lady Wintersley appeared and greeted him with a gloved hand. “Captain Clifton, it is a pleasure to have you here.” Her elegant lilac gown, adorned with intricate beadwork, shimmered in the soft glow cast by the chandeliers.

Jack took her hand with a polite smile and a bow. “Your Grace, this event exceeds all expectations.” He indicated the beautifully mirrored room in silent praise of the impeccable taste evident in every detail of the décor.

He seldom met her eyes while speaking, preferring instead to observe the dancers. This was not unusual for Captain Clifton; Lady Wintersley had conversed with him before and, although it took some time to become accustomed to his manner, she quickly realised that he could converse quite effectively regardless of where his gaze fell.

Lady Wintersley glowed with pleasure. “Why, thank you, Captain. It is indeed rewarding to hear such words, particularly from a man of your distinction. I trust that your presence here extends beyond an appreciation for mere ornamentation and music?”

Thoughts of Miss Hartford consumed his mind at the inquiry as he watched the dancers. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Was he truly here for her? Was that what had summoned him to this place? Two fleeting encounters and a feeling so profound that he had yet to find anything to explain it in any of his books?

A knowing smile played upon Lady Wintersley’s lips as she observed his thoughts chasing one another across his countenance. “Indeed. Miss Hartford is quite… unique. One might say she is a breath of fresh air in our conventional society.”

Jack nodded absentmindedly. “She certainly has a way of capturing attention. I have no doubt that tonight will be an enjoyable experience for her, Your Grace.”

Satisfied with their exchange, Lady Wintersley flashed him an indulgent smile before gliding away to attend to other guests vying for her attention.

Jack idly stirred his slightly too sugary lemon water, his gaze wandering across the throng of guests. The noise was slowly becoming more cacophonous as the gaiety grew, and his head began to echo as couples thumped across the floor. Each twirl and turn revealed complementary combinations in attire. A lady draped in a pastel yellow gown spun past with her partner executing a half-coupé, his midnight blue waistcoat providing a striking contrast. Another couple dazzled onlookers as they sank and rose, their garments blending passionate reds with soft greens in harmonious accord.

Amid the grandeur, a subtle unrest stirred within him. He dismissed it as impatience or perhaps boredom; however, a small part of him whispered that it was disappointment. Whatever it was, definite discomfort sizzled in Jack’s stomach as the noise in his head grew louder, threatening to overwhelm him. He looked inwards for anything to hold onto, and a thread pulled his attention.

Lady Wintersley had mentioned Miss Hartford, not him; yet he had responded as if they were already conversing about her.

The churning in his stomach quickened. Glancing about, he espied a balcony.

He found himself abruptly standing in the cool night air, uncertain of precisely how he had arrived there, head aching with an unsettling sense of confinement and disconnection as he paced beneath the soft moonlight. His indecision about leaving vacillated with his steps until his gaze fell upon an unbelievable vision through the window, wiping everything else from his mind.

Miss Hartford shone with grace in a glorious gown of rich silk, dyed in the deep blue shades of the sky just before dusk. It billowed softly with each regal movement, trailing behind her like a gentle wave caressing the shore. A simple tiara set with an amethyst shone atop her lustrous hair, which she had adorned with a ribbon of silver and allowed to cascade down her back.

She was a nova amidst pale, ordinary stars, and with bated breath, he stepped through the door and into her radiant light.

Disappointment tugged at Anastasia’s heart as she endeavoured to catch a glimpse of Captain Clifton amidst the crowd. Eyes darted to her and away as she took a few steps forward, and she halted, almost ready to turn and run home.

“Anastasia, how delightful it is to see you here!” exclaimed Mrs Hargreaves, raising a slightly wobbly glass of wine. “That gown is enchanting; the colour suits you marvellously.”

Lady Fitzroy smiled, her steadying hand on Mrs Hargreaves’ shoulder. ‘I am pleased you have come tonight,’ said she, giving Anastasia a quick embrace with her other arm. “You look positively radiant.”

Charlotte, alight with curiosity, remarked, “I must concur, Anastasia. You do appear quite extraordinary this evening. Yet I cannot help but wonder… Is there a particular reason for your presence tonight?”

The pointed question pierced the atmosphere, landing squarely on the captain. Warmth flooded Anastasia’s cheeks, betraying her anxiety. She had hoped to evade such questions, yet it seemed their conversation was already tainted by the insidious whispers that swirled through society like… like pages caught by the wind, swirling in the rain…

“Such directness, Charlotte.” Lady Fitzroy chided gently, yet her expression conveyed clear gratitude that the question had been posed.

Anastasia replied with barely contained annoyance, “I have come tonight solely to savour the enchantment of this evening, and the delightful company it offers.”

Just as more questions threatened to arise, the balcony door swung open. She silently offered gratitude to the orchestrator of this timely distraction, and turned to see who it was.