Eleanor’s smile barely made it to the corners of her mouth. “I’m afraid I’m terribly busy. Master Fang is only in town for a few more days and Mistress Azimi sent word that I’m to resume my lessons on the Sun Empire with her tomorrow.”

Sebastian bowed over her hand. “Such a clever little Ellie. You’ll be studying at The Court of All Nations next.”

Eleanor’s acid. “My name is Eleanor, or Miss Marchant to you.” Was drowned out by her mother’s flustered reply.

“Oh no, Eleanor’s a town girl, a merchant’s daughter, she won’t be going to places like that.”

Her father chuckled. “No, no, my little Nora’s far too practical for some stuffy court.”

Eleanor frowned. “I’d still like to see it.”

Sebastian shook his head, golden locks catching the light, green eyes malicious. “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, such a little dreamer. You need to listen to your Mama.”

Eleanor put a hand up to the pins in her hair. “Sebby, Sebby, Sebby, do you remember what happened last time you kept calling me ‘Ellie’?”

Sebastian scowled and turned to her mother, expression morphing into an oily smile as he said. “I hear we are to attend a dance. How intriguing. Do all the townsfolk come?”

Papa caught Eleanor’s eye and smiled, he seemed unusually happy with the world this evening. He clapped his hands. “A dance? Indeed we are, and we should leave now or we’ll be in danger of missing the opening.”

Mama demurred. “Oh but surely it’s better to be just a little late, we wouldn’t want to be the first there.”

Papa laughed. “No chance of that, my dear, the country dances were set to start an hour ago. There’ll be plenty of people to greet you on arrival.”

If they were at the dance, Eleanor could fob Sebastian off onto some of her sillier friends. She smiled sweetly at her father. “I saw a carriage with the Duke’s emblem on it earlier. Was it the family, Papa?”

Both parents straightened and moved towards the front door, where Betsy and the new footman stood, clutching cloaks and overshoes.

Eleanor’s cloak was still damp around the hem, Mrs Dorin would have had it dry. She sighed and let Betsy fasten it around her shoulders before crouching to help her slip the overshoes on.

She turned as Papa opened the door and grimaced at the sheeting rain, he gave her his biggest, falsest grin. “Now then Nora, a quick trot through this and we’ll be inside the assembly halls and with your friends in no time.”

Eleanor peered out, then back at her father. “Looking like a drowned rat.”

Master Gent chuckled. “A very pretty drowned rat. Sebastian will take care of you.”

Sebastian stepped forward and held out his arm. “Shall we, my dear.”

Eleanor gagged. “And give you the chance to trip me into the mud like last time? I think not.”

She pulled up the hood of her cloak, bundled up her skirts as her mother squawked something about suitable comportment, and dashed out into the rain.

The Marchant house sat directly across the main square from the Mayor’s Hall, a broad, cobbled space littered with the residue of the day’s activities. Eleanor dodged horse manure, discarded vegetables and several unidentifiable lumps, reaching the lights and laughter of the Hall’s vestibule little more than wet. As she handed her coat and shoes to an attendant, she smirked to see Sebastian enter with something unpleasant splashed up one leg of his cream-coloured hose. He was fluttered over and ushered off by a couple of attendants, probably the tailor’s apprentices, to try and fix things.

Good, he’d be out of the way for half an hour at least. She took Master Gent’s arm when he offered it, and he led her into the main assembly room, a large, brightly lit space with a group of four musicians sitting to one side, their area slightly raised to avoid collisions with certain, less accomplished, dancers.

She was barely five steps inside the door before Fabian Taylor’s breath heralded his appearance in front of her. “May I have this dance?”

She tightened her hand on Master Gent’s arm. The older man didn’t take the hint. “Oh yes, yes, you don’t want to spend the evening listening to me drone on. You go off and have fun.”

Eleanor gave him a tight smile as he turned to the people her parents was introducing him to and walked straight past Fabian.

He followed her. “The dance floor is this way.”

She replied. “I know.”

He still didn’t take the hint. “But if you want to dance with me, we need to go this way.”

She stopped. “Fabian, until you do something about your vile breath, I’m not dancing with you. I simply cannot put up with the smell.”

She left him, jaw agape, on the side of the dance floor, and made for a group of four girls her age who might be considered her friends.

Cecily Silversmith, dressed in yellow wool that was hoping to be gold, with a fashionable V neckline, greeted her with wide eyes. “Whatever did you say to Fabian? He’s gaping like a landed fish.”

Eleanor shrugged. “Someone needed to tell him about his breath.”

The girls gasped and Cecily shook her honey-blonde head. “You never! That’s so rude, Nora.”

She bustled off in Fabian’s direction, putting a gentle hand on the young man’s arm before cringing as he bent close. She gave him a weak smile and rushed back to the group. “Spirits of stone, what has he been eating? It’s even worse than usual.”

Eleanor looked over Cecily’s shoulder, Fabian had followed her. “See? It’s not just me. I’m just nice enough to tell you.”

The young man drew himself up, huffed, then stalked across the room to where his mother sat.

May Tanner watched him go. “One down, how many to go before you get rid of all your suitors, Eleanor?”

Too many. Eleanor changed the subject. “I saw the Duke’s carriage earlier. Has anyone heard anything?”

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