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“Whom will you dance with first?” Mr. Steele asked, his gaze averted.

Marianne glanced up at him. Did he not wish to dance with her? “I suppose I must wait until I am introduced to someone.”

He nodded, his jaw twitching. He chewed his lower lip as if hesitating. “I know it is not considered so very polite to dance with one’s spouse, but as we are not truly wedded, and if…if you’d prefer to have the first with me, that may provide you with more confidence, perhaps. If you’d like.”

A smile inched across her lips. When had Mr. Steele ever been so vulnerable? Did he really think she’d choose to dance with anyone but him?

“The way I see it,” she began, “we’ve already broken so many of Society’s rules, why not break another?”

Finally, his eyes met hers. “I do enjoy your logic.”

The music ended, then the next dance was announced.

“The Hopeless!” cried a voice from the front of the set.

Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. She knew the dance well, as it was one of her favorites.

Mr. Steele raised his hand to hers, and she accepted it, placing her gloved fingers atop his as they walked toward the dance floor.

“Are you ready, Mrs. Hickenbottom?”

“Absolutely.” Marianne beamed. How she enjoyed playing his wife.

They faced each other in the middle of the set, taking a quick glance around them. There were so many people, so many chances for them to be found out, but as Marianne recognized not a soul, the tension in her shoulders eased.

Instead of watching for faces she’d recognize, she began to admire fluffy feathers and the ribbons in women’s hair. Instead of fearing discovery, she smiled at those around her.

This dance, it had hardly begun, and yet, it was exactly as she’d imagined it would be. No, it was better. For instead of being with her parents, walking one step behind them and dancing with whomever they wished, she was dancing with whom she wished—no one else but the handsome woodcarver before her.

Father and Beatrice both had it wrong. They believed Marianne wished for her turn to be at the center of all the attention. But this was what Marianne wanted—to simply be seen and heard. She wanted the freedom to dance, to socialize, to be a part of something exciting and memorable. With Mr. Steele, she was given all of that.

The strings at the top of the dance hall sounded loudly above the conversation around them, and Marianne glanced at Mr. Steele, his bright eyes already on her.

The dance began, and they moved from side to side in slow steps. For the next movement, Mr. Steele reached out toward her, and Marianne’s stomach jolted forward, as if her body was just as eager to be closer to the man. They held softly onto each other’s fingers, Mr. Steele giving her hand a slight squeeze, though she was not sure if it had been intentional.

Their contact broke with the next few movements, but they returned soon to hold one another’s hands. This time, his eyes watched her with such intensity, she could hardly breathe. What he was thinking of, she had no idea, but she knew exactly where her thoughts strayed.

She’d imagined for so long what it would be like to dance with a gentleman. To have his perfectly tailored suit, pressed and nearly shining because it was so black. His crisp, white cravat would be perfectly tied, and his collar would be worn fashionably high.

In contrast, Mr. Steele wore a blue jacket she’d seen twice before, his cravat was simply tied, and his collar was of a sensible height.

And he was not a gentleman.

Yet, Marianne found it very difficult to be bothered at all. Mr. Steele could rival any gentleman there that evening tenfold, not only with his manners and conversation, but also with his kindness and selfless behavior.

When the dance ended, she clapped toward the musicians, then she and Mr. Steele left the floor.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he questioned.

“As if you need to ask, Mr. Hickenbottom,” she said with a knowing smile.

They hardly had a moment to themselves off the floor before an older gentleman with thick brows introduced himself as Mr. Wilson, the Master of Ceremonies.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hickenbottom,” Mr. Steele introduced next.

“I’ve a gentleman who wishes to dance with you, Mrs. Hickenbottom, if you are so inclined this evening.”

Instead of the excitement she’d expected at being sought out, an odd emptiness filled her chest, as if she lost something but didn’t know exactly what.