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mistress.
    â€œNo,” she replied, hoping that her cheeks did not betray her by reddening. “Not a good friend.”
    â€œHow nice for me. Then I am hopeful he will not mind if I get you a glass of punch.”
    â€œIt does not matter. You see, it is I you must ask about such things, not any man.”
    He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Ah. An independent woman, I see.”
    â€œIndeed I am.”
    â€œThen may I escort you to the refreshment tables?” He offered her his arm.
    She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “That would be very nice.”
    There was something quite freeing about acting this way, Julia thought as she walked with him into the hall. She had never before in her life been in a place like this, where there were no matrons watching, no expectations on everyone’s part of how a young woman should act and what she should say. Though Julia considered herself a free thinker, she had been raised to act as a young lady should, and she had always been aware of the need to act in such a way as not to bring any embarrassment to her family.
    Like any other young woman, she was careful not to dance more than twice with the same man and not to flirt too much with any one man, lest she be said to be forward. She had always to pay her respects to the old ladies who lined the walls at the county cotillions, looking like a group of well-fed buzzards in their invariably black dresses, and to be careful not to say something to offend them. If a man wanted to escort her down to dine at a ball, he had first to request permission of her chaperon. These were the sorts of restrictions that chafed at her, but which she knew she could not flout without bringing down local censure not only on herself but on poor Phoebe, and before that her mother, for their perceived laxity in training her.
    But here there were no duennas, no women who could enumerate her family lineage back to Queen Elizabeth, if not beyond. There was no one to gossip or to care how she acted, no conventions to flout. No one even knew who she was, so her family name could not be called into shame. There was not the least likelihood that anyone would be shocked by her behavior, unless perhaps she decided to take it into her head to get up on a table and remove all her clothes—and from what she had seen of many of the avid cardplayers here tonight, most of them would be concerned only because she was wasting one of their card tables. She could, she thought, say exactly what she wanted and act precisely how she pleased, and no one would give it a second thought.
    â€œI hope your thoughts concern me,” her companion said, and Julia turned to look at him, startled.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYour smile was one of such happiness, I was hopeful that I figured in your thoughts.”
    â€œOh.” Julia chuckled. “Now you have me, sir, for if I say they were of you, then I am over bold, and if I say they were not, I am insulting.”
    â€œI suspect that you are a woman who does not care particularly if either is said of you.”
    Julia gave him an enigmatic smile. “I would say that would depend on who was speaking.”
    â€œAh. Well, I am not so foolishly brave as to ask whether I would be one whose opinion would matter to you.” They had reached the rear-most room of the first floor, where a long sideboard held not only a punch bowl but a number of platters of cheeses, meats, breads and cakes. “No, pray, do not answer. Tell me instead what to put on your plate.”
    He picked up a glass plate and began to fill it with various delicacies, though Julia doubted that her nerves would allow her to eat much, if any, of them. She would have protested that she did not want to eat, but she knew that being alone with him in the dining area was far better for her purposes than returning to the card rooms. Once he had filled two plates and added cups of punch to them, Stonehaven led her back into