husbands died from the plague, this “ad HOC” group had gained enough power and support to push through one important piece of legislation: suffrage for women. Females could now vote and hold office, just like men. Legal sanction, however, didn’t always grant social acceptance, especially among the upper classes.
“My father would have a fit if an Ad Hoc lady turned up in the family,” Alice said. “I wouldn’t do that to him. It would certainly ruin my chances here.”
“How did you get invited in the first place?” Louisa asked.
“Father called in a final favor.” Alice set her mouth, not sure whether she was going to laugh or cry. “This was to be a step forward for us. I would comport myself well, attract the eye of the gentlemen, and Father’s business contacts would start turning up again.”
“Good plan,” Louisa said. “A damned pity it’s not working. Word has it you came unescorted in a cab.”
“My maid twisted her ankle-”
Louisa waved this aside with her fan. “It’s a good lie, but it fades when you repeat it. Be brazen! No one likes a beggar, even an invited beggar, so don’t act like one.”
“But I need them,” Alice said, gesturing toward the couples on the floor.
“Less than you think. You’re pretty and you’re smart, and that’s a deadly combination. Nice job repairing Lady Greenfellow’s cellist, by the way. Very Ad Hoc. If it had been anyone but you, the old bat would have been grateful. Oh look-here comes my first.”
The ash-blond man in the badly cut coat Louisa had pointed out earlier came around the dance floor to the table. “May I have the honor of a dance?”
“Let me check my card,” Louisa said, doing so. “I seem to be free. Shall we?” She gave Alice a final wink as her new escort led her away while the women who weren’t dancing murmured to one another behind their fans. Chagrined, Alice watched Louisa go. Perhaps it was time to slip away and go home. There was nothing for her to-
“May I have the honor of a dance?”
The man was older than Alice, nearly thirty, tall and lean, in a stylish Fairmont waistcoat and shining black silk coat. His brown hair and muttonchop whiskers were neatly trimmed, and his dark brown eyes looked pleasantly down at her. His features were attractive though not quite handsome.
Alice was so startled, she forgot she was supposed to check her dance card. “I would be delighted, sir,” she said, taking his hand and rising. “But I don’t know your name.”
“Mr. Norbert Williamson, at your service,” he said instantly. “And you, I believe, are Miss Alice Michaels. I’ve done some work with your father, Lord Michaels.”
The orchestra ended the waltz and swept into a gavotte, precise and perfect as an ice sculpture. Norbert guided Alice to the dance floor and put his hand on her waist. Several couples gave them sideways looks, but most ignored them.
“Everyone is talking about how you repaired the cellist,” he said as they moved across the polished wood. “Your father says you have quite a talent with automatons, Miss Michaels.”
“That’s kind of him,” Alice replied, surprised. “I suppose it’s because I find automatons more interesting than people.”
“Oh.”
An awkward silence followed, and Alice mentally kicked herself. “But not tonight,” she added hastily. “I haven’t been out in so long, I’d forgotten how enjoyable it is. Dancing is so much fun, especially with a talented partner like you, Mr. Williamson.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to bat her eyes, but the flattery had its intended effect. His arms relaxed a little, and he smiled.
“What do you think of the orchestra?” he asked. “Now that it’s working.”
“They play very nicely,” she said, and let herself sway a little more with the rhythm. “I love music of all sorts, but I have no talent at making it. Do you play an instrument?”
“I’m completely tone-deaf,” he said, and Alice was surprised at how deeply the admission disappointed her. “Lady Greenfellow’s players need to be serviced more often,” he continued, oblivious. “The cellist wouldn’t have seized up like that if I were in charge of it.”
“Are you an automatist by trade, Mr. Williamson?”
He shook his head. “My company makes machine parts. Automatons are a bit of a hobby. I think that’s why your father is trying to fling us together.”
Alice’s heart quickened despite her earlier disappointment. This was the main reason she was here, then. Norbert Williamson was a marriage prospect. He swung her around, and Alice smiled up at him. Her job was to be winning and witty.
“He shouldn’t need to fling anything, Mr. Williamson,” she said. “If you enjoy automatons, we have a lot in common. What are your views on the idea that Charles Babbage took credit for Ada Lovelace’s work with the analytical engine?”
“I do enjoy automatons,” Norbert said. “But for the moment, I’d prefer to dance with a beautiful woman.”
It was empty flattery, but it was nice to hear. They danced three dances before Alice pleaded the need to rest; Norbert immediately guided her back to the side tables and went off in search of refreshments. The moment he was gone, Louisa all but hurled herself into a neighboring chair.
“Norbert Williamson?” Louisa said. “How interesting.”
“What do you know about him?” Alice demanded. “Quick!”
“Very little. He’s new to London. No title, so he’s not a peer. He bought a factory, and it’s making good money. He seems to have a lot of male friends, and for a while rumors were circulating that he runs with the bulls, if you know what I mean.”
“Louisa!”
“Oh, as if you’ve never come across the type.” Louisa laughed. “But lately he’s been showing himself at a lot of social events and sniffing around some heifers. He’s a traditional man, not Ad Hoc, and probably interested in your title.”
“He wouldn’t get it,” Alice said. “It’ll come to me, and then only because Father has no male relatives. After that, it’ll go to my first son, never my husband.”
“Close enough for us mere commoners,” Louisa replied. “Puff up your chest, dear. Here he comes with the petits fours.”
Two more dances followed, and Norbert accompanied Alice to the buffet supper at one o’clock. Alice was starving, but she restricted herself to proper ladylike servings of veal escalopes, carrots Vichy, and gooseberry fool. Norbert, for his part, remained attentive and charming. Alice liked his company well enough, though she didn’t feel any of the pounding, heaving, or poetic emotions referred to in any of the poetry or… less literary work about romance she had read over the years. Norbert certainly seemed interested in her, and Alice did find that both heartening and satisfying. It was nice to know someone found her desirable.
They were just moving back to the dance floor when a delicate brass dove fluttered into the ballroom and landed on Norbert’s shoulder. With a surprised look, he opened a small panel on the back, removed a slip of paper, and read. Alice took the bird from him and examined it. The delicate work on the feathers was particularly fine. The glassy eyes were bright and alert, and it moved realistically in her gloved hands.
“I’m sorry, Miss Michaels, but a situation has arisen at my factory and I must leave,” Norbert said. “And here I was hoping to see you home. Do forgive me.”
And then he was gone, the dove fluttering after him.
“Everyone’s talking about you,” Louisa said, appearing at her elbow like magic.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Hard to tell. Norbert Williamson is the joker in the pack. No one knows what he’s really about, so they don’t know how to react to him-or to you, now. But they’re still not talking to you. The men are afraid of the clockwork plague, and the women are afraid that anyone who talks to you won’t be asked to dance by anyone good.”
Alice sighed, suddenly tired. “Except you.”
“There are advantages to having one’s own money,” Louisa said without a shred of self-consciousness. “Patrick Barton-the ash-blond one in the bad coat-is seeing me home tonight. And he’ll probably have breakfast.”
