The two young women were on the other side of the ballroom, beside a table serving drinks, so the next dance had started by the time he reached them.

“So, you won’t dance with me, but you’ll dance with this lovely young lady?” he asked as he came up behind them.

“She’s my sister, and she was a little harder to refuse than you were,” Martha said in response.

Her sister was obviously surprised by him talking to them, and by the casual nature of their conversation. “Oh, you are-” she began, before he cut her off.

“Alexis. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I had asked Martha for a dance, but she insisted that she had to talk to you instead. I don’t suppose you could convince her for me?”

“My name is Isabelle.” She curtsied, then looked at Martha, who merely shrugged. “My little sister can be quite stubborn sometimes, I’m afraid. But it would be nice for her to dance with someone other than me. It’s only a dance, Martha, there’s no need to be so shy.”

Martha sighed, then gave her assent with a simple “Alright then, if I must.”

He got himself a drink and stood there listening to the sisters chatting. It seemed that they had come separately, and that Isabelle had not expected Martha to join her.

When the current dance finished, and those participating retired or sought out new partners, he walked out into the new circle of dancers, with Martha following. He had the fleeting desire to take her hand and lead her in that way, to act as a gentleman and try something he hadn’t done before, but he restrained himself. It was unnecessary, and he thought this headstrong girl might take offence if he was so presumptuous as to not ask permission.

Having found a space, they took up the dance hold – his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder, and the other two clasping each other firmly, neither shying away or gripping painfully. He was glad that she seemed to have some idea of what she was doing.

This gladness was soon replaced with despondency. She got the steps right half of the time, and spent the other half trying to dance his part. It was almost worse than being completely wrong. She wasn’t the worst partner he’d had this evening, but she was far from the best.

“I thought you were good at dancing,” he said teasingly, “but you seem to be all backwards. Perhaps you were more comfortable dancing the man’s part, as you did earlier?” She had taken up that role when dancing with her sister, perhaps because she was the taller of the two.

“Well, Isabelle’s a couple of years older than me, you know, so she got taught the girl’s part and by the time I could dance, she completely refused to switch with me. All those years of practising the wrong part seem to have put me at a disadvantage.” She spoke without meekness or apology.

Alexis laughed. “Is that so? I’ve found I can dance both parts, so perhaps we should have swapped.” He thought back to the many times Thomas had persuaded him to practise dancing with him. It had been quite fun once he’d got the hang of it. “Although I can’t quite picture you in a suit.”

“I think you’d rather suit a dress, actually. Although you might need to grow your hair a little longer.”

He found himself grinning again. “I’m sure I’ve seen some girls here with shorter hair than mine, and I wouldn’t dream of saying it made them any less fit to wear a dress.”

“Ever the gentleman, aren’t you? Perhaps a dress wouldn’t suit you after all.”

Engaging in conversation had been a bad idea. With all their attention on dancing, they had managed to get by with a few stumbles and a little stepping on feet, but now his partner completely forgot which direction to move in, and he was too distracted to respond fast enough.

They both fumbled their footing, but although Alexis quickly recovered, Martha became closely acquainted with the floor. Lucas is going to flay me alive, he thought as he froze momentarily. Then he shook off the stupor and offered her his hand, helping her climb back to her feet.

Her hair was now a mess and her ears tinged red from embarrassment. “Sorry,” she muttered. “…just… have a rest… get a drink.” She was backing away, and as her hands reached up to fix her hair he realised that it was more than simply untidy. Hair should not be able to move that much, to be that far askew. I see. Well, it doesn’t matter to me. I didn’t like her for her looks anyway.

A small crowd had gathered, curiously observing and offering her help and, in a few cases, scorning her clumsiness. He hoped they would go away, but they were at least useful in preventing her fleeing beyond his reach.

“It’s alright, you know,” he said in an attempt to reassure her. “I won’t mock you for falling over. And…” He leaned closer and spoke quietly, following her through the crowd. “Most of the girls here styled their hair, and I’m sure a few will have done the same as you. Less effort, I’m sure, and you did say a dress suits long hair better. You don’t need to be ashamed of a wig.”

“Thank you, but that’s not really… I should find Isabelle, we’ll need to leave soon… I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball.” Still trying to shake him off her tail with one hand still on her ‘hair’, she bumped into a woman in a very wide dress, and lost the battle to keep her wig on.

Most people had lost interest by now (or felt it politer to pretend they had) and were no longer paying attention to them, but since she was so flustered, Alexis reached down swiftly and picked up the hairpiece. He planned to give it back immediately, but at soon as he looked at Martha, he was hit by a strange realisation.

The person in front of him may have been wearing a dress, and may have had a wig of long hair of a very similar colour to their own, but looking now, he couldn’t understand why he had ever thought this youth was a girl.

His face was rather masculine, and his shoulders rather broad for a woman. Hands or posture would not have been enough to tell either way, and the dress was shaped to not draw attention to the flat chest, but his voice… Alexis recalled it now, and it was definitely too low for a young lady. He hadn’t been expecting to meet a young man dressed as a young woman, but he was still astounded that he had not realised.

It only took him a few seconds to think of all these things, but it was long enough for Martha – which was surely not his real name – to grab the wig, shove it haphazardly onto his head and run out of the ballroom with no care for the people he barged past.