“Are you all right, Robyn?” Amy pretended concern as she dragged a chair to my side.
“My ankle is paining me a little.” I rubbed at it to enhance my pretence.
“Perhaps you had best return home,” Amy said. “Certainly, you should not put further strain on it by attempting to dance.”
I nodded. I had not expected to see Mr Carmichael in the Pringles' place, and now my nerves were all a-jangle. “You are right, Amy. Please tell my mother than I have returned home.”
Now, it is an easy matter to enter a ball, but harder to leave before the dancing has begun. There is the host to inform, and outer coats to reclaim from the cloakroom, and transport to arrange, even when one's driver was warmly ensconced in the Pringle's kitchen, cradling a pot of ale while making friends with a plump maid.
Howe
