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It is wide and well-known that every lady in England, even the Queen herself, owns nothing next to a man. The inheritance of any woman is set upon the whims of the man she bonds the closest with. Her father, her brother, her husband, her son. If she avoids or in fact cannot make such close bonds, rather than being free in an isolating break, the role of decision falls to the society at large, also run by men.
The ball was a graceful movement of swirling dancers and flickering candles. High arched windows let in a much-needed breeze from outside as uproarious laughter lit one end of the room.Daphne felt out of place in the London Ball, so far from Scotland. But she had perfected her accent to blend in, and just for the night, covered her hair with an atrocious wig to hide the vibrant orange.Daphne’s need for secrecy and subtlety was simple – she wanted to sell her creations, and not just because people recognized her name. In Scotland, and truthfully in England as well, the Blakes were a revered household. Wealthy, virtuous, interesting and forward-thinking without being offensive.All of these were wonderful legacies that Daphne herself strove to uphold. However, when she had worked diligently to create a line of dresses to suit a new and innovative crowd, she found that most women were only interested in following whatever trend Daphne set, rather than branching out, and most men were only after Daphne’s inheritance.Her name and orange hair had become almost a source of embarrassment that she could never seem to run from. There was no introduction made without her name, and she could be recognized by color alone. It seemed as though everyone she spoke to had an agenda, or a political leaning that they hoped Daphne would take to her father.In order to make a fresh start, she had moved to London, alone. Her parents were deeply concerned, especially in light of a new disappearances of wealthier women in the London quarter, but Daphne wasn’t swayed.All of those fencing and boxing lessons weren't for nothing.Daphne reached a hand up to surreptitiously scratch an itch under the edge of the wig, right where the pin was digging into her scalp, when someone bumped into her.“Oof!” Daphne stumbled forward, but a strong arm caught hold of her elbow and straightened her.“I’m sorry!” The tall man apologized sincerely. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” He glanced at her, and something seemed to hold him captivated there for a moment, before he cleared his throat and removed his hand, using it to pick at his sleeve cuff.“You’re American!” Daphne said, surprised.“Yes, I am.” The man shrugged, but the hand that had previously been picking at his sleeve rose up to rub at his neck in a sheepish manner.His hair, a strikingly bright blonde, was just long enough to sit at his high collared shirt, so his hand pushed the collar out of place. Daphne got the sense that this formal attire was very new and uncomfortable to him.“This may be an odd question, but would you maybe want to dance?” He asked.Daphne took a step backward reflexively, and the man held up his hands in a manner of retreat. “No, no! I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve…well, this will sound strange, but I really need to meet with someone at that punch table over there” he gestured to the far end “And the only way in this thick of a crowd is through the dance floor. Would you mind being my escort?”It certainly was the oddest request for a dance. To imply that Daphne would be favoring him as an escort. But Daphne could tell that his words were completely genuine. Everything about him screamed a type of authenticity and upfrontness that was so rare in modern Europe. Even his eyes were a shade of blue that she would call honest or true-blue, so striking in color especially in combination with his other features.She held out her hand in invitation, and watched as his expression broke into a charming grin of relief. Almost boyish in sincerity.He led her to the floor and started a clumsy lead to the dance. “My apologies, but I’m not the most proficient at dance.”Daphne found herself intrigued. “That must be someone very important for you to go through all this trouble then.”“Very important.” He said firmly.“Is there something else you are more proficient at?” She asked.He tilted his head to the side in thought. “I’m quite a good driver. Of horses and such. And I like to think I’m not half bad with coordination in an athletic field.”Daphne nodded. A vague but acceptable answer.“And you? Is there somewhere you would rather be than on the dancefloor?”“I actually quite enjoy your company, if that’s what you were asking.” Daphne answered, and to her surprise, he blushed. “But I’ve tried many things. I love to experience the world and reflect that in creation.”He studied her. “Create? You paint?”Daphne shook her head. “Not with any mastery. I’m much better with a needle.”His eyebrows lifted. “So embroidery?”“And this gown.” It bubbled out of her smoothly, an intuitive impulse telling her that if she could trust anyone, it was him.His face opened in an expression of true awe. “You made this? It’s incredible! I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”That had been the intention. Although the gown had the large poofing skirt of the latest fashion, held up by a crinoline, The top was an almost off-the-shoulder creation, with slimmer sleeves than the general society preferred.But she doubted this man was aware of that.She felt her lips twitch. This was a man who was uncomfortable with a stiff-necked collar. He probably hadn’t seen anything of high gentry fashion. She leaned forward, conspiratorially. “If I may confide in you, just for this brief piece of music, I endeavor to completely change fashion altogether. Brighter colors, shorter skirts, more interesting and unique pieces for every class that are both functional but offer a sense of freedom in design. I am here in London for that cause, not this social marriage mart.”His head dipped down towards hers, bringing them even closer together. In this tilt of the light, his eyes changed from a sky blue to a deep gem blue. Daphne’s heart thudded painfully under the handcrafted lace of her own design.Without even noticing, his dancing had smoothed to match hers.“If I may also confide a secret with you, since I believe us to be similar in ambition?”Daphne didn’t nod, so much as gently tilt her chin, afraid to destroy the thin suspension of time.“I want to change the justice system. I think it is severely lacking in good investigation, and in dedicated detective work. That’s how I came to London. A good friend of mine has asked for my help to catch the London Kidnapper.”Daphne was so blown aback by his daring and yet so simple motivations, that it took a moment to register his words.“You’re here alone to catch a dangerous criminal?” She gasped.He grinned. “Who said I was here alone?”Daphne found that her concern for him was unnerving, considering the little time they had known each other. No more than a simple dance-length.“Then you have a lead on the kidnapper then? Is that who you are meeting with? A source?”He shook his head. “I believe the kidnapper is here.”She squinted. She didn’t turn her head. “Where?”He shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Daphne blinked. “But I know who his target is. All of the girls to go missing were first season debutantes, particularly from families that run mining companies. I believe they are being held for ransom for a much bigger scheme, or perhaps even being married under duress.”“Who is it? Perhaps I may know them?” Daphne thought about any of the women she had spoken with or given references to for her business.“A lady by the name of Charlotte Hingstead.”Daphne shook her head. “No. It doesn’t ring a bell.”“Well, I had it on good authority that she was wearing a red dress and would be hiding out next to the punch table.”“Ahhhhh.”“Hence the dance.” They said together.The music began to slow, and Fred led her off to the side, near the table. “Thank you for dancing with me, Miss?”“Daphne.” She blurted, without even thinking about her alias. “And really, the pleasure was all mine. I hope we can meet again under less dangerous circumstances, mister?”“Frederick Jones. Please call me Fred though.”“Really, you seem more like a Freddy.” Daphne said thoughtfully, then realized what she’d said. “I mean—”“Then you may call me Freddy, Miss Daphne. If it isn’t too much trouble—” He bowed slightly, caught a glimpse of something, and then seemed to hesitate.“I understand,” Daphne replied, completely missing the point. “You are in a hurry. Thank you for being my partner.”And then she hurried off to the powder room to pull herself together.It was only one dance, yet she felt like she should be out there demanding another.Daphne stared at the mirror in the bathroom before another young woman joined her by the countertop, pushing at a set of unruly brown curls, not unlike Daphne’s own wig.Seeming frustrated, the girl tugged them forward, then to the side, as if unsure whether she should try to fix them.Daphne cleared her throat and the girl jerked around, scarlet fabric rustling loudly as she spun. “Sorry, am I in your way?” She squeaked.“No no. I just, you looked as if you wanted to do your hair. May I help you?” Daphne offered.The girl sighed. “I don’t know that it matters much, but you can try.”Daphne carefully pulls a few of the less necessary pins out of her own wig, sighing in relief when the one digging into her skull is removed. She then begins to twist the girl’s hair upward, gently braiding the front strands to the side.“It’s just been an awful night.” The girl says, unprompted. “I can’t even get my hair to do what I tell it. It’s usually much less—well, curly.”Daphne grimaces. “Is your family not from here? The humidity can bring out beautiful curls if you’re from a drier climate.”“Yes, my family is from much further north.” The girl says.Daphne finishes the twisted updo and begins to carefully place pins.“My father insisted that I come, as it is my first season out. And I was excited—truly I was. But the gentlemen here are nothing like I’ve read about. They aren’t interested in me at all, or respectful, or –”“Kind.”“Precisely! I’ve had one man who has really been quite close all night, and I can’t say no if he asks to dance, but he seems impossible to avoid, which is why I finally just hid in the bathroom.”“That’s awful.” Daphne pursed her lips. “You can stick with me, and I shall lead you around, then he’ll have to back off.”“No. He’s…creepily persistent. I’ve been hanging out by the punch table, but I think he may have even followed me to the restroom, and I don’t even want to leave until all of this is over—”A cold feeling sinks through Daphne.Red dress.Punch table.First season.“Have we met before?” Daphne interrupted.The girl stopped, then quickly said, “Oh, how rude, I didn’t even introduce myself—I’m Charlotte Hingstead.”Daphne racks her brain, trying to remember if she saw someone near the bathroom when she came in.There had been only one or two people in the dimly lit hallway. Including two obviously drunk proprietors of the card game down the hall, a rather risque couple hiding from prying eyes in the curtains, and one man, smoking a pipe. He had been wearing an out of season hat, and a much-worn worker’s jacket. Not nearly to the caliber of a high-society party.“What was he wearing? Charlotte, the man who was bothering you, what was he wearing?”“Ummm, a brown jacket? Oh goodness, he’s out there isn’t he?”Daphne needed to get Charlotte out of the bathroom and back to Freddy.But there had been a few people in the hallway.Not enough to take notice if someone much stronger and taller than Charlotte was waiting outside.“Charlotte, I need you to listen to me. You are in danger.” Charlotte’s eyes went very wide. “I am going to get you out of this bathroom, and you are going to get away from here as fast as you can. I have a friend here who can help you.”Charlotte was pale, terror covering her features. “How are we going to do that?”“Switch clothes with me.”