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Mary and Elizabeth walked into the ballroom in Lady Castleton’s home in late March. Though the day had been warm for the season, the air outside was cooling off quickly, making the warmth of the ballroom comfortable instead of stifling.

As they often did, Mary and her sister separated once they were completely in the ballroom. Technically, Mary was Elizabeth’s chaperone, but she trusted Elizabeth to behave properly, so there was no need to hold her back and keep her chained to Mary’s side.

Mary looked around for acquaintances or friends to talk to.

She did not expect to be asked to dance, so she ignored the gentlemen in the room other than to verify if they were Mr. Worsley.

She spotted Mrs. Carlton and was on her way over to speak to her when she was accosted by a gentleman she barely knew by the name of Mr. Stone.

“Mrs. Allen,” he said, “It is a delight to see you here this evening. I had not expected to see you at any ball this year.”

Mary was confused. She barely knew this man’s name and could remember nothing about him. Why on Earth would he be so delighted to see her? “Good evening, Mr. Stone,” she said as she gave a little curtsey.

“Since you are here,” he said, “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of your company for a dance this evening.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She could not help it, though she berated herself for letting the expression show on her face.

She had met Mr. Stone early in her last season in London, but he had never been one of the men who asked her to dance.

His behavior was out of character, and it confused her.

Fortunately, she did not need to understand his motivations in order to give a quick reply. “I had not intended to dance this evening,” she said. “I am only here to give my sister a chance to enjoy a ball while she is in London.”

Instead of being irritated at her refusal, Mr. Stone smiled.

“You are an excellent caretaker of your sister. Hopefully, I will be more fortunate at a later time. Until then,” he bowed and walked away from her.

She half expected him to head towards Elizabeth, but he did not.

Instead, he moved towards another group of young ladies who were chatting animatedly together.

“I’ve heard Mr. Stone is rather hard up for money,” an easily recognizable voice said from just behind Mary.

The explanation for Mr. Stone’s odd behavior made immediate sense, but Mary was more interested in the owner of the voice. She turned, and she could feel her mouth split into a grin. “Mr. Worsley,” she said. “I did not know you would be here this evening.”

“I did not know, myself, until yesterday,” he said, “but a little bird informed me that you would be here, and I could not pass up the opportunity to see you dance and perhaps to dance with you.”

Mary’s face fell. “I…I just told Mr. Stone that I would not be dancing this evening. It would be quite rude of me to change my mind so suddenly. Even if I were willing to make an exception for you, I would then have to dance with anyone else who asked for the rest of the evening. I am not quite ready to be that sociable.” She waved vaguely at her gray dress that indicated her status as half-mourning.

With concern in his eyes, Mr. Worsley asked, “You must have loved Mr. Allen a great deal to honor his memory so stringently, so much that you would not even dance a few dances after six months.”

Mary did not wish to discuss her feelings about her late husband.

In some ways, she was still confused about it all, and she was not certain she could express herself well on the subject.

Besides, it felt decidedly wrong to discuss her husband with Mr. Worsley in particular, though she did not understand why.

“It is complicated,” she said, hoping he would drop the subject.

“How can it be complicated?” asked Mr. Worsley. “You either loved him or you didn’t. There is no shame if you didn’t, you know. There are many marriages that are quite successful but are not based on love. My parents are one such example.”

“Love is such a difficult word,” said Mary repressively.

He still would not take a hint, however. “It is the most straightforward thing in the world,” he said.

She finally became irritated and lashed out. “Oh? And how many times have you been in love?”

For a moment, Mr. Worsley began ticking off his fingers and murmuring to himself as if he was counting the ladies he had been in love with.

Mary could feel her irritation growing by leaps and bounds, but before it could do more than simply make itself known to her, he stopped.

He looked up from his hands and looked straight into Mary’s eyes.

Mary had learned to avoid Mr. Worsley’s direct gaze, because it tended to make her forget what she was thinking or what she was trying to say.

This time, she failed to avoid it, and she was hit by a feeling far beyond what she had experienced before, as if the world had stopped spinning and then suddenly flipped upside down.

It lasted only for a moment, less than a second, but when the world righted itself, Mary noticed that Mr. Worsley’s expression had changed from that of humor to deadly seriousness with an incredible intensity, and she could feel that his expression was mirrored in her own face.

Though she did not wish to consciously admit it, she knew the look in his eyes, for she had seen a weak facsimile of it in her husband’s eyes, especially in his last few months of life.

“I retract my previous statement,” he said, his usually velvety voice was a little huskier than before. He cleared his voice before continuing. “You were correct. Love is not the simple thing I thought it.”

He made no explanation for his change of opinion.

For a time, the two of them stood side by side, watching as the first dance was forming.

Mary was relieved to be released from his gaze.

The feeling of connection that had so suddenly formed between them was something Mary did not wish to acknowledge and refused to name.

It was far easier to watch the dancers than to confront Mr. Worsley.

When the dance was almost half over, Mary was finally beginning to breathe a bit more easily. Of course, that was when Mr. Worsley turned to her and said, “Perhaps, you could grant me the last dance of the evening. That way, you would not be obliged to dance any additional dances afterward.”

She looked up into his eyes. They were no longer filled with the oppressive intensity that had been there a few minutes ago.

It had been replaced with his friendliness that she had become so accustomed to in the last few months.

She opened her mouth to refuse. She was still in mourning, and her late husband still deserved her respect.

“Very well,” is what unaccountably came out of her mouth.

Mary wanted to knock her head with her own knuckles or perhaps bang her head against the wall. What madness had overtaken her that she no longer even had control over the words that formed on her lips?

Mr. Worsley must have seen the doubt on her face, for he asked, “Are you certain?”

Loyalty to her husband warred with the feeling of connection she felt toward Mr. Worsley: past versus present. Present won, though not without a pang of guilt. “I am certain,” she said.

“Thank you for such a precious gift,” he said, and he bowed. “I am afraid I must circulate among the other guests now, but I look forward to seeing you again at the end of the night.”

Mary bobbed a curtsey in response, but she said nothing as he walked away.

As Gregory Worsley walked away from Mrs. Allen, he wondered if he had made a mistake in asking her to dance.

Though she had said she was certain she wished to dance with him, there was hesitance and conflict clearly written in her expression.

He did not like the thought that something he had done had caused her even a hint of pain.

Yet, at the same time, he longed to dance with her.

He remembered dancing with her last year.

She was far from the most graceful lady, but she was good enough to not be an embarrassment.

However, it was not her grace, or lack thereof, that made him wish to dance with her again.

Rather, it was the thought of having her attention solely on him for half an hour.

It was the idea of being able to touch her hand or perhaps her waist, depending on which dance it was.

Gregory knew he was in love. He had known it for some time, but it was only when she challenged him as to how many times he had experienced it before did he realize how deeply and truly he loved her.

Gregory had fallen in love many times. The first time was when he fell in love with a shop girl at the confectionary.

He was just ten years old, and it was possible he was just in love with the fact that she gave him sugar plums, but he thought about her frequently and even dreamed about her a few times.

The feeling didn’t last more than a few months, however, as he discovered activities that he enjoyed more than running to the shops for candy.

His second love was a parlor maid who worked at his father’s estate in the country when he was fourteen.

She was beautiful, with porcelain skin and pink cheeks.

Her clear blue eyes were incredibly striking, and she always seemed to be happy.

He often imagined kissing her plump, pink lips, but his father was absolutely adamant that he never touch any of the servants in any way, so he did nothing.

In time the feeling faded as he grew used to her presence.

The pattern continued. Every year or two some young lady would catch his fancy, but the feeling always faded in time. That was the nature of love: obsession followed by indifference. At least, that was what he had assumed until Mary had asked him how many times he had been in love.

In the middle of counting the various ladies who had inspired such passion in him, he glanced up and saw her watching him, a strange expression on her face, and it suddenly hit him.

He loved her, but it was nothing like the love he had experienced before.

This time, instead of beginning as attraction, it had started with respect which grew into friendship as they interacted.

It was only now, as he had a glimpse of her no longer in black, that something in his mind and heart had clicked into place.

He wanted her in his life. It wasn’t just passion or obsession, though they were a part of the complex wave of emotion he experienced. It was far deeper than that, though at the same time utterly incomprehensible.

Of course, he didn’t understand all the nuance of his feelings in that one intense second. All he really knew was that he suddenly realized he loved her, truly and deeply, and the feeling was stronger and far more complex than he had ever known. He also knew that he could do nothing about it.

Mary was a widow who was still in mourning for her husband, a husband that she had clearly respected a great deal, though whether she had any love for the man was still in question.

She was also a lady of principle. She held herself to the highest standards of behavior, especially when it came to questions of morality.

It was possible, quite likely in fact, that she would consider entering a courtship during her period of mourning to be a form of unfaithfulness to her husband.

This thought brought him back to wondering if he had pushed her too far in asking her to dance.

She clearly wished to dance with him. He couldn’t mistake the look in her eyes in that moment when he had realized how deeply he was in love with her.

She most definitely had powerful feelings for him.

He wondered, however, if he was doing the right thing by taking advantage of her feelings to convince her to do something she might think was wrong.

For most of the evening, he was distracted by his thoughts of Mrs. Allen. Even her name was a distraction, for it was a forceful reminder that she had once belonged to someone else, a man who had warned him away from her almost exactly a year ago.

Eventually, the ball was almost over, and the last dance was beginning.

Gregory led Mrs. Allen out to the floor.

Her hand on his arm felt almost like a burn, though it was the most pleasant burn he could imagine.

It felt right to have her by his side, even though it was only to walk the length of the ballroom so they could take their places in the dance.

Gregory’s dance with Mrs. Allen was the sweetest torture.

It felt right to simply look at her. It felt right to be paired with her.

She was perfect. On the other hand, as they conversed about various light topics, it became clear to him that she was struggling to maintain her pleasant countenance.

Something about dancing with him gave her pause and made her uncomfortable.

The dance came to a close, and she managed to smile for him as she said farewell, but he saw how her smile slipped off her face quickly as she turned to find her sister so that they could prepare to depart.

Gregory did not wait for his carriage to be called. Instead, he walked the half mile to his house, thinking furiously the whole way home. By the time he reached his doorstep, he was certain he understood why old Allen had warned him away from Mary last year.

It wasn’t because he was a jealous husband as it had at first seemed. Rather, it was because he wanted his young wife to be happy, and somehow old Allen had known that Gregory would disturb Mrs. Allen’s peace if he continued his attention to her, just as he was doing now.

Mrs. Allen was no longer a married woman.

Technically, she was free to develop feelings for any man she chose.

However, she was a widow in mourning who still held a great deal of respect for her dead husband.

She would not willingly or freely allow herself to develop such feelings until her mourning period was over.

By paying excessive attention to her, Gregory was placing a strain on her such that she was fighting herself over her affection for him and her respect for her late husband.

Gregory had one thing in common with the late Mr. Allen. He wanted Mary Allen to be happy, which is why he would leave London as soon as he could make arrangements. Mrs. Allen must be allowed to mourn in peace.