Henrietta pulled her cloak tighter around her throat, and stepped out from the safety of the alcove into the thunderous roar of the storm as it enveloped the city streets. Father’s coach was due to return to collect her at the conclusion of the party, but she could not bare to stay a moment longer. She had come to Cunningham’s ball hoping for a night of thrills, romance. A night to demonstrate who she was as a woman, a figure on the social scene, a potential wife.

What she had gotten was humiliation.

She dared not stay, but without her coach, the path to leave was dismal and nearly as horrid as the scene she was leaving behind. Almost, but not quite.

The puddles had already started to collect in the crevices of the cobblestones on Queen Street as Henrietta stepped out of the shadows and looked up Queen Street towards the battery. When she had first made her flight from the house, she had envisioned storming home right along with the the wind. Standing now exposed to the elements, she saw the folly in that plan. She would have to wait for her driver after all, but if anyone from the party were to see her, she would be even more mortified than she was at present.

She glanced around the street from underneath her hood, trying to make out a place to wile away the time until she would be collected and could return home with her dignity intact.