London, April 1819
Anne’s fingers dug into her father’s arm as he led her into the main dancing room of Almack’s Assembly Rooms.
“Chin up, Anne. You are an intelligent, lovely woman. The daughter of a baron. It is your right to be in the best of society,” her father assured her with his usual confidence. He had the large, gruff appearance of a formidable bear, but deep down he was all sweetness.
“I know, Papa. But what if the Lady Patronesses do not give me leave to waltz tonight? I shall be mortified.” Anne confessed this in a shaky whisper as her father led her past the milling grounds in the hall.
“I’ve already spoken to them. You are allowed to waltz. Indeed, the ladies all seemed quite impressed with you.” Her father smiled down upon her, his natural warmth and affection soothing
