I was wrong. Miss Tilney had indeed mistaken my words.

She waved at me from across the room. It was the night of the Cotillion ball, and I had arrived very pleased to be unengaged to Mr. Thorpe.

She caught my eye once again, with a warm smile. Her brother at her arm in a tête-à-tête, his face showed a slew of baffled expressions raging from outright shock, to an amused mocking smile. I know they were speaking of me, for the Mr. Tilney looked straight at me after their whispered exchange, offering the most maddening grin yet. I turned away and very nearly stomped out the door, but I saw Mr. Thorpe circling from the corner of the room and I knew any fate was better than to be paired with him once again. I crowded in toward Mrs. Allen as close as I could. She wore another plumage filled hat, and I wished for once it might have been even more outlandish, as what I needed most of all at that moment was cover.

I started violently when a hand gripped my arm. Fearing the worst, I turned and found it was only Isabella, her brother nowhere in sight.

"Do not be frightened, my dear Catherine," she whispered, "but I am really going to dance with your brother again. I declare positively it is quite shocking. I tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself, but you and John must keep us in countenance. Make haste, my dear creature, and come to us. John is just walked off, but he will be back in a moment."

I strained to see over the crowd, and was able to see the top of Mr. Thorpe's head, bobbing closer and closer. Isabella and James walked off, leaving me an open target, Mr. Thorpe now quite visible. He was making his way straight for me. I turned toward Mrs. Allen, who appeared deep in conversation with Mrs. Thorpe.

"Oh Mrs. Allen," I said, interrupting, "I feel a head—"

"Hello again, Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Thorpe," said Mr. Tilney. I turned to face him. That was twice he had snuck upon me unawares. "Miss Morland," he said, bowing slightly.

I greeted him with a return curtsy. "Mr. Tilney," I said.

"Would you care to dance?"

"I would. Thank you." I answered him truly, and for the first time since the night we met, I felt grateful for his company.

He held out his gloved hand, the cut of his evening coat shifting open to reveal a golden hued waistcoat. The gold thread glinted under the glow of the candelabras above us bringing out the bronze in his hair. It was…rather striking.

I placed my own hand in his, and he pulled me away from the others not a moment before Mr. Thorpe reached them.

We walked together in a quiet camaraderie until joining one of the sets of a country dance. Watching each other silently as we waited for the dance to begin, I saw his eyes move behind me.

John Thorpe came beside me, inserting himself into the space meant to be occupied only by my partner and myself. "Heyday, Miss Morland!" he said, "What is the meaning of this? I thought you and I were to dance together."

My face heated, ashamed that Mr. Thorpe should address me so in front of Mr. Tilney. "I wonder you should think so," I said pointedly, "for you never asked me."

"That is a good one, by Jove! I asked you as soon as I came into the room, and I was just going to ask you again, but when I turned round, you were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake of dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever since Monday. Yes, I remember, I asked you while you were waiting in the lobby for your cloak. And here have I been telling all my acquaintance that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room, and when they see you standing up with somebody else, they will quiz me famously."

I would have blushed harder had Mr. Tilney been looking at me, but he was glaring at Mr. Thorpe. It was the height of rudeness for Mr. Thorpe to be speaking to me at such a time, and I felt it keenly, though I was not sure how to be rid of him without causing a scene.

"Oh, no," I said, "they will never think of me, after such a description as that."

"By heavens, if they do not, I will kick them out of the room for blockheads. What chap have you there?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mr. Tilney stepped forward, forcing Mr. Thorpe to acknowledge his presence.

"It's Tilney, if you will, and I would beg your departure from my partner's side. She is engaged to me for the evening, and I do not consider your presence a desirable communion."

I kept my eyes on Mr. Tilney, but heard Mr. Thorpe's churlish response and exit.

"I can't like that man," he said. "I've observed him in town since arriving, and I must say when I saw him coming toward you, he thought to make you dance with me whether you wished to or no. I wouldn't wish any woman to be cornered with him, let alone one who clearly loathes his company."

"I am quite transparent, aren't I. My attempts to be mysterious as Isabella advises me have failed. I'm afraid every thought I have is quite apparent to anyone."

"Not anyone, perhaps. But to one who was closely observing you, your feelings are indeed clear."

I thought again at what Miss Tilney had been saying to him, and felt my face heat. I was saved by reply as the movements of the dance began, and I turned my attention to it.

"Indeed," said Mr. Tilney, "he has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me. As partners, we have entered into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both. And those men who do not choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbors."

I looked at him skeptically, one eyebrow raising high. "But they are such very different things—"

"—That you think they cannot be compared together," said Mr. Tilney.

"To be sure not. People that marry can never part ways, but must go and keep house together. People that dance need only stand opposite each other in a long room for half an hour."

"And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing." He looked up toward the ceiling, mocking hurt feelings. "Taken in that light certainly, their resemblance is not striking. But I think I could place them in such a view. You will allow that in both, man has the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each. And that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of its dissolution. That it is their duty, each to endeavor to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbors, or fancying that they should have been better off with anyone else. You will allow all this?"

"Yes, to be sure, as you state it, though I am not sure I like the notion of belonging exclusively to a dance partner. And what of the power of refusal? In a dance, I have no power at all to refuse, unless I choose to sit out the rest of the evening or commit a dreadful faux pas that would no doubt cause serious offense to all connected with me. They are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same light, nor think the same duties belong to them."

"Do you suppose there is less offense caused when you refuse a man his offer of marriage?"

I misstepped, and began to lose my balance. Mr. Tilney reached out to steady me, gripping my arm and waist with each hand.

"Thank you," I whispered, overcome with embarrassment. Were it not for his quick reflexes, I would have fallen. He slowly withdrew his hands and we began again, having fallen a moment behind in the pattern.

He gave me a moment to recover before his eyes found mine again, and I found the courage to reply.

"An offer of marriage is given in private. Thus the refusal has not the same repercussions."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Nothing is ever private. Unless a perfect stranger proposes to you whilst you are out on a solitary walk, someone will suspect something momentous has occurred, and then when nothing comes of it there will be questions, inevitably."

"Perhaps," I said, unwilling to surrender the argument.

He shrugged his brows, as though willing to let it lie for the moment.

"But, let us return to the previous issue. In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, the woman to make the home agreeable to the man. He is to purvey, and she is to smile. But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison."

I nodded solemnly, my brows pushed together in a mocking pose. "Of a certainty, those differences in duties struck me far deeper than any I have already mentioned. I do indeed expect your compliance in a dance. Perhaps I will ask you to fetch me some lemonade seven or eight times this evening. And then you must flatter me, of course, and I'm sure given enough time I shall think of a hundred tasks perfectly suited for you. Oh dear—I must admit that I've quite forgotten my fan this evening, and had I known you wished to borrow some lavender water I would have brought some with me." His face crinkled on one side, as he struggled to restrain his ever growing smile. "Perhaps next time you will send a note in advance, and I shall bring such accouterments and bobbles as you require."

His lips began to part, as though to speak, but I hurriedly went on saying, "Oh, and thank you for putting me so at ease. It is of great comfort to know the only thing my husband shall expect from me is to smile. You have lifted a weight from my shoulders."

"But do not forget, you must also make his home agreeable."

"Oh yes, that as well. I am indebted to you for your counsel."

He remained straight-faced, though his eyes conveyed the laughter he was attempting to conceal.

"I am quite at a loss," he said. "One thing, however, I must observe. This disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return during our set, or if any other gentleman were to address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as long as you chose?"

"Certainly not, I do the best I can. Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother's, that if he speaks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with."

"And is that to be my only security? Alas, alas!"

"Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody, it is impossible for me to talk to them. And, besides, I do not want to talk to anybody during our dance. And I don't think it likely Mr. Thorpe will return after you…sent him away."

Hie smiled, then puffed out his chest. "Now you have given me a security worth having, and I shall proceed with courage."

I smiled in return, baffled at the turn the evening had taken. Here was a man I thought—no, that I knew, was both too witty and clever, with the tendency to insult ones partner. I had assumed his insult a personal one, but his behavior was confusing me. Greatly. He acted as though I was not only a pleasant partner, but one he genuinely enjoyed conversing with.

"Do you find Bath as agreeable as when I had the honor of making the inquiry before?" he said.

"Yes, quite—more so, indeed."

"More so! Take care, or you will forget to be tired of it at the proper time. You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks."

"I do not think I should be tired if I were to stay here six months."

"Bath," he said, "compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds out every year. For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough. But beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world. You would be told so by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go away at last because they can afford to stay no longer."

"Well, other people must judge for themselves, and those who go to London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place as this than in my own home. For here are a variety of amusements, a variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know nothing of there. And I have been here only three weeks, after all."

"You are not fond of the country?"

"I am quite fond of it, actually. I have always lived there, and always been very happy. But certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath life. One day in the country is exactly like another."

"But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the country."

"Do I?"

"Do you not?"

"I do not believe there is much difference."

"Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long."

"And so I am at home—only I do not find so much of it. I walk about here, and so I do there. But here I see a variety of people in every street, and there I can only go and call on Mrs. Allen."

Mr. Tilney threw his head up and laughed at the ceiling, a beat of hilarity that I would never have expected.

"Only go and call on Mrs. Allen! What a picture of intellectual poverty! However, when you sink into this abyss again, you will have more to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all that you did here."

"Yes, that is true," I said, unable to contain a grin spreading over my face, "I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to Mrs. Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am at home again—I do like it so very much. If I could but have Papa and Mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be too happy! James's coming—my eldest brother—is quite delightful. Who can ever be tired of Bath?"

"Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do. But papas and mammas, and brothers, and intimate friends are a good deal gone by, to most of the frequenters of Bath—and the honest relish of balls and plays, and everyday sights, is past with them."

"Is it past with you too? Do you find Bath a bore?"

He paused before replying, though whether to catch his breath or to search for the right answer I knew not. He said finally, with a half smile, "Not at the moment."

The dance grew very lively then, and I was too short of breath to both speak and dance. When we reached the bottom of the set, we both needed to catch our breath and did not resume speaking immediately.

Within a row of onlookers stood not far behind where Mr. Tilney stood, I became aware of a gentleman who appeared to be earnestly regarding me. He was handsome to be sure, more so than any gentleman I had thus met. The hair around his temples was gray, and I thought him to be near my father's age. He had a commanding presence, and when he moved toward us, and whispered something to Mr. Tilney, who responded in kind, I found my face to be quite warm.

After the whispering was concluded, the older gentleman retreated, though his eye remained fixed upon me. Was something in my appearance amiss? I grew nervous, checking my clothing by peering down as slyly as I could, touching my hair, shifting my shoulders about to make sure everything was in place. I was debating whether to ask Mr. Tilney if something was awry.

My blush remained, stubbornly, though I hoped it might be attributed to the warmth of the room, and the exertions of the dance, should anyone remark on it. No sooner had the gentleman gone out of earshot, Mr. Tilney lost no time in doing so.

"You look overheated, Miss Morland. Should we sit out the next of the set?"

"Not at all. That man is staring at me quite violently. I declare he must think my dress perfectly hideous."

Another laugh. "It is only General Tilney, my father. He was desirous to know your identity. Don't mind him. He can be rather…intense, at times."

I responded with a bland, "oh," and the next moment the first dance was over, and Mr. Tilney had dragged me away from his father's eye and toward the refreshments. After fetching me a glass of lemonade, I drank it down in one long swallow.

"Another?" he asked.

I nodded, and he fetched a second glass from the table. I drank that one more slowly, but still finished it at record speed.

"It'll be a miracle if I don't get the hiccups. Thank you, Mr. Tilney, I feel much refreshed."

He watched me set down the cup. "Do you know what my sister was telling me, earlier this evening?"

I breathed in, sharply, taken aback at his question. I knew exactly what she had been saying.

I attempted to stall. "Oh, but the next dance is about to begin! Do, let us hurry."

He made no move to leave the refreshment table. I resigned myself to the inevitable embarrassment that lay ahead. "The dance will still be there if we delay a moment. What she said was quite surprising."

"—I assure you she is quite mistaken."

He raised his eyebrows. "Mistaken? She seemed certain."

I let out the breath I had been holding. "I believe I may have given your sister a false impression yesterday. Quite inadvertently. She kept looking toward the door, and I thought she was looking for you, so I asked if you were coming to the pump room."

He looked at me closely as I spoke, but I seemed without a clue to what I was talking about.

"Yes, she spoke of that conversation. And she said you have a very fine horse that your brother brought round for you."

"Oh!" I said, relieved at the turn in conversation. Perhaps Miss Tilney had not told her brother anything objectionable after all. "Yes, I do have a horse, a very lively one. I simply adore her. How sad Miss Tilney does not care for riding. I could not live without it."

"I was told you own not a horse, but a veritable beast."

"And how would she know such a thing? Miss Tilney has not seen her."

"I might have overheard Miss Thorpe speaking to your brother about it."

"Oh," I said, growing confused. I said impulsively, "Then what was the terribly interesting thing Miss Tilney said to you?"

"That you're in love with me, of course."

His words felt as a blow. In shock, my mind went blank for a handful of moments before I could process his accusation. I felt anger drench my features, and my mouth closed in tight.

His smile was mocking and condescending.

"A gentleman would never say such a thing," I said. "Excuse me, I feel a sudden desire to dance with Mr. Thorpe after all."

I turned away, but Mr. Tilney was there again in my path.

He shook his head, "Tsk, tsk. Always responding in anger. It was the same the night we met. There is something you must understand about me, Miss Morland."

"I do not wish to understand anything about you. Now goodbye."

I tried again to escape, but was again closed in by Mr. Tilney's person.

"You would not abandon me mid-set for another man. Think of the scandal! You had much better sit out the rest of the dance." He was grinning quite broadly now. I wanted to kick him, hit him, anything I could do. Had we been alone, I would have had no compunction or restraint.

I shoved my way past him, anxious to get away. But his hand grasped my arm, and turned me back to him. The crush of people made it impossible for anyone to see the tension between us.

"Now listen here," he said, with his face close to mine. "My sister thinks you are in love with me. I know she could not be more wrong. I thought it would give you a good laugh, but you don't seem to laugh about anything, Catherine Morland. You're either angry, embarrassed, or some combination of the two. I know I am a bit of a heel, but I do mean well, and I would never intentionally shame a lady."

He took a breath, and looked away before saying, "I had no idea you thought so low of me. I see your assumptions of my character are not at all what I believed—indeed, your actions make no sense at all. I had thought to offer myself as a riding escort for you, but now I know your true feelings, I would not wish you to feel obligated to be in my company. Now let us go and rejoin the dance. It looks to be very short and lively, and I will not say another word."

I ceased my struggle to pull away, stunned as I was by his words. I desperately wanted to stay angry with him. Tears threatened, and I felt wretched, hot, and quite miserable.

His hand withdrew from my arm, and I felt the cool air rush over the newly bared spot. I stared at his cravat, gloomily contemplating my options. His proposal was the simplest. I didn't relish explaining to Mrs. Allen why I was suddenly too tired to dance when the first set was barely half over.

I nodded my assent.

Within moments, we found ourselves thrust into a lively country dance, with our attention much divided from one another.

We parted with the barest acknowledgments. He tipped his head to me, and I nodded in return. I did choose to sit out the remaining dances, and managed to avoid being seated near Mr. Tilney at tea. I was worrying with each moment that Mr. Thorpe would come for me again, but he seemed to have found a more willing partner. After tea, I saw Mr. Tilney slip into the card room.

One less person to hide from.

The evening dragged by. I watched Miss Tilney enjoying herself, and I began to wonder how the evening might have turned out differently. Was I overly defensive at a man thinking me in love with him? How was I to know it was a joke? Such matters were serious ones to me. What was more, I felt he had deliberately led me to believe she had said nothing of the kind, only to throw it in my face when I least expected it. Did he really think I thought well of him? The tangle made my head ache, but I knew I must set Miss Tilney straight on the matter. I could not have her thinking me in love with her brother.

I had barely resolved to go and find her when I saw them both descending upon me.

"Why, Miss Morland," said Miss Tilney, "you are all alone! You poor thing. And not even Mrs. Allen to keep you company?" Her brother remained a few yards distant, though within earshot. He was looking earnestly at a painting hung on the wall near us.

Mrs. Allen had spent much of the evening roaming the room with Mrs. Thorpe, repeating hourly, "I know you don't mind, dear."

"She has gone to fetch Mr. Allen from the card room," I said.

Miss Tilney sat down beside me. "Well. Henry and I have thought up a wonderful diversion. We thought to take a long country walk sometime in the next few days and visit all our favorite spots. It would be our pleasure to have you join us. I know how fond you are of the country. And it would give us a chance to know each other better, away from the pump room and lookers-on. Do say you will come!"

I hesitated. My eyes went to his before I could think better of it. He had been watching me throughout. I could not imagine he wished me me to join their private outing.

"Oh, well, that does sound lovely, but I wouldn't—"

Mr. Tilney took three long strides toward us. "Do say you will come, Miss Morland. My sister greatly desires to know you better."

The intent look in his eyes made me realize how wrong I had been before—and how much I had misjudged him. If he did not already, he must despise me now, but was putting his sister's wishes before his own.

"Thank you," I said to Miss Tilney. "I have never been on a country walk here. I shall like it beyond anything in the world."

We agreed upon the very next day.