Sam was determined to make the most of the ball at Mrs. Arnold's. She'd missed almost all of the Whitsuntide dance in 1817, so this was her chance to make up for lost time.

The agency had provided one evening gown suitable for 1849. It was made in a shimmering aqua satin with two white triangular panels on either side and a matching bodice front. Pretty, but generic, Sam thought. Fortunately, she'd kept all of her clothes from 1817 and several bonnet trimmings.

Settled in a hotel room for the night, Sam got to work while JB slept. She carefully plucked all the silk rosettes from one of her bonnets and made a few dozen more with some spare ribbon. It took her until morning to attach each leaf and flower, but when Sam tried it on in front of the mirror, she knew it had been worth it.

She heard JB stir behind her and she spun around to show him her masterpiece. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, "What are you…?"

"Do you like my embellishments?" She did another twirl for effect.

He cocked his head. "You didn't get a wink of sleep, did you?"

"Nope."

"You do know that's a bad thing, right?"

Sam snapped her fingers and pointed at her dress. "But look!"

JB breathed a short laugh. "Yes, it's lovely, Sam."

"You like it?"

He nodded. "It practically screams Arabella Evangeline Blossom."

They entered the ballroom from the second story of Mrs. Arnold's mansion and peered over a marble balcony. Below, ladies' skirts spun like blooming roses across walnut floorboards. Light from three chandeliers shone on powder blue damask walls and gilt wood borders. A group of musicians on piano, fiddle, and flute played a Viennese Waltz. Sam even spotted a few people of color decked in silk and jewels. She decided she liked Baltimore much more than rural Virginia.

"Ready to head down or should I give you a few more hours to enjoy the view?" JB said. Sam pulled her eyes away from the dazzling dance floor and gazed up at the equally pleasant sight of JB. He looked as stately as a royal portrait in his black tailcoat and starched shirt. His navy blue waistcoat added a charmingly understated pop of color.

"You lead the way," she said.

Poe greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. JB didn't look thrilled to see him, but bowed politely to the poet. "A pleasure, as always, Mr. Poe."

Poe bowed in return and smiled at them. "I am delighted to see you here, Mr. and Mrs. Blossom. How are you enjoying the evening?"

"We only just arrived," said Sam, "but I'm already eager to dance the waltz." JB arched his eyebrows, surprised. True, she had refused to dance in 1817, but that was because English country dances required practice. The great thing about waltzing in the mid-1800s was that the pressure to lead fell on the men, and with her feet hidden under her skirt, all Sam had to do was follow and twirl. No skills necessary.

"If Mr. Blossom is agreeable," Poe said slowly, "and if you've not yet filled your dance card, would you join me for a waltz, Mrs. Blossom? Mrs. Arnold is a wonderful lady, but I've danced three polkas with her already, and I would not like word to reach my fiancé that I've danced with the same woman the entire night."

JB frowned, but said, "Don't ask me. Mrs. Blossom is capable of making her own decisions."

Sam froze, flabbergasted both by Poe's offer and JB's sudden coldness. It took her a few seconds to clear her throat and say, "Yes, of course I will dance with you, Mr. Poe."

Sam tried not to shake as Poe led her to the center of the ballroom. She hadn't expected to dance with anyone but JB, and was now worried that she'd overestimated her waltzing abilities. But of course she wasn't going to refuse a dance with one of her favorite poets.

"How long do you intend to stay in Baltimore?" Poe asked once they'd eased into a rhythm.

Sam took her time twirling as she came up with an answer. "Only a few days more," she said finally. "And you? When do you go back to Richmond?"

"After a short appointment I have in New York next week," he said. Sam waited for him to elaborate, but he quickly changed the subject. "Tell me, how does your husband make a living? You both seem quite well-to-do if you don't mind my saying so."

"Physician," said Sam, surprising herself with her fast-thinking.

Poe seemed impressed. "That is quite a title. Does he enjoy his work?"

"Mostly," said Sam. "He is very good at his job, but it can take its toll on him when he meets patients who are beyond medical help. I think he tries to hide how much it affects him, but I know he has formed meaningful bonds with patients in the past. Especially children."

"You must be very proud of him."

"Very much. I only hope he knows how incredible he is." Sam spun around again and caught JB's eye from across the ballroom. He smiled at her, and she felt the floor dissolve under her feet; she was soaring.

"Woahhh!"

Okay, make that falling—falling fast, down into a tempest of whooshing petticoats.

Poe caught her wrist and yanked her upright, likely saving her from a concussion. "Careful, now. I won't have you breaking your neck."

Sam's face burned, and her burst of involuntary giggles did not help. "Oh dear," she said as soon as she could breathe again. "I must be exhausted from all the dancing."

Poe smirked. "Is this not your first dance of the night?"

JB watched Sam and Poe closely. He trusted Poe less and less the more he observed him. Why, when surrounded by Baltimore high society, was he so focused on Sam? Sam had her charms, of course—she was intelligent, creative, dedicated, funny, passionate, talented…and she did look ravishing, even in that ridiculous birthday cake of a dress that she'd spent all night embellishing. The joy on her face when she wore it somehow made it beautiful.

But Poe hadn't spent enough time with Sam to appreciate any of that. Besides, he had a fiancé. All of his actions thus far indicated ulterior motives, and Sam was so starstruck, she couldn't even keep her balance on the dance floor, let alone question Poe's intent.

The song finally ended and Poe walked Sam back to JB's side. "You took a tumble," JB said after Poe had disappeared up the stairs. "Are you okay?"

Her lips flattened into a line. "Ugh, did everyone see that?"

"Probably not. I just happened to be looking at you."

"Hmph." She clearly didn't believe him.

He changed the subject. "What did you and Poe talk about?"

"I told him you were a doctor," she said. "Oh! He also said something about going to New York to see a friend, but I couldn't get him to say more. Seemed a bit fishy."

Okay, maybe JB had underestimated Sam.

"But it's probably nothing. It just felt really cool to be dancing with a literary legend!"

Never mind.

Sam removed a white glove and tucked some stray hairs into the braided coil at the back of her head. "Guess I should have used more pomade…"

JB was only half listening now. He had something more urgent on his mind. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you excuse me for a minute?"

She blinked. "Uh, sure?"

"Thanks." He patted her shoulder and swiftly climbed the stairs to the upper level, where he found Poe leaning alone against the balcony.

"Hello, Mr. Blossom," said Poe cheerfully. "Where's—?"

"I need to talk to you," JB interrupted. "What do you want with my wife?" JB normally tried to avoid conflict with time natives, but in this case, it felt necessary. It would probably look even more out of place in this period if JB just stood by while another man took an unusual interest in his "wife."

To JB's surprise, Poe laughed. "Oh, Mr. Blossom, I know that woman is not your wife."

JB was speechless. Dread surged through his bones.

Poe, obviously clocking JB's concern, quickly stopped laughing and shook his head. "No, no, please do not worry. I won't tell a soul."

"What do you know? Who told you we weren't married?" JB demanded.

"Calm down, Sir, please. No one told me." Poe spread his arms in a gesture of innocence. "I came to the conclusion alone. It is evident from the way 'Mrs. Blossom' behaves around you that you are not man and wife."

JB was dumbfounded. "The way she behaves around me?"

"Like a lovestruck schoolgirl." Poe chuckled. "One look at you and she fell dizzy in the middle of our waltz. Marriage has its own blessings, but lightheaded silliness is a symptom of a hopeful heart, not a married one."

"She didn't…that wasn't about me."

"It most certainly was, but I'm in no mood to argue."

Neither was JB. He felt very foolish now, and hoped he could stay on good terms with Poe. Resentment from the writer would complicate the mission. "I apologize for being so forward, Mr. Poe. I have misjudged you."

Poe only shrugged. "You are not the first and likely won't be the last."

"I am grateful for your discretion," JB continued. "I wish I could explain why Arabella and I have been posing as a married couple, but that isn't something I can reveal."

Poe smiled. "It is none of my business. I'm simply happy that 'Mrs. Blossom' appreciates my work."

JB suppressed a grin. I guess Sam's attempts to butter him up worked after all.

"Speaking of your 'wife,' you may want to intervene." He pointed over the balcony at a tall, sleazy-looking old man who seemed to be asking Sam to dance. Sam shrank a little as he approached her.

JB was back downstairs in an instant. "My apologies, Sir," he said to the old man, "but I'm afraid she's reserved this dance for me."

Sam heaved a sigh of relief as the older man backed off. "Thanks for that."

"No problem. You're okay?"

She beamed up at him. "I am now."

He held out his hand. "Shall we, then?"

"Shall we what?"

"Dance…?"

"Oh!" Her face grew even brighter. "Yes, of course."

JB rested his right hand on the small of her back and he felt her gently clutch his shoulder. With their free hands joined together, he whisked her into a waltz. Dancing with Sam was like diving into an impressionist painting. The other couples whizzed past like wispy brushstrokes, and only Sam's face remained. The rest blurred into vapor.

"You're not bad," she said. "I didn't know you could waltz."

"The last time I waltzed was at my cousin's wedding, and that was with the four year-old flower girl. The bar was pretty low."

"Well, you're doing a good job. Though, if I can offer some critique" —she smiled coyly— "you should twirl me so everyone can see my dress."

He obliged and lifted his arm as she unfurled her billowing skirts.

"Back in 1817 you said you didn't like dancing," he reminded her.

"I don't like complicated dancing," she said. "Waltzing is easy if you're the lady. The guy does all the work" —He launched her into another spin and watched her fly again into a spray of petticoats and silk— "All I have to do is twirl and look pretty."

"Well, you've certainly mastered that." He felt his face grow hot, but he didn't take it back. It was the truth.

"Oh." Color rose in her cheeks. "Thank you." She looked away, but not before JB noticed her lips curve into a shy grin.

They continued the dance in pensive silence until the music faded out and they slowed to a quiet stop.

"Should we take a break?" Sam whispered finally. "I'm a bit out of breath."

"So am I," JB agreed, though something told him it wasn't from exhaustion.

They walked hand in hand out into the drawing room where refreshments sat on a long table and a few clusters of people chatted around it. At a smaller table in the back, three ladies sat together while one dealt a deck of cards. A breeze escaped from an open doorway and rustled the cards, much to the ladies' dismay.

JB made his way to the open door to close it shut, and Sam followed. But when he peered outside, he noticed a small private courtyard with a tiered fountain in the center and a stunning sky above. The night was crisp, but they were alone in this intimate space. JB wondered how many young couples had sought out this spot at past balls to escape chaperones and engage in "improper" behavior. "Improper," meaning hand-holding or simply being alone together in this period.

"Look at all the stars," whispered Sam.

JB didn't need to look; he much preferred their sparkling reflection in her eyes. "They're quite something."

Her breath escaped in white tendrils and mingled with his in the evening chill.

"Tell me," she said, "What did I miss at the last dance while I was loopy on that spiked wine?"

"Um…" JB wasn't sure how much to reveal. He certainly was not about to bring up Tony again, whoever that was. "You…said I smelled like licorice…" What?

To his surprise, this seemed to garner a positive reaction. She nodded avidly. "You do! All the time!"

He laughed. "It's probably from the Insta-pristine spray."

"Insta-what?"

He waved away the question. "I shouldn't really say much more. It's just a scented cleaning solution from my time."

"Why licorice?" She seemed positively tickled, as if she'd solved the world's biggest mystery.

"Mileva used to give me licorice root for my asthma…It's one of the few memories I've unlocked from my life as Tete, and the smell reminds me of her," he said. "Normally I have a hard time thinking of her as my mother, but licorice just…it brings me back." He struggled to explain it, the feeling of being so disconnected from Mileva, yet in that phantom memory, it was like she'd been there his whole life.

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard," said Sam. She lifted her hand to his face, slowly, her palm soft and warm on his cheek.

"Thank you for the dance," was all he could think to say. "I had a really good time."

"Me too," she said.

He felt the tip of her nose graze his, feather soft and gentle. He leaned a little closer. "Sam…"

"Hmm?" Her lashes dipped and she parted her lips ever so slightly.

"I…" JB shut his eyes, ready to close the distance.

Stop. What was he doing? He couldn't just forget why he was here, that he'd made an oath to protect time, even if it meant setting his personal desires aside. Even a disgraced time agent had to set boundaries.

And though it caused him almost physical pain, he forced himself to step back. Sam recoiled and the look on her face was enough to tear anyone to pieces. "Sam, I think—"

She backed away. "I'll meet you by the coaches," she murmured. And without another word, she disappeared inside.

Alone in the courtyard, JB slumped against the house and covered his face. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was wrong with him? If he'd only stayed in the ballroom; if he'd only maintained an ounce of restraint, he wouldn't be in this position.

The fountain gurgled and the wind swept a few crimson leaves off a jutting tree branch and into the water. He sighed.

"What have you done, my friend?" The voice startled him and he jerked around, elucidator at the ready.

"It's nearly eleven o'clock," said Poe.

"What?"

Poe pointed at the elucidator. "You pulled out your pocket watch."

"Right. Right, yes. Thank you." And maybe don't sneak up on people in the future. He cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

Poe shook his head.

JB squinted at Poe. "Then, why are you here?"

"Your…er…companion? I just saw her leave. She appeared quite distraught."

JB tried to ignore the pang in his gut. "Yes, I…there was a misunderstanding."

Poe nodded as though he understood. "I do not judge you. It is best in such circumstances to be truthful when you do not reciprocate a woman's feelings. To make her believe otherwise is simply cruel. I learned that lesson some years ago."

"This has nothing to do with how I feel," said JB. "I don't have a choice in the matter because…Never mind." He didn't owe Poe an explanation.

Poe did not press him, only said, "I'm sure your intentions are noble. Though I would advise you to find 'Mrs. Blossom' now. The streets are not safe for a lady on her own and she seemed earnest to depart at once."

Poe was right. JB found Sam halfway across the street from Mrs. Arnold's, walking in the direction of their hotel. "Sam!" he called. "Shouldn't we wait for a coach?"

She frowned at him, but did retreat to the sidewalk where he stood. "The coaches were taking too long. I just want to go back to the hotel and sleep."

"We should wait for a coach. One will be here soon."

Her eyes narrowed. "Will it? How can you be sure? I've gotten my hopes up too many times already. Just when you think a coach is going to stop for you, it takes off and leaves you disappointed."

"I'm sure they want to stop for you," JB argued. "But then they realize there are other factors involved. Maybe if they stop here, the schedule for all the other coaches will get messed up and even more people will be stranded."

She glared at him and her voice rose in pitch. "Well, they should have thought about that before slowing down in front of me. If they can't fully stop for me, I'd rather they'd not slow down at all."

Her gaze was intense, her voice fervent. JB knew she wasn't really talking about the coaches. He tried his best to calm her down. "Okay, we don't have to take a coach. I'll just walk back with you."

Sam seemed far from thrilled by this suggestion, but she huffed a short, "Fine," and resumed walking.

JB could see why Poe had warned against letting Sam walk back alone. The street lamps were yards apart and provided only small puddles of light, just a few feet around their base. Even tracer light would have proved more helpful on this wide, black street. Despite her indignation, Sam remained close at his side as they ventured through the void in silence.

They were mere blocks away from their hotel when a figure leapt out from the shadows, right arm extended threateningly. Sam screamed and clutched JB's elbow.

"Don't move," hissed a familiar low voice. JB squinted until he could make out a man's pale, mustached face in the dim light.

"Mr. Poe?" Sam gasped.

"Don't move," repeated Poe, " or I'll use this." And JB realized he was holding something thin and shiny in his outstretched hand—an elucidator.