Ada sat uncomfortably in her chair; the shift from the freedom and ease of her men's costume into the restriction of the layers and contraptions of women's clothes was always difficult after a show. She re-arranged the dusky pink silk of her skirt, sipped her wine and tried not to sit calmly as she looked around the room.
She'd been in the saloon, now, for more than an hour, since half-way through the second act. Mister Clarendon had handed her a glass of champagne and introduced her around to a small group of men with ruddy cheeks, and twittering ladies on their arms. She stayed and spoke with them for a few moments, answered their questions and laughed at their jokes. But she felt ill at ease. She was never quite certain she was relating as she should, as a woman to a man. And other women were often put off by her presence in such circumstances. In trousers she was safe, an undefined thing, untouchable and distant on the stage. In a dress, she was just an actress, and actresses were not to trusted amongst men. She'd made her excuses and slipped away to a table.
She was just lighting a cigarette when a low murmur traveled around the room. It wasn't at all ladylike, she knew, but they were in a saloon, and she was an actress after all. As she shook out the match, she turned to see what all the gossiping was about .
A tall, slim and elegant man stood poised at the door. Ada supposed he would be quite attractive if he didn't look so serious. She drew back on her cigarette and then exhaled, considering the man as he crossed the room to greet his associates.Clearly, he was of some renown and his impeccable tailoring spoke of wealth, but she couldn't recall ever having seen him before.