The decision to meet with Wanda had been an impulsive one, but if this was all a great mistake, Caspar Leyton had already made it. The die had been cast the moment that he told her the truth about his talent. It was possible – unlikely, but possible – that it had all been a great lie, and he would arrive on her doorstep to be surrounded by the Registry men of this world, and arrested. He didn't want to believe that, though, and there was a small voice within him saying that even if the worst did happen, it wouldn't matter. His family wouldn't be shamed, here, because nobody had heard of them. As far as he could tell, nobody had even heard of his country, let alone of Lord Brannenford from Hanteshire.
It was a thought that alarmed him, but at the same time felt liberating.
There was no ambush on the doorstep. Caspar was dressed in his usual attire, black frock coat over his suit, choosing a waistcoat and cravat in vivid blue. He wore a hat, which he removed as he entered the house, and then he gave his hostess a friendly smile. 'Wanda? I'm Caspar Leyton. Delighted to meet you.' This was followed up with a quick but elegant bow.
None of this was normal for Caspar. In the society he grew up in, there'd have been someone to make the introductions, and he wouldn't have been left alone with a lady. In the more liberal atmosphere of the more bohemian streets of Calleva, he still wouldn't have called a woman by her first name upon their first meeting, and she wouldn't be dressed like a man. It was going to take him some time to get accustomed to the sight of women in trousers. But he was willing, for the most part, to enter into what seemed to him a grand experiment in radicalism. Some of it, he even liked.