Lady Gwendolyn spotted Mr. Fisher walk in and had an odd caprice to go over and say hello. She had heard the most alarming rumor that Emilie Ashford had dined at his townhouse. Unchaperoned. Naturally, it was no concern of hers that Emilie was flouting convention as was her wont, but it irked her that Emilie probably now knew more than Gwendolyn about a new and interesting arrival to London society. Besides, Mr. Fisher was good-looking and entertaining and Gwendolyn was bored.
Still, it would not do to go over and shove her conversation on Mr. Fisher, so she carefully loosened the pins holding up her Kashmir shawl and walked over to go get a glass of punch. The shawl, with a discreet tug, fell loose and pooled behind her at Mr. Fisher’s feet.
“Oh, pray excuse me,” Lady Gwendolyn said, bending down to pick it up. “I- oh, Mr. Fisher! What a pleasant surprise!”