Isabela was nervous in her own way; she had no idea what to expect from men in this age. Of course, some things never changed, but some definitely did. This man was charming, and obviously had a lot more class than most of the louts she consorted with. She'd worn what was for her a long skirt, just past her knees, in a khaki sort of color, with a gold collar. Her hair was down, and she'd found shoes with a heel, though they were less boots and more ... sandals. She'd practiced walking in them, at least.
She came in the door, having port-keyed a few moments early, waiting to make a grand entrance. She walked in a bit further and saw him in profile, standing at the bar. What was he wearing? It had no form or definition, and he clearly wasn't wearing any weapon of any size ... but whatever it was, it was cut to flatter him. "Hello." Isabela managed a smile that she hoped was calm. "I hope I'm not late."