Jack's own eyebrows raised beneath his simple mask as he turned to face the unfamiliar voice. She was really quite stunning in her lilac gown and flaming curls. A slight pang of guilt at the admission pinched the widower's heart. Amelia had been the love of his life, and no one, no matter how lovely, could compete with that. Jack shoved the thought to the back of his mind and gave a polite bow.
"Bon soir, Mademoiselle. Comment allez vous?" Though Jack had learned a smattering of French during his school days, he had sadly forgotten most of it in the intervening years.
He looked down at his own attire and fumbled for a suitable explanation. A quick dig through a pocket produced a coin, and an idea. He set his cup down on a nearby table and executed a quick sleight of hand routine taught to him by his grandfather.
"I, Mademoiselle, am a magician. At least for this evening's festivities. Jack Doyle at your service."