Vera felt a delightful warmth spread through her as Samuel turned fully towards her, his back now firmly to Mr. Travers. There was something refreshingly different about him—his manner, his conversation—it all intrigued her.

“Thank you, Mr. Griffith,” she replied, her tone equally warm. “I must say, your company has made this soirée far more enjoyable than I anticipated.” As he spoke about the evening, Vera found herself nodding in agreement. The predictability of the event—the endless waltzes, the polite but dull conversation—was all too familiar. His suggestion of something more adventurous struck a chord with her, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly as he glanced at the dance floor.

“Ah, Paris,” she mused, her eyes brightening at the memory. “Indeed, I have had the pleasure of visiting. My grandmother winters there, you see, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the city.” She paused, recalling the vibrant energy of Paris, so different from the carefully controlled world of London society. “Paris is... exhilarating. The art, the fashion, the music—it all has a life of its own. And the dances... they’re nothing like this.” She gestured lightly towards the dancers, her smile tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

“My grandmother always said that Paris has a way of making you feel truly alive, and I believe she’s right. There’s a freedom there, a sense of possibility that’s hard to find elsewhere.” Vera’s gaze drifted for a moment, lost in thought, before returning to Samuel, her eyes sparkling with shared mischief. “So yes, I’ve danced in Paris, Mr. Griffith. It’s a far cry from these waltzes, I assure you.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “There’s something wonderfully liberating about Parisian dances—they’re not bound by the same rules, the same expectations. One can lose oneself in the music, the movement, without worrying about what others might think.”