Don Juan got a cocktail and found a conversation to insert himself into, though it was mostly cover; his attention was on the exit of the mirror maze, trying to track Mrs. Bythesea out of it when she emerged. He flitted around the ballroom, shifting his focus superficially so that he wasn't observed to be too keen on any particular person... particularly given that there had already been some rumor to the effect that her husband wasn't keen on their playing croquet (Don Juan could hardly imagine his response had he known what else they'd gotten up to that weekend — and he had no desire to find himself on the other end of a duel challenge once again).

He drifted. He got another cocktail. Mrs. Bythesea had drifted out of his field of vision, and he hadn't been paying close enough attention to see where she had gone. Left the party early, or only lurking behind one of the pillars in the ballroom? He didn't know, which was vexing, but he wasn't going to let it spoil his evening if she had gone home early. He got another cocktail and turned his attention more fully to the party around him, searching out someone else he could flirt with.

There was a well-dressed woman — stunning, really — hovering on her own near the edge of a crowd. She looked out of place. Ripe for him to swoop in and offer her some reprieve from the pain of being the odd person out. He got another cocktail — they were easy to drink, and he'd lost track of which one this was. They went down too easy to keep count.

"Lovely dress," he purred as he sidled up next to her.

---