Henrietta had practiced endlessly within the confines of the Pendergast School of Young Roses to ensure she was always graceful. The lessons had included walking, dancing, moving one's fan about, holding a parasol, eating, or lifting one's skirts out of a mud puddle. They had not included falling, and so Henri did that rather ungracefully. The first part of her to hit the stair was her right breast, which hurt terribly, and the rest of her was not far behind. Her corset jabbed into the top of her pelvic bone. Her fan went flying and was lost to the stairs somewhere below. She had been wearing a necklace, which had swung up and hooked itself over her nose.

"No," she said in response to the man's question, though she suspected that much was obvious. "I've fallen down the stairs."

Not the most profound observation, but he had asked... And Henrietta had too many things on her mind to spare a thought for how to tactfully answer a stupid question. Things like: how was she going to get up off the stairs? And... no, mainly it was just how she was going to get up off the stairs. She supposed if she scooted in a circle so that her legs were further down the steps than she was, she might be able to stand up. She was certainly never going to manage it while tottering on one step with her feet spread out above her, unless she could reach the railing from here — but that would involve some scooting, too, and having to scoot anywhere with a strange man watching was — well, it was not the sort of behavior Mrs. Abercrombie would expect from a graduate of the Pendergast School, suffice to say.