Though she hardly ever participated in the Season unless there was some miraculous break in her work schedule, Tilda had specifically planned to attend the Season Close at the Sanditon. She'd seen Mr. Scamander far more often than she thought she would have in the weeks following her nearly leveling him with the oak door, and she was entirely pleased about it. For the first time in her life, she had genuinely sought out her mother's advice on clothes; they'd even made a shopping trip to purchase her a fine, pale blue number that was sure to set off her coloring nicely.

The night had set off wonderfully; Tilda swore she hadn't had this much fun at the Coming Out Ball either, though the fact that she'd danced quite a lot with Mr. Scamander likely had something to do with it. The perks of being at the Season's Close meant that there were plenty of public terraces connecting to the ballroom, which allowed them to retire briefly. Breathless, Tilda gripped the railing, raising her forehead to the breeze that was blowing softly against them. She turned to Mr. Scamander and smiled, rotating slightly to face him. "Quite," she breathed, casting her gaze to the horizon where there seemed to be dark clouds congregating. "I don't think I've been to a ball this lively in quite a long time."

She turned back to him, smiling. "Are you sure your foot is alright, Mr. Scamander? I'm afraid I may have gotten a bit too clumsy in that third dance!"

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