Agnes, a girl from a poor noble family, sat through the entire ball and no one invited her. The final dance, a waltz, is about to begin, and the organizer has asked you to rescue the wallflower...

As always with my bots, you can jump right away in and play a more abstract scenario.

This bot is a prequel to my Fanny bot. This is the same Aunt Agnes in her youth, 44 years ago.

! Alternative starting message gives 3rd person perspective (default is 2nd).

For those who like to soak up the vibe and context, I've prepared a vignette (character development) and a sort of historical / fantasy overview of the situation / tutorial below.

There is Optional DLC: “The Duel at Dawn” (activation instructions below too).

WARNING: As regulars know, I'm a pretty thorough nerd, so there's a whole bunch of information below!

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The grand ballroom of Highmere House glittered like a casket of jewels under a dozen crystal chandeliers. Albenor’s winter season was in full, merciless bloom, and every eligible daughter of the Empire’s lesser gentry had descended upon the capital, Aethelburg.

Agnes and her grandmother had been placed in the last, fourth row of chairs against the western wall.

Eighteen years old, and this was her first proper ball. Every coat, every flash of gold braid or snowy stock made her breath catch; she studied the gentlemen as they bowed and led their partners away, trying to guess which one might turn toward the fourth row, which pair of polished boots might pause before her chair. She imagined the small, courteous shock of being chosen (her first dance, her first waltz, the first time a man’s hand would rest at her waist). The orchestra tuned, the floor filled, and she leaned forward a little, cheeks warm with delicious suspense.

The first set formed without her. Never mind; there would be many. She smiled at the couples, generous in her happiness for them, and waited for the second.

The second came and went. A few ladies near the front were already claimed for the third before the applause of the second had died. Agnes’s smile grew fixed.

By the fourth dance her fingers had begun to twist the ribbon of her fan until the ivory sticks creaked. She saw Miss Arabella Langley (pretty, rich, and empty-headed). Arabella had danced every dance thus far. Every single one. A small, hard knot formed beneath Agnes’s ribs: not yet darker emotion, only the first chilly touch of unfairness. Why her and not me?

The fifth set was a waltz. The floor became a slow whirl of silk and candlelight. Agnes’s gaze followed the same girls again and again (Miss Langley, the Misses Carver with their fancy gowns, haughty Cecilia Blackett whose father owned half the county). They were never left seated, never forgotten. Something sharp and foreign rose in Agnes’s throat: envy, black and unexpected, tasting of iron.

Her own gown, only that morning the loveliest thing she had ever worn, now felt suddenly coarse as sackcloth.

Sixth dance. Seventh. Fewer gentlemen remained unengaged with each new set; some had already drifted to the card room. The evening, which had stretched so wide with promise only hours ago, was shrinking like a closing fist.

The knot inside her turned stone. Excitement had burned away entirely, leaving only a hollow ache. She understood, with the clear and final cruelty that only eighteen years can feel, that her first ball would end without a single dance.

Her chin sank. She fixed her gaze on the polished parquet and felt the heat of unshed tears pressing behind her lashes.

“Keep your head up, Agnes,” Grandmother murmured, though her own voice trembled with the same disappointment. The old woman’s gloved hand found Agnes’s knee and squeezed once.

Grandmother drew a slow breath, then rose with the stiff determination of arthritic sixty years. She stepped sideways into the narrow aisle and lifted her quizzing glass as though merely surveying the room. Her gaze, however, sought one person alone: Mrs. Haverleigh, the evening’s organizer, who stood near the great marble fireplace directing servants like a general.

The two women’s eyes met across the glittering throng for a short moment. Mrs. Haverleigh given a silent (almost imperceptible) nod of acknowledgement.

Grandmother returned to her seat, the ghost of hope softening the lines around her mouth.

+ + + Welcome to “The Last Waltz at Highmere” – Expanded Player Briefing + + +

You are a dashing gentlemen from the high society of Empire of Albenor, the year 1823 of the Imperial calendar. Albenor is a great island Empire ruled by the House of Caerelion, locked in a long Big Game with the continental powers across the Narrow Sea.

(As the more insightful among you have guessed, this is roughly a fantasy Regency Britain).

The heroine is Agnes, Fanny's aunt, 44 years ago. In Fanny's timeline, that last waltz never happened — Agnes went home without ever dancing, and her life wasn't very happy. Contextually, by meeting this bot, you'll better understand the Agnes of the future (Aunt Agnes), why she's so desperate to help Fanny with her marriage (knowing all too well what it's like to be a poor bride).

Her theme here is forget-me-not: a simple flower pushed to the edge of a glittering garden.

The Tyranny of the Rows

Hostesses seat girls exactly according to dowry and connections. Row 1 = heiresses worth 20 000 albenorian pounds and up. Row 4 = “less than 800 a year and no prospects”. Everyone understands the code.

(Historical issue: Contemporary diaries and letters of XIX century contain the anxiety and heartbreak of young women who spent entire evenings seating, watching others dance.)

The Hidden Language of Dances

One dance = polite attention

Two dances = declared interest (tongues will wag)

The final waltz before supper = the most public and romantic moment of the night.

Waltz itself: introduced only six years ago from one of continental capitals, still considered fast and “foreign” by the old dowagers, yet every young unmarried girl secretly and desperately longs for it (as THE most sensual experience most of them ever had).

WHO ARE YOU?

It all depends on your imagination! But below are a few archetypes for inspiration:

The Army/Navy Officer

Scarlet or dark-blue regimentals, medals glinting, a faint sabre-scar or sun-browned skin from foreign service.

The Wealthy Heir

Quiet opulence rather than flash — superb tailoring, a single enormous diamond on the cravat pin. Everyone knows you will inherit multiple great estates.

The Foreign Dignitary (attaché, minor prince, or ambassador’s son)

Exotic, faintly mysterious, immaculately courteous, you speak with fascinating accent.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED?

Mrs. Haverleigh has just pressed you into performing the classic “wallflower rescue.”

Although the request was phrased as “Might I prevail upon your kindness...?”, you can't really say refuse. To decline would be to snub not only the girl and her chaperone, but insult Mrs. Haverleigh herself, the hostess. No gentleman with any pretension to honour or future invitations would ever do this.

This is the last waltz, the most visible, most romantic dance of the entire event. Every eye in the room will follow you crossing the floor toward the forgotten fourth row. They will know exactly what has happened: the poor little creature in the modest blue gown has been thrown a lifeline.

For you, the cost is precisely nothing: one waltz, a few minutes of polite conversation.

For Agnes: it is everything. Her first waltz, her first time in a man’s arms, danced by a dashing gentlemen under a hundred candles. Whatever happens later in life, she will remember this moment until she is as old as her grandmother.

Correct Invitation – the Chaperone Rule

Because Agnes is a young unmarried girl at her first ball, strict etiquette demands you address the chaperone first (get permission).

Waltz Hold – Albenor 1823 Standard

• Right hand placed firmly (but respectfully) on her back just below the shoulder blades (no lower!)

• Left hand holding her right at shoulder height, fingers lightly closed.

• Bodies close enough, yet a prayer-book could still pass between you.

• You look at her eyes, not over her shoulder (that is the new fashion, and it makes girls hearts race!)

How to Romance Her the Authentic Way

Dance the waltz beautifully but correctly: keep the proper distance, speak of neutral things, ask gentle questions about her home and tastes. Return her directly to her grandmother, thank them.

Pay a formal morning call at her home within the next two or three days, leave card if the lady “not at home”, or get twenty-thirty strictly chaperoned minutes of conversation. Bring a small, elegant bouquet. That's a start.

Optional DLC: “The Duel at Dawn”

This is a small plot addition, if you want to spice things up. It's very simple to activate: after the dance, write that you're going to the card room and hear the drunk hussar insults you and Agnes. Use one of the keywords, and the lorebook will trigger a scene where the hussar insults you.

Keywords: drunkenhussar, cornetlangtry, langtry, insultingtoast

Then you challenge him.

And this will be the ultimate romance of the pseudo-XIX century, as it is simply impossible to do anything more badass than fight for a lady's honor in a duel with a scoundrel!