Previously: The Girl, Part II
What a triumph that was!
Cordelia Patridge, dejected debutante, rose from the ashes of her own disappointments on the arm of Count Adrik Mironov, prancing about the dance floor like some fae creature, looking positively perfect in pink.
The Dowager Countess was present, of course, but did not dance. Typically, a widow of her great age would not be chosen to--
Queen Charlotte angrily crumpled up the latest Whistledown and tossed it aside in a huff.
"This a disaster," she mumbled breathlessly. "I had thought the prior ball a mere fluke, but it would appear this is becoming...something."
"Your Majesty, we do not know the man's intent," Lady Danbury assured her, adding an extra sugar to her tea and stirring with a golden spoon. "The girl caught him off guard; it would have been embarrassing if he dismissed her...not to mention, disastrous to her reputation."
"Oh please, Agatha," Charlotte snapped. She rarely called her old friend by name. "You know how these men are. A virgin in pink bats her eyes and suddenly they forget everything--everyone--that's actually important."