The Game

The Game - that was what they called it. And rightly so. Every glance in the wrong direction, every inclination of the head, every shift of weight from one foot to the other; each was laden with intrigue; each could mean instant victory or defeat. Tactically chosen outfits and legions of supporters had been prepared months in advance, and the players had been drilled in the rules and stratagems since childhood. The battlefield was an ancient one, the game itself more of a rite of passage than a simple event. A single hair out of place could get someone killed. Quite literally.          

Celeste was aware of this somewhere in the back of her mind, but as she traversed the rich marble stairs she was more preoccupied with her plans for the evening than the consequences of failure. In any case, it wouldn’t be her who bit the bullet if things went pear-shaped, it would be one of her attendants. She laughed silently at the idea, and dismissed any thought of anything going wrong. The evening’s activities had been in the pipeline for months and her daddy would never allow anything to happen that would reflect badly upon her. It was simply implausible, no, impossible that anything might happen.

         She negotiated a huge mahogany doorway and entered her private chambers, sniffing at the cold air. The Dauphin had such a terribly draughty residence. One might even think that he couldn’t afford its upkeep; she must remember to make inquiries into his personal finances. The upholstery was rather tasteless too, upon closer examination. Real purple drapes and carpet were reserved by law for the king alone, but many of the aristocracy furnished their homes with the next best thing, a deep blue approaching indigo. It was the oldest trick in the book, and Celeste wouldn’t have expected her host to stoop to such low fashion, but then, he had always been a little strange. Her family would never be that vulgar, she thought to herself. They used only the finest peach velvet to curtain their windows. She entered her bedchamber.

         The room was a veritable hive of activity, she noted approvingly. Servants were struggling with the folds of her ball gown, fine-tuning the length of the sash, polishing the pearls. There was a team battling to control her wig for the evening, powdering and trimming, and another ordering the folds of her fan to perfection. In the centre of everything stood the dress itself. The ultimate in fine taste, her mother had chosen a cunningly simple garment, of pink and silver satin trimmed in red lace. There were white frills on the shoulder (they looked just like doilies, her mother had remarked, beaming excitedly) and silver tassels adorned the hem. The crowning addition was a huge pair of thin steel wings, plated with silver. She had been exercising for the last month and a half just so she could wear them without seeming to strain under the weight. The sleeves of the dress had even been specially adjusted by a master tailor to disguise her unsightly muscles. It was really quite simple, and that was why it was a stroke of genius. There were no troublesome doves to be released from the wig, which despite looking beautiful could be notoriously unreliable in their “egestion routines”, as the tailor had remarked, nor were there many secret compartments or surprises in the bodice (Well, some might say so, but they would promptly be rewarded with a slap to the face). It was cheap too, which had pleased her father (who had been slightly vulgar, talking about the cost), at only a few thousand florins. The only unusual feature the dress had was the addition of the wings, and by the standards set at the Dauphin’s previous court balls, they were about the bare minimum that one could get away with. It was so simple that everyone would notice her and be outraged, and she loved the idea. She would be the talk of the court, a sweet angel in the midst of an ocean of ugly tarts. A sly smile appeared on her face. A young servant approached her, and she turned.

“Mademoiselle, your gown is almost prepared. All that remains is for you to give us your approval.”

She had never seen the girl before, but that was to be expected. Her father had drafted in servants to court from the outlying estates in order that the occasion might run smoothly, and they had been working round the clock to perfect the finest details.

“I am sure it shall be sufficient. I have inspected the gown and unless you have made any significant changes, you may dress me now.” She replied in a haughty tone, as was expected of her when talking to one of a lower class, but inside she felt like a little girl again, trying on dresses as tailors ran left and right, pandering to her every need. She stood on the gilded stool and held her arms out to either side. First came the tight petticoat, made of a cool blue silk so as not to overheat under the rest of the outfit, which itself had a built-in ventilation system. Then they fitted a carved pannier around her waist, fastening it at intervals onto a heavy-duty belt which was almost as wide as it was long, in order to support the huge sea of fabric which made up the dress proper. These bands of wood would hold her skirts out either side, and make her at least three times as wide as any man attending the ball. Other than the petticoat, the undergarments were hugely vulgar, Celeste thought, but her mother had assured her that this wouldn’t be an issue, as no one who mattered would ever see them. Once the servants had laid down the groundwork, they moved onto the dress itself. It took six of the slight women (for it would have been outrageous scandal to have male attendants in the dressing-chamber) to lift, and a further four to hold it in place as it was pinned onto the frame with pins designed to look like silver roses. Next, pleats were folded and attached to the gown, tumbling down to the silver tassels on the hem. There was a split down the side of one leg so that if the worst came to the worst, she could even show an inch or two of petticoat. It would be scandalous, but it might just win over the one she was trying to catch. The fichu came next, which was a sort of ruff but with an added pearls and Indian diamonds. Ever so simple, she thought delightfully.

Twenty minutes later, all that remained were the wings and the wig. These were potentially the most dangerous parts of the entire outfit, and extreme caution was taken not to scratch the wings as they were lowered into the brackets sewn into the back of Celeste’s ball gown via a small crane. Maids scurried around her, polishing the silver plating. As they were putting on the huge wig, one ran past holding a mirror and she caught a flash of her reflection, looking like nothing she had ever seen before. She snatched the mirror off the girl and took a closer look. The hubbub suddenly ceased, an unnatural silence falling as the room waited with baited breath for her reaction. She considered herself carefully. Her makeup looked immaculate, making her face look narrower and paler than usual, emphasising her cheekbones and giving her a sultry but dignified appearance, and her newly-plucked eyebrows arched high over light blue eyes framed by the highest-quality eyeliner money could buy. Her wig was magnificent. Pure white, with a small silver headpiece fitted into the front, it stood over two feet high and almost as wide. She turned her head so view it from profile, moving slowly to avoid any of the powder falling out. The view from either side was just as impressive. Her team had surpassed itself, and she allowed for a small smile in gratitude.

“Let’s go.” She whispered, and the spell was broken.

         Her handmaidens hurried into formation around her, moving furniture and other attendants out of the way as she manoeuvred herself into line with the door. She felt almost as if she had been reborn as a goddess, and as she took her first tentative steps towards the lacquered doors, balancing her wig and precariously keeping the wings in position, she wondered what this new existence might have in store for her. If the night went well, then it would mean prestige, wealth and security. If not… Well, she couldn’t really imagine it. She wouldn’t let herself imagine it. Instead she turned her mind to her objective, the “target” of her game plan. He was young, not yet thirty, and the heir to a dukedom to rival even the estates of the King. She had only met him once, but she had seen numerous portraits of him and would recognise him easily. Most of the young duchesses, marchionesses and princesses had never met the great heirs they were aiming to ensnare, but that didn’t matter in the end. The whole point behind the Game was to catch someone worth a lot, someone with landed estates or a colonial empire, someone who could cater to their needs and provide them with whatever they wanted for the rest of their lives. All of the players went into it knowing who they were aiming for, and Celeste was aware that there was none more highly regarded at court than her man. Except perhaps the Dauphin himself, she remarked inwardly, but he was well-known as a miser. She could never face such a Spartan existence with that man, in his various draughty palaces and his awfully common servants. She had told her parents so, and they had agreed readily. So it was decided that she would go for the duke instead. She had been in practice for tonight for a year, learning all the etiquette of the Game, all the subtle signals and hints that would be dropped, all the warning signs which the other players would display as she closed in on the duke. It had been hard work, though traditionally a year wasn’t long, she thought. Some of her rivals in there would supposedly have been in training for at least five. She snorted with contemptuous laughter. Five years? Now that would just be silly.

         She turned a corner and arrived at the doors to the ballroom. They stood heavy and imposing, as if built to contain anything that may be unleashed within, and in a sense they had been. She heard music coming from inside, and a thin crack of yellow light came from under the door. She turned to her handmaidens and nodded. They looked back seriously. She had spent a lot of time with them, knowing some for years, and almost said a few words before they entered. But then she realised that if anyone were to see her associating with them, she would be the laughing stock of the whole court. Instead, she turned and threw open the doors.

         A sight met her eyes to take her breath away. The room was more like a great hall, with immense silver chandeliers and a full orchestra playing at one end. Every spare inch of porphyry floor was occupied by a young member of the nobility, laughing and talking excitedly. Gowns in every colour imaginable graced perfect bodies, and a thousand fluttering fans made the candles flicker. Even as she surveyed the field, a wig caught fire on the far right hand side, and a pretty margravine ran from the room, shouting as her attendants beat at the fire with their tunics. A harsh ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and Celeste smiled herself. The first casualty of the evening, and may there be many more. With this in mind, she plunged into the crowd.

         It was closer to a riot than a party of any sort. Fools danced up and down, weaving in between knots of people with ease. Every now and then she would come across a nobleman or woman, passed out on the floor in a dark puddle of what she hoped was wine. Newly-formed couples headed off to convenient side chambers, and incognito servants passed messages between one another. The women shot warning looks at her if she got too close to their target men, and these same men looked her up and down, calculating and judging. She shivered. It was subtle, and anyone not looking for signals would have been fooled, but every single person in the room had at least a basic grasp of the etiquette, and she was wary not to get drawn into any unwanted conflict. As she manoeuvred herself deeper and deeper into the crowd, Celeste came up against more extreme resistance. As she walked past one dress, a secret fold in the back of it opened up and hundreds of tiny shards of glass tinkled over the floor, blocking the way. It was a fairly standard trick, though, and the reinforced soles of her shoes crunched over the trap without difficulty. As another competitor’s wig opened up to release twelve hidden doves, she knew better than to look up at the distraction. Evidently not everyone was as well-trained as she, however, as she heard a scream and looked round to see a duchess’ skirts fall away to the floor, having been stealthily sheared off by a rival’s servants as she watched the white birds soar into the rafters.

         An unusually tight knot of people blocked her way; there was only one explanation for it. She had reached the Dauphin, the centre of the chaos and their illustrious host. She heard his flamboyant laugh and made sure to skirt round his group, hiding her face from him with her fan. If she were to get drawn into them it would be disastrous. She continued on as fast as her wings would allow, in the knowledge that the duke would have to be somewhere close by. Suddenly she caught sight of a flash of shining blonde hair, and recognised it straight away. It was him! Making a beeline for him with her servants practically jogging to keep up, she steeled her resolve. Then the blonde hair disappeared, and she found her path blocked by a huge scarlet mountain. She looked up and saw a cardinal standing in front of her, vestments in disgraceful disarray and skullcap slightly askew. He slurped from a goblet of red wine and addressed her through glistening fat pink lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, a dribble of wine ran down the folds of his double chin, and he wiped it off on a vermilion sleeve.

“Mademoiselle Celeste! It has been so long!” He exclaimed.

“Indeed it has, father.” She replied, smiling with the least possible enthusiasm she could get away with. This man was well-known for his lechery and had probably just returned from an engagement in one of the side-chambers that she couldn’t bear to think about.

“You were only a child when I last saw you, my dear. Now it seems you have blossomed into a beautiful rose. I almost regret becoming a man of God and foregoing such temptation.” He looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl, and she smiled back sweetly.

She considered a line of attack. “How have your estates been keeping recently? I can hardly remember them, but I do remember when we visited, they were most beautiful. And vast.” It was an incredibly unsubtle reference to the universally known fact that the cardinal’s lands had recently been halved in size following a dispute with the King’s cousin, but she couldn’t afford subtlety with this man. She was rewarded by a flash of consternation across his face, which he quickly covered up.

“The management of my lands is going excellently, thank you. Indeed the south is rather beautiful this time of year. Although I must say, the peasants are rather repulsive. They’ve been demanding I decrease the price of bread this past winter. Naturally I pretended to consider it.” He appeared to regain confidence with this statement, but now Celeste had seen her way out.

“Bread? Ha! Let them eat cake.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of her servants slip off anonymously into the crowds. If she could just hold him off for another minute or two…

“Cake?” The cardinal seemed slightly taken aback by this unusual sentiment. “Indeed, if they’ve been well this long, why should they not live as their ancestors? Indeed, the Lord tells us “whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body”.”

Out of the body? Not in your case, she thought silently.

He continued, “But we were talking about my estates, were we not? Yes, they are particularly beautiful at this time of year. The grounds are full of game and the sun stays long in the sky each day.”

This was a dangerous subject to broach. She had mentioned his lands first, unthinkingly, and so now social etiquette dictated that should he extend an invitation to her to visit in the future, she would be expected to accept. She could feel him building up to it, and her mind raced as he worked towards making the offer. Where had that servant got to?

“In fact, I have the most perfect idea ma cherie!” He feigned delight with his spontaneous idea. Here it was, she thought. There was no way out. “Let us not waste time simply talking of my beautiful lands. They really must be experienced first-hand, in my opinion. Why don’t you come and -”

All of a sudden, he emitted a high-pitched squeal and dropped his goblet. Celeste neatly sidestepped the splash of wine, and in looking down caught sight of a piebald rat running out of the bottom of the wide robe the cardinal was wearing. A shriek went up from at least half a dozen other nearby members of the party, and the huge man jumped into the air. Celeste knew how to play her part. Gasping, she covered her mouth, a look of shocked disgust on her brow. She glared up at the cardinal, who was astounded, not having worked out what had happened, nor having recovered from the shock. She could see his thought process in his expression, as he cast about himself looking for someone or something to use to escape this nefarious set-up, finding no-one, then eventually deciding to cut his losses and surrender. He turned tail and ran off into the depths of the crowd, waddling between surprised party guests. In his place stood the servant who had broken off into the mass of people.

         She let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. Had she not found a way to mention the cake, which was, of course, one of many codes they had worked out weeks before the event, she would have been forced to accept the repulsive cardinal’s offer. She would have to be more careful in their next encounter, wherever that might be.

         Celeste looked again for the duke. One of her attendants pulled at her arm; she looked round and caught sight of him past a group of giggling drunken aristocrats. She should have punished her servant for touching her so casually, but she was too relieved to care. Everyone was acting strangely, she thought to herself, and instead of scolding the girl, she negotiated the crowd and finally reached her quarry. He was standing with her back to her, laughing loudly and talking to two other women, both of whom she recognised. One was a foreign princess, beautiful and elegant, with wide grey eyes and rich brown hair, but her headdress was clearly outdated and it was clear she didn’t fully understand the subtleties of the Game. Furthermore, her posture was all wrong, giving the impression of too much confidence. She was overplaying it to try to mimic the way everyone else carried themselves, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. She had probably just been sent by her family to learn about civilised culture, thought Celeste, for there was no court in the world as tasteful and advanced as this. So nothing to worry about there. The real threat came from a widower, a dowager duchess who would be experienced in the intricacies of the process, and Celeste would have to tread carefully against her. For some reason the duchess looked surprised at Celeste’s arrival, but she didn’t have time to work out why. She quickly formulated a plan and then joined the fray.

         “My dear lord duke!” She beamed and positioned herself on his right hand side, so the duchess was in the middle and the princess to the left. She tested the water with an opening gambit: “It has been so long! I can’t remember when it was exactly, but we were only children, no?”

“Mademoiselle Celeste,” he nodded, “Too long indeed. It has been, what, twelve years?” He pretended to rack his brains for the answer. “Yes, in fact I believe it will be twelve and a half years next month.” So he knew perfectly well how long it had been. This was good, and as an indication of the duke’s intentions it couldn’t have been clearer. She was the new favourite, and the older duchess bristled threateningly.

Celeste decided to push her advantage. Reaching into a hidden pocket in the deep folds of her attire, she produced a small fan, tastefully decorated with precious stones and gold leaf. Only half-following the conversation now, she waited a minute until her rivals were settled down again following her entrance. Her opportunity to strike came when the duke made a joke about the Dauphin’s taste in women (or lack thereof). Feigning laughter, she fluttered her fan violently, and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of the young princess suddenly blinking distractedly. She was clearly trying not to draw attention to it, but Celeste flicked the fan again and she let out a quiet exclamation of displeasure. She surreptitiously moved her hand up to her eyes and gave them a quick rub. Celeste willed her on. It would only make things worse. One of her opponents was almost taken care of.

“What are you smiling at, Celeste?” The friendly duke suddenly asked, looking at her with an expression of amused interest.

“I – umm – I was actually just-”

She was saved by the princess, who suddenly collapsed into a coughing fit beside her. The duke stared on, stunned into silence as she bent double and retched, her eyes streaming and her nose running. Her servants stood in terrified uncertainty, not knowing whether to get involved. Celeste took a moment to cast a sidelong glance at her older rival. The duchess stood impassively, watching with a vague look of detached amusement. As expected, she had taken the antidotes to all the poisons known to be used in the Game, as had Celeste herself, and she was unaffected. But this foreign princess didn’t know the rules and had suffered the consequences. Poor girl, Celeste chuckled to herself. She really shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and now she would never be able to show her face at court again. At least the powder was non-lethal, Celeste reasoned. She’d heard stories of far nastier stuff than this particular recipe being used in past events. The princess’ servants finally rallied and moved forward to pick her up, supporting her, still coughing violently, and half-carried half-dragged her away into the throng, all salty cheeks and running makeup.

Now that that amateur princess was gone, Celeste could move onto tackling the true obstacle between her and her prize; the dowager duchess. She racked her brain for scandalous ammunition to use against this woman, any dirty laundry she could bring out to air in front of the duke. She held the duchess off with some pleasant conversation about the price of lace, but she knew that her competitor was just biding her time, gathering her own gossip to weave maliciously into the conversation. Her stomach lurched suddenly; did the duchess know about the stablehand affair of last year? If any news of the incident had escaped the family’s wide-ranging attempts to stifle rumours, she would be finished! For a member of the clergy to have a couple of women on the side was one thing, but a young woman of her status and a mere peasant boy? It was unthinkable.

“Are you alright, darling?” Celeste started; the duchess had quickly picked up on her unease. Celeste hadn’t even realized she was frowning so openly. She made a decision quickly, and stepped it up a gear. If she was going to take down this veteran of courtly intrigue, she would have to pull out all the stops.

“I was actually just taking a look at your outfit this evening. Where did you get hold of it? I should love to have one made for my mother; women of your age always look so serene in that deep shade of black.”

Bringing attention to the duchess’ age was a declaration of total war, and they both knew it. The duchess offered her a way out before accepting the challenge.

“But my dear mademoiselle, this is not black!” She exclaimed, “This is the richest purple velvet that one can buy in Mont Royal, as is only fitting considering my family’s heritage as the cousins to the royal line.”

It was a good attempt, reminding Celeste of their relative positions within society, but Celeste wasn’t going to back down now. She fired her second volley, before the true battle began.

“Ahh, cousins. Of course, I had forgotten.” She paused for effect. “But am I mistaken in thinking that it is only legitimately-conceived branches of the royal family who are permitted to wear purple?”

She heard a sharp intake of breath from the duchess, and what could perhaps have been a disguised snigger from the duke. Celeste knew she could expect no mercy now, having dragged the question of the duchess’ family honour out into the open and publicly offended it. Had she been a man, she had no doubts that she would have been challenged there and then to a duel over the matter, but this was the Game they were playing, and the rules here were different.

“I wouldn’t know. My family has never had reason to investigate such matters.” The duchess retorted haughtily, but the blush on her face spoke otherwise. “In fact, perhaps you yourself have better insight into these affairs.” She looked pointedly down at Celeste’s midriff, and suddenly Celeste knew what was coming, and was entirely defenceless. All around them, the great Game was in full swing. Left, right and centre players were falling to barbed words and sharp looks, or even less savoury tactics, but Celeste was oblivious to them. The future of the ruling classes was being thrashed out in side chambers and behind curtains, deals were being brokered and contracts agreed, but Celeste was unaware of this. All she could concentrate on was how to get away before the duchess could bring her next shot to bear. But it was too late. She delivered the coup-de-grace.

“I hear your stable-hands can be rather a... handful.” The duchess tittered at her own pun. “Might I be too forward in presuming there is a second reason for your wearing such a loose-fitting gown?”

Celeste felt her heart lurch, as if it had just fallen out and into the duchess’ waiting hands, which now proceeded to crush it with relish. A brutal smile formed on her lined features, and Celeste was repulsed by the thought that anyone could be so cruel.

Had she not once been young as well? Everybody did ill-considered things, Celeste thought, everyone acted on impulse once in a while. She had been caught out in a weak moment, and now her rash, youthful actions were being used against her. She thought back to that day. It had been as she stabled her horse after an early evening ride the previous summer. She swallowed painfully, remembered the musty hay smell and the dappled light falling through the eaves, the look the stable-hand had given her, and the deep blush she was sure she had fallen into. A hard lump formed in the back of her throat and her vision blurred. She was just a girl, who had never had contact with anyone outside her immediate family and their personal chambermaids. Why should she not be allowed to live like others her age, and indulge in her passions? She hadn’t considered the further implications and... complications... that might have arisen from a rash act, committed furtively in a secret place out of sight of her parents’ spies and informants. She was trying desperately not to cry now, breathing deeply and fluttering her fan erratically. She could see the look of confused consternation on the idiot duke’s face, and she tried to say something but no words would come out. She coughed hard and bent double, choking on her attempt to speak and trying to hide the state she was in. The duke started forward, taking half a step in her direction then stopping.

“Are you ok, my dear?”

But the question came not from him, but from her right. She turned to see the duchess standing over her, a look of amused satisfaction plastered over her overly made-up face, leering down and talking to her in a voice laden with false concern and sarcastic sympathy. She recognised the same expression that she had been wearing when the princess was removed from contention in the Game. Celeste’s anger turned to cold hate. She remembered why she had forsaken everything, been in training for so long, in such solitude. It was to gain a better life, a life this woman was preventing her from achieving. And she would not go down without a fight. She was determined to take this old hag down with her, and she had one last option.

She straightened up and swapped her fan to her left hand, before sweeping it surreptitiously downwards, signalling her attendant to begin the manoeuvre. The attendant, a young girl barely out of her teens, had been chosen especially so as not to arouse too much suspicion, but it was too late to worry about that anyway. She sidled forward and whispered in Celeste’s ear. This had the dual effect of unnerving the opponent and allowing the communication of tactical information between servant and mistress.

The message came through: “Ask the lady about monsieur le cardinal.”

She made the collection immediately, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. The look of surprise on the duchess’s face as she had arrived was suddenly explained. Celeste was now truly amazed at how smooth a player of the Game this woman was. But then Celeste’s expression changed as she grinned through her streaming make-up. It was time for this has-been to move aside. There was a new player in court.

“My dress? Well, your old friend the cardinal found my outfit for this evening most pleasing. But then, we all know he finds anything with two legs and a pulse worthy of his attentions,” she looked pointedly at the duchess, “which explains a lot.”

The fleeting glimmer of outrage on her enemy’s face told her all she needed to know, and she decided to drive her point home further, until there could be no uncertainty in the duke’s mind as to what she was getting at.

“It was really quite lovely of you to send him over to see me. We were having such a splendid conversation that it was almost as if you had sent him to waylay me.” She sniffed, chuckling amiably. “However, he had a slightly unfortunate wardrobe malfunction which needed attending to.” She paused, as if struck by a sudden thought. It was far too easy; the acting was child’s play. “In fact, I do believe he seemed a little flustered, even before the rat was out of the bag, so to speak. Or is it cat? I tend to forget these vulgar colloquialisms they use in the towns, but nonetheless, he was slightly breathless. Yes... Knowing our cardinal, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had just come from some sort of “appointment”, even!” She laughed loudly and then lowered her voice so that the duke had to lean in to hear her. “I hear he is rather partial to older women.”

She looked into the duke’s eyes meaningfully, and the penny finally dropped. He looked from her, and then to the duchess, who was spluttering, trying to find a way out of the implications, but finding none. For there was none. She was a wily old vixen, thought Celeste, to try to use her own lover to prevent the competition from even reaching their objective. But the plan left her open to attack from anyone who was quick enough to make the connection between rumours and events. Or to anyone whose servants were quick enough, for Celeste had taken what turned out to be her mother’s best advice and left her final line of defence to the least likely of players, the young girl who she had never even heard speak before, and may well never hear from again. It didn’t matter; Celeste would see to it that she was rewarded once things had panned out.

         The duke swivelled on his heel to face the duchess and catch her reaction, but she had disappeared, melting into the crowd like a menacing black spider to live to fight another day. Celeste didn’t care. In front of her stood the duke, still trying to work out who was involved in which scandal with whom. There was a final step to take, a hurdle that was more like a symbolic threshold which she would push him over, whether he wanted to or not. She moved in closer, and touched his silken sleeve. She was surprised at how cheap it felt, but put the thought out of her mind. Inquiries could be made later. For now, she looked up at him.

“My duke.” He looked at her quizzically. Celeste almost rolled her eyes. How slow could you get? “It appears we are finally alone.” She waited for a response. At last, he nodded and, she motioned to the orchestra behind her. “And so might I take the liberty... and ask if you’d care to join me in a dance?”

He looked at her for an eternity, and then opened his mouth, before closing it again. Playing her final card, she turned slightly and ever so subtly revealed a glimpse through the split in the side of her skirts. The duke’s eyes lit up and he grinned.

“It would be my pleasure.”