Perhaps it was typical, excessive, and quite dull. But she made the best of it. A small chamber orchestra played popular ballad and waltz, the dance floor blooming with the pastel skirts of whirling couples. A low hum of conversation buzzed in the room, punctuated by well rehearsed laughter. Banquet tables spanned the endless marble ballroom. Upon them sprawled red satin cloth, and upon that: exotic flora, colorfully assorted vegetables, and sparkling sugared pastries adorning silver platters and ivory towers. All were edible, though a difference of taste might have argued in exchanges of enlightened small talk. There were chairs along the walls but no chairs at the tables, of course, as it was not a dinner party. Guests were expected to mingle, to gossip, to get to know one another, however superficial.
A social party. She had attended many, and perhaps even attended at very least once a month by the bidding of her persistent father. For even though her family was of the nobility by blood, there was still a long ladder to climb in both purity of pedigree and prestige. Herself, she had no such ambition for a well-to-do future in the upper class, but she did possess something. Fidelity, love, and respect towards her own family and others. And so, no matter how tiresome the parties, the false smiles and laughter, the egocentric noblemen and women, she attended by the bidding of society and her doting father. But she was always kind and genuine.
That night's host, the Maven family, was distinguished among the aristocracy as a staunch supporter of the Tourmalin Kingdom. They had made significant donations to the bureaucracy and many charities, their wealth having been amassed from an investment of land and properties. They were an old family, with many branches within their tree and just as many secrets and rumors of treachery, all covered beneath a veil of lies, truth, and of course, money. It was actually common knowledge, though nothing would be spoken outright by etiquette. Besides, their secrets were no more or less than others in the same class.
Given their investment and interests in Tourmalin, however, it was only expected that they invite the prince of said kingdom. It was already common knowledge that Prince Etinos was elusive, but that did not stop anyone from trying and throwing a grand ball regardless. Perhaps, one day, he would make an appearance. In the meantime the elite would have their parties and excess, and tolerate those the Prince sent in his place in hopes that he might someday grace them with his presence, personally.
"Lady Fern! Althea! Did you see him? The prince's stand-in. That knight. Over there, over there!! You can't miss him." A flippant brown woman asked her in a voice of excitement and scorn. She hid behind her blue fan to cover her lips, for one never knew who might be reading them. But many already knew of Leticia's ability to speak thoughtlessly. "Oh drat, he's already moved on. I wonder who has to greet and dance with him next? How embarrassing-- I don't understand how a pure bred prince could send someone so low in his place....Even if he does have a pretty face I can't get over that dreadful peassant!"
"Please stop muttering, Lady Kaboch, it makes the chocolate taste bittersweet," Althea quietly responded, though her emerald eyes did happen to glance in her friend's proffered direction.
Leticia's commentary was no more rude or outspoken than the rest of the murmurs that ran through the hall since the Knight of Tourmalin's arrival. Althea often avoided such base conversations. They bored and frustrated her. But from what others told her, the negativity was nothing compared to the days before his knighting. As a knight, people could no longer outwardly, obnoxiously, remark about him without breaching the unwritten rules of etiquette. It was much like a game.
"The Knight called Edison?" Althea mused, brushing back a gold ringlet of hair by her cheek where it had escaped the tightly coiffed bun, "He's next on my dance card."
"What a pity. Then, I'll see you later my dear." Feigning closeness, Leticia kissed the air beside her cheeks and without further ado sauntered off to mingle with another small clique.
Tucking her card back into the fold of of her lavender glove, its color of course matching her ball gown, Althea hurried to the short line along the waiting edge of the ballroom floor, the slow concerto slowly coming to a close.