[color=#e2e2e2][color=#ffaa22]“Not to something this slow, no I couldn't,”[/color] a wandering Whitmore came behind the two women off to the side, taking one of the wine glasses off the platter as she moved around to face. [color=#ffaa22]“Oh! Pardonne-moi mademoiselles, I am too brash. Mother would have my head had she seen me do that.”[/color]

Sam recalled her mother's warning. ‘For the love of God child, do not embarrass us!’ It was not among her priorities. Sam never felt herself a part of the bourgeoisie the company made them. The culture of the elite did not sit well with her. The wealth made life taste artificial. The wine tasted anything but. It was almost better than her father's whiskey, yet Sam was still one for a harder drink than wine. [color=#ffaa22]“Not,”[/color] she chuckled, [color=#ffaa22]“that it stops me very often."[/color]

Simply being out of the house was enough to make Sam more jovial. Mother’s perpetual disapproval was stifling ... not helped by Sam’s own willfulness. Some freedom to be more of herself was an enjoyable change of pace. For now that was all she needed to be happy.

Sam had of course forgotten to even think about the other people she had just walked in on in her excitement. [color=#ffaa22]“So who do I have the pleasure of meeting here?”[/color] She remembered this was a very formal event with high nobility and royals in attendance and tried to put forth some of the etiquette lessons she traditionally ignored.[/color]

([@KahleenCuthald][@Congee])