"You look stunning, Lady Carrington."
The compliment came from a gentleman Penelope didn't recognize as she entered the ballroom with her family. She smiled politely, murmured her thanks, and immediately forgot his face.
The Queen's Ball was perhaps one of the most anticipated event of the season, surpassing even her mother's elaborate debut ball in sheer magnificence.
St. James's Palace had been completely transformed.
Thousands of candles blazed in crystal chandeliers. The walls were draped in cloth of gold, and garlands of white roses and ivy cascaded from every available surface. The orchestra, positioned on a raised dais, filled the cavernous space with a waltz so achingly beautiful it made Penelope's chest constrict.
And there, seated upon a throne at the far end of the ballroom, was Queen Gwendolyn herself. She wore midnight blue velvet tonight, with diamonds that caught the candlelight and threw it back in brilliant sparks. Her dark eyes surveyed the assembled guests with an expression of benevolent amusement, a slight smile playing at her lips as if she were privy to secrets no one else could fathom.
Penelope's gown was pale lavender silk that seemed to shimmer between purple and silver depending on how the light hit it. The bodice was embroidered with tiny seed pearls arranged in delicate floral patterns, and the skirt fell in elegant folds that whispered against the marble floor.
Her golden hair had been arranged in an elaborate style, with curls cascading down her back and a small tiara, delicate silver filigree set with amethysts, nestled among the curls.
She also couldn't breathe.
Judith had outdone, lacing Penelope's corset even tighter than usual. "For the Queen's Ball, my lady," she had said with that same terrifying enthusiasm. "You must look perfect."
There was that word again. Perfect.
"Are you quite alright, Father?"
The question came from Anthony, his voice low with concern. Penelope turned to see the Duke, and her stomach dropped.
She hadn't even noticed it, but her father looked terrible. His skin had taken on a grayish pallor that no amount of candlelight could soften, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there last week. He moved slowly, carefully, as if each step required concentration.
"Of course," the Duke said, his voice carrying none of its usual strength. "Simply tired. These late nights are catching up with me, I'm afraid."
The Duchess linked her arm through her husband's, her expression calm, but Penelope caught the flash of worry in her mother's eyes.
Something was wrong. Something more than simple fatigue.
But before Penelope could dwell on it, Calliope grabbed her hand with a delighted squeal.
"Pen! Oh, you look absolutely gorgeous! That color is divine on you!"
Calliope herself was resplendent in buttercup yellow silk that made her dark curls seem even more lustrous. Her eyes were bright with excitement, darting around the ballroom as if trying to take in everything at once.
Calliope had spent most of the day outside their home, and had only joined them upon reaching the ball.
"You look beautiful too, Callie," Penelope said, grateful for the distraction from her father's alarming appearance.
"Lady Langley!" A gentleman appeared at Calliope's elbow, tall and broad-shouldered with sandy hair and an eager smile. "Might I have the honor of this dance?"
"Oh!" Calliope glanced at Penelope, then back at the gentleman. "Yes, of course, Lord Wycliffe!"
She was whisked away in a swirl of yellow silk and giggles, leaving Penelope standing with her family.
And immediately, like sharks scenting blood in water, the gentlemen began to approach.
"Lady Penelope, you look like the mo—"
"If I might have the pleasure of—"
"The flowers of—"
"Time to go," Raphael whispered urgently in her ear.
Before Penelope could respond, her brothers moved quickly. Anthony and Adrian positioned themselves in front of her, creating a wall of broad shoulders and expensive tailcoats. Edmund and Raphael flanked her sides, gently but firmly guiding her away from the approaching suitors.
"Gentlemen," Anthony said smoothly, his voice filled with an authority that brooked no argument. "My apologies, but my sister is needed elsewhere."
"Boys!" The Duchess's voice rose above the orchestra. "No, no! How will your sister find a suitable match if you keep spiriting her away?"
They ignored her completely.
Within moments, Penelope found herself being shepherded up a curved staircase to the palace's upper gallery, a long corridor lined with portraits of previous monarchs that overlooked the ballroom below. Far fewer people congregated here, mostly older guests seeking respite from the crush and heat below.
"Thank you," Penelope breathed, feeling like she could finally inhale properly. Well, as properly as the corset allowed.
"Our pleasure," Edmund said with a grin. "Though I give it ten minutes before Mama sends someone to retrieve you."
"Less than that," Adrian predicted. "She was looking quite determined."
Raphael moved to the balustrade, peering down at the ballroom below. "Oh, look at that one," he said, pointing. "The gentleman in the puce waistcoat. He's picking his nose."
Penelope moved beside him and had to stifle a laugh. Indeed, a portly gentleman in what could only be described as an aggressively ugly waistcoat was quite openly excavating his nostril.
"He would make a most suitable match," Raphael continued, his tone absurdly serious. "Excellent bloodline, I'm sure. Very distinguished nose-picking technique."
Penelope smacked his arm, still trying not to laugh. "You're terrible."
"He's not wrong though," Edmund said, leaning against one of the portrait frames. "That is some remarkably confident nose-picking. No shame whatsoever."
"Oh look," Edmund continued, his attention shifting. "Cordelia is approaching Adrian."
All eyes turned to watch Lady Cordelia Merriweather glide across the ballroom floor toward where Adrian stood conversing with another gentleman. She wore pale pink again, this time with her red hair arranged in an elaborate style that must have taken hours. Her smile was calculated perfection as she approached.
"Surely she doesn't believe she has a chance with him," Edmund said, amusement clear in his voice.
Penelope rolled her eyes. "It's Cordelia. Of course she does."
They watched as Cordelia reached Adrian, curtsying with exaggerated grace. She said something, batting her eyelashes in a way that would have been comical if it weren't so painfully obvious.
Adrian smiled. It was polite, the kind of smile one gave to a persistent merchant in the market. Then he simply turned and walked away, leaving Cordelia standing there with her mouth slightly open.
The siblings erupted into snickers and barely suppressed laughter.
"Did you see her face?" Raphael wheezed.
"I almost feel sorry for her," Penelope said, though she absolutely did not.
"Almost," Edmund agreed, grinning.
"Lady Penelope."