Midnight Masquerade

The Luncheon Of Scandals

The grand luncheon at the mansion had attracted the crème de la crème of society. Sunlight streamed through the massive, crystal-paneled windows, casting a dazzling glow over the table laden with silverware and bouquets of roses. The air was thick with whispers, strained smiles, and underlying tension, as the Queen herself presided over the gathering, her regal presence casting a shadow over all.

Evelina Sinclair sat near the head of the table, her back ramrod straight, posture perfect. The Queen's piercing gaze flitted across the room, a sharp reminder to everyone that decorum was paramount. Beside Evelina, Clara Hawthorne leaned closer, her usual bright smile dimmed by the pressure of the moment.

"Do you see Lady Arabella over there? She's practically quaking in her slippers," Clara whispered, careful not to catch the Queen's attention. "After that debacle in the gardens last week, I'm surprised she's still making appearances."

Evelina gave the briefest nod, her lips barely parting to whisper, "If she's not careful, her entire season will be over before it even began."

Across the table, Lady Arabella's face was a mask of composure, though her hands trembled slightly as she lifted her glass. Her scandal with a low-ranking lord had been the talk of the town, and though it was not publicly acknowledged, everyone knew. The Queen's eyes lingered on her just a moment too long, and the tension around the table grew almost unbearable.

"I've heard," Clara continued with a wicked glint in her eye, "that Lord Hawthorne was seen sneaking into Lady Beatrice's carriage at the last ball. Imagine the uproar if that were to come to light."

Evelina sighed inwardly, focusing on the dainty sandwich before her. She could feel the pressure mounting with every word exchanged. The Queen's presence weighed heavily on her, as did her new title as the diamond of the season. It felt like every pair of eyes in the room was on her, waiting for the slightest slip, the smallest scandal. She glanced over at her mother, Lady Margaret, who sat as still as a statue, her expression unreadable. Lady Margaret caught Evelina's eye and gave the barest incline of her head as if to say, remember your role, your reputation

"I wonder," Clara mused with a mischievous smile, "how much longer until Lady Arabella loses her nerve entirely. She's barely holding it together as it is."

Evelina glanced once more at Lady Arabella, who seemed on the verge of tears as she smiled and nodded politely at the Queen's cold remarks. The weight of the scrutiny was suffocating, even from this distance. Evelina knew that one misstep, one poorly timed comment or gesture, could result in weeks of damaging gossip. Her chest tightened.

The conversations around the table grew louder, more animated, as the guests exchanged veiled insults and subtle jabs. A particularly cutting comment from Lady Beatrice about Lady Arabella's recent scandal rippled through the room, leaving an icy silence in its wake. Evelina felt her pulse quicken.

She couldn't breathe.

The walls of the room seemed to close in around her, the suffocating atmosphere thick with judgment and intrigue. Her corset felt too tight, her dress too heavy. She needed air—she needed to escape before she did something that would be talked about for weeks.

"I—" Evelina whispered to Clara, who was still watching the exchange between Lady Arabella and the Queen with fascination. "I need a moment."

Without waiting for a response, Evelina quietly rose from the table, keeping her composure as she made her way to the grand double doors leading out to the garden terrace. As soon as she stepped outside, the cool breeze hit her, and she exhaled shakily, loosening the laces of her corset with trembling hands. But the more she tugged, the more her chest tightened. She pressed a hand to her ribs, trying to calm her racing heart, but nothing seemed to work.

I can't breathe.

She stumbled farther away from the doors, desperate for some relief, trying to loosen the corset even further. Just when she thought she might faint, a hand gently rested on her shoulder.

"Lady Evelina," a deep voice murmured.

She gasped and whirled around, her hands instinctively flying to her chest to try and cover herself, but it was too late. He had seen her in a most unladylike state—loosened corset, cheeks flushed, and clearly distressed. Alistair Blackwood stood before her, tall and composed, his expression unreadable. His dark hair caught in the breeze, and his broad shoulders were perfectly tailored in a deep navy jacket, accentuating his noble stature.

"My Lord..." Evelina's voice shook as she clutched at the half-tied strings of her corset. "Please... please do not tell anyone about this."

Alistair tilted his head slightly, his sharp, dark eyes unreadable. "Rest assured, Lady Evelina, no word of this will leave my lips."

Her breath was still coming in shallow gasps as she desperately tried to compose herself, but his presence made it even harder. His eyes never left hers, and though his face remained impassive, there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made her pulse quicken even more.

"I must apologize," she whispered, feeling utterly humiliated. "I—this is most improper. If anyone were to see us—"

"You need not worry," he interrupted quietly, his voice smooth but distant. "Your reputation remains untarnished."

She swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than how close he was standing, the way his voice seemed to calm the storm within her. "Thank you, my lord. I—" She faltered, still flustered. "It's just... with all the talk of Lady Arabella, and the Queen's eyes always watching..."

"I understand," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "The pressure of society's expectations can be... suffocating." His eyes flicked down to the loosened corset strings, then back to her face, his expression still composed. "But you need not suffer alone."

Evelina's breath hitched, and she stared up at him, truly seeing him for the first time. His sharp jawline, the intensity of his eyes, the way he seemed to carry himself with both power and restraint. She had never felt so vulnerable and yet oddly comforted in anyone's presence.

"I should not be here alone," she whispered, breaking the silence. "The rumors about Lady Arabella are already a scandal... I don't need to be the subject of one as well."

Alistair's gaze softened, though his demeanor remained reserved. "Then I shall leave you in peace, Lady Evelina," he said, inclining his head slightly. "But know this—no one need ever know of this moment."

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her hands still gripping the fabric of her dress. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alistair took a step back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he straightened. "I offer my best wishes for your role as the diamond, Lady Evelina," he said formally, his tone reverting to the cool distance that matched his demeanor. "I am certain you will fulfill it with grace."

And with that, he turned, leaving Evelina standing alone in the garden, her heart still racing as she watched him walk away.