Tomorrow's Crimes ll Moriarty the Patriot

The Diamond of the Season

The collective intake of breath that swept through the ballroom was almost audible as Queen Victoria entered. Adelaide felt her journalistic instincts kick into overdrive, mentally documenting every detail of this impossible moment – the rustle of heavy black silk and crepe, the gleam of the small diamond crown nestled in her grey-streaked hair, the weight of majesty that seemed to fill the space despite her diminutive stature. Her somber attire stood in stark contrast to the sea of colorful silks and satins that surrounded her, the black fabric seeming to absorb the very candlelight that made other ladies' jewels sparkle.

The crowd's reaction was immediate and profound. Ladies clutched their fans so tightly Adelaide could hear the ivory sticks creaking. Gentlemen straightened their already-rigid postures to painful perfection. Even the most seasoned courtiers seemed to hold their breath. Young debutantes in their pale silks and flowing ribbons drew back like bright butterflies before an approaching storm.

"God save the Queen," someone whispered, the words carrying in the hushed silence.

Victoria moved through the parting crowd like a ship through water, each step measured and deliberate. The Queen's face bore the solemn expression Adelaide recognized from countless portraits, her features set in lines of dignity and reserve. Her jet jewelry caught the light as she moved, black crystals flashing against black silk. The small retinue that followed her – ladies-in-waiting and royal attendants – seemed to fade into the background, mere shadows in the wake of their sovereign's presence.

"Your Majesty," the Duke of Ravenscroft bowed deeply, his voice carrying the proper note of absolute deference. "We are honored beyond measure by your presence at this humble gathering."

Adelaide's heart hammered against her ribs as her family stepped forward. She'd rehearsed this moment countless times under Margaret's exacting tutelage, yet nothing could have truly prepared her for the reality of meeting the monarch who had shaped an era. The weight of history pressed down upon her shoulders like a physical force.

Stay calm, she told herself. You've interviewed prime ministers. You've covered royal events. This is just another... Oh god, this is Queen Victoria.

"Your Majesty," her mother executed a curtsy of such fluid grace that Adelaide heard several ladies gasp in admiration. "May I present my youngest daughter, Lady Adelaide?"

Adelaide stepped forward, willing her knees not to shake. Every lesson in deportment crystallized into this single moment as she sank into the deepest, most perfect curtsy she could manage. The silk of her gown pooled around her like water, and she kept her head bowed, maintaining the exact angle Margaret had drilled into her – low enough to show complete deference, but not so low as to appear affected.

"Rise, child."

The Queen's voice was commanding yet not unkind. Adelaide straightened carefully, maintaining the proper posture that had been drilled into her over countless hours of practice. She nearly startled when Victoria stepped closer, one black-gloved hand reaching up to touch her chin.

The Queen's dark eyes studied her face with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through to Adelaide's soul. For a terrifying moment, she felt certain that Victoria could see everything – the displacement, the lies, the modern woman hiding behind careful manners and practiced smiles. Those eyes had witnessed the transformation of an empire, had stared down prime ministers and foreign monarchs alike. What secrets could they discern in a mere moment's scrutiny?

"Beautiful," Victoria pronounced finally, her voice carrying clearly through the hushed ballroom. "Truly a diamond. And such poise – rare in one so young." Her gaze flickered briefly to Adelaide's mother. "You have done well with her education, Lady Blackwood."