Re: Ball: Clementine, Irene & Declan
The ball was not a place for people of reputation, other than that for infamy. It was a party celebrating hedonism with a queen at the center of it who had been temporarily crowned by a man who craved popularity and had deep pockets to pay for it. It was a mixture of the depraved and the very fashionable and the woman in Declan's arms was no more virtuous or bohemian than anyone else at the party.
Irene had seen that jade cast to Clementine's look thrown toward her brother like a parting gift before she lost herself in amidst the throngs. It was entirely the prospect she herself had held out to Clementine: tempting offer as it was. But Irene didn't believe that Clementine losing herself in the crowd was simply becoming overawed by the party, nor the delicacies on display. Nor was it pleasure in Irene's own company, she wasn't vain enough or stupid enough to think it that.
No, the reason Galatea fled in green skirts and a practiced smile, the starlet Irene had once been and Clementine was expert at playing had something to do with stage right, entrance the brother. Clementine's promises in the bow of her smile were lost: Irene's gaze settled on the man in the coat with the woman too pricey for his arms.
The music shifted: from something sedate, to a waltz. Irene didn't much care for etiquette, and as man and woman turned, Declan found himself facing a new partner. Irene's curtsy was too low to be polite. "Sir."