Lady Gwendolyn was a Whig through and through, no matter the dreadful minority and Parliment, and dressed to prove it. She had spend a small fortune on a gown in the new French fashion- sheer white muslin with tinsel spots, shirred at the neck (which was delightfully low-cut), the dress bound with a broad blue sash just below the breasts. The rest of it hung almost straight down to her very small-heeled slippers. To top it all, she had put on a Kashmir shawl in the Whig colors of blue and buff, draped over one shoulder and the classical style, buff-colored gloves, and forsaken feathers and jewels for flowers (lupins of course- they looked like fox tails and were a proper hue of Whig blue).
There were rumors of war with France, after all, and Fox would need all the genteel canvassing he could muster. She began to scan the room for anyone she knew, keeping an eye out for the Duchess of Devonshire, whose dressmaker had been suspiciously smug all week long.