Ooh, a party. Never let it be said Beatrice was one to pass up a party. Never was there a better opportunity to weigh up the fresh meat and to assess the old. Who had let themselves go? Who had married who? Who was stuck in the '80s?
Quite a few people, by the looks of it. Beatrice sighed as she sipped her champagne, finishing her second lap of the room; never one to stand still and look desperate for company, she tended to mingle, going in a clockwise formation around the various groups. Her reputation was clear, as was the displeasure on the faces of many as she approached, but she was so high up in the social ranks that no one could afford to ignore her. She was a duchess, for god's sake. She was the cream of the crop.
It somewhat amused her, actually, the looks she saw quickly hidden. Displeasure was the most common, but many others, from amusement to resentment, reigned supreme in the hearts of her peers, and she would've giggled into her champagne if it wasn't so unbecoming. But tonight was meant for bigger things. She could feel it. Tonight, she was going to make a coup. She just didn't know what it was yet.