31st December, 1890 — Oakshire Hall, Kent

There were young ladies aplenty in society and Enoch flattered himself that he could assess them at his leisure without fear of missing out on the cream of the crop. He was, as his mother kept informing him, a bachelor of unparalleled worth being a first son without any stain upon his character and the only claimant upon his father's considerable wealth.

(If only his father would do him the favour of dying then he would be even more eligible but the miserable old bastard seemed determined to be a fly in the ointment for as long as he possibly could. Even his mother couldn't manage that situation without seriously compromising her reputation and Enoch would never allow her to do that.)

In the meantime he sauntered across the room to claim the next dance from Miss Tatiana Lestrange. There were eligible young ladies everywhere one looked but above them all there was a higher tier of debutante that Enoch took particular interest in and sitting at the centre of them was Miss Lestrange. The crème de la crème indeed.

"Miss Lestrange. Shall we?"

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