Masquerade balls were, in Elladora’s esteemed estimation, only enjoyable when one had a particular fondness for the hostess and thus had a higher purpose than frivolity for one’s attendance. She rarely attended balls and when she did it was usually out of boredom, but for Evalina Rosier she would wear a creation from her mother’s favourite French fashion house, don a mask that made her feel faintly ridiculous and drink just enough champagne that she didn’t impede her reputation when really she had quite particular ideas about how disreputable she would like to be.

It was all Ursula’s fault.

No, she forced herself and she took another sip of her half-drunk champagne, don’t think about that for Merlin’s sake! Find Evalina. If there was anybody that could clear the mind of one’s emotionally confusing sister-in-law then it was the ever-enticing hostess of tonight’s festivities.

Striding into the hallway she knew would lead to the ballroom Elladora spotted a tall woman with raven tresses in the mirror and allowed herself a small smile before the woman promptly vanished. She narrowed her eyes contemplatively. She had no idea what Evalina might be wearing but the dress had certainly looked fine enough to be one of hers and the alabaster curve above the neckline gave Elladora hope that she might find their hostess sooner rather than later this evening. By the time she had reached the other end, expertly avoiding conversation with no less than three separate matrons she had no interest in speaking with, Elladora was disappointed to see that upon a second glance the woman from the mirror was most certainly not Eva. Instead Mrs Mulciber nodded at her in greeting and Elladora responded in kind before vanishing away swiftly: of course she had mistaken Ursula’s best friend for her lover, after the last few weeks it simply felt like just another perturbing twist of life.

As she entered the grand ballroom Elladora had to suppress her awed pride at the sights all around her: clearly the ball, though in its early stages, was already a tremendous success. There were delighted faces everywhere she looked – albeit ones that were tempered slightly by the rigours of the class they all belonged to – and Elladora could see the effortless style that was Eva’s speciality practically glittering everywhere. What she couldn’t see was the woman herself but just as she was beginning to grow agitated at the prospect of actually having to properly socialise a squawk demanded her attention and she turned to see a raven atop an ornate chair eyeing her beadily from behind a small plague doctor mask.

“Ah Vanth, are you my escort?” Lips twitching she watched as the raven took off, circling slowly to make sure was following as he led her through the crowd and to the patio beyond. The decorations were just as luxurious out here but the crowd had not reached a point where fresh air was a necessity so the garden was startling quiet after the ballroom, aside from the tap of the raven’s sharp talons as it landed on a table and gave another squawk. A shadow moved then and Elladora smiled as Evalina emerged from the darkness, looking far more resplendent than Elladora could have possibly imagined.

“My dear Mrs Rosier,” she took slow steps closer, her voice polite and steady. “What a tremendous success, you must be very pleased with yourself,” glancing over her shoulder to see that they were alone Elladora lowered her voice and allowed a coy smile to bloom on her lips. “You chose that dress to torture me, I am quite sure of it.”

Even if her mask had covered the bottom half of her face and thus concealed her smile Elladora doubted she had the control to stop her eyes from dancing with delight. She abhorred most high society and abstained where she could help it, but it didn’t prevent her from the odd craving for company and especially company in the form of the woman before her. It was only a crying shame that they would have to return to the ballroom at some point – nights like this, and dresses like that, oughtn’t be shared with those that didn’t appreciate perfection when they saw it. No doubt all the young men inside were fawning over whoever was the toast of society this month when all the while the finest woman in the room was right under their noses, going unnoticed by their insolently idiotic eyes.

Though quite how they managed to not notice Ella would never know. Their hostess was a vision and though nothing on earth had yet to be created that would quieten Elladora’s anxieties entirely Evalina was as good a tonic as any she could find.

“I never make much of an effort for the dratted beau monde,” she quipped, quoting loosely more or less every line that had ever been written about her in the society rags. Elladora had always taken some pride in being the professional objector to fashion though the care she had taken tonight contradicted her usual raison d'être and they were both perfectly aware of why. “Perhaps I simply look better in the dark? Surely the honourable Mrs Rosier hasn’t been at the wine already?”

Elladora had to swallow down a bark of laughter: rare was the person who thought her a bright soul, or who thought of her as being anything other than someone absolutely guaranteed to inject a black mood on any situation. How on earth nobody had rumbled them over the years when they had a tendency to be so much softer in each other’s company Ella would never know: couldn’t they see how they lingered, how eyes lit up, pupils darkened, porcelain skin became ever-so-slightly flushed.

They were well-practiced at being subtle, of course, but even after Elladora took a step away from the taller woman there was a frisson between them she was amazed nobody could see. If she had her way they would stay out here all evening: the cold weather could be chased away easily enough with a bit of imagination and warm, spiced wine.

“Flatterer,” she retorted, casting a glance over her shoulder at the roomful of people, unable to offer such words of affection with as much ease as Evalina did, even to the woman herself. “I would have worn this dress for you alone if you’d only asked. Instead I might get whisked away by one of the widowers,” Ella said with an eyeroll. Since she had hit her late thirties they had begun to circle again. She had been unjustly confident in the notion that once one was unable, or unlikely, to bear children the men would stop bothering her and the last ten years had been a joy but now they had buried their wives, their children had flown the nest and they were lonely. Suddenly she had become a catch to overweight, whiskered men in their fifties. “And if you don’t rescue me I will take a lot of mollifying.”

Her fingers hummed with the desire to reach out but there were onlookers and Ella cursed herself for missing the chance. It seemed she was eternally guilty of just that crime – failing just short of having what she wanted because the ever-present gaze of others halted her deeper instincts. She wanted this woman but could never have her in all the ways she wanted, she longed to be as respected as her brother but she never would be.

Once she had thought briefly of leaving the family home, of striking out on her own but Ella was no fool and she had seen what became of those creatures. By rejecting a husband she had left herself with only two options: become marble or dirt in the eyes of anybody that mattered. Was it easier to crack a shell than dig yourself out of a grave of one’s own making?

“I’m sure they’ll believe it requires our collective intellect to manage the doilies,” she replied, bitter at the world and annoyed at herself for letting the barricades crumble just enough to spoil the moment. She eyed Eva’s pocket, thought briefly about how calm she would feel when putting a knife to another’s throat: then she thought about holding it to Ursula’s and immediately needed a drink.

“Can you be rid of Henry tonight?”