December 21, 1894 — Masquerade Ball; Malfoy Manor, London

Clarissa was being courted which seemed destined to head to the alter. Kenneth approved the match. For a while there, he had been worried she might run off with some muggleborn or worse. She was off with her beau so Kenneth had some time to himself to breathe. Perhaps he would find a debutante or two to dance with. For now, he went on a hunt for these delicate desserts that he had been hearing about through small talk with some acquaintances.

Reaching the table, he saw that he was far from the first to have this idea. Another attendee had not been shy about helping themselves to a plateful of them and had just bit into one. This unfortunately caused some of the cream within to erupt from the other end and onto Kenneths trousers and shoes. "Well, this is unfortunate," Kenneth said with a chuckle, he was not all that fussed since it seemed to have been an understandable mishap.

Mask is this but dark green instead of blue.

  

Callista ordinarily had a fear of eating at balls and the like, never being certain of what had gone into the food and drink. But Victoire had assured her nothing unusual had touched them, that they were perfectly safe, and Callista could trust that enough to try them.

And the cream puffs were as delicious as they looked. That said, Callista might have turned her attentions rather overzealously to the dessert table so as to avoid thinking about the fact that Mr. Echelon-Arnost (easil marked out by his cane and his sandy hair, even at a masquerade) had spent much of his evening talking to the Malfoy girls. She supposed this was a good thing. She had once thought to herself that Torie Malfoy would be a good match for him, even – though now the thought had gone a little sour.

And she knew plenty of people whom she had spoken to this evening and who knew her also knew that she had just rejected a courtship, so probably thought her haughty and vain, which was never going to endear her to anyone. So, since it seemed the only safe course of action left to her – she was stuffing her face.

Another mistake. She had bit too hard, and the cream dribbled down a gentleman instead. Perfect, Callista considered, utterly mortified. “Oh!” she fretted, flustered. “I’m so – so very sorry! What a mess!” She didn’t have her wand on her, and was nothing like her brothers with their wandless magic, so she snatched up a wad of napkins from the dessert table, offering them to him in shame.

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