The large ballroom—a bit over-opulent and ostentatious by Lucy’s admittedly high standards—was full of an unusual assortment of people. Instead of the usual society darlings, blue bloods, and new money, most were attired in what was obviously their Sunday church-going suits, a random few not even that well dressed. This looked to be an interesting, and possibly scary enterprise if not for Martin, her trusty guardian. Even if he was still trying to talk her out of it.
Still, she recognized a few faces. Her father had contacts in almost every sphere of influence, from politicians to mining moguls, foreign policy experts and ambassadors to alienists and doctors, scholars and antiquarians to cutting edge scientists. She was an old hand at recognizing faces from across a crowded room or dining table.
Nipping behind a group of arguing academicians, Lucy managed to gain a few yards on her chaperone—long enough to order a drink stronger than he’d approve of. A rum and coca-cola wasn’t really a Rum and coke unless it had more than three fingers of rum, after all.
(to be continued)