"I am so pleased you could attend our gathering, Lord Angelford," Lady Killroy gushed. Angelford’s arrival marked her ball a complete success.

One noble at a time,the voice urged.

"We were discussing the dreadful weather, my lord," Sarah said, "Isn’t it wretched?"

"Mmm, yes. We were unable to run the horses last weekend." His rich voice sent warm ripples down Calliope’s spine.

Sarah giggled along with Lucinda Fredericks, another pretty young debutante who tried Calliope’s patience.

One noble at a time.The voice became more insistent. She plunged into the conversation.

"Considering the inconvenience, I can’t believe Aeolus didn’t command the winds for you, my lord. "

There was a collective gasp. Her once-brave internal voice hesitated and then fled. Calliope wanted to retract the sarcastic comment, but Father Time refused her entreaty. Lady Simpson looked irate. Her fan hammered against her leg.

Calliope could have sworn a fleeting smile crossed Angelford’s features, but his expression became even more arrogant. "Perhaps someday he will. Sometimes behavior must be taught." His deep, dark eyes mocked her.

She willed the redness from her cheeks and inclined her head. A discussion of the weather, an internal call to arms and her finest adversary. A disastrous combination. What had she been thinking, to berate him in front of the others? He drove her mad, but she should have waited to discreetly slice him.

The titters from Sarah and Lucinda grated.

"No better than you deserve," Sarah said just loudly enough for Calliope to hear.

Her fingers itched for ink and paper. The mass call to arms once again returned to a personal vendetta. Sarah would lose her smile when she saw the rendition of her vapid look and tart tongue in print, the image of which was already forming in Calliope’s mind.

Lady Simpson snapped her ever-present fan closed, interrupting Calliope’s thought. "Sometimes a bad apple sneaks past even my watchful gaze, my lord. I do try to be ever vigilant, but from time to time recommendations from some of the gentry are suspect. They tend to be less discerning than those of us with higher standards."