*Claribel*
When Cecil and I open our ball, the subject on everyone's lips is the Luna of Islay. The news has spread that she has accepted her relatives’ invitation.
“Did we invite Alpha Tinkwater?” I ask Cecil, watching as the butler ushers in a fantastically drunk Alpha, who has the wisdom to have developed a method of walking that doesn’t require a sense of balance.
“We did not,” Cecil says. “All sorts of people have come whom we didn’t invite, darling.”
He squeezes my arm and turns away to greet Alpha Tinkwater.
But by the time we decide to close the receiving line, there is still no sign of Luna Islay. We barely make our way down the steps into the ballroom when a terrific noise erupts behind us.
“That’ll be Polly,” Cecil says, turning to look back up the stairs. “She planned her
