The grand ballroom buzzed with conversation, the golden glow of candlelit chandeliers casting a warm shimmer upon the polished marble floors. Gilded mirrors reflected the elegantly dressed guests, their silks and velvets rustling softly as they mingled.
The air carried the mingling scents of jasmine, wine, and the faint trace of burning wax from candelabras perched upon intricately carved tables.
Theodore entered with a measured step, his presence commanding attention even before a word was spoken. His dark eyes swept across the room, and though his expression remained composed, his innate charisma drew lingering gazes.
Whispered murmurs followed him, wondering who he was.
In a separate lounging chamber, where plush seats and rich tapestries lent an air of comfort, Lady Bathsheba had retired with a goblet of wine, while Donovan had excused himself earlier, ever the occupied man.
