I drummed my fingers against the polished tabletop, watching my mother pace the length of our modest drawing room. Diana Meadows had been in this agitated state since returning from her morning tea with the Viscountess Noelle Prescott, her face a mask of concern that had only grown more pronounced as the afternoon wore on.
"Can you believe it?" Mother said for perhaps the tenth time. "Sabina Westwood! Making such a spectacle of herself at the Harrington ball. Throwing herself at Lord Gideon Finchley when everyone knows he's been paying court to Lady Rowena Thorne!"
"Yes, Mother. So you've said." I sighed, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. At twenty-two, I was well past the age where my mother's social anxieties should dictate my own feelings.
Mother stopped her pacing to look at me directly. "Helena, you don't understand the gravity of the situation. Sabina has ruined herself completely. And poor Lady Rowena! The humiliation she must feel."
