An exhilarating atmosphere flooded the senses at the doorway to the grand ball room. There was the swish of skirts, flying in time to the music that was all but lost among the chattering and cries of delight from the hundreds who filled the room almost to bursting. A scent of fresh, vased flowers and dissipating wafts of the ladies' perfumes floated dimly along the churning air. One could feel the glow radiating off the whirling dancers and cheerful faces, while elegant chandeliers provided the remaining light to the grand party.

A servant at the door announced the arrival of one Miss Margarite Simmons, who turned this way and that, gazing at this dress and that gentleman with a light sparkling in her eyes and an excited laugh bubbling from her open mouth. Most were too engaged in other things in other places to take note of her, and those who stood around the wide entrance door merely smiled upon her approvingly, perhaps determined in their minds that they would try to speak with her later, and then turned back to their own prior company.

Behind Miss Simmons, a couple of elderly gentlefolk glided in with a more regal and controlled carriage than their lively forerunner. They were announced as the Morlands, and if the servant proclaiming them to the rest of the party had given more detail, the guests would know that their festivities were about to be improved by a very respectable and amiable pair. Though the couple maintained steady gazes, each set of eyes betrayed that they were just as ready to talk, joke, and debate about interesting things as Miss Simmons was.

Next came a fair-haired lady, her youthful face glowing brighter the more she crossed over the threshold, followed closely behind by a tall, quiet young man by the name of Mr. Benjamin Darling. The lady, Miss Edith Curtis, looked quickly around the room, searching for something immediately upon her entrance. Mr. Darling watched silently, only speaking when the lady turned to say something to him. His eyes were level and cool, and no one but the keenest observer would ever be able to notice a hint of disquiet escaping his calm mask.

Miss Margarite suddenly stopped her energetic charge and shuffled back to Miss Edith, her brown curls bouncing. "Are you going to dance?" she asked, the words flying out of her mouth like birds. "Please tell me you will dance, Edith. I simply cannot dance without you!"

Edith gave a wry smile. "You need a gentleman to complete your dance, not me. So I'm sure you can dance without me."

Margarite rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. As your friend, I cannot dance if you plan to float on the rim of the party as you usually do. Please say you'll dance this time."

"And what if there is no one for her to dance with?" Mr. Darling suggested.

Margarite smacked his arm lightly with her fan. "Don't be silly. There are plenty of good dance partners here." Her head turned, her eyes searching for a few seconds. "Well, all I can see from here are a bunch of greybeards, but I'm sure there are some fine young men hiding somewhere. They're most likely dancing." She smiled. "That's it. They're already dancing."

"Then who do you suppose I would dance with?" Edith asked, amused.

"Oh." Margarite's dainty lip pinched as she bit it lightly. Her eyes widened. "Oh! Mr. Darling, you can dance with her!"

"I..." he started.

"No, Margarite," Edith interrupted, starting to walk. "Not with me. Not now, at least. No matter your noble efforts, I'm afraid I have already decided to view more of the palace first."

Margarite struggled to push through the crowds of guests while still facing her friend. "The palace?" she repeated. "The king holds hundreds of balls! You have the opportunity to study every brick if you want."

"But it's not every day that a new king is crowned," Edith argued. "And it's even less often that the royal family puts the crown on display at his celebration ball."

"She is very convincing," Mr. Darling muttered.

Margarite frowned. "You are determined?"

Edith nodded.

"Fine." Margarite turned to walk away, but she was blocked by the bulging skirt of a jolly lady. She retraced her steps, and looked back to Edith. "You can see the crown, though I can't believe it's any more interesting than dancing. As for me, I plan to find a partner before the next dance begins." She took a step, then turned back again. Holding up a fold of her skirt, she asked, "Are you sure this shade of red suits me best?"

"For the hundredth time, yes," Edith said. "Now, go on. I'm sure you will be well-received by anyone."

Margarite thanked her brightly, then at last found her path away through the throng.

Edith laughed softly, turning to Mr. Darling. "I don't suppose you will be running off as well?"

His eyes looked to the center of the room, where Margarite was already being led by some handsome stranger to join the dancers. "Not yet, I think. In fact, I'm rather interested in seeing the crown as well."

Edith nodded. "If only I knew where it is," she said as swept her gaze over the colorful guests and the high walls and stairways in the ballroom.

"Would you like me to help you look?" he asked, offering an arm.

"Yes, thank you," she said graciously. She wrapped her arm around his, gloved fingers resting lightly on top, and then they were off on their search.

It was very likely that the crown had been placed apart from the main gathering of guests, so it would not be overcrowded, but close enough that the guests would not have to go wandering too far to find it.

Mr. Darling nodded his head as they came upon an open doorway on their right. "Would it be there?"

"No," Edith decided surely. "I remember, when I was here last winter, that room was for cards and such."

A gentleman in a blue coat leaned against the doorpost of the room. As they passed by, he gave a slight smile and nodded, his eyes on Edith. She returned the nod as politely as she could, then raised her fan open in front of her face just in case she betrayed a hint of a blush.

Once they were safely past, Mr. Darling grunted lightly. "Did you see that?" he questioned. "He was staring at you for a whole minute. Like a...a vulture."

Edith laughed. "Maybe. But you must admit he didn't look like a vulture. And I certainly don't look like a pile of carrion."

"Of course not!" Mr. Darling exclaimed, mortified that he had suggested such a comparison.

Edith patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'm not offended. Do you think the crown may be up a level?" Her attention had been drawn to a flight of stairs that they were approaching.

Mr. Darling said nothing, though he immediately turned toward the stairs.