Beneath the Gold Leaf
I. The chandeliers at Mrs. Astor's gala burned with a gaslight so fierce it could have illuminated the inside of a coffin. Lady Beatrice Ashworth moved through the ballroom the way a butterfly moves through a conservatory — with deliberate, practiced grace, each step calculated to catch the eye and disappear before the eye could decide what it had seen. She was twenty-eight years old, and she...
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