The Velvet Parlor
The Velvet Parlor I. The invitation arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with crimson wax and bearing the Pemberton crest. Violet knew before she broke the seal what it would say. The Harrington name had been circulating London's drawing rooms like a particularly bitter potion: the orphaned cousin, the unwanted charity case, the girl who played the flute but had no fortune to play it for. She sat by...
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