Bright and Shadow

Lupin had not known when Uncle Mortimor had proposed the plan how rare it was for Lord Maximilien to take a mistress. Indeed, she had not known that it was so far in the past beyond anyone's memory as to seem as if it had never happened before. He had frequented the major Establishments of Pleasure, of course - but never once, since his earliest adulthood, had he chosen someone to entertain him regularly. Lupin had not been told, and as she surveyed the crowd, but somehow the truth was flying to her on every glance. Lupin, Lord Maximilien, and Uncle Mortimor paused in the entrance way, the hushed people scattered out across the hall like so many spilled jewels, a small hiss of whispers like the falling of so many leaves.
Lupin realized at that moment exactly what position she was. She was now, with very little action on her own part, notorious.
This was not what she had planned. She felt, in the quiet and tense excitement that held Lord Maximilien, that this was the event for which he had fiven so much of himself. He stood beside her, his eyes victorious. His hand on her waist was cool, but she could feel the energy coursing through it. He watched the hall before him with the expression of a conqueror returning home. His powder was perfect, his linen shone, his diamonds sparkled. Everything was entirely due to his execution and powers of control. She was the bride of the evening, and she was to attend her wedding feast. Lupin felt suddenly as if she had lost her breath. It was strange and not right so much power in one room. The whole hall stilled for a moment, and Lupin, gazing straightly and directly ahead, suddenly saw the shadows in the room. The dusky ceiling, so far away, became darker, the shadows slid over the walls. She knew suddenly, there was more wrong than Lord Maximilien. Indeed, with what knowledge she knew, she understood he was caught in the greater energy of the evening.
Then, the moment passed, Lord Maximilien finished his mocking gaze's sweep of the room, and led Lupin to the great stairway that ascended to the ballroom above.
At the top of the white marble staircase, Uncle Mortimor whispered something to the footman, and Lupin knew it was to her name - or pseudonym. His eyes were alight with the excitement of the evening, his muted gray tones neat and understated as he walked with his precise step towards the ball rooms. The name would be a shock, she had no doubt. As would her own position in society when this was finished. She wrenched herself away from the thought. Her marriage to Lord Grefham had been a wonderful ideal, but was impossible. Her color high, as she entered the ballroom with her chin high, Lord Maximilien's hand gracefully beneath her elbow. Her entire energy was held within, her eyes were sparkling with nerves, but she knew that she was her own, on this night of bright and shadow.