IT IS an immense, high-ceilinged room lit brilliantly with hundreds of candles that are reflected a thousand times in mirrors with gilded frames. At one end of the room is a row of glass doors leading out to a stone terrace; at the other is a small orchestra on a dais. As the clock strikes, the loud tones filling every crack and corner of the room, the music pauses and the dancers whirl to a stop. The men are dressed in black or gray or very dark blue; the women are in every shade of fashionable blue, with here and there a daring green or a vibrant purple. In the carriage, Lady Faye gave me a wrap to wear into the ballroom. It is made of the lightest silver-gray material and surrounds me from head to toe like a swirl of smoke. I pause in the wide doorway, the Mysterious Stranger, while everyone in the ballroom stares at me. The bells toll nine, ten, eleven, and Lady Faye plucks away the wrap. I hear gasps as the other guests see me and the last echoes of the bells fade. I have to admit that it’s a wonderful moment.
