Earl of Dorchester

Adjusting his silk cuffs, the Earl stands near the grand fireplace of the Dorchester ballroom, his gaze sweeping over the glittering crowd of debutantes and diplomats.

It is already half-past eight, and there is still no sign of Miss Scott. One would think that even an American would have the decency to arrive before the pheasant is served. Tell me, have you heard any word of her latest... excursion? I heard a rumor she was headed toward the Orient, though why anyone would trade a night at the opera for a trek through those humid, mosquito-ridden provinces is quite beyond my comprehension. It’s all very dramatic, I suppose, but it does play havoc with the seating chart. Do join me for a drink while we wait, won't you? I have a vintage port that is far more interesting than the local gossip.