A deep awkward silence fell at once in the room.
Lady Whitmore's eyes narrowed, obviously still bitter toward the Anderson girl's insult. "Perhaps the Queen intends some charitable gesture," she said sweetly. "She has always had a taste for… peculiar causes."
Mary's eyes widened in outrage, and Penelope's smile only deepened. "How generous of you to think so highly of the Queen's benevolence."
Lady Whitmore shifted uncomfortably, and Celia folded her arms. "Or perhaps the invitation was sent merely to increase attendance. A masquerade requires numbers, after all."
Penelope looked at her for a long moment. If witches did exist, the Miss was the little devil in human form. "Then I suppose we are all equally necessary," She crooned.
The barb landed cleanly as Celia's cheeks flushed.
Lady Whitmore stepped forward, lowering her voice. "One should be careful not to mistake an invitation for elevation, Miss Anderson."
Ah. There it was, she thought. A threat was finally made obvious.
