The ballroom glittered like a jeweled secret. Candlelight spilled from crystal chandeliers, music swelled from the far end of the room, and silk skirts brushed marble floors as the ton drifted beneath feathers, lace, and gold-leaf masks. Laughter came easily tonight—masked laughter, freer than usual—because a masquerade allowed one delicious thing society rarely did: anonymity. Mothers watched closely all the same, whispers already darting between fans and shoulders, each guest catalogued and assessed. Everyone important was present. Everyone known.