The salon doors swung open, and a lady entered—a woman whose youthful days were behind her, yet a certain vigour radiated from her countenance, complementing the bright chestnut hue of her hair that decidedly defied the passage of time. Her gaze fell upon her daughter, who had been quietly engaged in writing yet another epistle into her journal until the abrupt interruption disturbed her contemplations.

"My dearest Mary, I must request that you kindly vacate this salon, as my esteemed guests will be arriving presently."

Mary blinked in response. Once more, it seems a gathering of the sisterhood of three hags is imminent, she thought.

"Is there something you're keeping from me, mother? Are you and your friends once again conspiring about the most eligible gentlemen in society?" she inquired, displaying no hesitation in posing bold inquiries.

Her mother merely smirked knowingly. "Above all, it concerns a particular gentleman."

Mary rolled her eyes at such a 'revelation'. "Hasn't your optimism regarding the Marquess' affections waned? As far as I'm aware, he remains a confirmed bachelor for years."

Lydia merely gestured dismissively. "People devise plans, and societal scandals keep such plans ever-changing. Just refrain from suggesting that becoming the Marchioness St. Arcey would be a source of distress for you. Besides, you're six and twenty, for Heaven's sake." 

"I would find no objection at all if it were prompted by his genuine conviction and interest," Mary responded with a firm tone, closing her diary.

 "Well, what is not today, could still be tomorrow," Lydia replied slyly. 

Mary frowned, suspecting that her mother harboured some ulterior motive. "I'm hesitant to broach this topic, but I must – what intentions or actions do you have in this matter, mother?" 

"I need not take any direct action, my dear. Merely the arrival of someone else bearing new opportunities to this divinely overlooked region will suffice. Have you heard that Princess Augusta, escorted by Lady Sarah Lennox, is planning a visit to Silverton Castle? Courtly whispers suggest that our young king has become overly enamoured with young Sarah, and they aim to separate them to temper their infatuated hearts." 

Mary gasped in astonishment. If His Royal Highness decided to visit Marlborough, it signified a continuous stream of dances, soirées, and gatherings, as everyone would seek to leverage the occasion for forging new alliances and connections. And for someone of the stature of the Marquess St. Arcey, such engagements would undoubtedly become obligatory. When her mother noticed her expression, she approached and took Mary's face in her hands.

"Fear not, my dear. I promised you a favourable match, and I shall uphold that promise, I assure you."

However, Mary found no solace in her mother's words; instead, she sensed an underlying threat. Her mother released her and exclaimed,

"But now you must depart—Percy and Nosy will be arriving shortly."

This was how Lydia referred to her two friends—Percivaline Chatterton and Elinor Merryweather respectively. Mary could distinguish them by Percy's smile, so wide it could surely push her ears off her head if it were a tad broader, and Elinor exuded the discerning gaze of a magpie—quite astute, and if one wasn't careful, she knew how to leverage any words spoken to her advantage. Mary couldn't help but wonder why her mother chose such company, but perhaps it was because she could be a one-eyed queen among the blind... or maybe not even that.

Meanwhile, Percy and Elinor were riding in a carriage on their way to visit, speculating on what tidings Lydia Winthrop might have to divulge them.

"Hmm, does she not wish to share her new plan to lead Marquess St. Arcey to the altar?" Percy asked, to which Elinor shook her head in disagreement.

"Good strategists never boast about their plans," replied Elinor with a devious smile. "Moreover, we all seek St. Arcey's favour for our daughters; that is nothing novel, verily! He is, indeed, a remarkably handsome man—I myself indulge in forbidden thoughts when his image crosses my mind. And I envy the woman who currently shares his bed, as the man certainly rakes his mistresses." 

Both women exchanged knowing glances and suppressed laughter. 

"Such musings befitting a married woman, indeed," teased Percy. 

"Pray, do not tell me that the attentions of a gentleman like him would have not brought you some... solace, or shall we say—relief," Elinor continued, her voice filled with a touch of scandalous intrigue. "We find ourselves wed to elderly, stale patriarchs, Percy. Alas, my husband is no longer inclined to such pursuits due to his inability to compel his soldier to rise, leaving any semblance of intimacy a distant reverie." 

"Well, my husband's faculties continue to serve him quite well," retorted Percy with a false smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "They must, else his latest bastard wouldn't be celebrating half a year of existence." 

The two women shared a chuckle, but as the carriage pulled up in front of the Winthrop residence, a veil of decorum settled upon their expressions. They disembarked with grace, ready to face the social niceties of the day... or whatever Mrs. Winthrop prepared to baffle them with.

The hostess, ever charming Lydia hastened to receive her visitors, her joyous countenance and buoyant spirits unveiled long before their arrival.

"Had I not been acquainted with you, I might assume you've been indulging in spirits since the early morn," remarked Elinor, immediately upon their friendly embrace.

Lydia laughed merrily and responded, "Well, I won't conceal it from you, but I indeed did partake in a glass of wine. Pray, do join me; I shall offer you some as well."

The ladies soon settled in the drawing room, and as the hostess poured each of them a glass of wine, she gracefully took her seat opposite them, inviting, "So, today we raise our glasses to the new possibilities gracing our horizon so soon."

Percy and Elinor regarded her with curiosity, exchanging glances. Lydia grinned at them, clearly relishing their innocence, prompting them with the only question appropriate for this moment, "What possibilities, dear Lydia?" Elinor inquired, unable to entirely conceal a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"Well, since you inquire, dear Elinor! Know that Princess Augusta herself shall soon grace Marlborough with her presence. Rumours suggest she will be accompanied by Lady Sarah Lennox," Lydia declared triumphantly.

The friends gazed at her for a moment until the realization of her words sank in. Then, they erupted into genuine joy.

"Augusta! In Marlborough! Unbelievable!" exclaimed Percy. "Imagine all those balls, dances, and soirées, the multitude of eligible gentlemen and suitable suitors for our daughters!" she dreamed, her eyes wide open.

"Indeed, Percy," Lydia concurred, raising her glass for a toast.

All three took a genteel sip from their glasses as Elinor spoke first. "As per my understanding, you have chosen St. Arcey for your daughter – I presume your conviction remains steadfast – so why, then, do you eagerly anticipate the princess' arrival?" 

Lydia smiled with genteel composure and carefully placed her glass on the table.

"I anticipate it, my dear, because her presence will smoke out even such a recluse from his sanctuary, like St. Arcey. And as soon as he pokes his head out his burrow, I shall be there to fasten the marital collar upon it."

Elinor narrowed her eyes as if contemplating the nuances of Lydia's words. "Well, it sounds to me like you plan to incite a scandal, coaxing him to a point of no return," she uttered wistfully.

"Mayhap aye and mayhap nay. However, one thing is unmistakable – St. Arcey will wed my daughter this year," Lydia responded decisively, evoking a furrowed brow from Percy as she sensed the rising tension between the ladies.

"We shall see," Elinor replied after a moment. "You seem to overlook the fact that the pursuit of such a handsome gentleman is not exclusive to your aspirations. Both Percy and I harbour the desire to see our daughters united with him."

Lydia offered a knowing grin. "I wager with both of you, two thousand guineas, that Mary shall be united with St. Arcey."

A moment of hushed stillness ensued, the air thick with restrained anticipation. 

"I accept," Elinor finally declared, and both she and Lydia turned expectantly towards Percy.

With a delicate roll of her eyes, Percy remarked, "I cannot afford to wager such a sum. Moreover, do you not think that this spirited competition of yours has already surpassed the bounds of propriety?"

Lydia leaned toward her and retorted, "You can afford to wager at least six times that, dear Percy, so don't be frugal. Are you with us or against us?"

 Percy glanced at the floor but eventually succumbed to the subtle pressure from her friends. "Very well, I accept," she murmured. 

"What are you saying?" asked Elinor mockingly. 

"I'm saying I accept! I'm wagering two thousand guineas on my daughter," Percy exclaimed, but there was little joy in her eyes from this decision, while Lydia and Elinor beamed. 

To the surprise of Elinor and Percy, Lydia quickly stood up, went to the writing desk by the windowsill, and returned with paper, a quill, and an inkwell. She swiftly transcribed the terms of the bet on paper and had both friends sign it—Elinor signed immediately, while Percy hesitated again until her signature adorned the paper. 

You'll pay dearly for this, hags, Percy thought, but she swallowed her soured sentiment and tried to smile. 

"And do we know where the entire ensemble is headed?" Elinor asked Lydia. 

Lydia nodded knowingly. "To Silverton Castle. Part of the staff is already there, preparing for the reception of the princess and her guests from London. Hopefully, more information will reach our ears soon."

Silverton was among the more recent castles erected in the early seventeenth century, robust and certainly adept at hosting Her Royal Highness and her entourage or arranging grand balls, attended by all who held significance in Marlborough and its environs, regardless of title. It wasn't merely a matter of prestige but an opportunity for forging new connections and showcasing oneself in the most favourable light... or perhaps ensnaring an unsuspecting gentleman, leaving him entangled in the bonds of matrimony.

"Are you certain, dear Lydia," Percy inquired this time, "that the princess will genuinely grace us with her presence? What if it's merely idle gossip that will soon dissipate into thin air?"

"I am unequivocally sure, dear," Lydia replied, her gaze fixed on her well-manicured nails, "I have information from the most reliable source in London."

"Whose?" Percy pressed on.

Lydia shook her head. "That remains a secret, unfortunately."

"What is not a secret is that you won't succeed with St. Arcey. Remember, Percy, the last ball in London?" Elinor teased with a laugh.

Percy laughed as well, but Lydia merely rolled her eyes.

"You were so resolute in foisting your daughter into a dance with the Marquess that he fled the premises," Percy chuckled.

"All because," Lydia snapped indignantly, "you two collided there like two vultures and began prattling on with your nonsense."

Upon hearing that, Elinor felt affronted. "My daughter is no trivial matter! If the Marquess truly desired, he could have taken Mary to the dance himself, and there would have been no need for such forwardness on your part!" she exclaimed.

"The same could be said about you and your daughter Octavia, or Percy and Rosalind!" Lydia retorted passionately.

"So, by what right do you usurp the pedestal – on what basis are you or your daughter considered superior to us?" cried Elinor, rising abruptly, causing Lydia to stand as well.

"I come from a far superior lineage than yours, and we have more wealth and connections!" Lydia snapped, to which Elinor blushed and pointed her index finger at her.

"Lydia Winthrop, you hypocritical old bat! If it's a duel you want, then a duel it shall be – and believe me, I won't lose! I shall do everything in my might to ensure that St. Arcey marries anyone but your daughter!" she cried out and turned to Percy, "Percy, we're taking our leave. I won't spend another moment in the company of such a prig who thinks she's the nexus of creation!"

She spun on her heel and swiftly exited the drawing room. Lydia glanced at Percy, who just shrugged.

"I cannot fathom what has led you to believe yourself superior to us, but I trust that your rationale is substantial enough to warrant the disruption of our amicable ties," she expressed before trailing after the upset Elinor.

Lydia observed her until she vanished behind the doors, then folded her arms over her chest. God desires events to unfold in my favour, and He shall aid me in this endeavour – regardless of whether you two are vexed or not, she pondered, sniffed, and proceeded to locate her daughter. It was time to share the tale of the unappreciative companions she once called her friends. 

Well, at least that's how it used to be, though who knows? This wasn't the inaugural, and surely not the concluding, dispute jeopardizing their friendship spanning over three decades.

When Mary listened to her mother's lament about her friends, she later made the following entry in her diary:

Dearest Diary,

My mother seems to have taken leave of her senses. Truly, I cannot fathom why she persists in seeking the Marquess St. Arcey's favour – the man scarcely cast his eyes in my direction, and that only during a dance compelled by decorum enforced by my mother dearest. Therefore, if, upon entering spinsterhood, I find myself bereft of potential suitors, it will be solely due to her barren endeavours. Oh, how fervently I desire to experience love's embrace... Yet, it appears that God, in His wisdom, has destined me for such a solitary fate, for if it were otherwise, surely I would have come into this world as a lad. 

A single teardrop fell upon the diary page, smudging a few words, as Mary hastily wiped her eye. She had shed innumerable tears over her lot – adding more seemed futile. Her predicament appeared more than bleak, with not a glimmer of hope on the horizon...