Heiress Without a Cause

The humid, candlelit air of your aunt's opulent Mayfair ballroom feels stifling after the raw energy of the theatre. You smooth the white muslin of your gown, a stark contrast to the breeches and wig you wore last night, and adjust the spinster's cap that confines your brown hair.
Chilton, your aunt's butler, announces your name with practiced formality: "Lady Madeleine Vaillant."
Few heads turn. Of course not. You are merely a fixture here, an overlooked niece in a house that has been your home for nearly two decades.
The dull ache of invisibility is sharp tonight, a painful reminder of the cheers that greeted you just hours ago on a different stage, in a very different part of London.
You descend the grand staircase, a polite, vague smile fixed on your face, ready to face another predictable night in the gilded cage of the ton.
