The Greatest Showman#1308 - Enemy road is narrow
The task was far from easy.
A grand banquet typically accommodated around 300 guests, but tonight's event boasted more than 500—each an esteemed member of the upper echelon. Though Richard had extended invitations to many professionals from London's West End, they mingled effortlessly with high society, their presence seamlessly woven into the evening's fabric.
Oscar night was known for its glamour, yet it paled in comparison to the exclusivity of this private affair.
Finding someone in this sea of sophistication was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack. Still, Beatrice remained relentless. Expectation and anxiety wrestled within her, the taste of sweet anticipation mingling with bitter uncertainty.
"Looking for me?" A voice, laced with amusement, cut through her thoughts.
She turned to find William and Kate standing before her, their smiles warm yet mischievous—the Prince and Princess in all their regal ease.
Beatrice curled her lips into an exaggerated pout, feigning annoyance. "I wouldn't want to complain about you in front of Kate and tarnish your heroic image."
Kate chuckled, her expression playful. "Don't worry. His image has already taken quite a few hits in my book. If it weren't for the media's persistence, I would have long since unleashed my full wrath."
Beatrice and Kate exchanged knowing glances, their laughter light and conspiratorial. William, unfazed, merely shrugged. "So, since Harry isn't here, I've become your new target? That hardly seems fair. By all rights, this is Harry's kind of event. Yet everyone I meet tonight looks at me as if to ask, 'Why are you even here?'"
Beatrice smirked. "Speaking of which, why isn't he here? I thought he'd be the most enthusiastic attendee."
"He's vacationing on a Mediterranean island. The Sun had a piece on it just the other day," William said offhandedly.
Beatrice immediately understood without further explanation. "Besides," William added, his gaze sharpening, "the guest of honor tonight is a man, not a woman. Hardly Harry's interest."
Beatrice felt the weight of his insinuation but straightened her posture, undeterred. "I admire his talent. That's hardly a secret, nor do I feel the need to hide it."
William's knowing smirk made her cheeks burn, but she held her ground. "He is charming, after all. That's perfectly normal, isn't it? Right, Kate?"
Kate, who had been watching the exchange with bemusement, widened her eyes and raised her brows in mock innocence. "Why am I suddenly involved in this?"
Beatrice shot her a pleading look. "As a woman, be honest. Don't you think he's quite attractive?"
Kate bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then blinked mischievously. Just when Beatrice feared she might not answer, Kate nodded. "Of course. I watched Les Misérables over Christmas, and I must admit, he was rather captivating. Sadly, I only managed to see the first half. I haven't had time to watch the rest."
William scoffed. "He's only twenty-three."
Kate countered smoothly, "When we first met, you were only nineteen."
William looked away, feigning indifference, unwilling to pursue the topic further. A subtle movement—perhaps insignificant to an outsider—but within their circle, the shift in tone was unmistakable. The playful banter cooled, dipping towards an unspoken tension.
From nineteen to twenty-nine, from courtship to marriage, William and Kate had spent a decade together.
Speculation about their relationship ran rampant. Some claimed Kate had meticulously plotted her way into the royal family, while others whispered of William's rebellious and temperamental nature, comparing him unfavorably to Harry. Many viewed their union as a calculated political compromise rather than a love story.
Yet, the truth remained elusive, known only to those within the palace walls.
Beatrice, however, was unfazed. Unlike those in the immediate line of succession, her life remained largely outside the relentless glare of public scrutiny. She had no desire to be drawn into the tangled narratives of royal life.
"Perhaps, after tonight's official introductions, we'll be able to compare properly," she quipped, steering the conversation back to its earlier, lighthearted track.
Kate followed her lead, her amusement returning. "I'm looking forward to meeting him, too. I've heard plenty of rumors, but I wonder—how different is he from Victoria and David?"
Beatrice sighed. "Oh, Kate…"
No further words were necessary. The mere mention of Victoria and David Beckham underscored the subtle divide between old nobility and rising social elites. While the Beckhams had carved a place within high society, their ascent lacked the centuries-old legacy that traditional aristocrats carried.
In the distance, William's gaze shifted toward the entrance. A small, knowing smile played at his lips. "Look, Elizabeth, our guest's parents have arrived."
Beatrice's middle name was Elizabeth. William's choice to use it now was no accident.
Both Beatrice and Kate turned to see George and Elizabeth Hall entering the grand hall. The couple exuded refinement—poised, elegant, and effortlessly noble. Despite the changing tides of society, their bearing spoke of a deeply ingrained aristocratic heritage. In some ways, their manners even surpassed William's, a testament to the rigid traditions they upheld.
The murmurs within the hall grew louder, though decorum was strictly maintained. Conversations hummed with excitement as one by one, guests subtly turned their attention toward the newcomers.
A silent shift rippled through the crowd.
Muscles tensed beneath perfectly tailored suits and designer gowns. Though outwardly composed, the Halls understood the moment was pivotal—an unspoken battle unfolding within the gilded walls of high society.
All eyes followed the same trajectory. At the entrance of the grand hall, bathed in golden light, stood the evening's true guest of honor. Richard had moved to greet him, but before he could step forward, another figure intercepted, making an introduction.
The subtle disturbance cascaded through the gathering. From the grand staircase to the lush garden beyond, every gaze had shifted, every conversation had paused.
Something had changed.
The center of gravity at the party had quietly but unmistakably shifted.
Every guest felt it. Every guest anticipated what would come next.
No one could deny it.
Not a single person in the room.