When General Montclair entered the ballroom, the music didn’t stop, but the conductor did miss a beat. The General was one of those men of whom it could be said, “All the women wanted him and all the men wanted to be him.” If there was one word to describe him, it would be dashing. In his white uniform with the pale blue sash, his cap under his arm, he cut quite the figure. His caramel colored hair, wavy in just the right places, perfectly matched his eyes. A thin mustache crowned his sensuous lips.
Putting a monocle to his eye, he surveyed the room. There she was, the Queen! It was true, everything that he had heard. She was indeed the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Granted, he was only twenty-five years of age, but he’d seen many women during his career and none of them could hold a candle to Queen Pirouette.