Secrets and Lies (Sync & Mali)

[Malicious Lullaby]

Four years ago, Elsa Strathmore ran away with a young man she met the night of her debutant ball. It created quite the scandal among the high society goers, her family and most of all her reputation. When word came that they had not married, she was officially a ruined woman among New England’s elite. Now, four years later, she has come back and the first place she had gone was home in the hopes of seeking forgiveness from her family.

They were delighted to see her again; afraid something truly awful had befallen their daughter. And when those pleasantries were over, they ripped her a new one. But when all was said and done, they gave her a condition; she would be forgiven by them so long as she was married by the end of the year. It was August now. So she had four months or she would be cast out by her family for good now and they would have done it on their own terms, not because their daughter ran off with some no good boy who wanted to take advantage of her.

When asked about what happened between her and that boy, Elsa didn’t give much away. She simply said she made a mistake, she was tricked and she came back when she was able to make enough money to come back home. It alarmed her parents as to what means she had to go through just to make money but she didn’t say. Neither did she deny anything. What was the point? Her parents and all of society thought she was a ruined woman. So let them think what they wanted. It didn’t matter if she pled her case. The people’s minds were set.

Nonetheless, the deal was set and she was immediately whisked into a high society party to renounce her arrival and debut. While her parents mingled, she stood in a corner by a table, sipping a glass of water and wearing her finest, listening to the voices around her. She just stared out ahead of her, not looking at anything in particular while people were not very subtle about their gossip behind her back, or beside her in fact. If potential suitors came up to her, it was simply to inquire about what kinds of things they could do with her and how much a night with her would cost. She politely declined, smiled and walked away. Other times, they wanted a dance with the infamous black sheep of high society, so ruined that she wasn’t worth anything now except for a dance or a romp in the sack, tangled up in silken sheets.

The entire night turned out to be a bust and she was now fearing that if this what all parties would be like at the tail end of the debut season, her parents would be officially disowning her at the end of four months and then she would truly be a lady of the night whose only worth was lying on her back and spreading her legs.

When her corset became too tight and she felt like she couldn’t breathe as anxiety reigned supreme, she stepped outside onto the balcony of the large mansion from the ballroom and breathed in the fresh air. It did wonders but she was afraid to go back in there. She couldn’t face the scrutiny and while Elsa knew there would be much scrutiny, she honestly didn’t think it would be this bad. Dressed in a soft crème corseted gown with hand-stitched embroidery and design, she gazed out the horizon as the sun went down, turning the sky various colors of pinks, oranges and yellows. She had in her hand a flute of champagne rather than water, needing something stronger for her nerves. She normally didn’t pick up such a bad habit but tonight, she needed the liquid courage, especially for when she would have to go back and face the wolves again.

A single tendril of jet black hair escaped from the bonds of her restrained her, plaited into a thick braid that tumbled down her back with ornamental flowers and beads stuck in for design and beauty, cascading over the soft features of her face and skin. She didn’t even mind it. If she could unwind, be done with this dress, take her hair down and be free she would. In fact, Elsa would love nothing more than that.

Her choice to come home was a difficult one. She had been free. Free from high society and in a place where no one knew her or the Strathmore name, much to her pleasure. But she came back for a reason. And now she had to deal with it and endure the pains and trivial scrutiny that came with it. She made her bed and now it was time to lay in it. Which she might have to do for the rest of her life if tonight was any indicator of what future parties would hold.

 

[Sync]

Reginald Hawthorne – Reggie, to his friends and family, unless he was in trouble – would have been content to remain largely alone this night. The party was fine and all, but…he really wasn’t in the mood, not any more. But walking out would have been poor form, and would have only added to his troubles.

When he turned twenty, he’d announced his desire to travel and see some of the world. He had a good family name, lots of money, many family friends, a few contacts and associates. A small trunk was all he took with him, packed with a few essential items of clothing he’d need; he knew he could buy anything else when he stopped. He’d travelled broadly around his home region of New England first, going to the main cities in Vermont and New Hampshire and Maine; the he travelled further to New York and New Jersey and Pennsylvania. He’d stopped, met with friends and associates, engaged in business talk, made a few deals to help his family’s fortune, and was somewhat successful.

His troubles, however, stemmed more from his behaviour at gatherings and parties. He was by no means an alcoholic, but he did like his drink at such gatherings. As such, when he was invited to parties, he tended to become more inebriated than was proper in polite company. His manners declined, his volume increased, and he was given to showing more attention to the young ladies that was seemly. He didn’t dally with them, nor did he lie with them. But he was known to get a little too close with both hands and lips, and that did not aid his cause. Typically, after two or three parties, he found himself no longer invited, and he moved on. His business arrangements remained unaffected, at least, for it was only in social circles that he slipped.

He travelled from city to city, state to state, and at least word of his manners at society gatherings did not move ahead of him as he moved further from New England. In polite company outside of parties he was a proper gentleman, dressed well, well-spoken, financially very comfortable. He was not an unattractive man, standing at just under 6 feet tall, with a thick crop of short dark hair, deep-set brown eyes, and a slightly-European look to him. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and rich, set in the deep pitch of a smooth baritone. His frame was solid, stocky, not lean or slim; he was muscular, but not bulky, from his years of boxing.

That was ten years ago.

Now, at age thirty, Reggie knew he had to consider settling down. As the oldest son of the family, he knew his father would look to him for an heir to the family estate. While he’d met many eligible ladies during his travels, it was difficult to consider settling with any of them due to the transient nature of his activities – both his desire to move and see the land, and his poor behaviour at social gatherings. Several young ladies, some arriving for their debut into society, might have been viewed favourably by his father, but for the reputation he’d garnished upon himself, causing said young ladies to reconsider their options.

So he returned home, with a view to settling and looking after the family estate…and he discovered that word of his exploits had reached home before him. He might be the eldest son, but he was not favoured any more. He might have done well for the family’s fortune, but he was known to be an inappropriate boor at parties and gatherings. He was, for all his efforts, facing being disowned for the slight he’d brought to his family name. However, his father and mother had conceded, if he did settle down, with the right girl, and forswore alcohol…they might reconsider their position. It wasn’t an instruction to marry, but it was close.

The party…he knew the issuing of his invitation had been reluctant. Word of his behaviour at gatherings had reached the ears of several senior members of families in the area, and few wanted to associate with him, it seemed. That was going to make the complying of his father’s wishes…difficult. He’d dressed in gentleman’s outfit, a proper suit, and although the winter was coming he’d removed his coat – the host’s house was warm enough. Still, having spent a lot of the gathering either on his own or being politely shunned when he tried to join conversations, he was contemplating leaving. There was little here for him.

He had a glass of water in his hand as he stood on the balcony, deep in the shadows, looking out at the dark landscape of the estate. The swishing of clothing told him he wasn’t alone as he might have wanted to be. A quick glance told him it was a young woman who’d joined him, but he didn’t know who she was – not from his position, and she wasn’t facing him for him to see her, anyway. He sighed softly and spoke up, wondering if it was the right thing to do. She’d probably shun him as well. He might consider moving to England.

“Are you enjoying the party, Miss?” he asked politely, his voice quiet but just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the party behind them.

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

Her thoughts went a bit rampant. While she knew that it would not be easy to come back without the potential of some kind of scrutiny, she did not think that it would be this bad. Men assuming she was now a hooker or a lady of the night whose only ability was to pleasure men in ways that they could not ask of their wives or intended? Were men so depraved in marriage that they had to seek entertainment elsewhere because the very acts spoken of were far too scandalous and taboo to ask of their spouses? Apparently so if they could come right up to her and assume the worst.

While she neither confirmed or denied the rumors of her means of returning back home after being half across the country, it was apparently believed that the only way a woman, with no money to her name after running away, could return back home on her own and without any help was by the form of prostitution. A soft mirthless laugh escaped her and her dainty hand came up to cover over her mouth, her head shaking in astonishment of the entire thing. It shouldn’t be so shocking, just as she did not think she’d be laughing at the hypocrisy of the entire situation right now. But she was. Though it wasn’t very humorous.

Bringing her hand down, she brought her other up and in the most unladylike fashion downed the rest of her champagne, the way a drunk or even a prostitute might. Perhaps the rumors weren’t entirely farfetched. If they only knew…oh how they would love to but even so, they would never believe. No, once a person’s mind was made up of the worst, it never strayed to anything better. Oh how ye little faith…

Setting the empty champagne flute down on the ledge, her hands splayed out over the space of it and she elongated her neck, arched her back and felt a tiny bit of relief, for the movement alone allowed her corset to loosen just enough for the brackets to lift off her lungs, allowing her to take in a deep breath and exhale slowly. The sudden voice she heard that came from nowhere startled her and she gasped, turning, her elbow knocking the champagne flute off the ledge and down below where the faint shatter sounded. She turned back to look over and made a face. “Oops.” She whispered.


Turning back to the direction where the sound came from, she could make out the silhouette of a man sitting the sundown casting enough light to make out his form but his features weren’t distinctive. “My apologies, you gave me a bit of a fright.” She laughed slightly, her hands coming to clasp in front of her. “I cannot say that I am. It has been a while, I suppose, and I must have forgotten the truly heinous pettiness of high society. The vultures. The wolves, if you would.” Realizing she was saying too much, she shook her head. “Again, I express my apologies in such a forward manner of speaking. One should not say such foul things of others.” Even if others were saying such foul things of her. While part of her did not care, there was a part of her that wanted to shut them up once and for all.

“I see you are hiding here yourself. Are you enjoying the party or is the view far better out here than inside?”

 

[Sync]

He hadn't expected to startle her enough that she'd knock her glass off the edge of the balcony railing. But then, he hadn't expected that she'd up-end and drain her glass as he might have and set the glass down, either. As his eyes adjusted to looking towards the lighted doorway she was standing near, he could see that she might be a comely woman, with a delicate figure; but more than that, with the exception of her long and dark hair, he could not determine. Yellow-coloured dress, perhaps. In the end, he didn't expect she'd remain long; if she didn't know who he was now, his identity would soon enough be revealed to her, and that would then signal the end of their conversation.

"My apologies, Miss," he replied sincerely, the timbre his voice soft and deep, as he stood and turned to face her. He was still in the shadows, and did not feel the urge to come out of them just yet. If he remained where he was, he'd be no threat to her, either physically or by reputation. "I did not mean to startle you so."

He sighed to himself and did as she had done: he lifted his glass to his mouth, tilted his head back, and drained his glass. He was only drinking water, at least, so there was no danger of him doing anything untoward from downing his drink in such a manner. He set his glass on the railing and took a step away from the railing. The movement brought him a little closer to the lighted area, but he was still sufficiently in shadow that his features would be hidden - he hoped.

"You need not apologise to me, Miss," he continued quietly. "The fault is mine for causing you to be startled, for such was surely not intended. I suppose our host might be aggrieved by the loss of a flute, but again, the fault for that can be mine for causing you fright enough to dislodge it." There was more she'd said, he was fully aware; what was uncertain to him was how - or whether - to respond.

"I suppose hiding is as good a word as any to describe my presence here," he agreed finally. "Society parties my be great social occasions, but they are surely no less dangerous than the ancient Roman circuses were to convicted criminals." It might have been a poor analogy, but there was no lack of truth to his words; all that was missing from society parties was the violence.

"In truth, I suppose this is a form of escape - attending a party without having to be spoken to, or having to speak with others." He tilted his head curiously; she'd be able to see the action, but likely not the accompanying expression on his face. "From your words I take it you're enjoying your attendance at this party about as much as I am?"

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

She waved her gloved hand in a most dainty flourish to dismiss his apology. “No need. The real fault essentially would be that of my elbow. While I understand they do help my arms to bend, they can be quite the nuisance, in the case of my elbow sending that poor flute to its demise.” She said it with such a charisma, it would be impossible not to smile at her charm. Though she didn’t expect him to. After all, she could not see much of his face, just the outline of his body still swatched by the darker light of the sundown, unable to make out any distinct features. His voice lent him the approval of handsomeness but then again, such determinations could prove to be a folly. A man could have a very attractive voice but end up looking like a heinous caricature of what he could have looked like.

Leaning her hip against the pillars that supported the ledge, she smiled faintly as he did his best to answer her question. She felt rather the same after people did speak to her, making her wish they hadn’t. For what they had to say did not bode well to her ears or her reputation and only taught her just how far seedier people thought it was than it actually was. “True. They were far more violent and cruel than the cruelty of those riddled in gossip, seeking it and relishing it. Though one could say that the power of the sword dulls in comparison to the power of the pen, or in this case, the power of words; hearsay.” She made a face far too cavalier for such words spoken but it only pointed the way of numbness she felt in the eye of such hearsay, scrutiny and spread of gossip. She wasn’t immune to it, that’s for sure but with the assumptions made in the past hour, one after the other, she was feeling little at the moment.

Suffice to say, her only breath of fresh air wasn’t the literal one taken before her encounter with this man but the actual encounter with him. He seemed not to know who she was, for her face and image were not obscured by the sundown but rather illuminated by it. That itself was the breath of fresh air. Some form of anonymity.

As he took a step forward, she did the same and though the exact features of his face were not entirely clear, he did not look solely like a shadow either. “I think it is incredibly safe to say that I am just about enjoying my attendance at this part as much as you are and not regretting it one bit.” Though the last bit was laced heavily with sarcasm, because in truth, Elsa was regretting her attendance. She had been a fool to think that it would be so easy, that she wouldn’t face the ire or scrutiny of women and the salacious offers or leers of men, married or not, whom were looking to do things with her or to her that they could not do with or to their wives, if they had one. Hypocrites, the lot of them. It started to paint the ugly truth of a picture clearer for her. In four months, she would be promptly disowned because who would want to marry a ruined woman like her? Whether she confirmed, denied or corrected the rumors, running away with a boy of no means was likely worse of a scandal than giving herself to many men over just to pay her travels back home.

Fed up well enough with not seeing more than just a darkened shadow of him, she tilted her head, her eyes squinting just slightly. “Would you mind stepping into the light?” Elsa even stepped back so he had room to no longer be bathed in a shadow but rather illuminated, much like she currently was. “Please?”

 

[Sync]

Reggie did smile faintly, in fact, as she made her counter-claim for fault of knocking the flute over the edge of the railing. She wouldn’t see the smile, however, given his current preference for remaining in the half-light of his present location. There was a certain charm to her declaration that was amusing, in a flighty way.

“We could debate for some time, I’ll wager, over the minutiae of who should bear fault for the demise of the flute,” he offered warmly. “You claim that it was your elbow that knocked said flute yonder; I could counter that had I not startled you so, you would not have moved in such a manner that your elbow would have knocked the flute.” He waved his hand dismissively. “In the end, I’m sure it is of no importance. Our host could find fault with either of us, or both of us, should he choose to not be magnanimous.” At least there was no debate from her on the inherent danger at parties such as the one they were currently at; she knew, as he did, that society would break them if it felt the need – or the urge – to do so.

He was already contemplating stepping forwards, out of the shadow, when her request reached his ears. It was not unreasonable for her to want to look upon the visage of the person with whom she was conversing, even if their conversation was steeped in the apparent mutual-dislike of the party they were attending. It was true, he’d already been able to determine her features enough that she presented as a rather handsome young woman; not necessarily stunningly beautiful, but she’d certainly catch the eye of men if she desired. She’d already caught his eye, he could not deny it. He made sure his glass was settled carefully on the railing and stepped away from the comfort of the shadows into the half-light that bathed the balcony area.

“My apologies, my lady,” he offered sincerely, as he determined that she’d be able to see his features sufficiently to know the appearance of the man she was holding conversation with. “I should not have remained hidden so as we talked.” He paused, then bobbed his head slightly in courteous greeting. “Allow me to introduce myself: Reginald Hawthorne, of the New England Hawthornes, at your service.”

There was no need for him to elaborate on his identity further, he felt; indeed, merely the mention of his name would probably give her pause. Surely she knew enough of the rumours surrounding him that she’d be more careful of her conversation, if she indeed chose to remain and converse. He suspected he’d be safely disowned by the end of the year.

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

“Yes, we could debate further. And my counter to your counter argument would be that if I had not so haphazardly placed that flute on the ledge, a singular move that could only end in a terrible demise, then that flute would still be alive and we would likely not be potentially facing the ire of our host over a rather stunning piece.” She brought a slender gloved finger to her lip, her index to be exact, and pursed her lips. “I suspect it was crystal.” But she shrugged her shoulders, giving light to the fact that she really did not care for a champagne flute, whether it was real crystal or not.

Thankfully, he obliged her in her request and came out of the shadows with a soft apology for his poor taste in manners. She could only smile and as he became well revealed to her, her eyebrows rose in a bit of surprise but there was also a certain sense of relief in her eyes. He had a very mesmerizing voice and thankfully for her, he did not posses any hint of repulsive male. No, in fact he was rather handsome, with a distinct European air about him. His speech was not European but he retained some of that likeness in his appearance from his ancestors. She smiled warmly, a genuine smile.

A handsome man with a charming personality it seemed, one who could carry quite a rapport with her, like that of the demise of a silly champagne flute, and he was perfectly eligible to marry. He must be because there would be no way his wife would let a man that looked like him, be off on his merry little lonesome. Though she didn’t like to think of her jealous side, if she was his wife and they attended this function together, there would be no way she would leave his side. She’d trust him, but it would be the conniving vultures that passed for high society women she didn’t trust. Sometimes all it took was a flutter of eyelashes, a coquettish smile or even the faintest glimmer of such soft and supple skin of the wrist beneath gloves that could make a man rethink his marriage vows.

Snapping herself back to the present, she nearly missed his name. He did sound familiar but being away from high society for four years, she wasn’t accustomed to the gossip that had spread around in that time. She did however remember some slanderous mentions of him, the black sheep of his family in fact, a few years before she made her debut. She remembered thinking that he was a man of ruin, on his way down a plummeting ladder with no way back up to for fresh air. But now she was a ruined woman. One ruined man was one ruined woman’s treasure.

“Mr. Hawthorne, it is a pleasure.” Elsa bowed a polite curtsy before meeting his gaze once more. “My name is Elsa Strathmore, of the New England Strathmores.” She laughed lightly, as if finding some humor in mimicking his way of introduction. “Not that I find that in any means something to take pride in.” She whispered. Though she shouldn’t speak such things. After all she was not ashamed of being a Strathmore, though she was sure her parents were ashamed of having her for a daughter after what she did, but rather shameful of being stuck in the mold of high society. Furthermore, needing to remain in that mold for her own security. “I remember hearing about you from my mother’s weekly club meeting when I was fourteen or fifteen. You were infamous in their talks.” She blushed and looked down, bringing her hands in front of her to clasp together once more.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t hold very kind thoughts toward you either. But I’ve grown and have since learned never to judge a person merely on gossip. It’s quite slandering, shameful even and petty, that being the mode which entertains women so while men remain cavalier about it, though are inclined to believe it as well, basing...certain judgments about it.” She shuddered a little bit, her mind going to that last proposal before she came out here for fresh air. Such debasement!

 

[Sync]

It may have been a flicker of a glance from her, but his eyes did not miss it, he was certain: she had cast her gaze over him quickly, and the smile that quickly appeared on her face suggested she was not at all turned away by his appearance. Indeed, the smile lit her features a little more for him – there was a certain severity to her when she was relaxed, and while he was quite certain that she could become an angry woman, such that her severity became a hard edge, if scorned, the smile he just saw took away from that severity and revealed something of her inner beauty. It was…maybe not enchanting, but most definitely appealing – even if that smile would soon be forgotten by her.

Or would it? Reggie could not help a slight flush, his gaze dipping slightly, as she admitted she’d heard his name cast about in an unflattering light at various society gatherings she’d attended, and he could only imagine what she’d heard – while he doubted that everything she may have heard would be true, there was likely only some small degree of exaggeration as his exploits were recanted. And yet…she was now just admitting that she did not find much stock in the spurious tales spread at gatherings such as this one. He could only wonder what had caused this young woman to take such a position, when High Society thrived on…

Oh…her name. He’d overheard a thing or two about her, though nothing of what had occurred. He overheard his mother talking about “…that Strathmore girl…” in such a manner as to leave no doubt that his mother viewed the woman before him with scant more than disgust. There was something about “running away” and also about “returning penniless and alone”, although he doubted that was entirely accurate. Still, best to not pry. He had a number of years of dark behaviour over her, such that anything she might have done would pale next to what he had done, of that he had no doubt.

He took a step towards her, reached out and carefully teased one of her hands – her right hand, in fact – from the clasp she’d placed them in, and dipped his head slightly as he brought her hand to his lips to place a light kiss on the back of her hand before gently releasing it to return to her clasp. He then took a small step back from her to keep a civilised and socially-appropriate distance between them.

“A pleasure, Miss Strathmore,” he offered softly as her hand returned to its place before her. “I must confess that I, too, have heard your name mentioned in the short time I’ve been back, but, as yourself, I place little value in the talk of others so far as gossip is bandied like coin. It would be ungentlemanly of me to speak further on the matter; let it be simply said that I believe I fare worse than you in the gossip stakes, and as such I am in no position to judge.”

He paused for a moment, then swept his arm out in a gesture towards the railing and the dark landscape beyond. “Come, Miss Strathmore – if we are to be both maligned by the idle tongues of society, we may at least speak between ourselves and take some pleasure in the company of the other, may we not?”

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

Her own cheeks turned red this time. Such a simple gesture was enough to make a woman swoon at impecable manners. And if her sheltering had not been shattered, it would be enough for her. Alas, it was a kind gesture, far more mannerful than the gestures of men fromt his party inappropriately propositioning her. And it was such kindness that she hadn’t seen in a man in so long.

He placed her hand back but even through the silk glove, she could feel the imprint and warmth of his lips that remained. It made her smile, and without looking down, her left hand covered over her right, as if to hold that kiss with fondness. LIke a treasure, keeping it safe and protected.

Her cheeks reddened more, though this time not for the same reason as before. It should not have shocked her. What would have been surprising was if he hadn’t heard of her by name to match ruined reputation. Considering everyone who was anyone among the high society goers seemed to know of her family well and once upon a time fondly, they all knew about her. And that stopped being surprising quite quickly. But for some reason she kind of wished that he didn’t have some inkling. It was one thing for a man to have a seedier reputation, it was kind of expected sometimes. Men had free reign to do as they pleased for the most part, so long as they did something productive with their lives, so not to put shame to their family name. Women on the other hand...there was only one mold that was accepted and that was certainly not the mold she fit into anymore.

But it seemed that he didn’t mind. Or, like her, he didn’t rely solely on the debasement of gossip to garner a full opinion. Did he really mean that? She looked at him, the blush fading from her cheeks as she searched his face for the truth in those words. Elsa could not be so certain. “You may believe you fare worse and considering the gossip that rolled around once upon a time, you are likely correct in that assessment. However, you being a man gives you a certain advantage that I do not posses.” She smiled meekly, tilting her head lightly. “But I appreciate your kindness. And I thank you for not casting upon me the same judgment that others have.” Just as he did not, she would not either. Who was she to judge after all?

Elsa’s suspicions were put to rest by his offer. He did not promise a night of debasement, engaging between her legs either in the coat room or drawing room. No, there was no hint of anything perverse in his offer one bit. And that lightened her shoulders of the heavily rested scandal weighing down on them. Finally, such a man did exist.

A big smile formed on her face and she nodded her head almost too enthusiastically. “I would be delighted Mr. Hawthorne.” And she truly was. Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps there was still a chance. Turning, she stepped by the railing and let her arms rest over it, crossed and the soft wind of the night blowing over her face, through her hair which cast a tendril of loose hair over her forehead. “You are right. There is little we can do to further tarnish ourselves. And rather than succumb to the worst of our doomed reputations, we could…” She flourished her hand as she thought of the proper word. “Toast to it, instead.” Though Elsa was aware she would had nothing to toast with but air.

 

[Sync]

The slight flushing of Elsa’s cheeks told Reggie that she was at least a little receptive to manners. That was good to know; it was also good for him to know that his hadn’t forgotten how to behave properly with and around a lady. He might have disbelieved it himself, had someone else simply suggested that he still have good manners; his general behaviour over the last ten years, at least at social gatherings, did not give much weight to such a statement or concept. His father might almost be happy if he’d witnessed this moment between himself and Elsa…but his father was not here, instead talking with other gentlemen while preferring to ignore his wayward son.

He smiled faintly at her suggestion of a toast, and he bobbed his head briefly in agreement. “Indeed,” he replied warmly. “A toast to…to what? A pair of souls who have only the recourse of redemption available to them? I dare not speak for yourself, of course, but I thus far suspect that you and I may find ourselves in similar positions.” He flicked a hand slightly in a dismissive gesture. “No matter – it is of no consequence. Whatever is in the past is best left there, I’ll warrant.” He stopped at the railing, leaned on it lightly, then turned a little so that he was slightly angled towards her.

He found himself looking at her features again, but he was mindful to not stare or scrutinise – such would be unseemly and improper. He found his previous assessment was rather correct: she was no stunning beauty, made of pale porcelain that was to be only dusted off for important occasions, but there was a very attractive quality about her appearance that made her at the least a handsome woman. The dress she wore was almost typical of women’s fashion: her upper chest was exposed, but in a classy way that hinted at charms beneath; the waist was narrow, as if she’d been forced into it, and accentuated her hips; the gown was flowing and barely dragging on the ground. She wore it well. He also figured that there was likely little chance he’d see her again after this evening was over. Such a glance had taken only a couple of seconds, but he was certain she hadn’t missed his attention.

“I may have some advantage over you in terms of…what society might and might not permit me,” he acknowledged softly, as he cast his gaze out over the near-unseen landscape before them. “But I suspect that years will take that advantage from me, at least so far as your own adventures may be concerned. However, I have said that any stories you may have are yours to tell, if you desire to; they are not for me to pursue, in spite of whatever curiosity I may have. The companionship of a charming young lady is more important to me on this night than any tale-telling.”

His gaze fell to the railing as he gave a brief, rueful smirk. Then he lifted his head and returned his gaze to her face, his expression warm and inquisitive. When he spoke, his voice was deep and soft, and carried a tone of gentle enquiry.

“So tell me, Miss Strathmore – what brings you to this party, this gathering of society’s sharks and piranhas?”

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

She gave a humorless of a laugh, not very ladylike but being away from the scrutiny of high society, certain qualities traditionally deemed ladylike were amiss of her. And it wasn’t like she was looking to go back down that road again. No. She may only be twenty-two but four years away without the shelter or comfort of her family’s influence, left to fend for herself in the most grueling of circumstances, seeing things she never knew existed that not even reliable literature could have prepared her for, certainly changed her. She went from a doe-eyed innocent girl just of age on her coming out day to a woman who saw more than she likely should have, given the way of life she had led beforehand. She was no longer a typical lady of high society. Neither was Elsa a lady of the night, but she was a different type of woman. The kind that was scrutinized for more than just the question of her virtue.

“I wouldn’t say redemption, per se.” She smiled slowly, her eyes bright and twinkling. “Rather...two souls so ruined they cannot possibly ruin themselves even further among the company of each other.” There were no hidden innuendos in that toast but one could take it as such. But that was not what Elsa was suggesting. She did not want to fuel more rumors. But she wouldn’t mind a new scandal, one to take the heat off of her current ones, where she was caught with a man like Reginald Hawthorne, who was as much of a black sheep as she was now. Not that she would take much satisfaction in using him for her own gain. No. Perhaps though, they could willingly use each other for their own gains. That is, he had something she needed and if he was likely in the same boat as she, she had something he needed.

As he turned toward her, Elsa’s gaze lifted to him just as his gaze landed on her. She caught it. For an instant, it was like he was judging her, as if trying to see through her. But only for an instant and then it retreated, leaving her with the hope that his mind truly was not like everyone else’s but far more open, accepting, broadened, willing even. Smiling gently, she tilted her head a little and exhaled softly. “Unfortunately for you Mr. Hawthorne, tonight is not a night that I should display my cards so eagerly in front of you. I prefer to see out the game, but I must confess some of my own intentions of coming tonight. Yes, I did not need the insistence of my mother, despite how tightly my corset may be tied,” likely an overshare but it was clear she did not quite posses the ladylike grace of most of society’s women. “And I came here to this pool of society’s sharks and piranhas, as you so colorfully described,” she even laughed softly, finding that analogy to be almost too much for her to bare, how it tickled her pink. “Of my own volition. I seek something.”

Her head tilted again, her gaze on him a little stronger, more intent, seeking and searching. “Would you care to venture a guess Mr. Hawthorne?”

 

[Sync]

He chuckled softly – he couldn’t help it – at her counter-toast. The chuckle was low, soft, understanding of her import. She knew her situation well, as he well-knew his own predicament; she also at least had divined some of his situation, just as he had divined some of her own. Their own respective families were watching them closely, and the consequences of not meeting specific objectives were perhaps for her as they were for himself.

“I find that suggestion agreeable,” he noted quietly, once the chuckle had faded. “That we cannot possibly do ourselves any further damage in each other’s presence. Others may disagree, of course, but that would be their perceptions doing the judging, rather than judgment coming of any actions we might make.”

He turned from her, just enough that he returned to being side-on to her, and focussed his faze on some invisible point in the darkness beyond the railing. His hands were planted firmly on the railing as he leaned into them, his shoulders now working to take some of his weight. He remained silent for a moment, considering her words: she was seeking something. Was she seeking what he was? Was the condition of her family similar to that of his own? It would be quite the coincidence if it was – how could two single people meet by chance, each of them desiring a union to avoid the wrath of family? Yet her words hinted at such. He dare not be so bold as to suggest it, however. He took a slow, deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out just as slowly as he relaxed his arms and pushed back into a standing position.

“Of course you should not reveal your cards so freely to a man you’ve only just met, especially not to one with a reputation such as I have – not unreasonably, I must confess – acquired,” he conceded quietly. “That would be somewhat unseemly of you, and may even serve to fuel the rumours that slight you. Of course, I must also keep my own cards close, lest I return to an ungentlemanly manner in front of you. However, I may say that your words even so have hinted at something, and it may be that our goals are not so disparate as one might initially be given to thinking.

“I was invited here this evening, as I’m sure you were. However, where you have said you came at your own undertaking, I must again confess that my presence here is due to some small compulsion, such that I may not be entirely selfless or without motive.” He was saying too much, he felt, but the words were being drawn from him. He forced himself to stop, and he took another deep breath, as if to steady himself, before he turned his head to regard her curiously, a small, weak smile forming on his lips.

“I would not be so forward as to attempt to guess your intent this evening, although I believe I suspect what it may be. However, if you were to enlighten me, I would be quite willing to hear you.”

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

“Much to our misfortune, we cannot control the opinions and judgments of others. What we can do is either discredit them or simply let them squirm in anticipation of the awaiting truth of said opinions and judgments.” For her personally, Elsa would choose the latter. Rather than deny and confirm with the actual truth as opposed to the truth they would want to hear, she’d rather let them squirm. After all, her reputation was already shot. What more could she possibly have to lose?

Elsa was beginning to feel an inkling of a similarity between them and their situations. It seemed that with their ruined reputations, they were likely in the same boat about their current predicament. He must have been a man nearing his thirties or already in them, and based on the lack of wedding band on his left hand and the fact that he seemed to be at this party alone without a wife to nag behind him, he was in search of a wife. Lest he forfeit whatever title and fortune he would come into as being a Hawthorne son. As for Elsa, she was required to marry by the end of the year, lest she decided to devote her life of some kind of servitude, disowned by her family and resigned to succumb to such servitude or be her own woman and truly become the lady of the night that so many already assumed she had become.

Considering they had just met, suggesting any of these, regardless of the merit behind them, would be far too premature and likely scare the other off if not turn off completely. No, she had four months and in those four months she was hoping to not only acquire an alliance of convenience but also for that of love, if she could be so lucky. And she’d wish the same on Mr. Hawthorne, though despite her inward eagerness to take a chance on this man she had just met, something told her he was not for her. A man like him would be better suited with a far more beautiful woman than her, perhaps even more charming if such a woman existed--it was Elsa’s belief that a woman either had stunning beauty or charismatic charm, but not both. Elsa knew she had more charm and wit than beauty and there are other rare cases of women like her of high society out there, perhaps once upon a time had they not been so warped and manipulated by the advantages of money and luxury, as well as the stability wreaked from it. Then there were those women who were only ornaments or the finest porcelain dolls. Beautiful to look at but never to be touched. Thus, they were married off into quite the advantageous arrangement with all the luxury, money and stability possible while their husbands likely strayed away, though with the boastful victory of acquiring such a beautiful wife while buried between the legs of an unbecoming woman of the night.

“Mr. Hawthorne, I suspect our motives may be similar but to say them out loud would only weaken any of our chances. Instead--” She cut off when she could hear in the distance, even through the string of classical music playing inside, her name being called by the all too familiar female voice of her mother. She turned her face in the direction of that calling before giving him her attention once more, a smile gracing her lips. “Instead, I will offer that we leave it up to chance and in the air. For while you mull on it, I will take my leave and if the stars align in our favors, then we will be seeing each other again.”

With a final curtsy, she gathered her skirts gently and stepped back away from him, though kept her gaze right on him. “It’s been a pleasure Mr. Hawthorne. I daresay we might meet again. And if not, let this be a night to remember for the both of us, should our follies result in a demise of character and stature.” Leaving those as her final words, Elsa turned and walked back into the ballroom.

Unfortunately for her, her mother had not called to retire for the night. Instead, a handsome young man, who was likely a couple of years older than her, stood beside her and smiled almost expectantly at Elsa. She could only raise one finely crafted eyebrow, her lips pursing in an almost distaste, a look her mother recognized because she was at her side immediately, pinching the back of her arm out of sight of this man, a silent warning to get her to cooperate.

“My dear, please allow me to introduce to you Mr. Fitzwilliam Abernathy of the New Haven Abernathy’s.”
“Ms. Strathmore, it is a true pleasure.” he bowed and Elsa only bobbed a curtsy. Offering his hand to her, he straightened his tall and lean posture and flashed a charming smile full of secret hidden agendas. She’d rather take her chances on Mr. Hawthorne. At least his smiles were devoid of salacious thoughts.

“Would you honor me with a dance?”

Elsa glanced to her mother, almost pleadingly but the woman only gave a look of insistence. Forcing down the bile of gumption that rose to initially decline this man, Elsa put on her best smile filled with so much saccharine it could give cancer and placed her gloved hand daintily into his. “If I must.” She mumbled more to herself than anything, Mr. Abernathy not hearing unfortunately, though her mother did and had to force the smile on her face to stay rather than flounder.

Mr. Abernathy led her out onto the dance floor among the other couples dancing and they engaged in a dance. Though her attention was anywhere on him, especially as he began to talk. Of himself no less!

 

[Sync]

She spoke truth enough, that much he could determine. With their reputations already maligned by society – he was now certain that she was in a similar predicament to himself – neither of them had a lot to lose, at least so far as the wagging tongues were concerned. He knew he stood to lose a lot more if he was not at least engaged before the year was out, and he now had a strong suspicion that she was in a similar situation with her own family. Indeed, she was already giving voice to that notion…

…until a voice not too distant caused her to stop and listen…a voice calling for his new-found companion by name. He found he would that she chose to ignore that voice, but, perhaps wisely, she did not. Instead, she returned her attention to him and, almost apologetically, took her leave. He did not have opportunity to speak further; all he could do was bow deeply to her curtsy – and then she was gone, through the doors she’d emerged from and once more into the viper’s nest.

He chose not to follow her, not immediately; indeed, there was little reason for him to do so. He had already met a number of the eligible women this night, and he had not been so successful conversing with any of them that he had avoided being on his own and entertaining a growing awareness of his predicament. He could go back inside, it was true, but to do what? The men, likely now retired to a drawing room if they were not dancing with a lady, would, if not shun him, then give him cold shoulders all; the ladies would speak politely in his presence but immediately turn to gossip and chatter behind their fans when his attention was diverted. There was little for him here. His best chance at retaining his inheritance likely lay in another district, hopefully a place where his name was not yet turned to mud…if such a place existed in the nearby areas.

Through the windows of the ballroom he could see the young Miss Strathmore talking with a much older woman – her mother, he presumed the woman to be. Beside her was a young man, around the same age as Elsa, he fancied…and it seemed that Elsa’s mother had decided that Elsa and though young man should take a dance together. It seemed however, that Elsa did not entertain the notion with any degree of enthusiasm; rather, it appeared that she had little choice but to endure it. Reggie decided that he should stop looking, lest he look like a worrisome fop; instead, he moved along the balcony to a second set of doors that led back to the main room, and he slipped through them into the ballroom proper. He was aware that a couple of conversation paused as he appeared, but he did nothing more than give a polite nod before continuing on his way. He knew he had to chance the gathering of older men – if they only barely tolerated him for his social appeal, he at least could discuss business with them; they knew that much of him.

As he approached the drawing room where the chatter of men could be heard, and the smell of cigar smoke drifted through the air, a servant approached him and offered a snifter of brandy; almost reluctantly, he took it, although he resolved to be sparing in his drinking of it. He was determined – more than ever, it seemed, since he’d spoken with Miss Strathmore – to hold his head high this night and not slip into the behaviour he was now noted for.

The sharp odour of cigars assaulted his nose the second he stepped into the room, and, as earlier, a couple of conversations paused upon his entry. He was not quite unwelcome here, but he could feel looks of disdain falling upon him. Perhaps his father might be the best bet for getting accepted into the room…there he was.

Sir Bartholomew Hawthorne was a tall, solid man – in his early fifties now, his hair was silver and slicked back from a high brow that covered piercing grey eyes. A hooked nose ruled over the large white moustache that adorned a pair of thin lips. The fortune of the Hawthorne family was made in livestock primarily, although there were a couple of mining stocks, and several shares in the growing railway industry. On his journeys, Reginald had done well to secure additional shares in railway, and had expanded the family holdings to include some textiles, a move for which Bartholomew had expressed gratitude tempered with annoyance. Clearly unable to avoid the upcoming conversation, Bartholomew’s features set into an unreadable expression.

“Reginald,” the solid man greeted the younger man. “Allow me to introduce Sir Garfield Dillinger of New England.” Sir Garfield was a slim man of similar years to Bartholomew, and, apparently, of a similar disposition towards Reginald. “Sir Garfield, this is Reginald, my…son.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Reggie replied, bowing his head respectfully towards Sir Garfield. He hadn’t missed the delay in being acknowledged as blood and kin…which meant no-one else in the room had missed it, either.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” agreed Sir Garfield pleasantly as he bobbed in his in reply. Reggie just knew that was a bald-faced lie.

“Sir Garfield and I were just discussing the future of railroads, and the advent of these…motorised vehicles that are being developed in Europe,” Sir Bartholomew explained. “Join us, please.”

And with that, Reggie was shut out and trapped.

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

“...And after, we all took a trip up to the lake where my father and I tested our hand and trade at who could catch the most fish. Naturally of course, son did outwit father in such talent, but I shan’t boast of my achievements.”

“Mm, really?” Her voice was deeply laden in thick, heavy sarcasm, her gaze averting from him. She spotted her mother some distance away, watching like a mother hen hovering on her little baby. The look on Elsa’s face screamed of mercy, to be spared from her slow and impending death by this drole of a man who had no problems bragging about his achievements, though he seemed to think he was being entirely humble in his exploits.

Her mother’s returning expression was of desperate insistence, forcibly encouraging her daughter to play nice and continue humoring Mr. Abernathy even more. Elsa would rather pitch herself off the very balcony that she and Mr. Hawthorne had converse, an ironic twist of fate in fact considering she learned of such happiness on that balcony. Though she was set in her belief that Mr. Hawthorne would never be interested in her, even if it was just for convenience to spare them both the failure to comply to high society requirements, he seemed like a man who required a far more beautiful partner. Her mother often liked to remind her that Elsa took more after her father in handsomeness but lacked the true beauty of her to truly tempt men.

Apparently she had enough of both to tempt a man once upon a time, and though he was the vilest of men on this planet, she was not entirely without. But strictly speaking on the type of men she was capable of attracting, none were respectable enough for her or her sizeable dowry.

“Yes, really in fact. I pride myself in such humility.”
She had to refrain from outright snorting, unbecoming of a true lady.
“You must really visit England. The women there…” He sighed almost dreamily. “They are truly unlike any other. Sure, young American ladies such as yourself are a suitable alternative but true beauty, grace and elegance lies within the heart of it all, the original debutante tradition of London society and its beautiful ladies to gander. Such beautiful ladies…” His gaze dropped down to her and he so smoothly ran his fingers through the soft tendrils of her dark brown hair. “A pity. Yellow hair is far more fetching.”

And that was truly the final straw. Purposely, her heeled foot stomped on his but she played it off an accident. “Oh my! How clumsy of me! I apologize Mr. Abernathy, I suppose my talents in such dancing are quite a bit rusty.” She played it off well and though he glared at her because he knew the truth, he did not say anything. Instead, a swarm of people and staff came to his aid and Elsa took the moment to slip away.

Her mother attempted to follow her but the crowd that gathered around Mr. Abernathy in his aid--and to see what the little trollop of high society did this time--pooled too greatly and she was stuck among the crowd. Which allowed Elsa to escape out of the ballroom and go elsewhere. In a moment like this, she wished she could find Mr.Hawthorne. His charm, wit and ability to turn a phrase or even make her smile amidst the sharks and piranhas was magical.

“Elsa Lorelai Strathmore!” But she did not get far unfortunately, just short of a men’s drawing room, the door not entirely closed, before her mother finally caught up to her. Turning to look at the persistent woman who looked far too flustered, likely having fought her way out of that crowd to get to her daughter, she simply cast a look to her.
“Yes Mother, please use my full name, that shall make me come back.”

“I got you to stop, did I not?”
“May I be done here? Can I not retire?”

“Not quite my dear.” She stepped forward, her voice lowering. “We made a deal, Elsa.”
“I am well aware. I still have time.”
“Do you?”
“Yes I do. Far more time than to settle for the likes of Mr. Abernathy. He does not have even the remotest of interest in me.”

“I highly doubt you can afford to be so...selective in your potential suitors. After all, you’ve run your name into the ground and you’d be lucky at all if a man could even look at you without thinking the worst.” She whispered.

Elsa just stood there, a little shocked though she knew she shouldn’t be. After all she knew this truth first and foremost but the fact that her mother thought the same...it felt like she had just been slapped in the face.

“After what you did do you really expect to marry for love? Or even respect?”
“Mother--”
“No. I would rather see my only child married off to the most pompous of them all then to have to watch her suffer in the slums for her own misdeeds. You will allow Mr. Abernathy to call on you again after this night.”


“I highly doubt he will ever call on me again.”
“After I am through with some damage control, I guarantee you he will call on you. You will find I can be quite persuasive when I need to be. And apparently where it concerns my rambunctious and dreadfully rebellious daughter, I will have to be as persuasive as I can be.”

To Elsa, that only meant promising a very sizable dowry, larger than already expected. “Very well, Mother. I will do as you command.” Though she said it, she knew she could not live up to it. Her mother may not relish the idea of disowning her but if these were her only choices, she’d rather be disowned. At least then she would have some dignity left than to be married to a man who would likely enjoy his face buried in soft yellow curls than in dark, dingy brown ones.

With a huff, Mrs. Strathmore retreated back into the ballroom and Elsa simply stood there, feeling a weight on her shoulders that was almost crushing, she wanted to crumble into the floor and disappear.

 

[Sync]

The conversation hadn’t been all bad…just mostly bad.

Reggie had shifted between being mildly curious and outright bored by the chatter going on between his father and Sir Garfield. While the business conversation held his attention, the technical conversation went past him. There was continued huge investment to be made, and profits to be had, in the railroads, and that was where most of the conversation between the two older men had focussed. Occasionally they diverted towards the advent of motorised vehicles and their potential impact on the moving of goods on a large scale, and both men agreed that their investments in the rail system would be largely unchallenged. They could both, however, see the potential benefits of such machines, even though their apparent uses were, at this time, somewhat limited.

Reggie had even been allowed to join in the conversation on occasion, much to his surprise. He’d been asked for his opinion on investments in railways, and had been asked for his opinion on the motorised vehicles. He’d given his thoughts dutifully, of course, and in a thoughtful and measured tone. He just knew Sir Garfield knew of his poor reputation; he didn’t feel the need to enhance it by being obtuse during the conversation. Still, his input was limited; he thought he’d spoken maybe five sentences at best. Not much at all for the amount of time he’d been shackled to the two older men.

He’d started to think about how he might excuse himself from the conversation, and the room in general, when he heard – or at least thought he heard – raised voices outside the door to the drawing room. Female voices, at that, it seemed. He quickly glances around, saw that he did not appear to have been imagining it: a few other heads had also turned towards the door and were – for a few seconds, at least – listening to the voices outside. He was sure he’d heard a name as well, but that could be just his imagination working hard; he had to confess to himself at that moment, that he’d been thinking about the young Miss Strathmore perhaps more than he should have been, even though her company was far preferable than that he was now being compelled to endure.

The timing was almost fortuitous – there was a pause in the conversation between his father and Sir Garfield; probably induce by his father lighting a second cigar. Reggie knew he had to take his chance. He turned to his father first, his expression taking on an air of determination.

“Father,” he began, his voice soft and deep and as sincere as he could manage. “If you will both excuse me, I believe I might take my leave at this moment.”

Sir Garfield looked almost relieved, he thought, but his father didn’t appear so forgiving.

“What business have you here that you need take leave, Reginald?”

“I suspect, father,” Reggie replied carefully, “that the nature of the business I find myself desiring to pursue may strongly relate to another matter whose strong conditions you have placed squarely upon my shoulders.” His father’s raised eyebrows suggested to Reggie that the import had not been missed.

“Very well, Reginald,” Sir Bartholomew replied with a curt nod of his head. “I trust that you are successful in this matter.”

“Thank you, father,” Reggie replied honestly. He might have gone anyway, but being given permission to leave when leave had been sought was always preferable. He turned to face the other man. “Sir Garfield, a pleasure talking with you. I hope your business ventures continue to meet with success.”

“It had been good to meet you, Reginald,” Sir Garfield replied smoothly. Reggie didn’t believe the other man meant it. Instead, he bowed his head respectfully to Sir Garfield, then again to his father, before taking two steps backwards from the pair before turning and walking towards the door of the drawing room. He noted that several pairs of eyes followed him, as if checking to try and see whether he was leaving voluntarily or forcibly, but he ignored them. If his suspicion was correct, he would find outside a young woman whose company was certainly more tolerable than that of the people in this room. He reached the door of the drawing room and pulled it open in a measured manner, stepped through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind him.

He was a little surprised – although admittedly pleasantly so – to find Elsa standing not too far from the door he’d just stepped through. She was looking…somewhat less enthusiastic than she had been when he’d seen her not so long ago. He felt he should enquire about her mood, but wasn’t sure he knew her well enough that asking would be proper. After all, they’d spoken for maybe ten minutes before she’d been called inside; that hardly qualified as friendship. And…he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, anyway. He’d almost forgotten how to be a correct gentleman when a lady was less-than-happy. He was becoming aware that there was a silence growing between them; he had to say something.

“Miss Strathmore,” he began hesitantly. “I trust that the downcast expression you make is not from anything unsavoury…?” Gosh, that was bad…but the words were out, and no way to retract them.

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

The desire to run again never felt so strong until this very moment. To be stuck in a loveless marriage, required to likely give an heir to a man whom she was not even slightly tempted to smile at, let alone copulate with, even if it meant having all the security in this cruel world and money at her beck and call, it made her sick to her stomach. In that moment, she felt the restraints and tight confines of the corset cinch deeper into her, the brackets feeling like they were crushing her bones and pressing into her lungs, more like stabbing them actually. Bile rose up her throat and her eyes became clear on the exit.

Elsa could do it. She could just run away again. So she would be a ruined woman in all of New England, in all of the east of this country but at least she could live how she wanted. No binding contract based on blood relations, high status and the requirement to marry into a society she was truly beginning to despise. Hell, even being a lady of the night seemed like a better option. At least there she might be bestowed upon the honor of having a regular who fancied her so much, he’d do more than just rough and tumble with her. He’d spoil her. She’d be a whore for a life but she could be a very comfortable whore with the patronage of a man too rich, too bored, too lonely in his loveless marriage and too lustful to care of the ramifications, or even the slandering of his reputation. With that much money and power, why would a man care?

All thoughts of such a despicable act faded as she heard a voice that brought her back down into herself. Turning, her gaze landed upon Mr. Hawthorne and she managed a weak little smile. “That’s a rather bold approach to inquire of my current misfortune, more so than before, if I do say so myself.” But her smile grew though still a bit meek. “It is nothing I cannot handle, but I appreciate your concern.” She took in a deep breath and sighed softly. “I am fine.” But anyone, even someone as possibly devoid as Mr. Hawthorne to the inner workings of a distraught female mind, could sense that she was anything but fine.

Glancing behind him, she saw the door to a drawing room, the music from the ballroom not as loud here so she could hear some murmurs, albeit faint, coming through from the thin walls. “I trust that your impeccable timing is a little bit more than a fortunate escape from a rather dull conversation of no consequence?” She smiled, her attempt to change the subject from her a trade she picked up when she wanted to divert attention from herself. “Do tell me what the grand and righteous men of high society talk about in the secret of their drawing rooms over decanters and highball glasses of some of the finest drink to be shared? Plotting devious plans to take over the country?” She waggled her eyebrows, her unladylike charm coming forth as her mind became distracted from what she did not want to dwell upon.

 

[Sync]

The smile, meek and forced as it was, gave him some heart that she was maybe not as crushed as he’d first thought. Or maybe she was, and she was just trying to hide it. Either way, Reggie was under no illusion that he was close enough to her that he could ask directly. He was still learning – re-learning, perhaps – how to be a proper gentleman around a lady…although he had a suspicion that she might not see herself that way, given some words she’d hinted at earlier. Unless he was totally misreading the entire situation. Whatever it was that was pushing her at this moment, she was not as up to the task of handling it as she’d claimed to be; she was not so “fine” as her words had said. Even he could see that.

Her smile picked up a little, although there was still some forcing of it; she spoke to change the subject, and directed it towards himself. Perhaps, in truth, they were alike in several ways, if only by circumstance. She was not beautiful, but she was attractive, and in a way that many young ladies of society were not – she had a charm on the inside, and that would not falter with age. He allowed the change of subject to go unchallenged, and he smiled faintly as he cast a glance back at the door behind him.

“The conversation was…passable,” he admitted quietly, as he took a step towards her and away from the door, lest their words risked being overheard by scurrilous types in the drawing room he’d just fled. “There was some element of good fortune in my appearance just now, it’s true, but I was already seeking a means to leave the room; it was just rather fortuitous that your voices were heard when they were, and gave me opportunity to seek my leave.” He offered a small, almost-winsome smile, and continued quietly.

“The conversation itself…mostly about business opportunities, investigating and discussions of how to improve family fortunes and holdings, downing of port and brandy and smoking of cigars…discussions, in a small part, of the new inventions out of Europe. Some of it was interesting, other parts were tedious. Alas, though, no discussions regarding world domination. That might have made the conversation more palatable.”

He hesitated a moment, then gestured down the passageway in a direction away from both the ballroom and drawing room. “Shall we walk for a short while, Miss Strathmore?”

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

Her eyebrows rose nearly above her hairline. He heard the conversation between her and her mother? Oh that was embarrassing for several reasons. One being that it put a damper on the reputations of the Strathmore’s, not just because of Elsa but then it would justify a little bit her current situation by questioning her upbringing. Words can pass and can imply that Elsa Strathmore, the ruined girl who ran away the night of her debutante ball with a man, unmarried and shaming her entire family, not so much of a shame if her parents can so easily hold these kinds of damaging squabbles in public. It would directly put question and potential shame to her parents. No longer just her shame alone but it would extend to her parents, more importantly her mother who took high society decorum far more serious than her father.

A second reason being that it was just embarrassing to be overheard in such a fashion. It was one thing to overhear gossip but it was another to overhear a conversation like that between Elsa and Mrs. Strathmore, where a mother was basically implying the desperation of her situation.

A third reason being that Mr. Hawthorne and other gentlemen heard. How embarrassing and absolutely damaging would it be if word got out that everything she was doing by showing her face to high society functions again was part of some larger scheme? It was one thing for ruined girls to try and attempt some kind of courtship that could have every potential of turning into a well enough respectable marriage. It was another when it was openly and admittedly planned. Sure, everything was planned. But to be admitted or overhead? It wasn’t called planning any longer, but scheming--money-grubbing, gold-digging, fortune-seeking. Those titles were worse than those associated with prostitution.

So caught up in that worry, Elsa almost missed him speaking. She heard his voice but hadn’t been listening to the words but quickly tuned herself into the conversation just in the nick of time, lest she have no idea what they were talking about at all! Her lips upturned in a smile, not so forced, her mood turning around considerably, and she nodded her head slowly. “That sounds…” She stifled a soft laugh. “Dreadful.” She offered him a small frown, though her eyes were alight with humor, for ‘dreadful’ was the first word to pop into her mind. “I cannot even apologize. If I could have been a fly on the wall to look upon your face, mirroring said dread.” She grinned broadly, her entire face lighting up. Her earlier down mood seemed to vanish and was replaced by her previous bubbliness showed to him out on the balcony. Her playfulness, her charm, all the abilities she had in her arsenal because she grew up knowing she was not a conventional beauty. That meant she had to dazzle with more than a pretty smile or one look.

“But yes, Mr. Hawthorne. I would find it a pleasure. You could whisk me away for a walk now or any time and I would never say no.” Because a walk with him would be a constant breath of fresh air and with how tightly she felt restrained in every aspect of her life right now--and this corset--she needed more chances to breathe. And this was the perfect opportunity. It wasn’t exactly running away but it would be a sure chance to allow her mother to sweat in wonderment over where her wayward daughter had gone now when she was expected to be back in that ballroom any moment now.

Offering her arm, Elsa sidled up closer to him and looked up with a soft smile. “Shall we then? A gentleman always leads the way, Mr. Hawthorne.”

 

[Sync]

What was on her mind? She was lost in thought about something, he was certain about that much. Of course, he had no idea just what she was thinking, nor was he going to be so improper as to enquire. Yet there she was, seemingly in deep thought even as she looked at him while he was talking. Her eyes, so dark and heavy-set, seemed to drink in their surroundings, but there was somehow a sparkle in them when she genuinely smiled. This young lady before him, this Else Strathmore…she was an enigma, on so many levels. She was troubled – concerned – bothered by something, he knew not what, nor whether he should be wary of her; and yet there was something compelling about her, in a way he could not at this moment define.

“I cannot say that the conversation I was only passingly involved in was dreadful,” he countered as he began slowly walking away from both ballroom and drawing room, after first hooking her offered arm in his and making she was she in step beside him. “There were things I could identify with and maybe use to some future advantage, and there were a few things of some interest; there were also a number of things that I found tedious and requiring of great effort on my part to feign interest in. It was perhaps unhelpful that the company I was holding was not so warm to my presence as I might have liked, but there is little I can do about that at this moment.”

They were not walking at any great pace, he was making sure of that as they talked; it was a casual gait, slow and steady, just right for a lady to be comfortable. Although he was leading, he was making sure she was not put to any amount effort to keep up with him. His head was tilted towards her slightly as they talked; he was both watching her for her actions and reactions, and for the way ahead, to ensure they were not surprised by the sudden appearance of person or object in their path. He was glad for this chance to speak with her again; had she not been able to get away from the ballroom, he doubted he’d have ever had the opportunity arise in the future.

He became aware that a silence had grown between them; it was only a short silence, but it did not feel awkward…indeed, it felt, to him, like a comfortable silence, and he fancied that she likely felt similarly. The eagerness with which she’d agreed to walk with him suggested she found his company at least tolerable; that he’d asked her for the walk and talk said he was not displeased with or by her presence. Something to break the silence, though – that would be a good thing.

“I said before that I’d heard voices just prior to my exiting the drawing room,” he offered quietly. “While there is fact in that statement, it should not be taken to mean that any specific words were heard. I could hear that you were talking; I could not hear what was being said. I hope you can draw some comfort from that.” He hesitated, then sighed softly, the sound seeming to both embolden and deflate him. “While I am confessing to you, my lady, I must confess that I did see a small amount of you in the ballroom. The older woman I presume to be your mother, and another man she seemed to be introducing you to. I did not see more than that, however.”

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

He led them both after hooking her arm under his and soon the chaotic noise of the ballroom--what felt and sounded chaotic to her that is--began to fade and the soft chirps of crickets in the summer night air, the sounds of the babbling water fountain in the gardens near by and the silence of the night calmed her nerves. All activity and source for her mangled nerves was inside, likely growing in impatience as her mother would soon realize she wouldn’t find her so easily and outside was just calm serenity, much like what she felt when she went out onto the balcony an hour into the night.

Looking up to him as he continued his explanations, she could only smile. Leave it to a man to defend what most women would find a bore. Not that she found it boring entirely but sitting around listening to monotone voices of judgment as they discussed whose business was bigger, more profitable and more wealthy, she felt a sense of dread. But he seemed to genuinely think there were so some redeeming areas of the entire conversation which was good for him. Although the day a woman could sit in with the men to discuss business like that would be a day she wished to see and also be part of.

“You may not think it dreadful but I would think it dreadful just to be in a room with men of high caliber as those with you. Then again, I’ve never sit in one of those conversations with men but I would admit that it would be a fine treat to play witness to.”

The night was beautiful, a starry night that wasn’t hindered by the forced light of buildings about. She could see the twinkles and even back west where she had been the past four years, she would look to the sky and honestly miss how it looked from her home rather there. It was better viewed out in the west, for industrialization was a new concept there and not easily done within a fortnight. No, that took years. But being that she had spent her entire life looking up to the stars to give her strength and guidance, there was no better feeling than looking up at it again but from home. That was the strange thing. No matter her ill feelings and thoughts about New England high society, home was home. And she had missed hers greatly.

Now that she was back, perhaps she hadn’t missed it as much as she thought!

Silence ebbed around them but it was natural. And she took the time to simply enjoy her surroundings while simultaneously enjoying her company, even sidling herself a little closer to Mr. Hawthorne and squeezing his arm with hers, as if to convey a small message of delight from this simple walk alone.

Glancing up to him as the silence was broken by the mesmerizing baritone of his voice, she smiled faintly, taking some comfort in what he said. “I appreciate that. Though I still must insist that if that talk can be heard and at a public function no less, regardless of what the content of said talk was, it can still cast an ugly light over the family name. And considering what I had done the last thing my family needs is a more tarnished reputation of their own doing and not just by extension of my wrong doing.” She countered, her voice soft but filled with the courage of her convictions. “As for that...my mother believes it to be imperative that I put myself out there to all available suitors who are not yet persuaded by the rumors of my reputation and past and if they are, well I apparently have no reason to be so selective, neither do I have the right.” She prefaced. “His name is Mr. Fitzwilliam Abernathy and he is perhaps the most pompous man I have met tonight, even after the several inappropriate propositions given to me.” She laughed lightly. “I told my mother I do not wish to be near that man, a man who thinks the way to a woman’s heart is comparing her lack of beauty to that of one with grander beauty, she’s essentially unable to be compared truly.” She shrugged her shoulders, aware of how forthcoming she was being.

Glancing up, she stopped their casual stroll to face him. “My apologies Mr. Hawthorne. Sometimes I forget that I shan’t be too willing to disclose my ills. Have I been too forward?”

 

[Sync]

At some point they had left the building again, and were once more under an open sky that had only the barest of cloud scatterings and was largely dotted with the pinprick light of stars. The moon was nowhere to be seen at this time. He was aware of the warmth of her hand against his arm, was aware of the warmth of her body - especially when she moved a little closer to him as they walked - and he found her warmth quite agreeable. While he did not claim by any stretch to know most women of marriageable age in these parts, he had the distinct impression that this Miss Strathmore - who had been a complete unknown to him before this night - would be by no means an unpleasant partner.

Of course, given the distaste in her voice when briefly speaking of the young woman's name, he knew his mother would likely never approve of taking "that Strathmore girl" inside her family. The Strathmore family itself was quite acceptable, but Elsa, herself, was apparently not. Reggie did not know what caused such distaste from his mother towards the young lady he now walked with, and his mother had not elaborated - he was sure she would, if he asked - but he was not so sure that the distaste was warranted. Time, as always, would tell.

The gentle sounds of the night filled the air around them as she spoke of this Mr Abernathy, who apparently had decided that courting Miss Strathmore was best achieved by unfavourably comparing her to other women. While Reggie was no dashing Casanova - at least, not when sober - he was quite sure that there were better ways to obtain a woman's favour. It was very true, he was aware, that women were often courted into unions that benefitted their families ahead of the women themselves, but that did not mean the women needed to be demeaned on first introductions. One could at least pretend to be polite and interested, even if one was not.

It was also quite apparent, from Miss Strathmore's observations, that Mrs Strathmore was inclined to pushing her daughter into whichever union she could arrange. The young Miss Strathmore seemed to be of the opinion that her reputation would hinder such a process, and in that she might be correct; if she was, then her reputation, whatever that was, would also mean that she might be forced to accept less-worthy and less-desirable offers of marriage.

"I think this Mr Abernathy, as you've described him already, may be a fool," he offered guardedly. "Comparing the appearance of one woman with another, while in the presence of one of those women, and while attempting to court that same one, is surely not the wisest of moves. Indeed, as you've described it, your options may be limited, but that does not give him cause to act or speak in an ungentlemanly manner. As to the other..." He paused, then turned his body to be facing her, his gaze meeting hers and liking what it saw. Her arm was still held in the crook of his elbow; he raised his free right hand and rested it on top of her hand as it rested on his arm.

"I do not suggest that you are being forward, although you did say that you'd rather not discuss more personal and intimate matters so soon. However, if you are being forwards, then allow me to be equally forward by seeking your permission to call upon you after this night. I find myself intrigued by your person and enjoying of your company."

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

“No, it is not the proper course in earning the favor a woman, but perhaps alongside the fact I shan’t be so selective, men must see me as a desperate opportunist rather than a fair match.” That because of her reputation and the questions regarding many things of her, mainly her virtue, she was deemed not to deserve a proper courtship. That she should be so lucky to count her blessings that a man of good stature would even think of taking a woman of poor stature as his wife in high society. It was the hypocrisy of it all. If it was public knowledge, one was doomed. If it was kept private, then they could continue with their noses in their air and the judgment so high above breathing levels, especially so long as no one suspected.

And with her being a desperate opportunist in the market for procuring a hasty but advantageous marriage nonetheless, she reckoned her mother would have something to do with that. How else would she do damage control? More money in her dowry must smell of obvious desperation.

Looking up at him when she stopped, he turned her way as well and her eyes did a slow reveal of surprise, widening at his suggestion. She swallowed hard, a noticeable gesture with the way her lips, albeit closed, moved and the slight poking of her neck forward indicated as much.

“C-Call...on...m-me?” And that same shock, awe and surprise was evident in her voice. His offering had taken her so off guard, she wasn’t even sure what to do. Her natural inclination was to say an immediate yes and grant her approval of the very notion but that would make her seem far too eager. She didn’t want to appear eager or desperate in front of Mr. Hawthorne. Though it was clear of what she was seeking, especially after what she said about Mr. Abernathy and her mother’s insistence upon keeping an open mind of every man who showed even a sliver of interest in her, there was something about Mr. Hawthorne that she gravitated toward. Well it wasn’t a mystery of what that was. So far on this night, he was the first man to talk to her like she was still a worthy woman of proper conversation and not assume the worst of her based on reputation alone. That stacked the cards in his favor tremendously. And the fact he wanted to call upon her, it put all her doubts about what he may or could think of her--or even feel for her--to rest. At least momentarily. If he wanted to see her again, she must have done something right, yes?

“My apologies, Mr. Hawthorne, once more. I do not mean to sound so shocked, I just--” She cut herself off before she could stick her heeled foot into her mouth. “The point I am attempting to make and rather poorly that is, is yes, you may call upon me after this night, on any day you wish. I would never turn you away. My parents may be a different sort but please do not let them slight you if they greet you first. I tell you this now that I would be truly honored if you were to call upon me after this night.” And then she smiled, a smile that reached her eyes, brightened her face and gave a cloud of innocence over her features. Not naive innocence but that innocence of a young lady that she still was, not fully hardened by what she had seen in the four years she had been away.

Underneath all that experience and disillusionment of the world outside of high society, she was still that same young girl who had hope. And she was staring at that hope right in front of her, towering over her in an oddly comforting way. A tall man. A tall handsome man. Yes, she would look forward to the day he called on her again. If he still decided to. If he was a man of his word. If he truly meant it.

 

[Sync]

Even hearing himself utter the words asking her permission, Reggie was having difficulty understanding his own motives. Was he truly that desperate to find a partner – truthfully, a wife – by the end of the year that he’d ask the first eligible woman he met? How forward did he want to be – he’d met her scant two hours ago, had spoken to her for maybe thirty minutes of that time, and was already seeking to see her again? The surprise in her voice, on her face, was very understandable. Yet there was some ready acceptance on her part, too, and that in itself served to confirm in some small way her own situation. Yet he recognised a lack of wisdom in his question to her.

“No, your shock is perfectly understandable,” Reggie agreed in a measured tone, not wanting to sound too fast and stupid as he was now feeling. “While I am quite grateful and, indeed, thankful that you have given the permission I sought, I must apologise for my forwardness in asking. It was…somewhat unseemly of me to ask to see you again when we barely know each other.” He could not tell her that circumstances placed upon him almost demanded he move quickly, even though she surely must, by now, suspect he had such a need to not delay.

Still, he was starting to recognise that his father, at least, may have been correct: the presence of a woman in his life was helping him to not be so…improper…as he was given to being. The impending loss of inheritance was a strong motivator, it was surely true, but just the presence of a lady made some part of him want to mind his behaviour. It was a strange realisation. Yet he was quite aware that there were few such ladies in the region he could call upon with any surety of a reasonable conversation that might lead to anything other than snorts of derision; while this Miss Strathmore was receptive to his presence, he would be many kinds of fool to ignore her presence and company. The smile she’d favoured him with just then – a smile that lit her eyes – made him decide that she would bear closer scrutiny as a possible wife, even if his own motivations were rather selfish.

“Having said all that, I do acknowledge your permission to call upon you at my pleasure,” he continued quietly. “I do not believe I should be so presumptuous as to take you upon your literal word, as I am sure that some members of your family might raise objection should I arrive unannounced. If it pleases you, I might perhaps suggest that I call upon you the day after tomorrow? In asking that, would it be improper of me to ask to meet at your home, that your family might, perchance, see some worth in me?”

To his own ears he sounded…a bit too formal, like he was trying to negotiate a business contract. Which he was, in a way, although the arrangement he was trying to negotiate was less business-oriented and more family-oriented. There would be considerations to make on both sides; he knew his mother would have fits when she found he was calling on Miss Elsa Strathmore; true, if they continued to meet, there would likely be no end to the suffering she’d impose upon him when it became Elsa’s turn to visit his family.

Such things would have to wait, however; there was this first meeting to consider, after all.

 

[Malicious Lullaby]

She lowered her chin in an act of demure innocence, a shy smile coming onto her face. “I must admit Mr. Hawthorne, I cannot accept your apology. After all if men were not so forward in this manner, how else would a lady expect or hope to see him again? Sure, our motives may be pushing us to act fast as I reckon you are sharing the same boat that I am in but I do not think your actions are forward. Rather courageous. After all if there is a spark of a connection--” She cut herself off. What was she saying? She was not about to suggest there was a spark of a connection between them even if there was! Well for one, she might think there is a spark of connection between them but he just may see this purely as convenience!

Clearing her throat, even as her cheeks turned incredibly red and he felt an anxietal pull of lack of breathing, as if her corset had grown tighter in those few scant seconds, Elsa was desperate to reign in some sanity in this mix before he rescinded his request to call on her. “Um…” She swallowed, her throat very dry all of a sudden. “Pardon my saying that,” her eyes closed and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “I do not wish to presume anything between us.” Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him to read his expression. If she changed the subject quickly, then he wouldn’t focus on her near little meltdown.

She turned from him then, taking a few steps away from him but not ending their conversation or their time together. “I gather my parents may not be very accepting of you coming to the house, let alone calling on me. But…” She turned to look at him and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Perhaps they just might be more inclined to accepting the idea that a man at all has shown interest and therefore might be a bit more...kind?” She honestly didn’t know. She knew little of Mr. Hawthorne’s reputation but her parents may know more. Elsa couldn’t say. It was really depending on being in the moment. Meaning he would have to come to her home to find out. “Yes though, you may come to the house. A day or two from tonight, whichever you prefer. I reckon your family may not take too kindly to the news of your calling on me, even a potential…” She swallowed, taking a leap here again. “Courtship with me. Correct?”