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Secrets and Lies (Sync & Mali)

She decline to accept his apology. To his mind, her reasoning was sound, but he felt it flawed – he should not have asked to call on her so soon after meeting her. There should have been more gatherings they attended together, perhaps – certainly he should not be calling on her after a mere thirty minutes of conversation. However, he would not be so unseemly as to point that out to her. Besides, she was now talking about some spark of connection between them…? What…?

His brow furrowed very slightly as she attempted to recover. Yes, he felt there might be something between them that was surely worth investigating, but to say it out loud…well, it was done, now. Besides, she was apologising for her forwardness and presumption – by golly, they were a pair! Even more than her words, though, was her look, her expression. She played the part of an innocent for him, and he knew little about her to dare claim otherwise, in spite of what little gossip he’d heard about her would say. She was…almost as forward a he, and just as annoyed with herself for being so. He thought she’d stopped, and he was about to say something…then she turned, took a couple of steps away…certainly that was proper. Her assessments were correct…wait, courtship? He couldn’t help the reflexive widening of his eyes, even though he knew that Miss Else Strathmore was in all likelihood his best chance at retaining his inheritance…and she was not a very good chance, given his family’s apparent opinions of her. He smiled faintly, a warm gesture for her to relax a little with…or that was the intent, at least.

“I must concede that you are somewhat correct, Miss Strathmore,” he agreed quietly. “I fear that I will not be so warmly received by your family as I seem to have been by your good self. While they may be accepting of the idea that you are entertaining a gentleman, they may not be so accepting of the gentleman in question. Similarly, while they will be pleased that I have found a lady to call upon, my family will hold varying degrees of unhappiness when they find that it is yourself I am calling upon. Should we find ourselves at courtship, I can divine that my mother will likely hold the strongest objections.”

He sighed and allowed his head to dip slightly. “It is not the sort of thing a gentleman should admit to a lady, but I feel that you should at least be aware of how things may proceed with my family.” He paused, then lifted his head to again meet her gaze – and he was again struck by the severe handsomeness of her visage, the depth of her eyes. “I shall be pleased, then, to make my way to your abode the day after tomorrow, after luncheon, so as not to inconvenience your family more than will be inevitable. Would you be agreeable to that offer?”
 
Splendid! Her embarrassment and faltering in the kind of language she used didn’t seem to deter him. Or he was simply humoring her now and too much of a gentleman to rescind his offer to call on her. He will say he will but he already changed his mind and was not actually going to follow through with it. Oh, she needed to get out of her head. The situation had become a bit more serious than before. When they first met, they were just two strangers talking. Now, well this changed things a little bit. And Elsa would be loathe to let go of this opportunity because in comparison to the other men she had met tonight, Mr. Hawthorne was the best prospect of them all. She did not care about reputations. How could she when she had one of her own now?

Looking to him, she found they were both similar in their mannerisms. Neither one of them wanted to come off as forward and yet they did. Now they seemed to be either changing tact or trying to remedy what became a slightly awkward encounter filled with anxieties and nerves--largely on her part she guessed--and it felt like they were going in circles. Momentarily, since it became clear they agreed on one thing right now: he would call on her and she had accepted. Now was a new issue--their families.

She smiled knowingly, though it did not reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that likely preceded a snort or a huff but she did either of those things. Just that knowing smile. “To be quite honest Mr. Hawthorne, it does not surprise me that your family, your mother in particular, may find a problem with me and be rather unaccepting. In fact I’d take it a great insult if she was accepting.” She laughed softly, the situation of it all amusing to her. Moving back to him, Elsa stood before him, just a small space between them and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “We are an interesting pair are we not?” She asked softly. “The pair of us with our ruined reputations with our respectful families to be the judge of us.” She smiled lightly, though it did not reach her eyes. She glanced off to the side of him now, staring at nothing in particular.

“Would it matter to you? The money--inheritances, my dowry. Our family’s approval?” She turned her face to look at him again, curious. “What would you sacrifice and what would you fight for?” Rather than answer his question she asked her own. Her lack of answer assured her agreement to his offer. But there was a different issue she cared to know.
 
Her proximity – closer, now that she’d taken those couple of steps towards him – was certainly palpable. It was by no means unpleasant. Reggie was certain he could feel a hint of warmth simply from her presence, her closeness to him. Was he imagining it? Maybe he was. Maybe it was just that he fancied he could feel her heat, and that was enough to convince him he was. Likely it was that he would never know. He could certainly imagine worse things than being close as he was to Miss Strathmore. That thought was most definitely aided by her company being pleasant and acceptable. There would be a certain dark irony if it did transpire that she proved to be a decent match for him – that he’d travelled far and wide and dallied much when what he’d been seeking was right in front of him. But it would be far too presumptuous for him to make any claim to such a notion.

He question, though…that raised some thoughts and warnings in his mind. She was hinting at things possibly longer-term, things that her supposed reputation might affect. How to respond to that? How to respond to all of it? What answer was she seeking? Was she wanting to know whether her suitor would be prepared to give up everything for her? Was she issuing a warning that such might be necessary? It was not an easy thing to consider, and he could feel his brow furrow slightly as he thought upon her questioning. Certainly he’d noticed her voice lowering slightly as she posed the query, as if she’d intended none but himself to hear it.

“I think,” he began cautiously, his voice dropping to match her own, “that your questions are certainly pertinent, Miss Strathmore. They…hint at things. While I am driven to acknowledge them and respond to them, I find that caution must be included in my reply.” He paused, again considering his words, then took a slow breath and let it out slowly before speaking again.

“I would have to respond by saying that my answers to your questions would be tempered in the nature of the lady in question. Whether she be worthy of such a sacrifice, for if she be worthy then I might find myself comparing the value of her companionship against the value of standing. My response would also be measured against her own standing, and whether it might not be possible to have herself redeemed if she so desired. Unfortunately…my own standing is such that any response I might give could be considered laughable by those who may yet judge me.”

Somehow he’d managed to hold her gaze the entire time he’d been speaking; but as he finished, his gaze slipped away from her own to focus on some unknown object over her left shoulder. “That likely does not give you the answer you sought, but it is the best answer I can give at this moment, I fear.” He was almost apologetic as he finished speaking.
 
Elsa was rather attuned to his speaking, but also his answer. It wasn’t the answer she was seeking, by no means at all in fact, however it was enough to give her an idea. He didn’t know, plain and simple and she wouldn’t know either. Neither of them could unless they were in the situation that her question demanded. That is, if they were in the moment the context her question warranted. Alas, they were not. They had only just met and to assume he could give her that answer, whether it be for her or for another woman in his future would be to ask too much and she was already asking too much as it is by even daring to ask him that.

With a soft smile, she nodded her head slowly. “It does and it does not. But the question I asked was also premature. Forgive me for that, I have gotten ahead of myself yet again.” She laughed bashfully, tucking a stray lock of hair that escaped again behind her ear. “I can only hope that by asking that particular question I have not dissuaded your interests in calling on me. I agree to your offer as to the appropriate time and day you stated to come to call on me.” She smiled up at him kindly, again a smile that did not reach her eyes, and nodded her head to him. “I look forward to our getting to know each other, to our families getting to know each other.” She didn’t in fact. She was simply saying it.

In fact, Elsa was terrified. She was terrified of her family meeting him, especially her mother. She could already see how it would go. Never a chance to take a walk about her family’s estate with him but rather an interrogation conducted by her mother, as opposed to a casual and civil conversation, while her father sat idly only to make some statements here and there and ask his questions from time to time, to the point that she just sat there, enduring this tumultuous example until she either fainted or slowly went insane. On the other hand, there was also the meeting with his parents, which should the first meeting with hers go well, meeting his parents depended on that. And if it did come to pass, she could only imagine how much worse that would be. Mothers. Judging mothers. Sometimes they could be a worse nightmare to face than the nightmare of society itself!

Swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up at the very thought of how this would all go, she once more forced another smile at Mr. Hawthorne. “Well I think we had plenty of daunting talk, do you agree? Perhaps we can turn this conversation into another direction?” Of what, she entertained no ideas. Perhaps he did and would and for that, he would be considered a great savior indeed.
 
He was not at all offended that she agreed her question had been largely unanswered. It was not a question that could – nor should – be answered so quickly or freely, especially when the two parties directly impacted by said question had only just met that knowledge of each other’s person was virtually unknown. He was gratified that she had the presence of mind to agree that her question had been a bit hasty. It slightly raised the estimation of her in his mind, although he would never be so crass as to say so…not now, at least. There were many things that had to – needed to – happen before such a question could be seriously entertained. He allowed a faint but warm smile to be his only response to her acceptance of his cautious position.

She also realised, as he had just done, that their current conversation had the chance of damaging any relationship between them before it could be properly started. The smile she gave was a little forced, he saw, but it was there. And she wanted to change the topic of conversation as well, which, in his eyes, was a good sign that she wanted to continue conversing with him. That she did not offer a new direction for their discussion was of no great import to him; she was not obliged to do so, and he found no fault of any sort with her for seeing how he led the conversation from this point.

The question now was…what to offer for a new topic? Asking about herself would be almost as bad as her suggesting they may already be a good match, as would him talking about himself. He knew little of her, but he had to find out. Direct questionings would be poor form. Maybe…

“Perhaps a discussion of hobbies, or interests, if it suits you?” he suggested sincerely, his voice low and warm. He raised his left hand slightly as he turned enough to have them side-by-side, his hand not-quite touching the small of her back as his right hand gestured ahead of them towards the nearby balcony, indicating that they might walk towards it. The night was cooling slightly, but he felt that their conversation and company would sustain them both a while longer.

“For myself, I cannot say that I readily enjoy the gentlemanly pursuits of fox-hunting or shooting, although I am capable with a firearm,” he began, his voice taking an almost introspective tone to it. “Likewise I do not hold the accepted pastime of gossiping in high regard. I tend to find some relaxation in music and opera, and I do enjoy reading and catching up with the daily news. I do sometimes attempt to keep abreast of world events, such as the trouble that is brewing in the southern part of Africa at this time.” He paused, then smiled faintly. “My family is originally of England, just out of Portsmouth, in fact, and moved to New England some twenty-five years ago to seek new business affairs in this rapidly-developing land. My father insists on retaining his title even though it is not formally recognised here.” He paused, smiled a little sheepishly, as if he’d revealed more than he probably should have.

“What of you, Miss Strathmore? Any passing interest of note?”
 
There was a big part of her that felt rather foolish in asking that question. As logic and sanity returned to her, she wondered what on this Earth possessed her to even ask. They hardly knew each other and though she fancied him enough to be excited enough that he wanted to call on her after this night, she did not want to jump the gun either by assuming anything. Lest he be scared off, and then she would really be doomed to live the life of a lady of the night in the next four months because he was honestly the best and only respectable prospect looking her way. She’d sooner take her own life before she ever had to spend a life with Mr. Abernathy, for at that point, there would be nothing worth living for!

Reigning herself in, Elsa was more grateful that he took the plunge in changing the topic of the conversation, even more grateful that he didn’t seem so repulsed by her foolish forward manner by the question she asked, that from here on out shall be renamed as the ‘Unspeakable Subject Matter’ in her mind. “Hobbies and interests, that is a fascinating subject that I can find myself compelled to entertain and be consumed by.” Either talking about her hobbies and interests or his, either way, as long as it was anything but the ‘Unspeakable Subject Matter’ she would call it a grand topic at this point! Surely this night could still be salvaged, which she believed it could be if he was coaxing her along toward a balcony. It meant he wasn’t ready to abandon her just yet and if he was, he was too much of a gentleman and simply biding his time.

Elsa didn’t dare think that way. If she did, she would pitch a faint right away from the bundle of nerves blooming in her. No, it was in the past and if he could look beyond it so could she. Which meant there was no case of fretting. And with that in mind, she took a deep breath after moving toward the balcony and exhaled slowly, the very gesture doing wonders to her frayed nerves.

Turning to him, she rested her elbow on the balcony ledge and smiled gently, tilting her head as she simple absorbed the tenor of his voice and the manner of which he spoke about what interested him. He shared a great deal about himself and she was delighted to see that they had shared interests in both music and opera, though she gathered that going with someone like him would make the opera far more enjoyable than with her parents, wherein her mother often complained about how she could never see from their private box seat. Every. Single. Time. Really took the fun and excitement out of the opera when she could hear her mother’s complaints over the gallant music and talented operatics.

The news of his father retaining his title from England here in America was startling, since it had no importance here, but it wouldn’t reduce the quality of said title either. In this country it may not mean something but in England it did, which translated to meaning something or the other in this country, given America’s ties once upon a time with Britain before the war. Still, fascinating news. Which only made his father more of an important figure in her mind. There was a niggle of nervousness again if and when the time came to meet his family but she pushed it aside. That was in the future. Possibly.

“Much like you, I fancy music and opera myself. I am also rather fond of reading, much to my mother’s dismay. I could spend a day sitting in our bay window reading a perfectly fine classic whereas my mother believes my time would be better spent doing something far more productive. Not that she believes that reading is not productive but to spend a day of it…” She shook her head and smiled, her hand coming to her cheek. “Oh, there was also a couple of times in my earlier teen years when my father would sneak me away for a bit of hunting. To this day, my mother does not know that I know how to handle a firearm, let alone use it for shooting down game. But my father always wanted a son. Instead, he had a daughter and though it took him a little bit to come around to it, he still maintained that regardless of my sex, I should learn hunting as well. As it happens, hunting with him was always a joyous occasion.” She looked off into the distance, as if recalling a joyous memory of it in which she bonded with her father in one day more than she ever could have in ten years with her mother. To her surprise, her father understood her better than her mother. Yet he was also powerless before her mother who held the supreme reign in their household, in private, whereas public her father became the authoritative Mr. Strathmore that he truly wasn’t. Not that he was a pushover, he wasn’t. But he was smart enough to know when to fight and when to yield.

“I must admit, there is some striking fascination in doing something that is more traditionally reserved for males, especially when my mother does not know.” She grinned.
 
They already had some common ground – their mutual enjoyment of music and opera. It might be interesting to attend one together in the near future, perhaps; they might even enjoy it, assuming the glares of society would leave them alone for the duration. But, again, that was for another time yet to come. If they could survive this night, then first meetings with each other’s families, then outings to the opera might be possible. As always, though, they would have to navigate the obstacles that would no doubt be placed by their respective families.

It was interesting to note, too, that it seemed that Mrs Strathmore appeared to be the head of Elsa’s household. The way Elsa spoke of her mother gave Reggie the distinct impression that he’d have to win her over above all else if there was to be any chance of partnership between himself and Elsa. Mr Strathmore might not be so difficult to satisfy, given they shared an enjoyment of hunting, although that, in itself, might be fraught with danger. The revelation that Elsa was not incapable with a firearm, especially without the knowledge of her mother, gave some insight as to the nature of the young woman’s father. It was just as interesting to note that Elsa appeared to have taken to the pastime of hunting…something somewhat unladylike. This young woman was demonstrating herself to be quite worthy of further attention, regardless of what reputation she had apparently acquired. There clearly was more to the young Miss Elsa Strathmore than met his eyes and ears.

“I dare say that it might be wise to not offer to my father that you are familiar with the practices of hunting,” he advised warmly. “At least not the first time you meet him. Being an English gentleman, he has firm ideas of what a lady should and should not engage in. Oh, he is not one who believes that women should be prim and proper and speak only when spoken to, but still…” That was perhaps a bit too much, but the words were out and he could not retrieve them.

“I started hunting when I was a lad of, I believe, fifteen,” he continued, steering the topic of discussion away from family. “My father took myself and my brother – Edward, two years younger than myself – out on our estate and started us by shooting pheasants. I became quite proficient at it, although I by no means make claim to any title regarding shooting. Then I travelled for many years, engaging in a variety of activities and functions, among which were hunting and shooting. While shooting pheasants is easier, there is a certain satisfaction from the skill of hunting – for the most part, shooting is done on foot, where hunting is done on horseback. I am similarly an accomplished rider, although, as with my skill with a gun, I do not lay claim to any kind of riding title. I suppose I should also add that I enjoy riding as well – taking a horse out just to go out and be free for a while can be quite invigorating.”

He paused, then dipped his head slightly as a small, self-effacing smile formed on his lips.

“My apologies, Miss Strathmore,” he offered quietly. “I say too much. But,” he added, as he lifted his gaze to again meet hers, “I must admit I find that I can speak easily and freely in your presence.”
 
Elsa offered a smile, a real smile in fact and one that did indeed touch her eyes and nodded her head. “Oh believe me, Mr. Hawthorne, that is information I dare not divulge to just anyone. I told you because I feel you would not use it against me or as a reason to not even look my way again. At least...I hope I am right about that calculation and if I am incorrect then I shall only hope you will not tell anyone and also not think less of me or even my father for my being learned in hunting and abilities with a firearm.” Though not that she was some deadshot with a firearm. But she could hunt quite well and shoot after a few tries and relocating the animal in question for their hunt. It amused her father a great deal the first time she went hunting with him when she was a few months shy of fifteen, how she missed their target and made it run off several times. They found it and she did eventually shoot it but it took a while. Still though, she supposed that it was better he found it amusing rather than infuriating, considering she was not a son but his daughter.

Though she did have a feeling that if her father and Mr. Hawthorne got on well, he would be more than delighted to go on a hunt with him. An actual male that was younger than him enough to be considered a son. Though she didn’t say that out loud. That implied too many things, of which could scare Mr. Hawthorne away or make him feel that feeling of unease he surely must have felt from the ‘Unspeakable Subject Matter.’

He continued on, speaking of when he started hunting which led to discovering other things he enjoyed. Even when not hunting, he enjoyed horse riding and she shared the same sentiments. She rarely met anyone who didn’t feel that way since riding a horse was kind of the equivalent to learning to walk. There was something peaceful about riding a horse. It was a profound connection between the rider and the horse, a relationship of trust. Without it, one couldn’t possibly get close to the creature, let alone hope to mount it.

“I agree. It is rather invigorating. I often did it to escape.” She sighed softly and cast a glance over the balcony ledge but returned it after he said another apology. She smiled and looked at him, shaking her head. “Honestly Mr. Hawthorne, these apologies need to stop. I quite enjoy it when you speak, even more so when you talk about what makes you happy.” She said softly. “I like what I am knowing of you, even if so little, it is still appealing nonetheless.” She reached her hand over and placed it on his that rested on the ledge. “After all, if we hope to be more than acquaintances and by more, I mean just friends, then let me say this; friends do not apologize unless the act of which they committed warrants an apology on a moral and ethical level.” She smiled softly.

“Can you agree to that? Even I will stop apologizing myself. And I must say that I find I can speak freely in your presence as well, for the most part at least." She grinned. "It is...natural. There is nothing forced. And that, like yourself, is a great breath of fresh air. For the life we live in can be quite stifling."
 
The hand resting on his…it was not unpleasant. His first instinct was to withdraw his hand from the surprise of the unexpected contact, but he managed to restrict the impulse to a twitch. Her hand was warm against his, the skin smooth, as he’d rightly expect. It seemed she was content to continue the contact, too, given the hand was not withdrawn after several seconds. That was…intriguing.

He gave a small chuckle in the back of his throat as she spoke, that sound bringing a faint, rueful smile. It was quite possible that they were acquainted enough that they should no longer feel the need to apologise to each other for every little thing that passed their lips. They were conversing quite amiably – at least for the moment – and seemed to have a genuine rapport between them. Whether that would last, or be allowed to last, was another matter, but for now they were no longer strangers.

He turned his hand over slightly as it rested under hers, the action allowing her hand to fall into his palm so that he could gently close his fingers over her hand. It was a soft grip, one intended to encourage and soothe; there was strength in his hand, but he was not applying it. No, he just wanted to make her feel comfortable with his grasp. He then idly wondered just what he was doing, holding the hand of a young lady he’d only just met, but she’d already made him agree to not apologise so much…

“I believe, then, that I have no option but to agree with you, my lady,” Reggie replied agreeably. “I concur that we are better acquainted that such apologies for trivial things no longer need to be given. And you are also right in that the air of society, as it transpires behind us, can be a tad overwhelming and disagreeable. Like yourself, it seems, I find the desires of ‘proper’ behaviour to be, at times, limiting, and the likes of you and I must need be careful in how we act…although we may both be so hopelessly viewed that no amount of proper behaviour by us will improve our standing.” He paused, gave a small smirk, gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Truly, it was by good chance that we came to meet. Thus far I find your conversation to be quite stimulating and pleasant, moreso than some of the conversation I find inside the walls behind us. The conversation you and I share, and may yet share, is easier as it happens that we find ourselves with mutual likes and dislikes.”
 
It was an afterthought, placing her hand over his. She didn’t think of what kind of messages that might send or if it may be too forward and upon realizing it, an apology was on the tip of her tongue. And she almost felt a jerk in her arm to pull her hand back for her forward gesture. But because she had just made this big speech of how they were well enough acquainted to not constantly apologize for every forward bit they spoke or gesture, she couldn’t break that now could she? Her worries were put to rest, however, as he didn’t take his hand away. Instead, he even rolled his hand over so her hand rested on his palm rather than the back of it and his fingers gently grasped hers.

Elsa was alarmed--in a nice way--at how it felt. It was a kind gesture and she felt his grip to be strong but not overly so to her much smaller hand. The last time she had been even this close to a man was with the one she had run away with four years ago before things had turned sour and his true colors shined. But in this moment right here with Mr. Hawthorne, she was transported to that time, four years ago before things had gone bad. But that was a distant memory and she was quickly brought back to the present. It was Mr. Hawthorne, a man, a kind man, with perhaps as bad of a reputation as hers, maybe worse, but he was not some cruel male barely able to call himself a man because of his age. No, he was better than that. And she could feel herself having high hopes for him, for a match with him because he would be as good as it could get and she could see a nice life with him from this moment right now.

Looking up at him, she smiled gently. “You are a smart man to agree with me Mr. Hawthorne.” She teased, her eyes shining a bit with humorous jest. She laughed softly and shrugged her shoulders, a most unbecoming gesture for a lady, so her mother often told her. “I think we are both beyond what is considered ‘proper’ given our reputations. If there was such a thing as ‘proper’ then I doubt I would not have been spoken to or propositioned the way I have tonight as if I were truly the whore most of the people back in that great hall believe me to be, despite my mother’s exhaustive efforts to reassure that I am not. It goes back to that whole belief that people will believe what they want. And considering what I had done, the belief is that I am a ruined woman, having knowingly and willingly done so. And even if it had not been willing, the fault would have still been mine. After all, us women are scorned for our tempting ways to you poor male victims that fall under our enchanting and bewitching spell.” She grinned outright though, for that entire concept she learned rather early on. Even before she ran away, she had always been a bit of a smart mouth, often earning the scolding of her mother but the adoration of her father. It was as if she was more the son he never had rather than the daughter she was supposed to be.

The gentle squeeze of his hand to hers was comforting and she was truly loathe to pull it away. Which was why she didn’t and hoped he would not notice and if he did, not say anything. She wanted to enjoy this moment of closeness. It may be the last thing done she truly enjoyed if her mother had any sway and power over her supposed intended. Elsa could still hope. It was all she had to go on by.

“I daresay I agree with you on that, Mr. Hawthorne, as I feel the same about meeting you and conversation with you. I did not think I would enjoy myself so much tonight. Though I must say that perhaps the most enjoyable moment was ‘accidentally’ stepping on Mr. Abernathy’s foot during our dance.” She giggled. “I was quite proud of that moment. He on the other hand was not. He was seething, and the only one to know I had done it on purpose. Well him and my mother. Everyone else just chalked it up to a clumsy movement, as I had played it off to be.” She smiled. “One should not anger a woman they do not know or expect such behavior from. I have no apologies to make for it. I am simply not the same woman I was before my debut.” She sighed softly, sliding her hand away from his just a touch, though she wanted to keep it firmly in place there. It felt...she wouldn’t say right but close to it. For a first meeting of course. “What would you think is worse? A man of questionable reputation or a ruined woman?” She grinned. It was a conversation that could upset her but oddly enough she found it amusing. Her earlier nerves dissipated and she felt like herself; free like a bird whose new motto in life was to simply enjoy. For Elsa, she wanted to enjoy life but she also had to make sure her parents’ reputation never came into question. For that, she’d never forgive herself otherwise.
 
She did not attempt to remove her hand from his when he gave the gentle squeeze...in some way that was gratifying to Reggie. It allowed him to actually have contact with a young lady who was not repulsed by his tarnished reputation. He wondered if he’d be permitted to have such contact again, nevermind with Miss Strathmore. He was already well aware that most eligible young women would have been warned about him, at the very least; if they hadn’t heard of him by now they surely soon would. The only way he might be able to repair some of the damage to his standing would be by finding a wife…but the difficulty there was that it was that same reputation that was going to hinder his efforts to find a wife. It was a classic circular problem, one whose only real solution lay in the decision of someone else to actively break the cycle.

He gave a soft, deep-throated chuckle at Elsa’s words. There was a certain charm about her, he could not deny it – indeed, he was sure he’d already noted it, at least to himself. He found himself appraising her again, but this time there was more to it – he wasn’t just looking at her for her appearance, but for her worth as a person and possible companion. He did not find her lacking…that might be because he’d taken the time to talk with her and learn a little about her. So far, he appreciated what he’d found in her.

“I’m glad you agree with my agreeing with you,” he rumbled lightly, the light humour clear in his expression. “It will make things go between us more smoothly if we can keep agreeing.” He hadn’t missed the slight withdrawal of her hand from his – not a complete withdrawal, for there was still some contact, but enough that he was no longer fully holding her. He was not upset or offended by the action. “I just pray, should we find ourselves dancing as partners, that my feet fare better than those of Mr Abernathy. However, given you’ve warned me that you are given to taking such action…” He let the comment slide; she would surely understand that there was no malice in his words.

Then her question. It was not an easy question to respond to, for sure. She was certainly digging deeply to discover his views on reputations. He paused before responding, considering her question carefully and his response equally carefully.

“I think that both would find things difficult,” he began finally, after several moments of silence. “A lady with dark reputation would surely be looked down upon by many males; but a skilful parent can negotiate such difficulties to ensure a match can be made…as it seems your mother may be trying in attempting to pair you with Mr Abernathy. A man with a dark reputation faces eligible ladies being forewarned against him, and said ladies will likely then enjoy the backing of family should she choose to spurn his advances. While males may appears to rule society, we are also more bound by it. I might suggest, therefore, that it would be more difficult for a man with dark reputation to find a wife than for a lady with dark reputation to find a husband.”

He gave a small sniff of amusement. “Of course, you are free to disagree with me.”
 
Elsa already knew what that special something was about him. And she wanted to know more of him. But perhaps there was more to know next time. As it was, it was getting late and she should return before her mother sent out a dispatch team to secure her daughter’s location. She had a feeling it would not do too well to be discovered alone with a man that was not her betrothed, especially a man with Mr. Hawthorne’s reputation. Nonetheless, she didn’t want to leave. If she left, she would have to return to the droll of her life with her mother likely going on and on the entire ride home and her father just making some grunts here and there until he could have a word with his daughter alone.

“I think I can manage not to step on your feet, Mr. Hawthorne. I have a rather selective clumsiness, if you would. But I imagine dancing with you would be a treat, not a chore. That is of course, dependent on your choice of conversation. Perhaps you shan’t compare me to the likes a young lady with yellow hair as Mr. Abernathy did.” She grinned. “But yes, I do understand what you mean. You need not fear.”

She glanced about the darkened horizon once more and she sighed softly, listening to his response. She could understand his stance but at the same time, it was hard to because their situations, while similar, were inherently different simply based on their sex. “I think I can agree a little, but I may just agree to disagree altogether. It is hard to determine as we are not in each other’s shoes entirely. But perhaps we can pick up on that another time, say when you come to call on me, if you do.” She put her hand in his and then gave it a squeeze. “It’s been a surprisingly pleasant evening Mr. Hawthorne, if I do say so myself. You may agree or disagree if you like. Unfortunately, at this moment, I do believe I should take my leave.”

She turned as if she might leave but instead looked at him and offered him her arm. “Care to escort me back? There may be clear and present dangers on the tiring journey back to the main hall. I would hate to get lost, as I am sure you would hate to learn of anything ill befalling me.” She smiled. “Shall we?”
 
She was a bright person, in wit and intelligence and personality – he’d been able to divine that much so far about Miss Strathmore. She was intriguing, too: the things she said, the thing she hinted at…there was more to her than he knew, possibly more than others knew about her. She was no flower to be kept in a vase and watered daily, that was certain. She was capable of holding her own, if allowed to. It was an interesting notion.

She was also quite right about the need to get back, Reggie knew. As much as he’d have been quite happy to stay a little longer and continue their conversation, he had already heard the particular shuffling of feet that indicated movement of a group…at least, he was sure he had heard such a thing. Maybe he’d only imagined hearing it. But her suggestion that they should soon make their way back and depart was not an incorrect one, not at all. For a moment it looked like she would accept his polite farewell and leave; but instead she paused and offered her arm to him and suggested she needed him to escort her back to the main hall. Another interesting idea, one that would certainly set tongues wagging once they appeared in public with linked arms. He smiled faintly and nodded.

“You are right, on several counts, I believe,” he observed, as he stepped to her and allowed her offered arm to link into his, her hand resting lightly on the inside of the crook of his elbow. “It is, I believe, time this gathering was relieved of our presence, although I do believe others are also making their departures and farewells. You are right in that I might find myself at least slightly aggrieved should anything untoward happen to you. You are also correct that this evening has, for no reason beyond chance, unfolded in a manner that is much more agreeable than I had initially anticipated.” He rested his free hand on top of hers as they walked back towards the ballroom.

“And I will, of course, call upon you as we have agreed; I would be less of a gentleman if I did not, especially after it was I who asked to call upon you. I should visit at least once to see what manner of reception awaits me at your home. However, while I applaud and appreciate your decision to walk with me, I am concerned what reaction you being seen with me will engender with your mother, for example. I doubt she will be so accepting of my presence after you stepped on Mr Abernathy’s foot.”

They were, by now, within sight of the doors leading to the main hall, and Reggie could see a few heads turning their way…and the looks of scandalous curiosity upon the faces of those who saw him walking with Elsa. So far, none seemed to be taking umbrage with their combined company…which suggested that Elsa’s mother had not yet seen them walking together. That, he suspected, would not last long.
 
Elsa smiled up at him as their arms linked and he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. It was warm and comforting. She felt a little dainty beside him, and it was actually a feeling that was not entirely unwelcome. Just a sense of comfort. “I am glad then, Mr. Hawthorne, that this night has not been entirely lost on you as well.” They began the rigorous and probably dangerous journey back together to the main building of tonight’s social gathering. There was a small sense of anxiety bubbling in her should they be seen together but that was quickly put to a bit of ease considering they were already ruined. What more could transpire? And if this made Mr. Abernathy no longer interested in her, in spite of her mother’s exhaustive efforts, then so much the better. Elsa would rather be cut off and left to fend for herself in the world than the wife of a man who had no respect for her. Four years away had certainly made her a woman not of this time any longer.

“I appreciate that, thank you.” She said softly, watching the building come closer into view as they drew nearer. A smile of a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing how much this would greatly displease her mother, came onto her face. She did feel some guilt that unfortunately Mr. Hawthorne was part of her plan to displease her mother but what could be the harm on him? Would women flock away from him because he was seen with her?

“The way I see it, Mr. Hawthorne is that we’ve nothing more left to lose. However, if you fear the repercussions of being seen with me then I shall not take any great offense if you drop my arm now and flit away before you are seen too harshly by others. If you, like myself, do not care, then please stay by my side. I will admit my own intentions may be a little selfish but as I said, I would not take offense if you wished to depart now to have some aspect of your reputation untarnished by being seen with me. I would not take pleasure in your misfortune simply because I wish to take pleasure in upsetting my mother after she greatly upset me.” She looked up at him, cards on the table and being entirely honest with him. Elsa didn’t see it as playing a game or trying to get even. She saw it as making a stand. Her reputation was already ruined. Why bother sugar-coating it for people who already had their minds made up?

As they came to the steps that led down into the grounds’ gardens, she stepped away from him and took her arm back. “Thank you kind sir.” She curtsied, not using his name so it did not come off that they knew each other, attempting to save face for his sake. “I much appreciate you sacrificing your good grace to escort me back and not leave me alone. You’re far too gracious for my own good.” With a soft smile, with a lilt in her eyes that promised to meet again, Elsa turned away and went up the steps and back into the building, finding her parents. On her way in, she heard murmurs.

”That poor Mr. Hawthorne, such a splendid young man to even stand a second in Miss Strathmore’s ruined presence.”
“He really is far more noble than most give him credit for.”
“If I had to walk Miss Strathmore...well let’s just say I am not that grand of person like Mr. Hawthorne.”

And so on. It made her smile. His reputation was intact, for what it was and hers was just...well she could live with it. She, on the other hand, could not live with it knowing she had caused great consequences for him, simply by being seen together.

“There you are! Oh Elsa my dear, I have splendid news for you. Come, I shall explain in the coach on the way home. Don’t dawdle now dear, come along.” Her mother took her father’s arm and waltzed along and Elsa followed behind. Unfortunately for her, her mother did not see her with Mr. Hawthorne. Even more unfortunate was the prospect that she had smoothed things over with Mr. Abernathy.

Her only consolation was knowing that one of these days Mr. Hawthorne would come to call on her. Then she could watch with satisfaction as her mother tried to reign in her composure and manners. After all, despite Mr. Hawthorne’s reputation, his family was still a respectable one, a bit higher in the hierarchy in comparison to hers. There was still respect to be had. Even her mother knew that.
 
Reggie stayed with Elsa until the moment she removed herself from his presence. He had to admit, he found a certain gratification in walking with her, her arm in his…it felt right, in a way he at this time was not able to properly understand or identify. He knew he had walked with many young women before now, in manners similar to the way he had walked with Elsa – so why was walking with her different to walking with those others? It couldn’t just be because, this time, he was completely sober, and other times he was in varying degrees of inebriation…no, there was more to it. But just what that was, he could not say.

When she disengaged herself from him, he paused and acknowledged her farewell with a simple bob of his head. He understood she was wanting to make a clean departure – or as clean as she could make it – for his benefit, but he doubted it would make a difference if they were seen together. He kept that thought to himself, for the time being. “I dare say that I could withstand seeing your mother put out, if it pleases you,” he replied instead. “But I shall not ask you to do so simply on my account.” The way it had unfolded, in any event, was that Elsa apparently decided to not have the pair of them seen together. He watched her walk away, and was struck by the elegance of her posture and gait, and by the way her hips swayed gently as she moved away from him. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that.

A few moments later he followed her, keeping enough distance between them as to not give the impression that they had been spending time together, as Elsa seemingly desired to. He saw heads look at her, saw them turn to regard him; he saw expressions change to regard him with a mixture of weak admiration and scandalised curiosity. He heard, too, some of the whispers that followed her, heard himself being regarded with what seemed to be a degree of pity. Some of those whispering were women, eligible ones, and he disregarded their glances. They had already spurned him; why should he accept their behaviours now that he had taken kindly to Miss Strathmore? He knew why, of course – his family’s standing was strong, held in good stead, and while Reggie’s personal reputation was far below that of his family, his family name carried strength in society’s echelons. Maybe these people near him had seen something that gave pause to the reputation, but he didn’t care. He would do as he must, and it seemed that meeting Miss Strathmore had set him on a path that he now had to follow.

Still, none saw fit to talk with him as he moved through the ballroom doors. That act of charity – as some might have viewed it – towards Elsa was not going to be enough for this night. And that was perfectly fine with him, as he had little mind to speak with anyone else here, and less to say if he did.

He found his mother first by the top of the stairway that led from the ballroom down to the main entry hall. Lady Catherine Hawthorne was a stately woman herself, her dark-brown hair neatly tied up in a bun and showing faint streaks of silver, bright grey eyes seeming to look through everything they saw, and well-suited by bearing to her husband. Like her husband she was English by birth, raised in London before being married to Sir Bartholomew and moving to Portsmouth to start her new life. Lady Catherine ran the household with a firm hand while Sir Bartholomew ran the estate with a practiced eye. Like her husband, she harboured her disappointments with her eldest son, and it she who had initially made the suggestion that Reginald marry to retain his inheritance…although Reggie didn’t know that last part. The stony look she gave her son when he approached said mush, though, as did the tone in her voice.

“I can assume, my son, from the lack of comments that you managed to behave yourself this night?” The tone was cool, not quite icy, and brooked no dissent or obfuscation.

“Why, yes, mother, I had a lovely time being ignored by almost everyone here,” Reggie replied drily. If nothing else, he’d learned good use of sarcasm while he was away.

Catherine smiled frostily. “Just so long as I don’t have to apologise for you in the morning,” the elder woman observed coolly.

“I doubt very much that will happen, mother.”

“Good. Then wait with me until your father arrives,” Lady Catherine instructed lightly as she let her gaze wander the room. “I am sure he will not be too much longer.”

And that, apparently, was that. The wayward son had been trapped into staying by his mother’s side until his father – her husband – decided to appear. Reggie wondered whether he should mention calling on Elsa at this moment, then decided against it. He didn’t want to cause a scene right here.

Not yet, anyway.
 
The ride home in the coach wasn’t silent. For the silence she was hoping to take languish in, especially as the exhaustion of the night’s excitements began to kick in, was marred by her mother’s rapid fire speaking.

“--And after I spoke to you, I went back into the ballroom and quickly apprehended Mr. Abernathy. He was not very pleased with what you had done, Elsa.”

“Mother, as I was saying, it was an accident. It has been four years since I did a dance like that, as tonight was the first time a man had actually asked me to dance at one of these gatherings. It was an honest mistake.” Her lips twitched but her mother missed it. Her father on the other hand caught it and he grinned, though his face was a bit obscured by the darkness of the corner of the carriage. Elsa didn’t even see it.

“Carrying on…” She narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “I talked to him, calmed him down, explained that the past four years have been an unfortunate hardship on you, that you are out of practice, as you claim to state, and expressed apologies both from you and myself for the incident.”

“You could have easily explained to him that I am challenged in the area of poise.”
“I am trying to sell you, not retract from whatever attractive qualities you may yet possess after your four year scandal.”
“Yes Mother, do please carry on with your stylish comments.”

Though she was sarcastic, something her mother didn’t often pick up on, this time she did and Elsa felt a wave of satisfaction.

“As it is, he has agreed to forgive you and after plenty more coercion, he has agreed to call upon you in the following week.” Mrs. Strathmore smiled rather proudly and sat back in the carriage. Mr. Strathmore placed his hand on his wife’s, patting it in a way that she would take it as comfort but really, coming from him it was a bit patronizing. But it was a personal joke between him and Elsa.

“Wonderful.” Elsa scoffed, not hiding her disgust.
“Elsa, darling please, I just need you to please try. Why must you be so difficult?”
“I am your daughter, am I not? It is my duty as your ungrateful daughter to always be so difficult to you. As I know how it gnaws on your poor nerves.”

“Have you no compassion for my poor nerves? Especially after four years?”
“I did. But after you blatantly told me that I have no right or sense to be selective in my future partner and should simply be thankful that some disgusting pig would even look at me, I don’t quite feel like it, Mother.”

“Elsa…”
“He told me he preferred young ladies with yellow hair and that I was barely acceptable to even slightly tempt him.”
“Well…” Mrs. Strathmore sighed. “Unfortunately you take more after your father in handsomeness and it is just not right for a woman to be so handsome, rather than beautiful.”

At this, and it shouldn’t have shocked her, Elsa’s jaw dropped.
“My dear,” At this point, it was clear that Mr. Strathmore was now cross with his wife. He only called her ‘My dear’ when he was cross with her. “Enough. I am sure Elsa has endured enough scrutiny tonight. It would not bode well to endure more even in the comfort of her parents’ home.”

“You always come to her side.”
“I am simply mediating, my dear.”

There was a small bit of silence before her father continued, “Though your mother seems to prefer Mr. Abernathy, ultimately it resides in me to make the decision whether or not to give you away to the man. As I control your dowry, your mother can only do so much. Don’t fret Elsa.”

“Mr. Strathmore! I do not like it when you undermine my authority.”
“And I do not like it when you dare to cross mine, my dear.” The emphasis on the cross endearment was a bit more stern and forceful and it stopped Mrs. Strathmore from saying anything more. Though she did huff like she was a petulant child. Honestly, for a woman in her late thirties, she often acted like she was not when it came to her husband. Pouting, petulant, sometimes childish...but then again, she herself was not raised in high society back in the day.

“I met Mr. Hawthorne tonight.”
“Senior or Junior?” Her father asked.
“Junior.”
“Ah yes, the eldest bad seed. How did he fair to you?”
“I found him quite...pleasant.” She smiled.
“Despite his reputation--”

“Absolutely not! I do not care how ruined you are Elsa Strathmore but my daughter will not have anything to do with the black sheep of the Hawthorne family! It is a wonder he is even still accepted by his family!” Her mother spluttered.

“He is going to call on me, mother. How about this? I will meet with Mr. Abernathy.”
“Splendid!”
“If…” Her mother sagged in dismay. “If you meet with Mr. Hawthorne when he calls on me.”

A sound of a disgruntled groan came from her and a squeeze to her hand by her father made her relent. “Very well.” She mumbled.

Elsa grinned. “Oh splendid, Mother. Just truly splendid.”
 
It was...trying, a little, having to keep his mother company while waiting for father to return. Especially when said mother was only barely interested, it seemed, in talking with her son. Reggie had tried a few pieces of small talk with his mother, but after his first two efforts at conversation had been replied to in a manner that demonstrated lack of interest, he didn't bother further. It would just be a waste of his time...and hers, too, he mused.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to his impending meeting with Miss Elsa Strathmore in a couple of days’ time. They'd exchanged addresses before she'd departed his company, and he was trying to remember where it was in relation to his own family's estate...ah, yes. Only a half-hour or so by carriage. They weren't too far away from each other at all, really. He had to struggle to remember the area; he had not travelled much since his return home several months earlier, and his memory of the greater area wasn't as sharp as it had been.

He was also trying to fathom what they might talk about when he visited. There was every possibility that her mother would be opposed to the idea of he and Elsa taking a stroll together through their gardens; from what Elsa had let slip, her father might not be so opposed, but that would be determined during his visit. More likely he'd be required to sit and converse with Elsa with a chaperone in place, to make sure the wayward Hawthorne child didn't attempt to corrupt their daughter...although, given that Elsa's reputation was also tarnished, he would not be at all surprised to find a hidden "further" in that statement.

Fortunately, father was not too long at whatever had held his attention. Sir Bartholomew strode towards them, his expression showing a degree of satisfaction, the solid man's bearing almost forcing others to make way for him as he made his way to where his wife and son were waiting.

"An enjoyable evening," he rumbled, a warm smile on display for his wife's benefit...before he turned and looked at Reggie briefly, his smile fading. "Mostly."

Reggie sighed softly but held his tongue. He knew better than to engage in an argument with his father while still in their host's house.

His mother nodded in agreement, favouring her husband with a similarly-warm smile. "I agree, my husband," she replied in a soft, silky voice. "Shall we depart for home?"

Sir Bartholomew cast his gaze around the hall, apparently saw no-one, then nodded. "I believe we shall, my wife." Together, husband and wife together with arms linked and errant son close behind, they made their way to the front door. Jackets and shawls were waiting for them and were duly slipped into with the assistance of servants. Their carriage was called for, and the three were assisted inside; then they were on their way.

It was several minutes, enough to take them beyond the boundaries of their host's estate, before anyone spoke, and it was Reggie who found his voice first.

"So why did you bring me with you tonight, father?" he wanted to know. He spoke quietly, his gaze still focussed on the darkness outside the carriage.

"You were invited by our host," Sir Bartholomew replied smoothly and coolly.

"Yes, but you could have refused. I'm a little surprised you didn't."

"It hardly does your chances of fulfilling my conditions any good if I keep you indoors and fail to let you out into society," was the dark response, a barely-concealed annoyance in it.

"How considerate," Reggie muttered sarcastically.

"Do not take that tone with me, Reginald," Sir Bartholomew noted icily. "If you are to continue to be a worthy bearer of our family name, you need to act and carry yourself as if you want it. I have made my position clear on the matter. All I shall do is allow opportunity, such as tonight; anything else is up to you, and whether you can push through that hopeless name you've made for yourself."

Reggie snorted softly. "I did, in fact, have some small success," he noted casually.

"Oh?" Sir Bartholomew was understandably curious. "Dare I ask which poor waif you managed to force your presence upon?"

Reggie paused, took a deep breath, released it slowly before replying. "Miss Elsa Strathmore. I shall be-"

"Absolutely not!" Lady Catherine cut in sharply. "I will not have our family intertwined with that...that harridan! Her family is respectable enough, but not her!"

"And what do you know of her, mother?" Reggie asked pointedly. "I'll wager you've heard gossip and rumour only."

"You walk a dangerous line, Reginald," Sir Bartholomew warned ominously. "Mind your tongue around your mother."

"It's not a lie, though, is it?" Reggie pressed, some of his frustrations starting to bubble up in him.

"Whether it is or not," Sir Bartholomew replied quickly, seeing that his wife was about to interject sharply, "it is not your place to denigrate your mother so. We shall continue this discussion in the morning." The statement was delivered with some finality, causing the conversation to be stopped but not concluded.

And with that, the interior of the carriage fell silent. It was a long thirty minutes of quiet, the only sounds being that of the carriage and the breeze and their horses, before they arrived at their own estate.

They were greeted by their butler, Gareth, and a couple of female retainers. Gareth helped Sir Bartholomew from the carriage, who, in turn, helped Lady Catherine from the carriage with the assistance of Harriet; the Sir and Lady Hawthorne strode from the carriage, leaving the other retainer, Wendy, to help Reggie from the carriage. Reggie was rather thankful that Wendy had come out to help; he was rather fond of the young brunette, in a platonic way, and she seemed to at least appreciate his company. They waited until Sir and Lady Hawthorne were out of earshot before speaking - Wendy first.

"I take it the evening went largely as you expected, sir?" Her voice was small and smooth as she spoke, her bright blue eyes looking into Reggie's face for an answer.

"About as well as I expected, yes," Reggie agreed quietly. "Perhaps slightly better, in fact. I did chance to meet a young lady who actually stayed to converse with me."

"Oh?" Wendy was eager to know, but knew better than to try and pull the information from the man walking next to her. "May I know who that was, sir?"

Reggie's mouth turned up into a small smirk. "The young Miss Elsa Strathmore, no less."

Wendy couldn't help screwing her nose up at mention of the name. "Oh. Please...be careful with that one, sir," she replied, almost in a pleading manner. "I do not know specifics, of course, but what I've heard..."

"She's a ruined woman of loose morals, perhaps?" Reggie asked pointedly. Wendy flushed slightly, the gesture almost lost in the near-darkness, and nodded slightly. "Well, maybe she is. But then...maybe she isn't. She's travelled, yes, but is she ruined? I'm not so sure. I do endeavour to find out, though."

"Lady Catherine won't like that, sir," Wendy warned sincerely.

Reggie grinned, almost wolfishly. By now they were at the door to his bedroom. "I know she won't. She's already made her thoughts clear, and I'm taking it upon myself to find out the truth of it all. Miss Strathmore is not all she seems, I feel."

The pair walked through the door to Reggie's room, and Wendy helped the young man out of his jacket and hung it up in his wardrobe for him. "Please be careful, sir," Wendy pleaded gently. "I know Lady Catherine has a temper about her if you drive her to it. And your father may not like you goading your mother, if that's what you intend."

Reggie paused in the act of removing the tie from around his neck, then he gave a small nod. "You're right, of course, Wendy," he agreed. "Don't worry. I want to find out a bit more about Miss Strathmore, but I'm not going to go out of my way to anger either of my parents in doing so." He finished undoing the tie and draped it over a chair. Wendy moved to take it, but Reggie waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about it, Wendy," he told her warmly. "It can wait until morning. It's getting late, and you need to retire as well. Good night, Wendy."

Wendy flushed slightly as she backed away from Reggie towards the door, stopping only when she found the handle behind her. "Of course, sir. Good night." The young maid let herself out of Reggie's room and closed the door behind her, leaving Reggie alone with his thoughts.
 
By the end of the coach ride back to the Strathmore estate, Elsa was feeling in nicer spirits. Her father and mother left the carriage first, her father first to help his wife and then daughter down before a butler and a couple of ladies-maids came out to escort them back inside, while the butler manned the horses to take them to the stables for the stable hands.

“I think we should be off to bed now, don’t you think?” Mr. Strathmore asked.
“Yes, please. Though I do believe I need a glass of sherry or perhaps even a touch of your brandy, my love.” Her mother spoke, then set a sharp glance toward Elsa. “For my poor, frayed nerves.” She huffed, striding off in a hastened pace to Mr. Strathmore’s den where the liquor was kept. Proper etiquette was lost in their own home, for nothing was much of a secret to their staff. The Strathmore family was not the stuffiest among the high society and social grapples. Perhaps Mrs. Strathmore was but that was just because she didn’t come from the high society and therefore was willing to overcompensate more than her husband and daughter would. It had always been her dream and though it nearly cost her husband’s his title, fortune and status, it was eventually welcomed when she proved she had the every social and personal graces found among high society women.

Mr. Strathmore chuckled and Elsa grinned a little. “Once your mother takes to rest, come down to the study, Elsa. I think we should speak.”
“Very well, Father.” She nodded and turned to go upstairs. He halted her.
“Elsa?”
She turned and looked back at him. “Yes, Father?”
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight? Speaking to Mr. Hawthorne?”
“I did.” She admitted without reservation or hesitation. “Mother would not approve.”
“She’ll come around. After all, I do have the final say. But we will talk more about this. Go change. I reckon you are eager to be out of that dress.”
“You know me far too well.” She smiled and then turned, heading upstairs, two ladies-maids following after her.

Her two ladies-maids, Gretchen and Delilah, walked in after her into her room. Gretchen laid out Elsa’s night gown and robe while Delilah began to untie all the ties of her dress and then her corset. Keeping her slip on, she removed the petticoat and then Gretchen laid the nightgown over Elsa’s head, the cotton fabric tumbling down until it came to her feet. The robe was administered over it and Elsa took the liberty to close it and tie it herself.

Taking a seat at her vanity, Gretchen stood behind her and began to undo her hair, remove the pins and the ornamental decorations and pull her long hair free from its elaborate braid, while Delilah sat on a footstool in front of Elsa and began to clean her face of make up.

“Might we inquire about your night, Miss Elsa?” Delilah asked kindly.
“You may.” She smiled gently. “It went as I expected it to. Still, the heavy reality of the true scorn and scrutiny given by my peers was a bit daunting.”

“It usually is, Miss. But I believe you handled yourself cordially. If it is not too bold to say, it was rather courageous of you to come back. Though Gretch and myself are quite thankful you had.” Delilah giggled.

Elsa smiled. “I remember. Was my mother really such a nightmare the past four years?”
“Oh yes.” Gretchen supplied. “Your father had to do a lot of damage control after the scandal. It was as if he had to court her all over again just to revive her.”

“Well, I think she was only reacting in such a way because of what I had done to the family name. Not so much that her only child ran away.”
“You think so little of your mother, Miss Elsa?” Gretchen asked.

“She’s not as terrible as you think.” Delilah offered.
“Now you’re both being too bold. Neither of you do not understand and furthermore, neither of you have Adelaide Strathmore as your mother. I am sure your mothers are loving, compassionate, and not obsessed with status, wealth and image.”

Both Delilah and Gretchen were silent. Not so much because Elsa was right but because they had overstepped and because she wasn’t entirely wrong either.

“Sorry Miss Elsa.”
“I apologize Miss Elsa.”

“Never mind it, you two. I should not have snapped. You two are more my friends than ladies. We grew up together. If there was any consolation in coming home it was seeing your faces again. I missed you both so much.” She sighed softly and looked down, Gretchen now combing Elsa’s hair out.

“Why don’t you tell your mother the truth?”
“There would be no purpose.”
“Yes, but seeing as she loves to do damage control as much as your father, she can--”
“There is nothing she could say to those people. They believe what they will believe. And regardless of what I tell her…” She shook her head. “It won’t change anything.”

They shifted the topic. “Did you meet anyone tonight?”
Elsa smiled, her mind being brought to Mr. Hawthorne. “I did.”
“And?”
“His name is Reginald Hawthorne, the eldest son of the Hawthorne family.”

Both girls just giggled at the mere mention of his name and Elsa looked at them both quizzically. “What? Was it something I said?”

“Oh no no...he’s just...now he has quite the scandalous reputation. Many ladies are quite smitten and beholden to him.”
“Oh?” This was interesting. She only knew little of his reputation, not a lot. They both had strayed from that topic as much as they could tonight. “Do go on.”

Gretchen and Delilah then proceeded to tell her rumors about Mr. Hawthorne. At first Elsa was shocked and then appalled. But then she quickly opened her mind, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt as much as she could because the slander around her was all rumors. Perhaps...it was the same with him…

After she was groomed and wound down from the night of being trapped in a corseted dress, Elsa went back downstairs, passing her parents’ room along the way. Her mother was in bed, half asleep, likely where she needed to be. A part of her did feel compassion for her mother and what Elsa put her through. But she’d never let her know that. She’d feel more if her mother actually saw her as something to love rather than property to be sold off to the highest bidder.

Walking downstairs, her fingers played with the end of her braid that was draped over her shoulder. She walked to her father’s study and knocked on the door, before pushing it open and poking her head in. “Father?”
“Ah, Elsa, come in, come in. Sit.”

She did so and tucked herself in her father’s favorite chair, which was also hers. He came around from his desk, took his glasses off and sat down across from her, sipping his own brandy. His cravat was loosened, his jacket off, vest discarded and he looked more like her father than the man he showed to the world. She liked this version of him.

“Now, tell me about Mr. Reginald Hawthorne.”
“I don’t know, Papa.” She said softly, guard down. When her guard was down, she lost the formalities of ‘father’ and ‘mother’ and went back to ‘papa’ and ‘mama.’

“Talk to me.”
She sighed heavily. “Well, he was so kind to me. He knew some of the rumors surrounding me and I knew little of his. I just learned some more and they are kind of...unflattering.”
“Ah yes, well it is no secret to me Elsa. But...I happen to know that people change. You did. You came back, even when you knew it would be difficult. You didn’t have to. And if he did not do anything that his reputation is known for doing to pretty young ladies--”
“I’m hardly pretty Papa. You heard Mama. I’m handsome. Not beautiful, or pretty, or a delight to behold with yellow hair.”

He chuckled. “Regardless...did he compromise you?”
“Haven’t you heard Papa? I’m already compromised.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.”
This stunned Elsa. “What? Really?”
He nodded his head. “You’re too much of my daughter to do that to anyone. You’re like your mother by running away, but because you are my daughter and you were raised better than that, that is how I know you are still an honest woman.”

“Thank you, Papa.” she was genuinely touched. It seemed her father was really the only one on her side about these things. More so than her mother, that’s for sure. “That means so much to me.”

He smiled. “Did you like him? Before you heard all of those nasty things about him?”
“I did.”
“And now?”
She sighed heavily. “I still do. He was the first man at any of these parties that we’ve gone to since my return who has spoken to me with respect and not simply assumed the worst. Or think it appropriate to proposition me for a time in bed.”

Now that was news to her father. “What?” He asked sharply.
“No, he didn’t do that. But the other men--”
“What other men?!”

“Papa...surely you didn’t think it impossible, did you? What with the rumors?”
“Well yes, but--”
“But nothing. Regardless of what I say or whatever damage control you and Mama try to accomplish, I will always be that girl who ran away on her debutant night with another man, unmarried. What are people supposed to think?”

“You’re right.” he sighed, swiping his hand over his face. “How do you do it?”
She just smiled. “I am your daughter, aren’t I?”

He smiled. “I will talk to your mother regarding Mr. Hawthorne.”
“She seems quite set on Mr. Abernathy.”
“Elsa, I could not wish to part you with anyone less deserving.”
 
Once the door to his room had closed, Reggie resumed undressing himself, albeit more slowly. He was a little distracted by his thoughts as his hands worked to remove items of clothing: how to deal with his mother, how to deal with his father, how Mrs Strathmore might react to him, how the visit with Miss Elsa might go…they swirled around in his mind, one somehow leading to the next. He found no resolutions in his thoughts, only more questions.

He undressed to his under-shorts, revealing a lean and toned frame. He was not muscular, nor was he stocky; neither was his skinny with well-defined muscles. Sparse dark hair covered his chest and arms and shoulders and legs, standing out against the light olive of his skin. He sighed softly, yawned and stretched, then slipped into his large and comfortable bed. He had to admit that he had missed his bed while he’d been away; hotels had reasonable beds, the friends and people he’d visited had comfortable beds…but they weren’t his.

As he lay drifting to sleep, his mind wandered to Wendy. The young maid was quite pretty, and he had once entertained the idea of asking her to share his bed; he wasn’t stupid, however, and knew that even the suggestion would, if it became known, cause him much grief that he’d rather avoid. So he chose to do and say nothing beyond regarding her as a favourite of his…which was quite true in itself. And yet the thought of Wendy sharing his bed somehow didn’t have the same strength for him as it had previously. He might have been curious about that, but his mind gave up thinking at that point in favour of the darkness of sleep.

* * * * *

He woke to the sounds of the drapes in his room being pulled back, followed quickly by the flash of sunlight crashing through the windows. It took him several moments to open his eyes, and he blinked several times, rapidly, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden presence of bright and unwelcome light.

“Good morning, sir,” Wendy greeted him brightly.

“Morning?” Reggie repeated, sounding a little confused. “Feels like I only just went to sleep. What time is it?”

“It’s a half after eight, sir,” the maid replied, as she made her way to his wardrobe and opened it. “Breakfast is still available from the kitchen, and your father has asked me to pass on a request that he wishes to speak with you in his study at half-past nine.”

“Breakfast…kitchen…father…study…half-nine,” Reggie mumbled in reply as he struggled to push himself to his elbows. His gaze focussed on the young maid as she pulled some casual attire from the wardrobe and laid them on the foot of his bed – trousers, loose shirt, light jacket, stockings to match the casual shoes she’d pulled out for him. Nothing formal, which was good. Wendy surely was pretty…but no. Definitely no to that thought. If the maid noticed how Reggie was looking at her, she gave no indication it bothered her.

“Shall I ask Gwendolyn to prepare something for you for breakfast, sir?” Wendy wanted to know. She was standing by the foot of the bed, now, waiting patiently for an indication form him as to what she should do next.

“That’d be much appreciated, Wendy, thank you,” Reggie agreed. “Just help me into my robe while I wake up. I’ll be down in about ten minutes, I suppose.” He pushed the covers back and swung his feet around, and found himself stepping into his slippers. He smiled at the young maid as he stood up. “You don’t miss much, do you, Wendy?”

“I try not to, sir,” the young maid agreed, flushing slightly with the compliment as she grabbed the long robe and stepped forward to stand behind the young master. She helped him into his robe then stepped back as he grabbed the edges and pulled them about himself. “Will that be all for the moment, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.” His hands were fumbling at the cord about his waist, seeking to tie the thing with hands that were still half-asleep. He yawned again.

Wendy bowed her head politely and backed away towards the door…and her hand hesitated on the handle. “Sir…may I ask you a…a personal question?”

That was different. Reggie raised his eyebrows quizzically as he turned to look at the young maid. “Of course, Wendy.”

“Those…the rumours about you, about what you did while you were away. They…they are just rumours, aren’t they?” Wendy’s cheeks were still flushed as she asked the question. Clearly she had been a little uncomfortable asking. She hadn’t been part of the household when Reggie had begun his travels, so she only knew the gentleman who’d come home.

Reggie sighed softly. “I am afraid that there may be a little more truth to them than you may want to believe, Wendy,” he replied slowly, no small amount of regret tinging his voice. Wendy was quiet for a few seconds before she found her voice again.

“I…yes, sir,” she ventured finally. “I…I’ll let Gwendolyn know to start preparing something for you for breakfast, sir.” The maid let herself out of his room and was gone.

Reggie took a slow breath before moving. He recognised that his relationship with Wendy, such as it was, was now damaged. She would still be a maid in the family, and would probably still be his favourite, but she’d always look at him differently, now, and he wasn’t about to lie to her about it. He supposed he could have told her simply to mind her place, but the events leading up to and surrounding his return had taught him the value of honesty and humility and compassion…maybe by showing these qualities to others, others might overlook the flaws in his life. It was an interesting realisation, and one he wasn’t too sure of the origin, nor the meaning, of…but he supposed he’d get there.
 
After a glass of brandy, her and her father’s secret little ritual--if her mother found out she would be beside herself--Elsa went to bed feeling a bit lighter. She loved talking with her father. He seemed to always set things right and she had feared that after the stunt she pulled, he would never talk to her like this. Since she returned, this was the first time they had this kind of talk, the usual talks they used to have when they did forge a closer bond together. Perhaps he felt the need to compensate with the way her mother treated her. She didn’t know. Either way, she was grateful and it seemed like he had accepted having a daughter after the first time he took her hunting and with how easily and well she took to holding and shooting a rifle. That was her proudest moment. Making him so proud to have a daughter. At least she went to bed knowing that for what it was worth, she had mended things well enough with him. As for her mother...that may never come to pass.

A smile came over her face and she lay in her bed, sighing softly. Her robe was draped over the back of her vanity chair and she turned onto her side, seeing between the slit of her drapes, the moonlight night sky. A dark cloud rested over her head in regards to Mr. Hawthorne. But sleep called first. Tomorrow was a new day and she could mull over her thoughts and whatever feelings she had toward the man tomorrow. For now, she must sleep. And that was exactly what she did, surprising her that it did actually come quite easily.

----

That next morning, she woke to the sunlight casting a warm glow over her face. Her eyes fluttered open and then she squinted, the sun’s rays nearly blinding her from the slit through the curtains it shone through. All of a sudden the door opened and Gretchen walked in and came to the blinds, throwing them open which bathed the entire room, and Elsa’s face and eyes, with sun. She groaned and rolled onto her other side, pulling the blanket up over her head.

“Rise and shine, Miss Elsa.” She smiled.
“You’re in a good mood today. What time is it?”
“Just a little after seven.”
“Why so early?” She groaned.
“Your father wishes for you to rise early before your mother. He would like to take you out. Along with a couple of horses from the stables.”

Which only meant one thing. Hunting. Elsa sat up with eager haste, a bright smile replacing her tiredness as she seemed to come instantly awake. “Really?”

Gretchen nodded her head eagerly. “Really. Come. You can bathe after. For now, you must get dressed.” She then proceeded to her dressing cabinet and pulled out a stunning blouse and a matching riding habit to accompany it, as well as a bonnet, velvet jacket and riding boots.

Elsa dressed quickly and held her bonnet in her hands as she practically darted out of her room, uncaring for the present state of her hair. She would wear her bonnet at some point. Apparently though, she had taken too long though she thought she made great haste, since the moment she got to the bottom of the stairs, she saw her mother tying her robe around her and look up at her. “Elsa? Where do you think you’re going dressed like that? My word, and your hair! Did you even bathe?”

Elsa grimaced a little bit. “Good morning to you as well, Mother.”
Mrs. Strathmore only grunted. Then Mr. Strathmore came walking, dressed similarly to his daughter, but instead of a riding habit, he wore his usual equestrian gear. “Oh, darling, you’re awake.” Though he seemed unfazed by it. It's not as if there was anything she could tell him not to do. Save for promising not to forsake her for another. Which he kept heartily. He never strayed. Though they quarreled often, they were also a match of love, not arranged. He risked it all for her and he let her have her tantrums because as demented as it was, it was one of the many reasons he loved his wife. She could bicker, groan and pout but at the end of the day, she knew who was in charge, despite what he let her believe.

Mrs. Strathmore looked to him and then looked back at her daughter. She turned sharply to her husband. “Oh no! She is not going hunting with you.”
“What?” He asked, feigning innocence. “We are just going riding, my dear.”
“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me.” She hissed. “I know you take her hunting behind my back. Don’t think I didn’t know all this time!”

“Adelaide, really it is not as much of a crisis situation as you think. I was just going to take her riding. Let her clear her mind a little. I am sure it has been daunting on all of us. Her return, the sudden thrust back into high society, the hovering flocks of vultures ready to prey on her--”

“Fine!” She snapped. “Off with you both. Lest you begin to explain to me every desire of every man who so looks at my daughter with lecherous intent!” She stormed off and went to have her morning cup of tea. She was an absolute dread without her morning cup of tea! More so than usual, if that could be believable at all.

Elsa grinned and looked at him.
“Always works, doesn’t it?”

“I’m surprised it still does, considering…”
“Mr. Abernathy is one thing, but thousands of men vying after you…”
She giggled. “You’re quite right, Papa. If I were in her heels, I would hate to hear it, myself.”

“Shall we be off then? Lester told me there are a lot of game running about through the woods of the estate. I’m thinking we find something sporting for today’s lunch and dinner.”
“I thought we were just going riding.” Elsa grinned.

“Oh ye little faith in your old Papa?”
She laughed and took his arm. “Let’s be off before she changes her mind and realizes you lied to her.”
 
Reggie didn’t take too long making his way to breakfast…well, not once he’d finished ruminating over the conversation between himself and Wendy just now. It could have gone better…actually, given the conversation topic, it could have gone a lot worse, although really in only one direction. There wasn’t any real way he could have addressed her question without making it worse in some way. Honesty presented the best outcome, in that it only made things a little bit worse. She’d be a little more guarded around him in the days to come, he knew. Sighing to himself at the situation he’d placed himself in, he slipped his robe off, dressed himself in the clothes Wendy had laid out for him, then made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

When he got there, Gwendolyn – a rounder, older woman in her mid-thirties – was just finishing preparing something for him: bacon and eggs with fried tomatoes and a couple of slices of thick toasted bread.

“There you are, sir!” she greeted the young master brightly. “And good morning to you! One hot breakfast as requested by young Wendy.” She finished placing food items on the plate and looked up at Reggie. Gwendolyn was generally a bright, bubbly woman, and was well-liked by all member of the household. “Were will you be beating this, sir?”

Reggie paused, then nodded his head slowly. “Take it to the study, please,” he requested politely. “Father apparently wants to meet me there after breakfast, so if I’m already there I can’t be late.” He gave the cook a friendly smile. “And a cup of tea, too, please. Black, two sugars.”

"So…the usual, then?”

Reggie snorted with good humour. “That’s it. Thank you, Gwen.” With that, he turned and made his way to the study.

In itself, the study was a large room. It was less of a study and more like a small library, in truth – spacious, tall, rows up on rows of books with a ladder to get to the upper shelves, a couple of desks for working at, a couple of lounge chairs just for reading in…it was almost too big to be a room in a house, even if that house was rather large. Reggie found the copy of the day’s newspaper and started reading it at a desk just as Wendy brought his breakfast in on a trolley.

“Your breakfast, sir,” the young maid announced in a quiet voice. She was having trouble making eye-contact with him, and he knew why.

“Thank you, Wendy,” he acknowledged equally-quietly. He waited until she’d finished setting his breakfast items on the desk before speaking again. “And Wendy?”

“Yes, sir?” she replied, only now meeting his gaze.

“I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier,” he offered sincerely. “I know what my reputation now is, and I understand if that makes you uncomfortable around me. I cannot change the past; I can only regret my actions. I can’t ask you to ignore it, but I will ask you to remember that I have never acted other than properly since returning.”

“Yes…of course, sir,” Wendy replied softly. She knew there was a measure of truth in his words.

“Thank you, Wendy,” Reggie noted. He allowed himself to look at her for a couple of extra seconds. “Nothing further for now, thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” the maid acknowledged, before giving him a small curtsy and pushing the trolley out of the study.

It didn’t take Reggie long to eat…or maybe it did, and he was unaware of it, given that he was engrossed in reading the paper at the same time. In any event, he was soon aware that his plate and cup were empty, and he was half-way through the paper. He thought little of it and went back to the paper, and that was how his father found him.

“Reginald,” Sir Bartholomew greeted his son. “Glad to see you up and about, at least.”

“Thank you, father,” Reggie returned, lying the newspaper flat on the desk as his father sat in one of the lounge chairs. “I was just catching up on the news and market reports. Looks like the railway venture is going to be a profitable one for a while longer yet.”

“Hmmpf,” Sir Bartholomew mumbled dismissively. “So tell, me, Reginald…what of Miss Strathmore?”

Reggie blinked several times at his father’s bluntness. “I’m not sure what more there is to say, father,” he replied evenly. “Mother’s already made her position quite clear on that topic.”

“You mother isn’t here, and I’m the one asking,” Sir Bartholomew returned sharply. “What of Miss Strathmore?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, father,” Reggie replied, silently accepting the light rebuke.

“How did it transpire that you and she spoke? And when are you going to call on her, exactly?”

“What makes you think I’m going to-“

“You began a declaration of sorts on the way home last night, before your mother cut you off,” Sir Bartholomew pointed out. “It seemed reasonable to deduce that such was your intention. And…?”

“She and I met by chance last night,” Reggie related thoughtfully. “We’d both retired to the same balcony, away from the other guests, having apparently both spent quite enough time being largely shunned by nearly every other person there. We got to talking to each other, seeing as no-one else would do so. I found her company to be quite agreeable.”

“And when will you be calling on her?”

“I have asked to meet her at her estate tomorrow after luncheon. She gave me her acceptance.”

“Hmmm.” There was neither acceptance nor refusal in that noise. “Very well. I have my reservations about that one, but they likely do not run as deep as those of your mother. At least you managed to keep yourself in check last night, so I’ll take that as a good sign. I am not closed to being convinced. Your mother will make up her own mind, as she has always done.”

“Thank you, father,” Reggie replied sincerely, with a small nod of his head. “All I ask, father, is that you give her a chance to show she is more than the rumours make of her.”

“We’ll see,” Sir Bartholomew agreed neutrally as he stood from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me, then…?” It was not a question, and Reggie nodded his head politely. Then he was alone in the study, reflecting on the fact that his father had at least not prohibited him from visiting Elsa.
 
Hunting with her father was oddly cathartic. Okay, not oddly. She always did enjoy hunting with him. She always enjoyed spending time with him. He understood her a lot better than her mother did. The only time her mother tried to understand her was if it had anything to do with her fashion choices, her special talents in music, literature, dance or embroidery--the latter of which she had no real talent with as her creations often were a blob of colored string making no shape or design whatsoever!--or a particular man of high stature and status that she fancied. Otherwise, she showed no real care. Elsa didn’t doubt her mother cared. She knew she did. But with everything right now, the high priority was to marry her off. And that was all her mother cared about right now, lest she truly had a daughter that was the scourge of society, definitely cut off and she could only imagine her daughter as a prostitute because what else could an ex-socialite do?

But all of that went away as she and her father both had rifles in hand and were practicing the human version of pouncing. It was relaxing and though she did kill a deer--poor little deer-- something that did surprise her father considering how out of practice she had been in the last four years, she felt a lot of tension release through this all. So much so that by the time this all ended and they were riding back to the estate, she felt in better spirits.

Until of course her mother found out that they were really going hunting, saw the game they brought back and immediately sent her daughter up to be bathed and readied for their bonding occasion now. Shopping. It was always shopping, and it earned an eyeroll from Elsa as she stomped up the stairs, making her mother fume with fury and her father chuckle. Though now he had to deal with his wife and calm her down since he technically did lie to her. Oh well, all in a day’s work really.

At the seamstress in town, the one her mother frequented, a woman who was just as nasty as her mother, Elsa was poked, prodded and squeezed until she felt like the air would leave her lungs again from how many times she was forced into corsets for proper fittings.

“Four years and she’s likely put on weight. I remember when she was a spritely little thing.”
“My word, I know!” Mrs. Strathmore agreed. “Last night it took two ladies to cinch her into her corset. And even so…”
“Seems she has gotten quite heavy in the chest area. That is a no-no.” The seamstress chastised.
“Is there anything you can do. There’s already rumors of my daughter being quite the trollop, I’d hate to confirm them just because she seems to be spilling out of her corset.”
“It might be more imperative to wrap her chest before placing the corset. No need to showcase it all. No man would want that. No man wants a whore for life.” she laughed, which made Mrs. Strathmore laughed.

“Mother, I’m standing right here.”
“And right you are!” But Mrs. Strathmore and the seamstress didn’t stop their talking as they went through materials while Elsa was left standing on the raised dais in front of a mirror in a corset and petticoat. She was currently being fitted for some new dresses, while enduring hideous insults about her figure. It actually made her look at herself in the mirror in different angles wondering if it was true. Had she put on weight? Was she too busty to be taken seriously?

Sure, she might be a bit curvier than she was four years ago but it wasn’t like she was gorging on delectable treats. She could hardly afford anything to eat to stay alive. This was just how her body matured and grew in the past four years. She no longer had the body of a young teen but rather that of a young woman. Apparently it was shameful to behold because of the extra...material in some areas.

Was this punishment for her lying to her mother about hunting?

Thankfully, shopping was done. Three new dresses had been fitted and ordered for her, to be picked up by the end of the week and on the carriage ride home, Mrs. Strathmore was telling Elsa of another social engagement that night. A small party, celebrating the engagement of a girl she once knew. They were both in the same debutante year and now this one was being hitched. Somehow, Elsa got the feeling that this was her mother’s way of reminding her that this is what she could have been had she not run away. Lovely.

Elsa didn’t bother protesting. She had to go. She didn’t want to but she had no choice. She had been caught in the act of hunting, something she was forbidden from a long time ago. She could only imagine what kind of punishment her father received. No doubt, he would be dragged to this party too. If they had anything in common, it was that father and daughter disdained social gatherings on a nightly basis like this.

Once at home, since being at the seamstress had wasted a good portion of the day, it was almost nighttime now, Elsa was sent away to get ready. Her mother had taken the seamstress’ advice to heart; the dresses that were being made for her would be beautiful and fashionable, mostly in the French fashion style but also hide her figure and the assets they thought to be an eyesore. No long sleeves and high throat collars but the necks of her dresses would be raised so that not even an ounce of cleavage would show. She didn’t quite look forward to it but at least tonight she could enjoy one of her other favorite dresses before she was dressed like a nun for a socialite.

Two ladies helped her, one cinching her into a corset, to which Elsa threatened her womanly parts vividly if she was cinched into it so tightly--she listened of course since she didn’t doubt Elsa’s capability after what she might have learned while living on the ‘streets’--and the other did her hair and make-up. Her hair was tied up into an elegant bun with loose tendrils curled to frame her face to give a bit of innocence since everyone thought her a whore. The dress she wore was a vibrant red color of sin--much to her happiness--made of velvet material with a white overlay at top that offered more modesty in her decolletage but still made her look absolutely beautiful, and not just in the ‘handsome’ sense.

They soon left and ten minutes into the celebration, Elsa had been insulted, chided, and the woman who this party honored for her engagement simply looked down upon Elsa. And oddly enough, it kind of amused her. It was all so...pathetic. Perhaps her encounter with Mr. Hawthorne changed her tune a little bit.

That is of course Mr. Abernathy found her and requested a dance with her.
On the dance floor, he spent more time looking around then at her. Which was fine with her. But when he did look at her again, he made the comment of, “Still brunette I see.”

Elsa smiled tightly, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot again. No need to cause a scene. “Still a donkey’s ass I see.”

Mr. Abernathy’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Someone’s a little feisty. I might be able to look over your lack of beauty with a smart mouth like yours.” He smirked, bringing a hand up to trace his thumb over her plump bottom lip. “And what wonders a mouth like yours could do...the amount of pleasure it can bring.”

Elsa felt suddenly sick. This man was truly a pig.

He leaned down to whisper into her ear, “When we marry, the things I shall do to you on our wedding night would put even the actual whores of the streets to shame.”
Elsa recoiled and looked at him. “When we marry?”
“Why yes. I am investing a lot into you Miss Strathmore. And no offense but it’s not like you’ve found any better prospect. I’m your only chance you get, lest you wish your parents to cut you off.” He smirked.

“How do you know about that?”
“Your mother. She told me last night. It was part of her pathetic attempt to convince me not to give up on you.”
One, he had just insulted her tremendously. Two, he also called her mother pathetic and though Mrs. Strathmore grated on Elsa’s patience, she was still her mother. No one spoke ill of anyone in her family.

Instead of causing a scene, which was her natural inclination, Elsa instead brought the gap between them to a close. But it was a ruse to let her hand slide down and cup him in a vice grip that nearly had Mr. Abernathy tumbling over in pain. Lowered a little to her level, Elsa leaned up. “Speak ill of either me or my family once again Mr. Abernathy and my hand will be the least of your worries to your genitals. Next time, I could have a knife in my hand to truly unman you.”

Though it repulsed her to do so, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, knowing her mother would be watching, all for appearance sake, and pulled back, letting her hand come back up to his shoulder. She put on that saccharine sweet smile of hers and tilted her head to the side. “Do we have an understanding Mr. Abernathy?”

His face had turned very red and he still looked pain. He wanted nothing more than to shove her way and condemn her to hell and the whores of the streets but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled tightly and nodded his head. “We do, Miss Strathmore.”

“Good. Now apologize. This dance is over.”
“My apologies Miss Strathmore.” he stepped back and took her hand, kissing the back of it gently. His eyes met hers though and it wasn’t gentle. Neither was his grip on his hand. If anything, it promised something bad.

“Threaten me again and I swear to make your life a living hell before you could ever take a knife to my genitals.” He hissed with a bitter smile on his face.

“Oh Mr. Abernathy!” She covered her mouth, continuing with the charade that what he was doing was wooing her. “Do that again because you strike fear into no one’s heart or mind.” When he stood upright again, she leaned in and tapped his cheek and smirked. “I fear nothing. Least of you. You’re like a baby animal in comparison to the true predators of this society.”

And having the last word, she curtsied and turned away from him. Thankfully they didn’t have to stay long. It was more so to make an appearance and apparently throw Elsa into Mr. Abernathy again before he could call on her.

Either way once she was changed for bed, she felt relieved to sleep. It seemed she would see no peace until the day she said ‘I do.’ Now who she said that to remained a mystery. The very bane of her existence right now.
 
After his father had left the study, Reggie went back to the newspaper. He read it carefully, studying the business section in particular, noting the movement of stock, the reports of business fortunes, the noted prospects of possible investments. It was all interesting stuff, really. And Reggie, for all that his reputation had been darkened considerably because of his exploits over much of the past decade, was not one to turn his nose up at a business opportunity. It was mostly how he’d made his way around the country, by making deals and negotiating business. There were new markets to explore, more of the country to develop, other persons and ventures to interact with.

By mid-morning he’d finished studying the paper. Wendy had come into the study at some point and cleared away his breakfast dishes; they’d briefly made some small and polite conversation, and he was glad to note that her faith in him had appeared to have been restored from their previous conversation which had dampened her view of him. He didn’t want Wendy to think less of him, although he knew that such was likely to be inevitable should she learn about his behaviour while he’d been travelling. It might be to someone such as Wendy he’d have to turn if he found himself unable to meet his father’s demands. He closed and folded the paper, left it sitting on the table as he stood up and straightened his clothing. He bumped into Beatrice – fortunately, not literally – as he exited the study.

“Oh! I beg pardon, sir!” Beatrice exclaimed quickly. She was a young lady of about twenty, shoulder-length curly brown hair, deep brown eyes, slim figure, fair but not quite pretty. If Wendy hadn’t been in the house, Beatrice would have been Reggie’s favourite, he was sure.

“No matter, Beatrice,” Reggie replied equally quickly. At least he’d managed to avoid knocking the tray she was carrying out of her hands. “Please, once you’ve delivered that tray I’d like you to do two things for me. First, ask Greg to ready a carriage for me to take me into town. Then ring the office of Tom Cumberland and arrange for me to meet with him so he and I can discuss business. I’ll meet with him after lunch.”

“Ask Greg to prepare a horse and carriage to take you into town after lunch, and call Tom Cumberland to arrange a meeting between you and him,” the girl repeated carefully, nodding her head as she spoke. “Of course. Will that be all, sir?”

Reggie smiled faintly. “Yes, Beatrice,” he replied politely. “Thank you.” With that, the girl hurried off towards the kitchen. Reggie watched the girl leave, then headed towards the back entrance of the house. He fancied the idea of going for a ride to while away the morning. The idea was put on hold when he came across his mother, who looked for all the world like she was prowling and looking for something she could happen upon. Just his luck it was him who found her, Reggie thought.

“There you are, Reginald,” Lady Catherine greeted her son coolly. It would probably take some time for her to forgive him, if she ever did…which would likely be “never” if he brought Elsa into the house.

“Mother,” he replied formally. “I see you’re out stalking again.”

“Don’t take that attitude with me, young man,” the older woman warned ominously. To Reggie, the air around him felt like it cooled several degrees as she spoke. “I wanted to let you know there’s another gathering this evening. A celebration of some young lady who’s recently become engaged. I’ll be going, and I want you to come with me.”

After the previous night, Reggie could do without another party. “I fear I may not be able to attend, mother,” he replied smoothly. “I have arranged to meet with Tom Cumberland in town after lunch to discuss business with him, and I may not be back in time to attend this gathering, as delightful as it sounds.” Catherine’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Reggie moved on. “Take Edward with you instead. I’m sure he’ll appreciate representing the family at one of these gatherings.”

Catherine paused, then nodded curtly. “Very well, then,” she agreed dismissively. “I suppose it will be pleasant to have a reliable son with me.” She turned and walked away without a further comment.

“I’m sure it will, mother,” Reggie mumbled under his breath. He continued on his way towards the rear of the house, making his destination without further incident or interruption.

Outside, the day was pleasant enough; the sun was shining brightly, there were few clouds in the sky, and the air was crisp and cool. The last vestiges or morning dew were fading from the thick grass, causing the ground to randomly sparkle as Reggie made his way from the house to the stables. He was met by the estate stable-hand, Tim, a solid young lad of seventeen with ginger hair and a ruddy complexion.

“Morning, Sir,” the lad greeted Reggie deferentially. “Out for a ride, are you?”

Reggie smiled and nodded briefly. “Yes, Tim. Saddle up Bartesby for me, would you?”

“Right you are, sir. Just give me five minutes and he’s all yours.” Tim’s efficiency certainly made the lad good as his word; five minutes later Reggie was mounted on the dappled-grey stallion and casually riding away from the house into the woods on the estate. It was a good morning for a ride: clean, fresh air to fill his lungs; gentle breeze to keep him cool, the sounds of birds chirping and singing to keep him company…it gave him time to think about his upcoming meeting with Mr Cumberland. He occasionally checked his pocketwatch to keep track of time, but otherwise focussed on his thoughts. By the time he’d returned to the stables he’d been gone almost two hours, and Tim was by his side in an instant to take the reins from him.

“Good ride, sir?” the lad asked politely.

“Very, thank you,” Reggie agreed amiably, as he swung a leg over to dismount the horse. “Nice and peaceful, good for collecting my thoughts and plans.”

“Sounds good, sir,” Tim noted agreeably. “I think Master Greg would like a quick word, sir.” Tim took the reins and led the horse towards the rear of the stables as Greg, a lean man of over forty years with short greying hair and a penetrating gaze, approached.

“The carriage will be ready for you after lunch, sir,” the man rasped, his voice cracked with age. Miss Beatrice spoke with me just after you left on Bartesby. I’ll have it ready to go, and I’ll make sure Master Darren is ready along with you. Into town, isn’t it, sir?”

Reggie nodded. “The offices or Mr Tom Cumberland. I expect I’ll be an hour or two once I’m there, depending on how ready he is to do business.”

“I’ll let Darren know, sir.”

“Thank you, Greg.” Reggie made his way from the stables to the house, and entered through the rear door. The odours of a beef stew for lunch could already smelt wafting through the house as he opened the door. Gwendolyn certainly knew how to prepare a good meal. No doubt there’d a loaf of bread ready to break with the stew, too. Reggie wasn’t to be disappointed when he entered the dining room and found a large loaf of bread with chunks already cut on a board in the middle of the table, and bowls of thick, steaming stew being served. Lunch was a quiet affair, during which his father asked him about his proposed meeting with Tom Cumberland; Sir Bartholomew appeared satisfied, if not pleased, with the suggestions Reggie made. Edward made a few noises about the social gathering that night, to which Lady Catherine responded and somehow managed to throw in a barb or two about Reggie in her reply. Sir Bartholomew almost looked with reproach at his wife, although he said nothing; certainly the senior of the family was weighing his opinions still. Finally lunch was over and the table was cleared; the family was free to go about its business for the afternoon.

As promised, the carriage was waiting for him outside the front of the house when he emerged; Darren was waiting to open the door for him as he approached. Reggie paused by the now-open carriage door to speak with the driver.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the driver greeted politely.

“Good afternoon, Darren,” Reggie replied warmly. “Greg briefed you on where we’re going?”

“He did, sir. The office of Mr Tom Cumberland. I’ll take the carriage to be washed and cleaned while you’re there.”

Reggie smile thinly. “Sounds like a good idea, my friend.” He stepped up into the carriage, took a seat facing forwards. “Let’s go shall we?” he added as the door was closed behind him.

“Right you are, sir,” the driver agreed readily as he swung into the driver’s chair. A crack of the whip and a couple of shouts from the man and the carriage was in motion.

The ride into town was rather uneventful, and Reggie was able to while away the time by thinking further on the upcoming meeting. He also found himself thinking a little of Elsa, and his visit with her tomorrow – he was less sure about that than he was about his meeting with Cumberland. Still, he could almost envisage the handsome woman on his arm again, as she had been only last night. It was slowly becoming apparent to him that any chance he had of retaining his father’s title rested on his ability to win her and appease her family, and he suspected that winning her family would be about as difficult as it would be for her to win his family over. Finally, however, they arrived outside the office of Tom Cumberland, and the carriage pulled up to a stop. Reggie let himself out; while he was quite sure Darren was capable, Reggie wasn’t above doing things for himself.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, sir,” Darren confirmed, before taking the carriage off to be cleaned. Reggie merely nodded his acknowledgement, then turned to the door of the office and opened it to let himself in.

The interior of the office was well-furnished, comfortably so. The floorboards were cleaned and polished, the chairs soft and plush, the desks sturdy, and bookcases lined the shelves. A young secretary saw Reggie first and stood to greet him.

“Good afternoon and welcome,” the petite blonde offered courteously. “May I help you?”

“Good afternoon,” Reggie replied graciously. “My name is Reginald Hawthorne. I’m looking for Mr Cumberland.”

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“I believe so,” Reggie confirmed. “One of the staff called this morning to arrange one.”

“Please, take a seat,” the young lady – no more than twenty years if she was a day – said. “Let me get him for you.” She turned and walked towards the rear of the building, and Reggie caught himself admiring the sway of her hips as she walked away from him. Maybe if he couldn’t win Elsa…no. Best not to think like that.

“Mr Hawthorne!” a large, round, older man called delightedly as he walked from the rear of the office. “Welcome to my office! A pleasure to receive you!”

“Mr Cumberland,” Reggie replied, standing up and shaking the man’s hand.

“Please, call me Tom.”

“Reggie.”

“Very well, then. Come to my office, we’ll have a chat. Nancy,” he added, now addressing the blonde secretary. “Would you be so good as to bring a couple of cups of coffee to us, with sugar and cream?”

“Yes, Mr Cumberland,” the secretary, now known as Nancy, replied.

The two made their way through the cramped rear of the building to what was, apparently, Tom’s office – equally-cramped, largely due to the number of file folders on the floor and desk, and the bookcases lining the walls. The pair made small talk until Nancy arrived, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, a sugar bowl and a small bowl of cream – Tom dutifully made the coffee to Reggie’s tastes, then his own, and after the first and second sips they got down to business.

For the next hour or so they wheeled and dealed, each of them negotiating from their strengths and trying to shore up their weaknesses. By the end, though, they were both satisfied – Mr Cumberland would use the Hawthorne network of rail transport throughout the New England region for a discounted price, in return allowing the Hawthorne rail network the freedom to advertise services in the Cumberland periodical papers. The additional business and revenue from Cumberland would better allow Hawthorne to keep its rolling stock in good condition, might even allow for additional stock and staff; in return, the use of rail freight would allow Cumberland to spread its own business further. It was a mutually-satisfying outcome, in the end, and by the time they were finished negotiating both men were slightly drained.

“Whew!” Cumberland whistled, as he pulled a handkerchief out to mop his brow. “I’ll say this, Reggie – you sure know how to negotiate.”

Reggie smiled faintly as he sat back in his chair. “As do you, Tom. I’m glad we could come to an arrangement.”

“As am I.”

“I’ll speak to our lawyers in the coming days to get the necessary contracts drawn up, although I already have an appointment tomorrow afternoon that may cause a slight delay. Once they’re ready, I’ll have them delivered to your office for you to look over and sign.”

“Sound good to me,” Tom agreed. “Another drink?”

Reggie shook his head. “No, thank you,” he refused politely. “I should be away soon. My driver will be here shortly to take me back.”

Tom nodded his understanding. “I understand,” he agreed, offering his hand as the pair stood. Reggie took the hand in his and shook firmly.

“Thank you, Tom.”

“Let me walk you out.” Tom led the way out of the office, Reggie close behind. When they were by the front door, Tom stopped. “Thanks for your time, Reggie. Nice discussing business with you.”

“Thank you for your time, too, Tom,” Reggie agreed, again shaking the other man’s hand. He could see his carriage pulling up outside the door. “Nice to meet you.” With that, Nancy opened the door and Reggie walked out, the door closing behind him.

“Tough man,” Tom muttered to Nancy as they both watch Reggie get into the carriage. “He could have nailed me to the wall if he’d wanted to.”

Nancy nodded, but said nothing; she was imagining Reggie nailing her to the wall in a rather different way, and that thought she resolutely kept to herself.

In the carriage, Reggie noted how much cleaner the interior looked. He’d seen how cleaner it was on the outside. Darren had been busy…or at least busy making someone else be busy. It didn’t matter how it was done, really…it was done, that was the important thing. He leaned forward and slid the small window open so he could chat.

“Looks much better, Darren,” he offered sincerely. “You have much trouble getting it clean?”

“Not at all, sir,” the driver replied. “Quite easy once you flash a couple of bills around. I made sure it was worth it, though.”

“You got it done, and done well,” Reggie observed.

“Thank you, sir. You had a productive meeting, I hope, sir?”

“I did indeed. Father might even be happy with what I managed to achieve. I’d like to hope so, given it’s his fortune I’m expanding.”

Darren didn’t respond to that immediately. He wasn’t about to take sides in a struggle, potential or real, between father and eldest son. “That’s good to hear, sir,” he ventured finally.

Reggie smirked faintly. He hadn’t missed the delay and slight hesitation in speech. “Carry on, Darren,” he chuckled lightly.

“Right you are, sir.”

The carriage trundled on its way back towards the Hawthorne estate as the light started to fade around them; the trip was otherwise, like the earlier trip into town, uneventful.
 
That next morning, Elsa flopped onto her back in a most unladylike manner and let out a tired huff. She slept, sure, but she woke up with the realization of what she had done last night. It wasn’t so much she regretted it, but rather how far news would travel. It didn’t matter to her what society thought but more so of what her mother would do if she learned of what her daughter said and had done to and with Mr. Abernathy. Elsa didn’t think he was above anything that would make her look bad with her mother. And regardless of the treatment, her mother was adamant that she favor Mr. Abernathy and lead him on enough for marriage. If that were the case, her life would officially be over. It would be a life of torment, potential abuse, hell and plenty of adultery on his part.

No longer willing to let it all plague her any longer, neither did she want to prolong the potential inevitable, Elsa roused from the bed and pulled her robe on. Tying it, she pulled her long hair out from the back of it and grabbed a ribbon on her way out. Ribbon in mouth, she began to plait her long hair into a thick braid, tying the end off with the ribbon before sitting down at the table for breakfast, joining her mother and father.

Her father was absorbed in the newspaper and only responded when she placed a small kiss to the top of his white haired head before sitting. She didn’t show the same affection to her mother but it was noticed how Elsa skipped her. Still, Mrs. Strathmore said nothing to her. Elsa took that as a good sign as she reached for some fresh fruit and a pastry which she attempted to slather with butter. Her mother pushed the butter out of her way.

“What?” She asked.
“You need to watch your figure.” She said curtly.
“Mother--”
“Really blossom, does she need to? If she continues to follow your horrendous diet regime, she will be only skin and bones.” Her father thankfully interjected.

Mrs. Strathmore narrowed her eyes on her husband but softened at his imploringly stern insistence. “Fine.” She hissed, practically shoving the butter toward Elsa which could have fallen on her if she wasn’t quick to stop it. “Let her continue being the whore of society, I don’t care!” She snapped, throwing down her napkin on the table and standing. “And don’t think I don’t know of your interaction with Mr. Abernathy! Everyone knows in fact!” She barked, before stomping off.

Elsa, surprisingly just smiled and sat back in her seat, slathering butter onto her pastry. Glancing to her father, her smile disappeared because he actually did not look very happy with her.
“Please don’t start Father. You don’t like him either.”
“True, I don’t, and while I do often times find the torture you put your dear mother through, this has gone far enough.”

“But--”
“Enough, Elsa. Enough.” He raised his hand to silence her. “Listen, I believe you when you tell me what a vile excuse of a human Mr. Abernathy is. I do not like him. I would sooner die before I ever let you be married to the man.” To that, Elsa smiled, thankful that her father was looking out for her and not just going to let her get married to any man. “But...your reputation among society…”

“I can’t control what they think and neither should I feel compelled to defend my actions. What would be the use? Even if I were to explain what transpired in the four years of my absence, they would not believe it. They are resolved to believe the worst.”

“And while that is true, you must do your best to at least alleviate the gossip that surrounds you like a dark menacing cloud.” He implored.

Elsa sighed. “I will try, Father, but I cannot control it sometimes. The way Mr. Abernathy spoke to me last night...it was truly filthy and though my reputation is slandered, I would rather ruin it further than to subject myself to his perversion.” She lifted her chin in a small bit of defiance. “And I know you would think of me less if I did not stand up for myself against a man like him, especially if Mother is being so insistent that I favor him for marriage.”

To that, her father smiled and bowed his head. “I cannot fault you for trying. Just as your mother cannot fault me for having this conversation with you.”

“She asked you to, didn’t she?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “The things I do to keep the peace within my family among my beloved wife and stubborn daughter.” He chuckled.
Elsa grinned. “You’re truly a saint, Father.”
“I am, aren’t I?”

Elsa laughed and enjoyed her breakfast in the more relaxed air of the dining hall because of the absence of her mother. She had a feeling that she’d calm down more once Elsa acquired a betrothal but even then, it could still be tense. Mostly because of who her intended may end up being.

A knock came from the golden knocker knocking on the oak door. The butler, a man in his early forties named Arthur opened the door and received the letter delivered by a Miss Wendy Hunter from the eldest son of the Hawthorne name, Mr. Reginald Hawthorne. “Thank you miss, I will see to its delivery to Miss Strathmore.” He bowed and sent her off with a token of appreciation for her service before shutting the door.

Just as he did, Adelaide came downstairs. “Who was that Arthur?”
“A messenger delivering a letter, ma’am.”
This struck her interest and she made haste down the rest of the stair path. “Oh? Who from?”
“A Mr. Reginald Hawthorne. For Miss Elsa, ma’am.”

At that, Adelaide’s face scrunched up in distaste. “The audacity of the man...who does he think he is?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “The eldest son of Mr. Hawthorne and Mrs. Hawthorne ma’am. Despite his reputation, it is still an honor, is it not?”

She sighed. Unfortunately, Arthur did have a point. “Yes, I suppose. Had it been any other of the Hawthorne sons, it would have fared better.”
“The Hawthorne name is quite reputable and renowned.”

“What is your point Arthur?” She asked with a faint of a smile.
Arthur reciprocated that smile. “No point at all ma’am. Just simply stating the fact.”
“Yes, I noticed. Thank you Arthur. I will see to it my daughter receives this.” He bowed and went back away to his post.

Adelaide opened the letter and skimmed over the writing, her eyes narrowing before a look of absolute anger took over. That was when she stormed into the dining hall where her husband and Elsa still remained and she practically shoved the letter at her daughter in the same manner she shoved the butter at her. “Explain this. Now.” She demanded.

Elsa blinked and caught the letter. She read it over and her eyes gradually widened. Oh that’s right! He did say he would call on her. And he did actually mean it! “Oh he’s coming to visit! Splendid!” She smiled big and looked up at her mother, who just glowered even harder. “What?”

“You did not tell me you knew the Hawthorne’s eldest son!”
“I didn’t think you’d care to know since you’re obsessed with Mr. Abernathy. In fact, I’m a little concerned that you may have your own feeling toward--”
“Elsa, mind your mother.” Her father interjected, annoyed now.

Elsa sighed. “I met Mr. Hawthorne at the ball two nights ago. I went out for a bit of fresh air and he was out there as well, seeming not to enjoy the night either. And we began to speak and I think we both realized we have a lot in common. He was so kind and either he did not know the extent of the gossip surrounding my reputation or he didn’t care either, Mother. And he was the only man that entire night, in fact all the nights I had gone to these kind of parties that did not proposition me in the most perverse and disrespectful way.” She looked at her mother pleadingly. “Please? Once you meet him you will realize how kind and respectful he is.”

“I told you that you’ve no luxuries when it comes to a marriage. Mr. Abernathy has no slander against his reputation but surely you have heard of the slanders against Mr. Hawthorne.”
“I have, yes, but we are both of the same cloth in that.” She said softly. “We’re both slandered. It makes the most sense.”

Adelaide sighed and for a moment, showed compassion to her daughter, a truly rare opportunity. Moving to her, she cupped her cheek delicately and nodded her head. “I will permit it. Your father and I will be present during this meeting and if I deem him fit, you may be allowed to have time alone together, but with Arthur and Gretchen present.” She said softly.

“Thank you Mother. I think you will like him. And I promise, I will still keep Mr. Abernathy in for consideration and agree to meet him if he calls.”
“If he calls would be the operative key here after--” One look at her husband and she held her tongue. She sighed. “Thank you.”
 
The rest of the day had gone reasonably quickly and quietly for Reggie. His arrival at home had been largely unannounced, as he’d expected – most of the activity would be going into getting mother and Edward ready for the engagement celebration in the evening. Reggie didn’t regret not attending. The carriage had stayed outside, with Darren waiting to drive the two guests to the manor; Reggie virtually passed Edward in the foyer, with only passing conversation made between them. Then the younger son and mother were gone, leaving Reggie with father and the remainder of the staff for company.

Dinner was quiet, too. Father was seemingly more engrossed in keeping to himself, although he did not present the air of keeping Reggie at bay. There were a few moments of casual conversation but they often faded out after a few sentences. It wasn’t awkward at all, however, just…quiet.

After dinner, Reggie caught up with his father in the study.

“Father.”

“Yes, Reginald?” Sir Bartholomew was seated at his desk, a periodical open in front of him.

That hurt a little. It let Reggie knew where he stood, at least. “I was with Tom Cumberland this afternoon.”

“I’d heard you’d visited him. Anything productive?”

“I believe so. I worked out a deal with him where we’d give him a discounted rate on our rail freight services in return for advertising in his business’ monthly columns. He seemed reluctant at first, but I talked him around.”

“Hmm. Fairly standard stuff. What’s he looking at moving in terms of stock?”

“About one rail car a week, at first. If we can manage the services to satisfy his business needs, that might double after a couple of months.”

“I’m sure we can manage that. Nicely done. That all?”

Reggie shrugged. “I’ll get in touch with our solicitor tomorrow so I can organise to let him know the details of the deal and allow him to organise the paperwork.”

“Good…good. I suppose I cannot fault you for your desire to see the family do well in a business sense, at least.”

“Thank you…I think.”

Sir Bartholomew raised an eyebrow slightly. “Anything else?”

Reggie shook his head. “That was all Tom and I discussed.” He paused, then bobbed his head politely. “Good night, father.”

“Good night, Reginald.”

With that, Reggie turned and left the study. He made his way to the library and sat there for a couple of hours, engrossed in a good book. When he’d had enough of reading he closed the book after marking his place in it, then called on Wendy to get his room and bed ready. It didn’t take her long, and by the time he was ready to retire, Wendy had his bed turned down, the drapes pulled closed, his night shirt out, and was ready to assist him to prepare. With her assistance he was soon in bed, the lights out…and he quickly drifted into sleep.

* * * * *

He awoke after a very restful sleep to Wendy pulling his drapes apart. He was again struck by his fondness for the young maid, and at about the same time he became aware of his morning arousal. Had he been dreaming of a woman while he’d been sleeping? Maybe so, but he had no idea who it might have been. While he could asked Wendy to join him, he doubted she’d agree – not willingly, anyway – and that would just ruin both her and him in the eyes of the family…if not the law. Best to not think about it. He yawned and stretched, but remained in bed.

“Good morning, sir,” Wendy greeted him cheerfully.

“Good morning, Wendy,” he replied sleepily. “It’s always a pleasant day with you to greet me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wendy replied with a hint of embarrassment, as she moved to his wardrobe.

“Get a second set of clothes out, please Wendy,” Reggie asked her as she started rifling through his clothing. “Suitable for visiting a young lady and her family.”

“Who are you visiting, sir?” the maid asked curiously.

“Miss Elsa Strathmore, after luncheon.”

“I- yes, sir.”

Reggie recalled that Wendy had harboured reservations about Elsa. “I’ll need you to deliver a note to her house after breakfast, just to ensure she remembers that I’ll be visiting. Once you’ve done that I’ll ask you to deliver a second note, this one to Arnold and Hitch, the family solicitors, asking them to make some time for me to visit them during the next couple of days.”

Wendy nodded her head understandingly. “Of course, sir. Gwendolyn is preparing breakfast in the kitchen when you’re ready, sir.”

“Thank you, Wendy.” He was content to lie in bed and watch as the girl pulled clothing out for him, then she bowed politely as she left the room. Reggie was glad to see his arousal had abated by the time he extracted himself from the warm confines of the bed. He dressed himself in the casual attire and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Breakfast was a full family affair. It consisted of mainly mother repeating gossip she’d heard the night before – some of it surrounding Elsa, who had also been at the gathering – and relating the nature of the party, the guest list, what the young girl was wearing…tedious things like that. Edward dutifully filled in the gaps in mother’s tale where he could. Reggie and father discussed business, with Edward chipping in occasionally, although the younger son had little of import to add. It was clear that Reggie – unless he fouled up badly – would take over the family business when Sir Bartholomew was no longer capable.

After breakfast, Reggie retired to the study, where he penned two letters: the first to Elsa, reminding her that he was intending to visit that afternoon as they’d discussed two night earlier; the second to Arnold and Hitch asking them to set aside some time for him in the next few days so he could discuss a new contract. Each letter was dutifully signed and sealed, carefully folded and placed in enveloped and addressed. He presented them to Wendy, who took them with care; a few minutes later she was gone, with instructions to not wait at Elsa’s house for a reply, but to wait for the solicitor to advise what time Reggie could meet with them. Wendy, after confirming she understood what Reggie was asking, departed in the carriage.

Once Wendy had departed, Reggie elected to remain in the library. First he read through the newspaper to catch up on news, the social scene, sport and business (not necessarily in that order). He was attentive through the news and business sections, and glanced through the social pages and sport section. There were some rumblings of discontent in some parts of South Africa, but he didn’t think they’d amount to much. There wasn’t much news of note otherwise, and the business section was similarly quiet beyond the normal day-to-day activities. The Stock Market looked to be improving, at least. Once he was finished with the newspaper, he grabbed a business journal and looked through it for a while. Industry was looking up, and a company called the White Star Line was talking about building a couple of luxury ocean liners. That might be worth looking into for an investment purpose.

By the time luncheon arrived, Wendy had returned, and Reggie was quite filled with reading for the day. He joined the family – sans Sir Bartholomew, who was in town for business reasons – for lunch in the small dining area adjoining the kitchen. Lunch was a quiet affair, as breakfast had been: while Reggie and Edward could discuss business to an extent, Lady Catherine was only really interested in the society news and gossip, and both boys could only roughly hold that line of conversation, and only for a short time. It was difficult to hold a conversation between the three of them – or Reggie felt so, at least. At least if his mother was telling him off she’d be talking about something other than the society pages…maybe.

With lunch out of the way, Reggie returned to his room and divested himself of his more-casual dress and began to pull himself into the semi-formal attire Wendy had set out earlier. It was not a proper suit, but close: shirt, tie, dress pants and matching vest with jacket, smart shoes. He laid his discarded clothing on the bed – Wendy would clean them up later – and dressed in the much-smarter outfit. He checked his tie was done neatly and was straight, checked his pocketwatch was buttoned on and secured in a vest pocket. He felt appropriately dressed to visit a lady…and a little nervous. He’d not actually formally visited a lady before, not like this. He was quite sure dalliances didn’t count against what he was about to do. Still, he felt Miss Elsa was – would be – worth the effort.

As he made his way down the stairs, something occurred to him – he shouldn’t arrive empty-handed, although he had no idea what he should take as gifts. At such short notice, his options were limited as well. Fortunately he encountered Harriet and waylaid her courteously.

“Harriet, could you please find Ben and ask him to cut off a dozen roses from the garden? Long stems if he can. Tie them into two bunches of six. Quickly as you can, please.” It wasn’t a demanding order, nor was he pushy, but he impressed upon the maid the need for haste.

“Of course, sir,” she replied quickly, bobbing with a small curtsy. “At once.” She didn’t wait for him to say anything further; instead, she turned and moved as quickly as she dared to the rear of the house.

Reggie grabbed his overcoat and gloves as he waited by the main door; he didn’t have to wait long. Not fifteen minutes later Harriet arrived with two bundles of red roses, long stems, tied off into groups of six as requested. They were wrapped in brown paper and tied again to protect them, a touch he hadn’t asked for but was grateful for just the same. He took them from the maid with heartfelt thanks and stepped through the door that the maid had opened for him. Darren and the carriage were waiting outside for him, and Darren duly held the door of the carriage open and helped him enter. Reggie gave some directions, and they were soon off.

Twenty-five or so minutes later, the Strathmore estate came into sight. Daren called it out for Reggie’s benefit. It was neat, tidy, well-kept, befitting the family that lived there. Reggie was sure the interior was just as well-kept; he doubted Mrs Strathmore would settle for anything less than the best she could get. The carriage pulled into the estate, through the gates and along the main path to the house proper, a large building that spoke of the wealth the family had. A few minutes later the carriage was pulling up outside the door, and Darren swung down to open the door for Reggie, helping the man out as he could. Reggie was greeted at the foot of the steps by a proud-looking man of middling years.

“Greetings, sir,” the man welcomed formally.

“Greetings, my good man,” Reggie replied. “Would you be so good as to announce me? I believe Miss Elsa is expecting me: Reginald Hawthorne.”

“I believe she is, sir,” the man – probably the house butler – replied officiously. “If you’ll be so good as to follow me inside, I’ll announce you. Your driver can wait around the back, if it pleases him.”

Reggie turned and nodded at Darren, who tipped his cap and climbed back up into his seat, then drove the carriage around the back of the house. Then the young man followed the butler through the main doors of the house…and into what kind of storm, he knew not.
 
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