Secrets and Lies (Sync & Mali)

Adelaide went off to announce to the cooks and house staff that they would have a most esteemed visitor and guest, Mr. Reginald Hawthorne. At first, most of the staff went silent, some of the young girls blushed at the very thought of him, no doubt his reputation had leaked among even the lower class of statuses. All Adelaide had to do was clap her hands to round their attention and for them to make haste to have some delicious pastries, fruits and tea for when he came. The kitchen staff was in a hustling state of bustle as they prepared the finest of recipes, so everything tasted delicious, of what the Strathmore house could produce.

On the Strathmore estate, Mr. Strathmore took pleasure in the abundance of fruit trees, vines and plants he had in the orchard, well taken care of by a few hired hands that had magical touches to agriculture and farming. That was where all their fresh fruit came from. Mrs. Strathmore implored her husband once to just buy his fruits from the market but one taste of the bounty and she soon encouraged him to keep his orchard alive. The fresh fruit at the market didn’t taste this good! Every now and then, if his mood, strength and lack of a busy schedule with his business permitted, Mr. Strathmore would dabble in the orchard himself, being one of those rare few among the elite with a special green thumb for gardening and farming. It brought him the most happiness, to be quite honest. It was a secret guilty pleasure, minus the guilty.

While that was being done, Mrs. Strathmore actually aided her daughter in getting ready. No ball gowns today, but they did take out one of Elsa’s old dresses, a simple white cotton dress, no corset, an empire waist and bodice with layers of chiffon pleated underneath to make a flowing skirt, and her mother worked on some embroidery to spruce it up a bit. A pastel pink lace ribbon was placed underneath the bust and sewed around, as well as a matching pink bow to be tied in the back. Little touches of pastel pink lace were added around the neckline and the short cuffs of the slightly puffed sleeves and when it was all done, it looked radiantly simple.

“You will look stunning in this, my dear.” Her mother didn’t even try to cover up the amount of cleavage that would be shown. It was modest but also tasteful, and not at all like a nun. Elsa was actually quite taken back that her mother was helping her so much. Perhaps Adelaide saw it that Mr. Hawthorne, though a man of scandal, was still a suitor nonetheless and she should try and help her daughter make the best impression. But even Elsa knew her mother would not go easy on him. This was just the precursor. The real worry was when they all actually sat down together to chat and mingle. But even Adelaide knew that she couldn’t be too indifferent to him. He was a Hawthorne after all and where all rank and status stood, which was something she held with the utmost of importance within her, the Hawthorne family was superior to the Strathmore family. There was a certain level of respect to be had that no amount of scandalous reputation could tarnish.

If Elsa were ever to meet his parents, a day she would dread for all dear life, she wouldn’t expect any niceties. She was beneath them. She’d be lucky to survive such possible verbal abuse.

Nonetheless, Elsa dressed in the modified and her hair was done simply; left untied, down her back, with two braids coming from the sides and pinned around the back, joined together. Nothing too fancy but it was still very elegant. By the time she was finished, Mr. Hawthorne was expected at any moment now. She went downstairs and joined her father in the spacious lounge room and sat down on the chaise sofa. Her father relaxed back in a plush chair, a single seat, with a newspaper in hand. He was dressed at his most casual best, looking forward to whatever may transpire from this meeting, whether it be good or bad. He was looking forward to his entertainment of the day.

Adelaide looked over the spread of pastries and fruit platters to make sure it was up to her standard for presenting. The tea would come when she called for it so it stayed fresh and hot. Elsa’s hands clasped together and her knees bounced nervously. She kept glancing from the newspaper that covered her father’s face because of how high he held it up and to the door and then to her mother.

And then the door opened and in came Arthur with a very dapper and handsome looking Mr. Hawthorne behind him.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Mr. Reginald Hawthorne.” He stepped aside so that the young man could enter through. When he did, Elsa stood, as did her father who folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

Adelaide stepped forward and curtsied lightly. “A pleasure to welcome you, Mr. Hawthorne. My name is Adelaide Strathmore, I am Elsa’s mother.” Though that was stating the obvious painfully, Elsa just smiled. She was an even bigger bundle of nerves now.

“This is my husband, Mr. Strathmore.”
Her father held his hand out and shook Reggie’s, a nice firm grip. The ultimate test, in his opinion. “A pleasure.” He nodded and then gestured toward Elsa, where he could also sit, beside her. It was Adelaide’s idea. To see them side by side to decide if they even looked good together. Elsa did her best not to roll her eyes at the prospect. It was such a vanity thing. But she wouldn’t complain. He’d be able to sit by her. That was never a problem at all!

“Mr. Hawthorne. We meet again.” She smiled, her tone teasing slightly as she curtsied.

(Just imagine her dress in the picture with less of a train and with pink lace instead of the darker accents showed, but that's ultimately the style.)

The butler showed him to the sitting room, where he was met by…the ensemble, it looked like. Reggie hadn’t at all expected that his first visit would be allowed to be unattended, but he hadn’t reasonably expected to have both parents present – although, it was not unreasonable that both of them would want to take their measure of him, given the reputation of the man who was seeking to enter their home. He nodded his thanks to the butler, watched out of the corner of his eye as the man quietly withdrew. Mrs Strathmore had also made sure that the visit would be a well-supplied one; there was no shortage of treats on offer. Reggie was sure it was only his family name that was allowing him to get this far.

He bowed his head politely in response to Mrs Strathmore self-introduction. “A pleasure, Mrs Strathmore,” he replied easily. “Thank you for agreeing to receive me, and on short notice as well. I am flattered by your acceptance of my presence.” He turned to face the elder of the house hold, shuffled the bundles of flowers into his left arm, then took the offered hand in a strong grip. Fortunately, Reggie was not one who considered himself above hands-on labour, although his heritage allowed for a stronger frame as well.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” he added properly. He didn’t miss the gesture that offered him a seat – next to Elsa, of course – but he didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he turned to face Adelaide first, who was still standing, as if waiting for the guest to sit. He took one of the bundles of roses, offered it to Mrs Strathmore.

“Allow me, first, to present a small gift, Mrs Strathmore,” he began politely. “They are freshly cut and carefully cultivated.” At least she looked genuinely surprised and pleased to receive the flowers; he probably didn’t need to bring anything, but he remembered enough of his manners to know it would do him no harm to bring something for the matron of the house. He then turned to face Elsa.

“And a pleasure to see you again, Miss Strathmore,” he agreed, bowing his head politely to her in greeting. “It would be remiss of me to not bring you something as well.” He paused, then offered the second bundle to Elsa. He was just as thankful – a little moreso, perhaps – when she took the offering from him. It was only then that he took the indicated seat, carefully making sure he was not acting, or appearing to act, too forward towards, or possessive of, Miss Strathmore as she took her seat next to him.

“And allow me to add,” he offered as the Strathmore family took their places, “I can readily see where Miss Strathmore has acquired her grace and charm and intelligence from. She is a credit to her family.” He leaned back in the couch slightly, crossed his right leg over his left, folded his hands together in his lap. He was deliberately acting in a genteel manner; inwardly, he was a bit annoyed that he would be unlikely to be allowed to see Miss Elsa as he’d intended – it was entirely possible that this visit would be little more than the Strathmore seniors viewing him and judging whether he might be good enough to permit him to continue to visit on future occasions.

To say the least, Mrs. Strathmore was quite delighted and surprised at the bouquet of flowers she was given. She took them with eyes wide, eyebrows raised and a soft smile coming to her face. “O-Oh…” She brought the flowers to her nose and smelled and her eyes fluttered closed in appreciation for the freshness. Looking to Mr. Hawthorne, she nodded her head, a smile still on her face. Both Elsa and Mr. Strathmore looked in shock at the smile on Adelaide’s face. Considering her face was usually set in what seemed like a permanent scowl--one for having a daughter with a reputation as disgraced as Elsa’s and two for having a husband though to his credit did his best to be mediator, often did not make matters simpler for her poor nerves--Elsa mostly did not think that her mother has the capability to even smile anymore. Seemed Mr. Hawthorne’s charms new no bounds!

“Thank you Mr. Hawthorne. They are absolutely lovely.” A compliment she meant wholeheartedly.

And then Elsa received flowers and her reaction was much the same as her mother’s. She took them graciously and smelled them, her eyes fluttering closed in appreciation of how fresh they were, like she could smell the meadow they grew in. Her gaze leveled to Mr. Hawthorne’s and she smiled, though a blush crept to her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. My sentiments match my mother’s. They are truly lovely.” Lately men regarded her with slander, outrageous proposals and disrespect. Flowers were such a fine respect and rare commodity that she suddenly felt...worthy. Not that she didn’t think of herself in a high regard with her own confidence, it was just always nice that someone else thought so to bring a lovely gift.

All niceties and formalities were made and they all sat. Elsa sat down beside Mr. Hawthorne, though with a modest space between them and set the flowers on the small side table beside her. Gretchen came to them and collected both bouquets of flowers to be properly set in a vase to keep fresh.

Elsa’s eyes widened at the brevity of Mr. Hawthorne’s compliments. Even her mother’s eyebrows rose and a smile formed on her face. “Really? You think so?” Were the first set of questions out of her mouth, earning a slight disgruntled clearing of his throat from Mr. Strathmore. Adelaide cleared her throat as well, a little pink rising in her cheeks. “That is, thank you Mr. Hawthorne. Such kind words spark a newfound sense of security and hope. Especially right now.”

Elsa’s cheeks turned red as well. Please don’t ask him if he has heard the rumors. That’s something that is widely known, Mother! Her hands clenched tightly together, nails digging into her palms, marking the only sort of tense nature in her body language. Otherwise she looked calm in her face.

Sensing the air of potentially growing awkwardness coming to fruition, Mr. Strathmore sat up in his chair as Gretchen gave him a cup of tea already prepared the way he liked. He took a sip and cleared his throat. “Forgive me for being so straightforward, Mr. Hawthorne. Unless of course you’d like to dabble into what may be an air of awkwardness.” He chuckled. “What are your latest business ventures?”

Ah yes, the inevitable boring chatter. Elsa and Mrs. Strathmore took that time, while the men discussed the usual humdrum of business and work, to prepare their cups of tea as they liked, while Gretchen prepared one for Mr. Hawthorne, as well as bringing a tray of assorted pastries and various fruits to the center table between them all for easier access.

Reggie had to keep himself in check; Mrs Strathmore’s initial – and somewhat blunt – reaction to his compliments was a bit obvious that there was double-meaning. He could almost feel Elsa tense up at the pointed questions Adelaide threw at him, before she’d continued with gratitude. He wondered if there was going to be more…but there was not. Not from Adelaide, at least, and nor from Elsa. Certainly he was sure that Elsa was quite grateful that her mother had stopped where she had. Perhaps fortunately, Mr Strathmore intervened with a timely and completely-unrelated question…and he made a light note of potential awkwardness at the same time. Reggie knew what awkwardness was being referred to, but made no effort to follow it.

The flowers had been collected and placed in vases, he noted as he thought on his response to Mr Strathmore’s question. “At this moment, sir,” he replied after a few seconds of collecting his thoughts, “most of my work is to simply strengthen and expand, where possible, the interests and holdings of my family. My father has a number of diverse holdings in freight and shipping, both by rail and sea. He also holds lesser stakes in a few mining ventures, all of which do turn tidy sums. But the main interest is freight. There’s work being done in Europe right now, I hear, to develop a horseless carriage, which-“

“I’ve read something about that,” Mr Strathmore interrupted with some interest.

“It sounds like an interesting project, for certain,” Reggie agreed. “I’m sure my father is just as keen on news of it; if they can make it work, the prospects for transporting goods by road are quite good.”

“I’m sure,” the elder Strathmore agreed. “What of your mining ventures? What are they in?”

For the next five or ten minutes the two males talked business. Initially it was Reggie doing most of the talking, with Mr Strathmore asking questions, but it turned into a mutual discussion with each of them swapping items of note and interest. Reggie found himself relaxing slightly in the couch as he talked; he was aware of the two ladies occupying themselves while the males talked business, and he was quite aware of Elsa’s presence next to him. He found her presence and proximity to be…rather interesting. A raving beauty she might not be, but there was a quality to her that he had not readily found amongst the ladies he’d dallied with while he’d been travelling. She might make him a good wife, and for more reasons than to simply satisfy inheritance requirements.

Eventually, it was Mr Strathmore who cleared his throat and apologised to the ladies for hogging Reggie’s attention. The younger man was here to visit Elsa, after all…although he had also made it clear that he’d be interested in speaking further with the younger Hawthorne on business matters at a future date. Reggie turned slightly so that he was facing Elsa a little more directly. Mrs Strathmore at least appeared to be satisfied that Reggie seemed to be making some effort to shore up his own future.

“My apologies, Miss Elsa,” he offered sincerely, his rich baritone tones caressing the apology with ease. “Your father is an interesting man to talk with – ah, thank you,” he added as Elsa handed him a cup of tea. “May I talk about you for a moment, perhaps? We had once briefly discussed your interests – other than society parties, that is,” he continued, a small wink cheekily underlining his last observation.

Elsa tried to keep up with the conversation her father and Mr. Hawthorne were having. Once she served herself tea and kept the prepared cup that Gretchen made for Mr. Hawthorne, she sat down and sipped quietly, trying to follow but it was so mundane...That was perhaps the only similar quality she had to most society women was that she did not care for business. Now, talk to her about the fact that on the other side of the country, most people do not live like they do here in high society and one wouldn’t get her to shut up. Everyone had their moments. Hers was the horrors of witnessing and living through monetary greed and hoarding for selfish needs when children in the streets couldn’t even buy food for them or their families.

She only smiled at her father for his apology, shaking her head lightly. Not in an admonishing way but silently telling him there was no need to apologize. She got one parent on her side about her fancying Mr. Hawthorne over Mr. Abernathy now she just needed to get her mother on board. Although if Mr. Hawthorne could so easily converse with Mr. Strathmore and get him wrapped up into the conversation with so much animation and interest, surely Adelaide could see that the young man in question was not so much the black sheep of his family as his reputation and gossip may say. A person was not their reputation or the gossip surrounding them. All of those bad things just didn’t help the merit. Didn’t mean the merit didn’t exist! Now if only she could get her mother to see that.

Not a chance. If she couldn’t see it in her own daughter, then why should she see it in Mr. Hawthorne, whether he was interested in Elsa or not?

Soft little shivers ran up her spine as Mr. Hawthorne turned his attention her way, the rich, creamy baritones of his voice wrapping around her. They would have almost pulled her in if not for the presence of her parents. In front of the staff, she didn’t care. In front of her parents, she did! Lest she may prove she was not as honorable as she claimed to be in spite of her dishonorable reputation rumors. Her cheeks turned a little red and her eyebrows rose, a smile forming onto her face, handing him his cup of tea on a saucer. “You’re welcome Mr. Hawthorne, and please no apologies are necessary, neither from you nor my father. It makes me happy to see you two getting on nicely.” And it really did. Plus, if he had been nervous--which he gave no indication of--perhaps after speaking with her father relaxed him. Mr. Strathmore was a very laid-back sort of fellow, but one you do not cross either. Several men lost their fortunes and credibility when they attempted to belittle him when he married beneath him--Adelaide. Since then, no one really dared tarnish the Strathmore name by way of slander in regards to him. His family however…

Mrs. Strathmore sipped her tea and turned her attention to Elsa and Mr. Strathmore. What did he mean talk about her? And what interests did her daughter tell him of at the party they met at?! Her nerves were starting to fray in that way they did when she was on edge. She wondered how much her headstrong foolish child told this man. Sure, he may be as badly reputable as her daughter but he was still a Hawthorne after all and his family name saved him from being turned away. Plus he was far more handsome than Mr. Abernathy. The Abernathies did not come close in rank in comparison to the Hawthornes. Still…

Elsa almost choked on her tea, her gaze flicking up to Hawthorne’s, not demurely or seductively but in surprise. Clearing her throat, she set her tea down, slyly sliding her index finger over her lips without her mother noticing, in a small gesture of ‘shush!’ despite the smile on her face as she did it. Rather than answering his question, she cleared her throat and turned her attention to her mother.

“Mother, was there anything you’d like to talk to Mr. Hawthorne about?”
“Oh there are several things I would like to say…” She said it a bit sternly. The way these two acted was as if they were already…familiar with each other and Mrs. Strathmore feared it was in the biblical sense even if that was impossible! What else was she to think?!

“Mr. Hawthorne, you’re such a strapping young man and clearly your business prospects are looking quite fruitful. How are you not promised already to a very lucky young woman?”

Elsa almost dropped her tea-cup in a fashion of absolute humor, matched with the way her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Mrs. Strathmore, noticing it but not commenting, simply smiled and batted her eyelashes, demurely sipping her tea.

And thus the storm began...

Elsa seemed to be a little…almost taken by him, Reggie felt. Or maybe he wanted to feel that from her. It was hard to say. Certainly she seemed to be quite ready to pay him attention, seemed quite ready to show him courtesy and politeness and interest. It could have been simply courtesy due to him from his station in society, but he didn’t think that was all there was to it. Her father appeared, for now, at least, to be satisfied that Reginald Hawthorne might be a suitable person, and Elsa’s mother…hard to tell. Over time, perhaps. Funny how it seemed to be the matrons that were more opposed to scandal and salacious gossip that way.

He would have been quite happy to converse with Elsa for a few minutes, but she deflected to her mother instead, giving the matron of the house the opportunity to get to know the young man before her – much the same as Mr Strathmore had, he presumed. The stern reply from Mrs Strathmore, given as he shifted slightly to face the matron, gave him his first warning that it would not be so smooth with her as it might have so far been with her husband.

And the question asked was rather blunt, pertinent, pointed. He could have rebutted her with his station, but that would not resolve the underlying caution, and Mrs Strathmore did indeed present quite the air of innocence as she patiently awaited his response. He sipped from his cup for a moment as he considered the question.

“The answer to that, I think, is quite simple, Mrs Strathmore,” he replied easily, once he’d set his cup in his saucer and made sure it wasn’t going to tilt or spill. “For the vast majority of the past ten years I have been travelling the lands, moving from town to town, city to city. I have been engaged in positioning and furthering the family’s business interests. When one is often in motion, engaging in meetings and the arrangement of meetings, organising contracts, signing deals, and the like, this grand nation can seem to be quite large. Travel by carriage can take some time. Thus, I was never in one place long enough for any such promise to be made, and I was certainly far enough away from my family that any possibly-suitable lady I might have met would have met with some difficulty in making any formal arrangements. I could have eloped, I suppose, but then I would have been dragging my young lady-bride around the nation with me, and that is no proper life for a lady. Add to that the fact that I was simply not looking to be tied down as I moved across the nation, and…well, there is, I believe, your answer, Mrs Strathmore.”

He picked up his cup and took another sip from it, his glance looking towards Mr Strathmore for a moment – the elder of the house looked to be dubiously satisfied with the response, but Reggie couldn’t be completely certain about that. He deliberately avoided checking Elsa for her reaction, lest a flicked glance draw some ire neither of them were prepared to wear. Mrs Strathmore, however, looked less uncertain about the veracity of the reply. Reggie looked at the matron as he sipped from his cup again, as if daring her to challenge him.

She may well do just that, he knew.

Catching his daughter’s reaction to her mother’s question, Mr. Strathmore couldn’t help the small amused small that appeared on his face, his hand quickly coming up so his finger could perch over his upper lip as if he was in thought, but it was mostly to hide his entertainment soon to be unfolding. Though he knew his wife to be ruthless, he reckoned this may be entertaining. Especially garnered by Mr. Hawthorne’s response. If this man could keep up with his wife in her incessant questioning regime, he just may be a keeper and manage to win the acceptance of Adelaide. If however, he couldn’t and ended up folding...oh he would have to do some damage control for the sake of his daughter. He’d be damned if she ended up marrying that Mr. Abernathy. What a little snake! Like hell he would ever get his hands on his daughter and her inheritance!

Adelaide sipped her tea and her eyes were bright with interest in what he would have to say. Would he admit to his many dalliances that marred his name and reputation? Would he admit to perhaps the possibility of defiling her daughter given the time they had unsupervised at the party the other night? Or would he match her clout with his very own?

Finding his response suitable enough, she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, a finely arched eyebrow raised by the hidden implication of his challenge and her lips curled up in a pleasant smile, once more. It was as if the mad woman enjoyed this!

“Well that is most noble of you Mr. Hawthorne, as I am sure that when you find your lady-intended, she will be a most lucky lady indeed for how caring and thoughtful you are to her needs. But what of your needs?” She asked, sipping her tea again, the tone of her question showing genuine curiosity even if there was another hidden challenge beneath, as if finding her own round-about way in making him admit to his scandalous reputation. Just not so overtly.

“A young man of your stature, charm and handsome expression, surely a number of women simply turn their heads in your direction just for a...glimpse.” A small snort of repressed laughter came from Mr. Strathmore who quickly hid it by clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, must acquire another spot of tea.” He failed miserably in hiding his amusement as he stood from his chair and met Gretchen at the long table for his cup of tea.

Even Elsa was actually finding it hard to stay straight-faced. The entire situation was a bit humorous, especially with the way her mother was approaching it in such an innocent way. Plus Mr. Hawthorne was being such a sport about this, she only hoped he did not take any offense to this at all. Honestly, Elsa was torn. To either find amusement in her mother’s way or to find mortification in sympathy toward Mr. Hawthorne as he had no choice but to endure this, or leave. Hopefully not the latter!

“That is, please let me clarify, surely certain...dalliances may have...arisen to the occasion.”
“Mother…” Now Elsa’s cheeks turned very red, redder than normal!

“Don’t get me wrong Mr. Hawthorne. Any mother would ask.” She then cast a narrow glance to Elsa. “Regardless of her own child’s reputation.” Of which Elsa held her tongue. She kind of had a point. Though she wasn’t sure any mother would outright ask someone with the kind of stature he possessed just how many affairs he had--specially how many women he ruined.

Reggie was no idiot. As he listened, while casually sipping at his tea, to Adelaide’s gently-probing questions, he knew what she wanted to hear. He knew what she was seeking from him. It was almost amusing, in a way, to see the near-innocent expression on her face as the not-so-innocent queries came from her lips. Travelling around the country, wheeling and dealing with all manner of businessmen, for near ten years had not left him a brainless husk of a man. And there was no hiding the jibe at Elsa, either – that was obvious, given what he knew…which was, admittedly, very little, and most of that based on rumour and hearsay. He found Mr Strathmore’s reaction interesting – it was almost as if he endured the matron’s questions as a matter of good humour…was Mr Strathmore supportive of his wife’s questioning?

He took another sip from his cup, carefully placed it back on the saucer and again balanced it on his knee.

“You are quite right, of course, Mrs Strathmore,” he agreed easily. “Any caring mother would naturally only want the best for her daughter. It follows, of course, that said caring mother would be curious as to what manner of man happens to visit her daughter.” He essayed a wan smile as he leaned forwards to place the sauced and cup on the table before him, and he took a napkin and a delicate pastry in hand before settling back on the couch.

“I cannot say whether young ladies are taken by my appearance, Mrs Strathmore,” he replied, somewhat honestly. “I do not profess to be able to know the mind of a woman, that I might then know whether she finds me attractive. To follow that, I must admit that I find myself required to stay my tongue; even if I had dallied once or twice with a lady while I travelled, it would surely be highly improper of me to discuss it in open company such as this, especially with your daughter sitting right next to me.”

He paused to take a small bite from the pastry and savoured the flavour of it.

“Delicious,” he offered sincerely, as he swallowed the morsel and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the napkin. “As to my…needs…I must confess to being a little perplexed – are you asking after my personal needs, which would be a little irregular, my social needs, or my professional needs? I fear I may not be able to provide an adequate response if I cannot fully divine the direction of your question.”

He sat back and took another bite of the pastry, an almost-smug smile forming on his lips as he chewed slowly.

“Oh yes of course, Mr. Hawthorne. I would not ask you to relay details of such affairs.” But simply his acknowledgement of the subject was enough to placate her. In her mind, it was, in his own way, a sort of admission without being obvious about it, save for the feelings of her daughter. Of which she found polite, much to her surprise a little bit. Though her expectations of a man for her daughter would not rely so much on how he treated her but rather his own reputation that could maybe mask the questionable aspects of Elsa’s, Mrs. Strathmore was delighted to see that to some extent, Mr. Hawthorne did possess the ability to be caring. Perhaps what her daughter had said was true. He was a gentleman despite his reputation. Not that she’d ever admit that to Elsa. Goodness no, her daughter would never let her live it down.

“But--” She started to say, raising the hair on Esther’s head as she sat up suddenly. More questions? Wasn’t it enough?!

Thankfully her father intervened. Blessed man! He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “My dear,” a sign of potential cross-attitude. “Though I do always enjoy a good comedy--as painfully excruciating as it has been--perhaps that is enough interrogation. How about we allow Mr. Hawthorne and Elsa a time to talk amongst themselves. Arthur and Gretchen will remain in attendance and you and I can talk about...some...serious...matters of some...sort.” The latter of which was his best ability in lying since now he was vouching for his daughter and Mr. Hawthorne.

“But I--”
“My dear, I insist.”
“Well…” She smiled bashfully, casting a glance toward Mr. Hawthorne and her daughter before back to her husband. “If you insist.”

She stood, placing her teacup and saucer aside and curtsied slightly to Mr. Hawthorne. “A pleasure Mr. Hawthorne. Please do not think badly of my questions. I have my reasons and concerns, as I am sure you understand.”

“Thank you, Mother. Your words are truly kind. Please…” She motioned with her eyes to the door and Adelaide actually complied, but only because she got the last word of what she truly wanted to say, in her own subtly-snarky way.

Once Mr. Strathmore and Mrs. Strathmore left the room, Arthur took his place inside, in front of the closed door and Gretchen sat by the refreshments table with an embroidery patch in her lap that she worked on.

Somewhat alone with Mr. Hawthorne, Elsa sat back and she let out a deep sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry about my mother Mr. Hawthorne. I suppose her intentions were...pure.” Though one look up at him and she relaxed a little bit. "Though I think you may have enjoyed that a little bit?" She teased.

If his relationship with Elsa went any kind of distance, Reggie knew Mrs Strathmore would become an interesting sparring partner. She accepted answers bit always seemed to have more questions, as if the answers given did not exactly meet what she was after. She was also a very firm and opinionated woman, he surmised, one used to getting her own way save for when her husband stepped in to overrule her. He would need to be mindful around her, he knew. Her line of questioning demanded his focus be unshaken.

Still, he stood politely as the two elders left the room, bowing his head courteously to each in turn, and he sat only once the door had closed behind them. He was mildly amused to note that he and Elsa had not been left alone; no, the butler and a maid had been left with them to chaperone them, as if the departure of the parents might encourage him to do improper things with their daughter. He would not, of course, for such would be very unseemly and incorrect; he acknowledged that the parents were quite correct in having someone sit in the room with himself and Elsa while the chatted.

“Please, don’t worry about it, Miss Elsa,” he replied easily as he settled into the couch. “You mother is quite right to harbour such concerns, of course, although I’m not as sure of her directness of questioning. I suspect she is a formidable woman.” He paused to lean forwards and grab his saucer and cup of tea, then settled back onto the couch once more.

“I will admit that I find the challenge of responding to her to be refreshing,” he agreed lightly. “Not that I have any intent of obfuscating around her, but there will be challenge in playing her as she plays others.” He took a sip from his cup, then another.

“How have you been these last two days, Miss Elsa? I hope you have fared well since we met at the party two days past.”

Elsa stood as her parents exited the room. Her father looked back at her as he escorted her mother out and gave an encouraging nod and smile and she knew that he was okay with this. That either he found Mr. Hawthorne acceptable or he would hold his tongue until it was necessary for him to speak up, if the need arose for such an act of fatherly protection. But she doubted he felt that way. Her father was not an unreasonable man. He was not blinded by the petty gossip and slander that spread like wildfire. He got facts. He got information necessary. He did his research. Then he passed judgment. Not from the mouths of bored high society housewives that had nothing better to do than ruin other lives because they were so dissatisfied with their own. He was a man beyond his time in that way. That was why she loved him so. And she knew her mother loved him to no end. He was the only one who could rein her in.

Sitting back down, Elsa turned her head to Mr. Hawthorne and smiled gently, nodding her head. “Perhaps then you can take up her time with a never-ending back and forth debate. It could stave off some of her heat and pressure off of me. For that, I would be eternally grateful.” She grinned, joking of course. Mr. Hawthorne may come off as a saint but even he didn’t have that magnitude of patience to handle her mother constantly.

“I suspect however my mother may be nothing in comparison to yours. I’ve only heard things about the Lady and they chill me. Forgive me, I mean not to speak ill of your mother but if I fear anyone above my own parents, it would be your mother.” She laughed gently. She had perhaps one chance encounter with his mother when she was around thirteen or fourteen. Sometimes she still had nightmares…

Thinking of how to respond to his question, Elsa could only smile, albeit a little sheepish. These past couple of days since they last met had been colorful, and that was putting it mildly. “Oh...I believe I’ve fared quite well. As for some others...I cannot say.” She smiled again, a teasing and coquettish smile. She wanted to tell him but she felt if she spoke about it, it would be gossip. That’s not why he was here.

“How about you? I hope these last couple of days have not offered you too much trouble?”

“My mother is almost a force of nature, it’s true,” Reggie agreed quietly. “She is a very determined woman, I’ve found, and one who tends to not get overly emotional about issues. I sometimes fancy that she could stare down a king cobra, but I’m not sure I’d want to subject the cobra to such punishment. And yet my father is able to deal with her very quietly and effectively; how he does that I imagine I shall never know.”

He sipped from his cup again, gave her a polite smile, realised his cup was now empty – had he been sipping from it that much? – and returned the cup to his saucer and set both on the table.

“Excuse me…Gretchen?” he began, getting the maid’s attention and nodding at his cup. “Would you please be so kind…? Thank you.” The maid, after getting a nod from Elsa, got up and refilled Reggie’s cup from the pot, applied the required two sugars once she’d determined how many the gentleman wanted, then returned, after a polite curtsey, to her seat near the rear of the room. Reggie leaned forwards, poured some cream into the cup and stirred it through, then took the saucer and cup as he again settled back into the couch.

“I’m glad to hear that the past days have not been unkind to you,” he continued agreeably. “I might have been somewhat aggrieved if that had not been the case. As for myself…” He paused, sipped from his cup again.

“I confess I spent much of yesterday engaged in business discussions to extend the family business interests. The discussions were rather profitable for both sides, I believe. I will spare you the fine details as I’m sure they hold little interest for you, but I do expect there to be a worthwhile return on the investment. My father was pleased enough with the results thus far. If this venture works out, it will likely give cause to investigate other mutually-beneficial agreements in the future.”

He stopped for a moment, reached forward to take a second pastry and set it on the side of his saucer for later.

“Dare I ask how your mother reacted to word of my visit? I cannot imagine such was welcome news to her ears.”

Elsa smiled a little. Though his mother sounded terrifying as ever, there was something special to be noted. Husband and wife. Though she did not particularly care for how husbands controlled their wives, there was a sense of a special bond when a husband could be the only person ever to keep his wife calm. Whether it be a scandalous son who had abused the family name or a daughter who ran off with an unknown boy on the night of her debut, husbands seemed to know how to keep their wives calm in a crisis. “I think it’s special. The bond between a husband and wife. Those who never marry will never understand. And while your parents may be how they are, I’d like to think that behind closed doors, when it is just the two of them, there is a private smile they share together. And only they would know what it means.” Some wives hated their husbands and some husbands hated their wives. They would never know either.

Perhaps she was a bit of an idealist or too much of a romantic who spent more time in the clouds than reality. Looking to Mr. Hawthorne, she smiled a little sheepishly. “I guess my mother is correct. I do spend more time in the clouds.” She shrugged her shoulders, turning slightly to pick up her teacup and saucer and take a small sip and then another, a bit of a bigger sip. The tea was brewed beautifully today!

Setting it down, she watched as he kindly asked upon Gretchen for a refill. She smiled and slightly nodded her head to the girl who got up and dutifully refilled his cup, added some sugar and set it down before taking her seat again and going back to her embroidering. She didn’t find it odd that he asked a servant that was not his own. It seemed like second nature. What did admired was how almost bashful he was, how kind he was. As if he wasn’t expecting her to comply or unsure if it was okay but he tried anyways, respectfully. Now that was a formidable man, one who knew respect.

“Ah.” She nodded her head. “Business. Fascinating.” She tried to sound interested but it was clear that her mind was far from business. She found it a droll. But maybe one day she would grow up a little bit more and finally find an interest and ear for it. So she hoped at least.

Elsa ignored the way her stomach grumbled, hoping it wasn’t too loud. That would be embarrassing. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. She eyed the pastries with more want and need, like she wanted to make love to them, more than she should have been paying attention. But hearing her mother’s voice, complaining about her figure and that it was already big enough as it is, and remembering how she and the seamstress spoke about how ‘heavy’ she was as if Elsa wasn’t even in the room, made her look away from the treats. Too much butter. Too much sugar. Too much of everything wrong and yet she wanted it.

Turning her attention back to Mr. Hawthorne, she was grateful for the kind distraction and smiled. Elsa turned her body toward him a little bit, her hands holding her tea settled gracefully in her lap. “She was not happy, I will admit. But I pleaded with her. I think I actually reached her for the first time since before I ran away.” She said softly. “And...she agreed.” She said softly. “For my sake.” She smiled a little, a look of hope shining in her eyes. Hope that her mother would let her choose. Even if Mr. Hawthorne’s reputation was more than questionable, he was a far better choice than any of the other men, namely Mr. Abernathy, her mother pushed at her. “I think what helped was pointing out that I am already ruined. So...what was worse than two ruined people meeting?”

“Now…you stop this line of you already being ruined,” Reggie admonished gently but firmly. “I know little from rumour and nothing from fact. What rumour I do know says that you ran off and did unspeakable and inappropriate things with a man you barely knew and didn’t return with. Unless you confirm that from your own mouth I shall not hear of it. While those who do not know the truth insist on perpetuating such gossip they cannot verify, they only do themselves a disservice.”

He stopped to take a sip from his cup. “But that, should such a conversation transpire, shall be between you and me, and in private, and for my ears alone.” Another sip from his cup. Reggie could not deny he was rather curious to hear what had happened that led to Elsa departing, and what had happened during her time away, and what had caused her to return to be in the position she was now in. But he did not expect she’d tell him where there were public ears; not initially, at least. He rather doubted that those who believed the gossip would accept Elsa’s version of events if it proved the gossip wrong. Such was society. Sometimes it was easier to get involved in business. Numbers and contracts didn’t lie as much.

As he settled in the couch, Reggie could see that Arthur was doing his level best to look completely disinterested in the conversation between the himself and Elsa; Gretchen, on the other hand, looked to be attempting to pay some attention to what was being said. Maybe it was in the nature of ladies to gossip. He’d likely never know, would certainly never understand.

“The young lady I met two nights ago did not behave as one who was ruined,” he noted, as he set the cup back on the saucer and picked up the small pastry. “She behaved like one who was being scorned by society because of a rumoured indiscretion. Similarly, I fancy that a ruined lady would not go to lengths such as these to entertain a visit from a gentleman. Nor would she protest her mother’s behaviour if her mother was correct.”

He bit into the pastry and chewed thoughtfully. There was no way the two servants would be able to miss his defence of Elsa. He was almost calling Elsa’s mother a liar…but not quite. He gave a small smile that was almost…predatory.

“So I consider the matter closed, unless you tell me otherwise. Please, do take a pastry. Your mother, I wager, went to lengths to provide for this visit, and they are delicious.”

Elsa could only smile. She didn’t mean ruined in the sense that she was ruined. She knew she was not. But saying she wasn’t wouldn’t do anything. And she certainly didn’t want to explain to him right here, right now. Not yet. But she was ruined by reputation in a sense. She would forever be known as the headstrong-foolish girl who ran away with a random boy on the night of her debut, being gone for four years. She hadn’t really dwelt on it. But lately, especially at her mother’s taunting, she was thinking about it more. She couldn’t let her mother get to her. That wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t like Elsa to do that, at least not this version of Elsa who was a different person than that eighteen year old she had been.

“You’re right, Mr. Hawthorne. I apologize. Perhaps I have been letting my mother’s talk and the past few nights get to me. I don’t want to be that kind of person.” For the most part, Elsa was confident in herself. She did not think she was heavy. She knew she was not the most beautiful woman in the world because that was an impossible standard to live up to. But she knew she was beautiful enough to know she was not ugly, both inside and out. And that was enough for her. As long as she knew it and as long as she knew the truth, she would not let anything anyone said deter her. She would be like Hester Prynne, one of her favorite heroines of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. That woman carried her baby around town, wore her red A and held her chin up with confidence. That’s what Elsa would do. Sans baby and a letter sewn onto her clothes. Though the idea of sewing a scarlet R onto her clothes sounded like fun. Especially to see her mother faint at the sight of it.

She was too cruel sometimes.

“You’ve made your point quite handsomely Mr. Hawthorne.” And in that, she helped herself to a pastry, a delicious danish pastry with a strawberry preserve in the middle. It was delicious, flaky, buttery and the strawberry preserves were juicy and the perfect bit of sweetness to contrast the buttery flakiness. Placing it on the saucer her teacup rested on, she dabbed a napkin to her lips before licking her fingers, one habit she never could never break, much to her mother’s dismay. It was both impolite and suggestive. Two of her favorite traits.

“One day, I will tell you.” She gave Gretchen and Arthur a small glance. “Away from prying ears.” She swore she saw Gretchen’s cheeks turn very red. “But if I may ask Mr. Hawthorne, you say I should stop wearing the scorn of my reputation on my sleeves but you do the same. Sure, it may be different, the allegations against you may actually be true, and though you do carry yourself with confidence, I can still see that at least where your parents are concerned, you take it. But...you are more than that, just as I am more than rumors. And yet, here we both sit. Telling each other to stop wearing the gossip that surrounds us as a chip and get over it.” She looked at him, gently placing her hand over his.

“I could live forever poor, knowing that I stood my ground and my beliefs, not what everyone dictates. What of you?” She whispered.

Reggie smiled faintly as she reached forward and delicately took one of the Danish pastries that were resting for the taking. She had taken a strawberry flavoured one; he’d been eyeing it off as his next choice, but had deferred to the apricot on this occasion. It was a little warming to see they had similar tastes, at least in pastries and delicacies. Still, she’d presented two items of conversation to him, one more trivial than the other, but he calmly sipped from his tea before choosing to respond.

“I believe that we had, as budding friends not two night ago, decided that we need not apologise to each other, Miss Elsa,” he offered lightly as he returned his cup to its saucer. “Not unless the apology was recompense for an event or topic that could be regarded as being overall negative to the friendship in question.” He said no more on the matter, instead taking up his pastry and taking a gentlemanly bite from it; he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before continuing. “And I must, again, concede your suggestion that while we are alike in terms of how society views us, we comport ourselves differently, such that I should likely need to re-evaluate how I carry myself with my own particular burden.” He took another bite from his pastry, chewed and swallowed, dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. When he resumed speaking he had lowered the volume of his voice – which was not an easy task, given his voice was generally rich in quality and carried well.

“As to the other…I believe we also touched on this not two night ago,” he replied quietly, not sure whether the two retainers could hear. “I believe that, at the time, I decided that the…subject…of such a conversation might find himself in a bit of a quandary. For myself, I confess that while I would rather not lose the inheritance due to me, I would manage if it transpired that it was deemed a necessity. I am not without skill or resource, and I shall admit to you that I had considered, prior to the happenstance of our meeting, returning to England, the place of my birth, and making a new life for myself there. So I believe I can respond to you by saying that I am my own man, but also my father’s son; while I would, and will, do what I can to ensure my father is not inconvenienced by my actions, I shall not do so at the expense of myself.”

He found he’d leaned towards her slightly so that he could speak while leaving his voice quiet; as he finished speaking he straightened up and took his cup in his hand; he paused in the action of sipping from it so that he could look at her over the cup.

“Does that better answer your question, Miss Elsa?”

A soft red colored her cheeks. “Fair point well made Mr. Hawthorne. I rescind my apologies, finding them to be irrelevant in this matter. After all, I did say that. I too must abide by that.” She grinned a little, taking a small bite of her pastry. “Good looking out Mr. Hawthorne.”

Setting the remaining half of her pastry down, Elsa picked up her cup, minus the saucer and held it in both hands, a delicate hold but not holding her pinky out. Though her mother tried to teach her the tactic to keep her hold and hands further delicate, Elsa thought it too tacky and trying hard. Instead, she went for the gentle approach of holding the cup to her, like a cradle, as if it was as delicate as her hands were supposed to be.

And so Mr. Hawthorne explained and without fully looking at him, trying to keep up the propriety, Elsa could see he inched closer and lowered his voice. His voice was a low rumble but soft and she felt herself pulled. Each word he spoke, understanding dawned on her. They were alike. He wanted to do what he could so not to add further ruin to his father’s name but he wouldn’t compromise himself to do so. Just as she wanted to try and keep further ruin to her family’s name but she wouldn’t compromise herself to do it either. Although where they differed was that she was not afraid to be a bit brash where her mother was concerned. Sometimes it was necessary, such brashness, otherwise Mrs. Strathmore just might never understand. Perhaps she was more like her father that way, but also like her mother in that same respect.

Turning her head his way, Elsa lifted her cup to her lips and nodded her head, taking a clarifying sip. She swallowed and smiled gently, a small purse of her lips. “It did. Thank you Mr. Hawthorne. I will not apologize for bringing up the same subject differently here and there. But I will thank you for having the patience to take the time to explain to me once more.” The more she learned about him, the better. And though they hadn’t learned a lot about each other already, what she had learned so far, she did like.

“Perhaps one day soon,” She looked up to send a glance toward Arthur and Gretchen before continuing, a slight sly smile appearing on her face. “I can be as bold as you.” She had the desire to tell him, to put those rumors to rest in his eyes. But she still didn’t see the need to. And she didn’t think she had to tell Mr. Hawthorne just to keep his interest, or keep him swayed from other judgments. Trust was enough in a world that thrived upon a web of secrets and lies.

Sitting up, she finished her tea and set the cup down. Gretchen, paying attention without being too obvious about it--she wasn’t supposed to be listening after all--stood and collected Elsa’s cup and refilled it with tea and made it to her liking before silently setting the cup back down on the saucer and taking her seat again, resuming her embroidery.

“On a lighter note, I would like to know what your dream is.” She turned a little toward him. “What was your dream for life when you were a young boy?” She smiled.

She appeared to have understood his position, he believed – that he would do all he could to not tarnish his family name, but would not do so at the cost of himself. He was not without recourse, he knew, and if he found himself separated from his family he would be able to build a new life for himself. He’d been considering such, anyway, before the chance happening of the event of meeting Miss Elsa. It just now remained to be seen as to whether she’d be an obstacle or a partner. He was beginning to fancy she might be a partner.

He watched her, not too closely, as she sipped from her cup. Not such the lady-like manner in the way she did such things, and it told him something about her: that she was not so dainty as her mother might have her be, that she was not beyond slipping outside the general view of a lady in order to be herself. He smiled faintly, more to himself than to her, although he was sure she might notice, before he sipped from his own cup, and again.

“Ah,” he replied knowingly, as he leaned forward to sit his cup on the table in front of him. “The question of childhood dreams and desires. Always a good question, that one, for it can reveal much while saying little.” He paused to shuffle slightly in the chair, angling his posture so that he was more facing Elsa.

“I suppose…I wanted to be like my father,” he began slowly, is voice taking on a faint sentimental tone. “Oh, not exactly like him, of course – I was always going to be my own person. But he was – is – strong, confident, imposing, successful…those qualities I wanted to strive to have in myself. I still do, to some extent. I know I have made my own successes, and I know that I can appear to others to be strong and confident, under the right circumstances. I do, however, also know I have a way to go in achieving those goals.” He snorted softly. “Some might say I have a long way to go.”

He reached forwards to take up his cup, settled again on the couch to drink from it. His cup was nearly empty again, but he’d not ask for another refill – that was simply a matter of good manners.

“If things work out as I’d like, then I shall inherit the family business that my father has built, to run and build as my own in the manner that I see fit, while also being respectful of what my father built and how he built it. If things do not go as I’d like…then I shall make a new business for myself and build that instead. The former would be preferable, of course…it’s a matter of resources.” He sipped from his cup, drained it, leaned forwards to set his again-empty cup on the saucer before him. He waved Gretchen away when it looked as though the maid was about to get up and re-fill it again.

“What of you, Miss Elsa? Surely a young lady as yourself had dreams and aspirations when you were growing up?”

She was otherwise oblivious and instead found her attention touching upon him as he began. He spoke with such eloquence and a kind of passion behind his words. It was even more mesmerizing, especially as she actually looked at him while he spoke. She watched the way his mouth moves, the way his lips parted as he spoke his words and listened to the rumble of his voice that she wanted to listen for hours. It was like soft music, a deep baritone but not overly deep either. Just that kind of right octave. It was deeply satisfying.

Finishing her tea around the same time he finished his, she set her cup down and met Gretchen’s confused gaze when Mr. Hawthorne stopped her from refilling his cup. She nodded her head to the girl and smiled gently, prompting Gretchen to resume her embroidery. She had just been silently told that both Elsa and Mr. Hawthorne were fine without anymore tea. Besides, anymore for Elsa and she wouldn’t sleep that night, just as she would need to use a washroom soon.

She didn’t think of that. After Mr. Hawthorne explained to her his dreams, similar to his father’s success, the question was turned back to her. She smiled softly, wistfully even, and turned to face him again. “I dreamed to always travel.” She said softly. “I wanted to see the world. The real world outside of this fabrication of a world that I grew up in.” She said softly. “So...when I saw that opportunity the night of my debut, I took it.” She lowered her voice after clearing her throat and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. “It was less about the boy and more about a dream. Yes, I fancied him and I saw a future but I saw an opportunity that I needed to take. And I don’t regret it. I learned so much, I saw so much and I grew. It was four years and that may seem like nothing to some, but for me, it was life-changing.”

She visited different parts of this country. Still a little war-torn from the aftermath of the Civil War but both the North and South were picking itself up. She made friends with freed slaves, learned about them and their new lives now that they were their own persons. She visited a reservation, nearly lost her life in the process, but learned so much about a Native culture. She learned about different cultures, different worlds among one country and the different groups of people of different cultural backgrounds that lived there in her travels. And she missed it. It changed her so much and opened her eyes more than when things fell out between her and that guy. So he showed his true colors, fine, but she learned the true colors of the lands she visited.

“Now...I guess my dreams are different. Now, I just want to do right by my parents.” She looked at him now, less ashamed. “I lived my dream for a little while. Now I just want to make one of theirs come true and let them know I’ll be okay, one way or the other. And...if fulfilling my mother’s dream of having her daughter married off well and respectably means marrying the horrible Mr. Abernathy, then…” She couldn’t say it, she couldn’t do it. She loved her mother in her own way but there was no way she could fulfil that dream if it meant marrying Mr. Abernathy.

Sighing heavily, she shook her head. “More than anything, I’d just like to make my parents proud of me again.”

Her story…it related some of the enigma that was Miss Elsa. She’d taken off – all-but eloped – with a hitherto-unknown male on the night of her debut to society. Quite the scandal, he knew; he rather suspected that Mrs Adelaide Strathmore would have been somewhat mortified by the development. He could see how such an event would lead to much gossip, especially on Elsa’s return; while Elsa had in no way – so far, at least – hinted at any impropriety taking place, there was no question that the rumours would have such taking place…and so long as Elsa refused to elaborate, those rumours would persist. Still, it was not his place to chide her for her silence – in that, he was only a little better than her.

“I understand,” he offered a little cryptically, the response having several possibilities he chose to not detail. “We’ve both travelled, at least, beyond the confines of this small society we were raised in. We’ve ventured out to see what life is like, we’ve explored, we’ve experienced, we’ve returned more worldly and wise for our times away. And we’ve both been taken to task by society for our actions – or lack of them – while we have been away. And we’re both satisfied with what we saw while away, such that we do not want to compromise it, nor compromise the people we became as a result of those experiences.”

He sat back in the couch, his back pressed into the corner so that he was facing Elsa. He placed one elbow on the arm of the couch, the other elbow on the back of the couch, and steepled his fingers together in front of his lips, as if turning to thought. He was, in a way – he was considering what had been said, by both of them, and it was dawning on him that there seemed to be a connection of sorts between them, beyond the obvious social similarities. In their respective goals to do the right thing by their respective families, they might even find in each other a partner who could help the other achieve their goal. He was bound to marry; from the way her mother seemed to be trying to set her up, he suspected Elsa might be under a similar requirement. They may be able to help each other, there, although, if such was the case, he’d not do so improperly. For all his faults, Reggie was still a gentleman.

“Very…interesting…” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, but not so quietly that Elsa would not hear him. As before, he was being cryptic, and he did not espouse on his thoughts. “The possibilities are…”He stopped abruptly, as if realising he was speaking aloud when he hadn’t intended to. He looked up from his thoughts, met Elsa’s gaze, gave her a warm, sincere smile.

“Please, forgive me,” he offered honestly. “I was lost in thought for a moment. Let me just say that they were…very positive thoughts.” He paused, then shifted in his seat so he was upright. “Nothing you need to be alarmed about, of course. But, for now…” he added as he pushed himself forwards so that he could stand, “I believe I should take my leave of you, Miss Elsa. While I am not particularly inclined to leave your company, I am aware that my welcome at this time should not be overtaxed.” He stood, then, took a step towards Elsa and offered his hand to help her stand also.

“If I may be so bold, Miss Elsa,” he continued as she stood with his assistance, “I should like to ask you to attend my family estate after luncheon in…shall we say three days’ time? There to continue our discussions and acquaintance?” He hesitated, then grinned slightly. “If nothing else, we may be able to demonstrate to my mother that you are naught but a young woman who chose to stand on her own feet.”

I understand. She looked at him, albeit hesitantly, and swallowed with difficulty. Some tea would help sort that out but she didn’t have any at this moment and if she did have more, her bladder would be more likely to burst. Instead, Elsa folded her hands together tightly, fingers laced and hoped he would give off more than he currently was.

Thoughts of insecurity rang loudly in her mind. Had she said too much? Had she told him something he wouldn’t like to have known? Or was he also just like everyone else, humoring her so she would tell him what every man who fancied her for one thing was dying to know?

Finally, he elaborated a little bit more and she cleared her throat, a small smile forming on her face. “Positive thoughts are good. Positive thoughts are very good.” The answer was likely primitive but considering she had just been thinking that perhaps this arrangement was coming to an end, this was about the most elation she could show without going overboard. Then that would definitely scare him away.

Taking his hand as after he rose to make his leave, Elsa stood as well. In doing so, Gretchen and Arthur stood as well for proprietary called for them to do so. “Very well Mr. Hawthorne. Thank you for the company. Once again, I hope that this afternoon was not...intimidating. Yes, I believe that is an appropriate word to use given the circumstances.” Circumstances surrounding her mother. That was putting it nicely!

A bigger smile formed on her face, so big that she had to tamper it down with some bashfulness and look away so she didn’t smile like she slept with a clothes hanger in her mouth. But just as quickly as that smile came, it slowly faded to one of almost horror. “Y-Your mother?” She cleared her throat, dropping her hand from his. Gretchen and Arthur turned, though Elsa caught the looks of amusement that etched across their faces.

“Yes, your mother. A...colorful lady.” Nerves. Oh the nerves. She should have seen this one coming. A meeting at his family’s place and no doubt, she’d meet his parents. Which included his mother. Having only met her a small handful of times and never specifically, mostly in passing, the woman chilled Elsa to her very core with her icy demeanor. Elsa didn’t fear her own mother so, but she certainly feared his. “That would be just lovely.” Her skin flushed, not out of embarrassment, certainly not out of arousal, but out of nerves. Like she might break out into hives or something!

Being sure to breathe as normally through her nose as possible, Elsa smiled. “I would be honored. Three days time.” That should give her enough time. No doubt she would need to consult her mother for this. If there ever was anyone who could prepare her to meet Mr. Hawthorne’s mother it would be her own. An odd sort of comical bonding experience if one would. “Although I would dare to admire that once your mother has her mind set, it would be difficult to change it. Please take no offense, I do sincerely admire that quality.” To change it would be quite a feat in and of itself. Elsa would feel accomplished, certainly.

Deciding she should stop talking herself into an early grave and get a control on the nerves she apparently inherited from her very nervous mother, Elsa cleared her throat. “I will stop talking now and simply accompany you out Mr. Hawthorne, if you don’t mind?” She asked, offered her arm to him.

Reggie gave a small, short chuckle. “Colourful,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s one way to describe my mother, it’s true.” He was aware, as Elsa had taken his hand, that Gretchen and Arthur had also stood, as was proper given his station, but he paid them no mind. He kept his focus on Elsa. “I have no doubt that my mother, given the opportunity, will seek to make you feel unworthy in many ways; if you comport yourself with her as you have with me, then you shall have nothing to worry about. My father…he will likely be looking at you in a different vein, but treat him as you would my mother, and he shall not give you trouble.” Her arm linked through his, and the two made their way, at a casual gait, towards the front of the house.

“I must confess,” he continued at leisure, “that my parents make a good pair. Mother can be like a force of nature when she gets up a head of steam, but father has the coolness to temper her…or thaw her, depending on which particular force of nature she’s presenting at the moment.” As they walked, Reggie quickly turned his attention to the butler.

“Arthur, would you be so kind as to inform my driver that I am ready to depart, and that he should bring the carriage to the front of the house?”

Arthur stopped and bobbed is head. “Of course, sir.” The butler nodded his head again to Reggie, then nodded towards Elsa to take his leave, then turned on his heel and disappeared.

Reggie smiled knowingly as the butler departed. “I’m sure he’s a little miffed about not being able to keep an ear on our words,” he noted slyly, his voice pitched quietly for Elsa’s benefit, although he was sure Gretchen would also hear. “Such is the way of things, however.” His hand, resting on Elsa’s as their arms were linked, gave hers a little squeeze, as if underlining his point. Then he raised his voice to a normal level.

“I do like the collection of artworks you have in the hall, here,” he observed as they entered the main hall where the front doors were located. “I do not make any claim to being an avid aficionado of art, but I can appreciate the time and effort that goes into creating such works. Surely, a painting such as that one,” he added, pointing to a large painting depicting a random, unknown landscape, “must have taken several days to complete, at least, and would have required the painter to sit in the same spot for hours on end each time he sat to work at the canvas. Such patience and dedication is to be admired, at the least.”

He paused, then stopped in front of the painting he’d pointed to, in effect causing Elsa to look at the painting with him. “I do believe, Miss Elsa, that I have not yet asked of you views on art such as this. Do such things appeal to you?”

Indeed. Consulting her mother would be a wise idea. Although Mr. Hawthorne’s advice was sound, she still felt this gnawing inclination to run to her mother, fall at her feet, beg for her forgiveness for all the surly and agonizing trauma Elsa must have caused her and then beg for her help so she might pass for approval from his parents. Naturally, she didn’t do that. Once Mr. Hawthorne took her arm, she felt calm at his side. She never really believed that a man’s presence could be so calming--well unless that man was her father--but she believed it now.

Mr. Hawthorne seemed either amused or uncaring toward her nerves. Not to say that he didn’t care for them in that way, no, but rather, he didn’t seem put off by it. That relaxed her even more. His advice was calming, but being at his side was even more calming. He wanted her to make a good impression on his parents. That was comforting. Propriety and all.

“I like that dynamic.” She said softly. “They balance each other out, essentially.” She knew her parents were like that. As far back as she could remember, her father was always very calm. Very rarely did he truly get so mad. Something about his ‘lofty indifference,’ as he called it, allowed him to be the perfect mediator where her mother was concerned. And Elsa knew her mother was more than a handful. And yet, in spite of all that, her father still loved her. They argued quite a lot, back then and even now. But there was still so much love between them. She remembered asking her father one night, after her mother had really gone off on Elsa, what it was he loved about her. He listed many things but he plainly and very easily said without any hesitation, that if he had been married to anyone else, they wouldn’t have been able to keep him on his toes, amuse him to no end and keep his interest the way her mother did. And that was what he loved the most about her. Perhaps her father was secretly a sadist. Or a masochist?

As Arthur was sent off, Elsa gave him a nod and proceeded out of the room and into the main hall with him. She caught his low spoken words and had to cover her mouth with her free hand to stifle a giggle. Gretchen was in tow and she smiled to herself but kept her chin lowered as she walked, so not to seem like she was eavesdropping. Even if she was. Elsa suspected she would be having a talk with Gretchen tonight. Just a casual chat. They were the same age and when Gretchen would aid her at night for bed, they would often catch up on the day. Gossip. Chatter. They considered each other good friends. Most of the time. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill him in later after you’ve left. That way you can’t correct me about any of the sordid details.” Elsa teased.

His hand touched hers and she smiled down at it. She fancied him. Enough said. It was established. Now she really needed her mother’s help in all this.

They stopped by a portrait of a landscape that overlooked the ocean hanging on one of the walls in the large hall. She looked over it, but was actually more focussed on Mr. Hawthorne as he admired it. She smiled, turning her attention back to the portrait. “I love art. But rather than than the amount of time and dedication it took for the artist to complete such a work, I look for the little bits of the artist embedded into the portrait. Little tricks, little qualities that define the artist’s talent and technique that makes them so revered.”

With her free hand, she lifted it and pointed to the skyline. “There, you see?” She gently traced her finger over the textures of the oil paint. “The way the artist did that is important to their skill. It is what sets that particular artist apart from another.” She said softly. “It’s unorthodox but it is exactly why this artist is so famous.” She then pointed to a space in the far right corner at the bottom. “In more traditional paintings, an artist can acquire the texture of sand by the look, rather than the feel, by the manipulation of brushstrokes. This artist found a different way, presumably by a blotch-technique, rather than brushstrokes. Again, unorthodox but this artist learned the limits and then tested them and pushed them. It is their own technique. And it is unique.” She looked up at Mr. Hawthorne and smiled gently. Literature and art. She took well to them as opposed to any other subject in her studies. Not even traipsing about the country could make her forget that.

Coming back out of her art wonderland, Elsa smiled a little shyly. “My apologies Mr. Hawthorne, sometimes I can get a little carried away.”

So she enjoyed art. Not in the same way he did, it turned out, but that was partially the point of artwork – that each viewer saw something in it that was unique. That she didn’t view art the same way he did was of no import; she appreciated it just as he did. As he watched the paint – watched her point out how she saw things in it – he was again struck by the intelligence behind her eyes…her dark, lovely eyes. He was starting to understand why Miss Elsa and her mother sometimes didn’t agree on things – Elsa was her own person, determined to be so. Would such a person be happy being married at all? Maybe she would. It was something he’d have to bear in mind, should things progress as both of them needed things to.

“No need to apologise, Miss Elsa,” Reggie intoned smoothly. “I believe we’ve covered that on several occasions. Indeed, hearing your insights has provided me with a few of my own, those being into the manner of person you are. Your appreciation for the detail in technique, for the degree of skill applied, suggests a keen eye and sharp mind; these are qualities that should not be ignored. Knowing that about you, I should find myself keeping a wary countenance had we been business rivals.”

He allowed his gaze to linger on the painting for a few seconds longer, perhaps trying to see it as she did, before he gently patted her hand as it rested in his elbow and turned to continue their walk to the front door of her mansion. He could see his carriage had just arrived at the front through the windows by the main doors.

“There is much to learn of each other, it is true,” he offered after a few moments of silence. “Perhaps we might look to further meetings…assuming my mother doesn’t terrify you to your core.” His head turned slightly to look at her, and he gave her a small, warm smile. “I find myself being somewhat curious as to the events and experiences that made you the person I now have on my arm.” By now they were at the main doors, and Reggie knew it would be improper to linger too long.

“Please, pass my thanks and gratitude to your mother and father for their grace and hospitality,” he requested, almost formally, as he gently removed her hand from his elbow and held it in his own hand. “Their agreeing to receive me was most kind.” He paused, then grinned. “Please also pass my regrets to Arthur that he couldn’t hear the remainder of our conversation.” He saw almost certain he heard the young maid – Gretchen? – giggle quietly at that.

He bowed his head slightly, then brought Elsa’s hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles of her hand lightly. “Of course, the most thanks goes to you for agreeing to accept my company, Miss Elsa. Regrettably, I must take my leave of you.”

It was official. She was going to forget what she said to him about apologies. Friends don’t apologize to each other. She would have to remember it. But she didn’t mind it when he reminded her. Even if it did make her blush a little, like right now. “I keep forgetting. Thank you for reminding me.” She smiled a little sheepishly. Her blush disappeared from his appraisal and she looked at him, almost in awe. “I--” She cleared her throat, a genuine smile appearing on her face; it shone through her eyes. “Thank you.” It was a mighty compliment. Sure, her father said it, sometimes. But coming from Mr. Hawthorne...it was like he understood her. Could it be?

She walked along with him to the front door, spotting his carriage waiting for him outside. She turned to face him now and nodded her head. “I agree. There is much to learn but I am looking forward to it. That is, if I survive meeting your parents. Mentally that is.” She worried for her sanity, since she was starting to realize she inherited more from her mother than she initially thought. That could be either a good thing or a detriment.

“Perhaps one day I will tell you.” She could practically feel Gretchen lending her ear closer. Even Gretchen didn’t know. Elsa hadn’t told anyone. Not even her father. It just made her smile a little impishly. “At the opportune moment, Mr. Hawthorne.” She drawled.

“I will. Thank you. They will be pleased.” She said softly. A soft giggle behind her burst her bubble and Elsa fought the urge to grin broadly. “He will be most aggrieved, I am sure. I will placate him, you’ve nothing to fear.” This time she giggled a little, her eyes mirroring her mirth.

The moment his lips pressed to her knuckles in such a soft and gentlemanly gesture, her heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks heated and she bit her her lower lip a little. His lips were soft with just a small undercurrent of roughness. She wondered--no she quickly stopped those thoughts. Not here at least. Not in front of Mr. Hawthorne and Gretchen. “You’re welcome anytime Mr. Hawthorne.” At least as far as she was concerned. She’d see about her parents--namely her mother--later. Of that, she had no doubt!

“Regrettably. Appropriate use of words Mr. Hawthorne.” And despite their one-person audience of Gretchen, Elsa stepped forward and leaned up, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. Perhaps it was not appropriate or proper but those two qualities left her four years ago in small manners of speaking. She pulled back and stepped away, her hand slipping from his. “Until a few days pass. I’ll look forward to it.” Elsa offered him a kind smile before moving away entirely.

Gretchen opened the door for him and bowed, bidding him farewell thee now. Only once he would step out would she close the door and Elsa watched him depart through the windows, Gretchen by her side.

“If I may be so bold...I think you fancy him, Miss Elsa.”
“Yes. You’re right. You are too bold Gretchen.” But Elsa smiled, watching him leave before turning away. She stayed smiling, even as she helped to clean up the food and refreshments from his visit. After all that, her mother and father came from his office and looked at her. Her mother looked expectantly and her father had an amused grin on his face.

“Well?”
“Well, what?” Elsa asked.
“Are you still...proper?”

And just like that, the bubble really did burst and Elsa was thrust back into reality. “Mother!” With that, she retreated to her room, Gretchen in tow.

Mr. Strathmore chuckled and gave a small pat to his wife’s rear. No one was around after all. “Oh you two...you’re more alike than either of you would care to believe.”

“Hush, husband.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek before disappearing to his office, alone.

Mrs. Strathmore looked up to the stairs and ascended them slowly, arriving outside her daughter’s closed bedroom door. She could hear through it, listening in as Elsa spoke to Gretchen.

“...I don’t know if I care to understand it Gretchen. You’re right. I do like him. But more than that, I like that he understands me. Or at least is beginning to, more than even my own parents could try.” She said softly. “Father understands me to a point but he is more mediator than anything else between Mother and I.” Her voice lowered and Mrs. Strathmore could barely hear her. “But Mr. Hawthorne…”


“Would they approve?”
“I can’t say. I can only hope.”

“And what of meeting his parents?” At this, Mrs. Strathmore’s eyebrows climbed. Her daughter, her Elsa was to meet the fine and noble Hawthornes!
“I’m so terrified. I have to talk to Mother. Only she can help me. But she can be so infuriating!”

“She’ll help. I know she will. Despite all her endeavors, she does love you. And she wants you to be happy.”
“Sometimes...I don’t know how much I believe that.”

Perhaps it was delusion or perhaps she was hearing her daughter clearer than ever. She would help. But she was going to wait for Elsa to come to her. Until then, she’d still hold out hope on Mr. Abernathy. Just because she could.