Realistic or Modern ❀ To Be Fond of Dancing ❀ [Bridgerton-Inspired RP] [Pepsionne x Elspeth]

[elspeth]

Dearest Gentle Reader...

You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall, but be forewarned dear reader, I certainly know you. It has reached my humbly attuned ears that I was quite missed this season while all the members of our esteemed ton lazily sojourned in their rustic retreats. After all, my absence left no one to report on the various shames, smears, and scandals that haunt the good gentlemen and lovely ladies of our genteel society. Without this author, how else would a certain Lord Blackmore's indiscretions with his wife's maid, who has since been dismissed from the Blackmore country estate, have come to light? Or news of the hasty engagement and subsequent marriage between Mr. Edward Leeson and Miss Juliet St. George, which has resulted in the birth of a happily healthy baby girl (despite her purportedly dangerous early arrival)? Such stories are essential fodder for the idle high-class mind, and surely would have provided a welcome distraction from the eventual and inevitable tension that erupts when families find themselves trapped in their country estate day after day in the bitter depts of winter. Well, dearest reader, I am certainly just as delighted as you are that the start of a new season dawns before us. Such happy new beginnings are eagerly marked by Lady Tremblay's annual soirée, set to take place tonight. Have no fear - this author shall certainly be in attendance, but first, she must heed a warning to our newly debuted and unwed young ladies: take care to not fall victim to the sweet whispers, wayward touches, or, heaven forbid, kisses, of the Ton's rakes. Such stains can never be washed away from even the most inconspicuous of cloth, nor can they be hidden, particularly when the most perceptive of eyes (my own two included) are quick to spot any sign of a tragically and deliciously sordid faux-pas.

Until next time,

Lady Whistledown​

The air in the ballroom was hot, the heady scent of the fresh lilacs that dripped from every arch and beam enveloping the partygoers not unlike a secure, if not suffocating, embrace. Madeline could feel minuscule pearls of perspiration forming along her hairline, and she attempted to discreetly brush them away with the back of a gloved hand without endangering the delicate blonde tendrils that framed her face. She could tolerate the heat; her childhood in India had left her no other choice. It had been a matter of languishing on the sitting room settee with her mother for afternoons on end, or growing accustomed to the country’s long, dry, and sun-drenched days in order to run about outside with the other children in the house, and Madeline had quickly learned that the latter was certainly the more preferable choice.

Of course, the warmth of Lady Tremblay’s ballroom was not the only reason why her skin had begun to take on an invisible and uncomfortable itch. Lord Morton had not looked at her once since his arrival at the soirée, and Madeline was growing anxious, although she did not necessarily care to admit it, even to herself. The young baron had appeared interested in her earlier this morning at the presentations. He had offered her a smile - a true smile, not the sly, cunning, arrogant smiles bachelors often directed towards innocent, blushing debutantes such as herself, young girls who had never even been within fives paces of a man who was not a male relative - as she had risen from her curtsy and taken her leave from her place before the queen.

According to the gossip columns, the young Lord Morton would make an adequate husband - although only an interlude of serious and considerate courtship could tell, of course. She could not allow herself to fall victim to the opinions of others rather than her own in her search for a spouse, a spouse that she and she alone would have to live in companionship with for eternity. He was of a middling stature, but possessed a fairly athletic physique that indicated he could ride, which assured Madeline that his physical health was not in question. He had good teeth, surely, strong and healthy-looking; she had noted as such when he had smiled at her. Perhaps his smile itself was a touch crooked, yes, but his lopsided grin was merely a superficial flaw. Most importantly, his eyes, a delightfully charming blue, had been kind, kinder than those of many of his fellow bachelors. Kind eyes could surely promise a gentle and obliging disposition, a quality that would be most appropriate in a good husband, no? Madeline certainly thought so. Of course, she could not test her hypothesis so long as Lord Morton kept ignoring her subtle glances. She bit the corner of her bottom lip (a terrible habit that Abigail, her maid, had urged her to quit) in frustration as her target signed his name on Caroline Crawley’s dance card. The latter’s giggling as Lord Morton flashed her a smile - genuine! - was high and loud enough that even Madeline could hear it over the music of the band.

“Poor Lord Morton. His toes will certainly be wishing he had never asked Caroline for a dance.” A playful voice brought Madeline out of her reverie, and she turned to face its owner, a tall, willowy brunette girl with a thin but pretty oval face and twinkling dark eyes that moved from Lord Morton to meet Madeline’s own gaze. Rachel Baxter was the third and final daughter of a wealthy second son, and although she held no title, every feature, every look, every action oozed pride and confidence.

Madeline drew a hand up to her lips to hide her smile. “You know as well as I do that Caroline simply cannot seem to manage her nerves when she dances.” Her gaze returned to the dance floor, where Caroline and Lord Morton had settled. The music began to swell once more, indicating a new dance. “It is unfair of us to tease her for something over which she has no control,” she pondered kindly.

Rachel eyed the couple, her thin lips twisted in a grimace. “Yes, all that she can manage is trodding over and over again over her partner’s toes.”

Her words were timely perfectly with an unfortunate (and decidedly painful) stomp on Miss Crawley’s part on her partner’s toes. To his credit, the ever-gentlemanlike Lord Morton only paled slightly, and he smiled encouragingly at the starry-eyed (albeit now tomato-faced) debutante in his arms. Madeline could not control the distinctly unladylike snort that slipped out from her pink lips, and she raised a fist once again to her mouth in order to cover her rude slip, although Rachel’s shaking shoulders made it hard for her to maintain her own sense of decorum. A wave of relief washed over her, and Madeline was thankful for Rachel’s presence beside her. How silly she was, to fret so decidedly over nothing but a smile from a gentleman she hardly knew. In her pursuit of a husband, she could not allow herself to lose her levelheadedness. Such would be a waste, and would surely do her no favours in her hunt. As unromantic as it was, a ‘hunt’ was what the season was: ambitious mamas and young ladies in search of wealthy, eligible gentlemen in want of a wife, and handsome, powerful bachelors on the prowl for young and pretty prey. Her uncle had warned her last summer, the year of her initial debut into society, to never allow herself to be charmed by such predators; should she allow one to separate her from the safety of the heard, or the populated sidelines of the ball, she would surely find herself in a compromising position - if not worse.

Of course, Uncle Samuel could certainly be overprotective, a truth that his niece was all too familiar with after finding herself in his dedicated care for nearly ten years. While he had approved of her debut, he had nevertheless maintained his own reservations about the idea of his beloved Madeline being put up on the marriage mart, so much so that she was convinced he had intimated some of her suitors. In fact, few had returned after their second or third call to Sinclair House, and those who did would twitch nervously as they spoke, and despite Madeline’s best efforts to make them feel comfortable and to be charming and bright, their eyes would inevitably and constantly move to the domineering presence behind her, Lord Sinclair, whose log-like crossed arms, broad shoulders, and unblinking, calculating glare over the Sunday newspaper could send chills down even the most confident of suitors’ spines.

She could feel his ever-watchful eye on her even now, and she found his icy blue eyes in the across the room, her features widening into a reassuring, confident grin. Lord Sinclair’s ruggedly handsome and lined face was stern, even severe, despite the levity that surrounded him, but something in his gaze softened as his eyes met his niece’s.

On her other side, Georgiana Gillingham nudged her, the redhead inclining her chin in the opposite direction. “It appears Mr. Gideon is quite taken by you,” she whispered, and Madeline followed her friend’s line of sight to a man no older than thirty-and-five with black hair and green eyes. Their eyes met and he smiled as he took a sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving hers, as though he was assessing her. She smiled back politely, charmingly, and his right check dimpled in response, a clear sign of approval. A surge of self-assurance flowed through her, but no spark ignited itself in her chest.

“I suppose we shall see,” she replied coyly, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “But before we do, I am quite parched - let us go in search of some refreshment.” With a swish of sage green skirts, she beckoned Rachel and Georgiana to follow her, and the two obeyed.

miss howard

madeline.

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[Pepsionne]

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the honorable lyly

felix

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Fox?” Oswald huffed through a teasing smirk. His eyes crinkled in delight towards the waitress that refilled his glass with a deep amber liquid.

Felix exhaled, smoke curling from his nostrils in the process. The lit cigarette hung limply from his grip, lounging position in no hurry to move along. “Sure I do. It’s the start of the season you know,” He replied, taking another drag. His dark eyes narrowed at his friend. The burning end of the cigarette intensified its glow.

“No--I surely do not know,” His friend responded, eyes following the trail of the waitress as she served other tables. He smirked wolfishly towards Felix. “Blessings of the second son, my dear friend.” Oswald winked, his hazel eyes glimmering with mischief as he nodded in the direction of his focus.

Felix said nothing. He leaned forward and snuffed out the end of his cigarette. The space once occupied by his drinking partner was now empty, girlish giggles sounding from the direction he had departed for. Felix began straightening up his attire.

God, the start of the season was such a drag. Throwing on a charming smile, pretending to be interested in the fawning, naïve girls who’ve done nothing but stuff their heads with nonsensical ideas of romance. As if you could find true love on the marriage market--all shiny masks hiding the ugly nature of humanity underneath. No wonder that gossip columnist had so much to talk about. Only once married and without escape did the masks come off.

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement to the gentleman’s departure. Felix had debated skipping the first ball altogether, but with the pressure from his father to make a match this season nipping at his heels, he knew he’d get an earful if word got back that the oh so eligible son of Earl Lyly had made himself scarce.

Felix watched the thinning crowd still mingling out in the London streets, eager to make their social calls and dinner parties for the night. His carriage rocked steadily through the streets, inching him closer to a dreaded doom. There was an excitement in the air that even he wasn’t immune to noticing, however. A new season meant new beginnings. Fresh encounters and endless possibilities. If only he had the heart to believe in such a thing.

No--what Felix believed in was the rush that came with pulling off a successful scandal. The wide doe eyes of a girl misled, her idealized image of Felix shattering in real time once she’d realized what he’d done. The short breaths and trembling fingertips. The thought made him crack a smile. Next year they’d come back stronger, more practical--the lunacy of a love match cleared from their minds by his hand.

It had been several years since he’d managed such a feat. The heat of his scandals had grown to a point that garnered his father’s attention, and the young man was barred from entering the social season to focus on what was to be his inherited duties. Not like he minded, any time away from batting lashes and feathery fans was time well spent in his eyes. Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the rush.

Felix nodded to his carriage driver as he exited the expensive cabin. He sighed, straightening the lapels of his jacket. “Wish me luck, Phillip. I’ll surely need it tonight.”

His carriage driver smirked, eyes devious as he responded. “Aye, and you’re going to need it Lord Lyly. I hear your father has been making quite the effort to announce your re-entrance into the marriage market.”

The young lord groaned openly. “You’re killing me Phillip. Really? Right as I’m about to walk in?”

He turned towards the line of lit torches lighting the way to the entrance of the ball, the urge to flee beginning to grow in the balls of his feet.

Phillip shrugged. “Thought it best to warn you.”

Felix declined to respond. He stalked forward with a grumbled curse under his breath. What hit him first upon entering the grand estate--was the smell of lilac. He choked back a cough at the scent, forcing a smile upon his face to those still lingering in the entryway.

The young lord quickly pushed through to a less crowded hallway leading to the main hall that housed the ball. He cleared his throat, swallowing down the choking cough that squeezed his windpipes. Gods--he forgot how brutal the florals could be during the social season.

“Fox!” Edward greeted, freckled face lighting up at Felix’s arrival within the main hall.

“Eddie, how are you?” He allowed a genuine smile to break out upon his face. There were some perks to the social season, despite his groveling. Among them being the excuse to drink and jabber with his friends.

Edward was a man of average stature, friendly features and amiable nature making him a lively addition to any social event. He was the chattier of the two, carrying conversations for Felix when the young lord had long since checked out for the night. Eldest son of Viscount Stanton, he and Felix made quite the attractive pair for eager mamas of the ton, hoping to score a step up on the social ladder.

“Word is among the ton that the infamous ‘Fox of the season’ has committed to a more genuine interest in matchmaking this year.” Edward teased, his blue eyes alight with amusement.

Felix took a large swallow of his drink in response.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when such an apex creature would be brought down to his knees by the force of love.”

“And you will continue living without it,” Felix retorted, “I may be forced to make a match this season, but trust me my dear friend, love will have no part of it.”

“Tell that to Lady Baker and her daughter,” Edward smiled, nodding subtly in the direction of the mother and daughter. The woman was fussing frantically with her daughter’s hair and dress while the young woman fidgeted nervously.

Felix finished the last of his drink in one large gulp. “Come, quick before they get the nerve to approach. I’m in need of a refill.”

Before they could move, a small grouping of women breezed past them. Felix’s eyes bounced between the three of them, gaze lingering on the blonde leading the way. A rosy hue flushed across the fullness of her cheeks, golden strands framing her features in what he could only assume was a painstakingly calculated way.

“Madeline Howard,” Edward nudged Felix’s arms. “Catch your eye, huh? It’s her first season out.”

Felix scoffed. “She reeks of foolish love and maidenly swooning.” His eyes slid to Edward, and a devilish glint refracted in the depths of them. “Who knows, maybe I’ll have time for one last scandal before I settle down. Who doesn’t like a challenge?”

Edward grinned widely. “There’s the fox I know.” He clapped the taller man on the shoulder before saying, “Now come on, let’s get that refill before we start getting hunted down by vicious mamas.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[elspeth]

Madeline, Rachel, and Georgiana made their way across the ballroom to a table draped in white silk tablecloth, picturesquely positioned next to tall, wide windows that overlooked Lady Tremblay’s vast gardens, whose winding paths and towering hedges were now cloaked in darkness. The refreshments table proved to be a busy spot; other young debutantes milled about, along with their gossiping mamas and the occasional forgotten wallflower spinster or two, women cursed with perpetually blank dance cards. Some groups of men came and went, smiling and flirting with the young ladies with whom their paths crossed.

Madeline watched as a pair of presumably single men approached the table, simultaneously approaching a set of what could only have been identical twin sisters given their distinctly similar features and movements. She could not help but liken the bachelors to two young lions on the prowl, their movements casual and effortless, yet calculated all the same. Deliberately averted eyes aimed to conceal their intentions from potentially flighty prey, but the long, powerful strides of the men’s legs and their impossibly straight backs lent the gentlemen an air of confidence, the perfect image of an animal on the hunt, nature in its prime.

To their credit, the sisters were not quite the unsuspecting catch most men assumed young ladies to be. They giggled and chattered quietly, appearing to be completely absorbed in their own conversation, but their mutual gaze flitted quick as a hummingbird’s wings to their male counterparts - the trained female eye could tell that the girls clearly anticipated their approach. A (surely feigned) drop of a fan gave the alert predators their opportunity to move in on their feminine targets, with one of the gentlemen kneeling down to pick up the lost item, a gesture that earned him a practiced curtsy and smile from the lovely object of his attentions. It was a careful dance, surviving (and succeeding) on the marriage market; it was a game that one had to play, but there were valuable prizes for he or she who found themselves in the possession of a winning hand.

“Madeline?” Her friend’s voice snapped Madeline out of her reverie, and she whipped her head around to face an expectant Georgiana. “What do you think?”

In response, Madeline gazed somewhat blankly at her friend, who let out an exasperated sigh. Rachel only chuckled, a dry, raspy laugh that bubbled up from the back of her throat.

“What do you make of Lady Whistledown’s piece on Hester Fitzroy?” Georgiana repeated, her tone impatient, though not malicious. She lowered her voice again, her thin, reddish brows furrowing and the pace of her already lightning-quick speech accelerating. “That she did not return to London this season because her father has banished her to Wales after an…” her eyes scanned the immediate area surrounding the trio, “unchaperoned dalliance with a suitor.” Her voice jumped into a higher pitch on the word ‘unchaperoned,’ as though she could not imagine such a thing. Madeline was certain she couldn’t; Georgiana was the youngest of four sisters, meaning that she had not only been coddled and mothered her entire life, but that her father was also quite the protective type. He had always regarded Georgiana as the baby of his brood of girls, and her round face, plump figure, and doe-like eyes certainly did not help to convince Mr. Gillingham that his beloved infant daughter was, in fact, twenty-and-two years old.

“Georgiana, you put far too much stock into what that woman writes,” Rachel advised matter-of-factly.

“How can you say that when she knows so much about everyone?” Georgiana's nostrils flared delicately. “And when it is nearly always true.”

“A clock that stands still is nevertheless certain of being right twice in the four and twenty hours,” Madeline replied noncommittally, nodding her head slightly in Rachel’s direction to indicate her agreement. “Although it is admittedly eerie how frequently her superstitions prove to be correct,” she conceded with a smile, earning an airy, arch sigh from Rachel, but an eager nod of satisfaction from Georgiana, “but there are many possible explanations for Hester’s absence thus far in the season, many of which are far less scandalous and equally more likely than Whistledown’s claim.”

Her assertion was confident, but even Madeline knew that there were very few reasons that might inspire a family to withdraw their eligible daughter from the marriage mart, and many did involve less than decorous circumstances, but Madeline refused to believe that the sweet, innocent, and shy Hester Fitzroy could have ever embroiled herself in such a scandal.

“Oh, Whistledown is positively correct in her deductions about Hester,” a breezy voice interjected, causing the trio to turn in the direction of the speaker. The voice’s owner was a tall blonde with pale skin and sharp blue eyes devoid of any warmth. Her cat-like smirk only highlighted her narrow, pointed features and high, elegant cheekbones. “Good evening, girls,” the newcomer drawled, her smile widening slightly.

“Grace,” Madeline greeted courteously, although with little enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Rachel’s spine straightened even taller and her dark eyes affixed on Grace with an exacting stare, whereas Georgiana seemed to shrink and retreat deep within her own skin, her excited, innocent eyes directed down towards where her skirts met the marble floor.

“I doubt we’ll ever see Hester on the dance floor again, poor thing,” Grace continued, her words dripping in exaggerated sympathy that made Madeline’s stomach twist. “Perhaps in a few years, but even so, who could ever forget what that horrible woman has written about her in that awful gossip column of hers?”

“Certainly not you,” Rachel muttered under her breath. Madeline’s gaze slid to her, a warning in her eyes: tread carefully. Grace Gammond, the eldest daughter of a prolific baron, had always brought trouble close behind her. Calculating and self-centred, sensible bachelors avoided her like the plague and most of the other young ladies of the ton did the same, afraid that should she become privy to their secrets, Grace would surely exploit them.

“Whistledown is concerned with swelling her coffers and nothing more - she does not care who she tears down in the process, nor about the falsities she peddles,” she asserted firmly, her tone diplomatic. “Hester is surely an unfortunate victim of her lies.”

“How sweet,” Grace’s laughter was condescendingly light. “But no, Whistledown is correct. Hester told me so herself.”

“She told you?” Rachel asked, suspicious disbelief colouring her words and her features. Grace nodded, clearly enjoying her newfound position of power.

“Before the ton dissolved last year,” the blonde said loftily, proud as a peacock. “I caught her in the hallway at Lady Mason’s soirée. She looked frightful, with her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild… and the buttons on her dress askew,” she lowered her voice, the subtext behind her final words clear. Despite her best efforts, a blush coloured Madeline’s cheeks, and Grace’s satisfied grin only widened, knowing that she had provoked a reaction amongst her audience. “She was coming in from the gardens, and I asked her what she had been doing out there. She confided in me that she was in love - that it was unlike any emotion she had ever felt before.”

“She could have simply left to take some air, alone,” Madeline countered, but she would be the first to point out that such an argument was but a weak one. Needless to say, no respectable young lady would ever truly dream of wandering beyond the safe confines of a well-lit party to explore the ominous, eerie, twisting pathways of a dark garden. Even the temptation of stepping onto a balcony or patio for a brief respite from the warmth of a room was one to which a young lady could, and should, never cede, no matter how seductive the promise of a cool gust of wind proved to be. "Even if she did have a suitor, she did not say he was with her in the gardens."

“Perhaps - but when the infamous ‘fox’ slinks out from the shadows all by his lonesome shortly after, his appearance surely incriminates any poor, flushed, love-struck debutante unfortunate enough to find herself in his immediate presence.”

A loaded, heavy silence descended upon the group. “Such rumours would put Whistledown’s writings to shame, Grace," Rachel finally replied after a moment, her voice steady. "Some might suggest that you refrain from infringing upon her claim to popularity, or she may set her pen upon you next.”

A beat passed between the two; Grace’s eyes narrowed, a cat sizing up a mouse, before her face broke into her characteristic smirk. “Hardly. I am simply sharing a cautionary tale. Enjoy the soirée, girls, and be careful.” Her tone did not hold any real concern. “Do not allow yourselves to be outfoxed.” With a smooth, fluid turn on her heel, she disappeared into the crowd, and the trio breathed a collective sigh of relief, despite the newfound heaviness that weighed on each of their hearts at the thought of Hester’s reputed fate and Grace’s ominous warning.

“What a wicked, bitter gossip-monger,” Rachel ground out, her features set in a grimace. For the first time in minutes, Georgiana was finally brave enough to lift her head, her shoulders relaxing now that the group was relatively alone, although her wide eyes darted about the room as though Grace would reappear suddenly, not unlike a disgruntled banished spirit.

“Do you think—?” Georgiana started, a slight tremble in her voice. Madeline rested a hand on her shoulder, offering a brief squeeze of reassurance.

“We ought to pay little heed to Grace Gammond and her stories,” she declared firmly, but not unkindly, her arm dropping back to her side. A flash of curiosity flickered behind her blue eyes. “But who is the ‘fox?’” Although it had been several years since she had arrived in England, there were certain histories and society legends that remained unfamiliar to her.

Rachel and Georgina exchanged glances, with the former leaning in slightly. “Mr. Felix Lyly,” Rachel murmured, subtly pointing her chin in the opposite direction, “son of Earl Lyly.” Madeline glanced over her shoulder, following Rachel’s gaze to a pair of gentlemen. One she recognized as Mr. Edward Stanton, son of the Viscount Stanton. The pair had never spoken, but she could place him in attendance at several dinner parties and events throughout recent years. The other, then, must have been the famous Mr. Lyly. He was tall and lithe, with swooping, chin-length dark hair that had been styled to give him an effortless, devil-may-care appearance. His dark eyes were (thankfully) pointed elsewhere, but their bottomless colour struck her nevertheless.

“He is one of the most prolific rakes in London, if not the country,” Rachel continued, her voice low but ultimately unimpressed. “Terrified mamas have taken to calling him ‘the fox,’ worried that he will prey on their innocent, unguarded daughters.”

“I do not recall seeing him last season,” Madeline commented questioningly, turning back to face her friend. So ‘the fox’ was a rake. He would not be the firs of his kind to grace the ton, she knew, and he would not be the last, but knowing that he (provided the rumours were true) was the one who had caused Hester Fitzroy’s name, amongst those of surely many other young ladies, to be tarnished with the blackened smear of scandal, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Of course he could prance about and enjoy the social season, she thought to herself as she watched him laugh with Mr. Stanton, while the young ladies he (albeit reputedly) teased and tempted were forced to live in isolation as punishment for their social crimes.

“Some claim that the earl has had enough of his behaviour and, as such, has been keeping him on quite the short leash. He is the eldest, after all - one gossip column believes that Mr. Lyly will declare his intentions this season, if only so that he may finally tame his ways before he succeeds the title.”

“They do say reformed rakes make the best husbands,” Georgina attempted generously. Rachel, ever the cynic, scoffed, opening her mouth to surely scold Georgiana, whereas Madeline could not help but giggle.

“I certainly have no interest in making a husband out of a notorious rake, not when there are better candidates to be considered. Let us focus on them, rather than foxes, or bears, or whichever other animals have been permitted a position they do not merit in society.” Her gaze returned to the dance floor, searching once again for that spark of connection that supposedly occurred when two fated eyes met.

miss howard

madeline.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

MOOD:

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the honorable lyly

felix

Felix sipped the fizzing golden liquid from the glass flute in his possession while his eyes roamed the social floor with a renewed vigor. He was on the hunt again, dark eyes like depthless black pools as they burned fire into the innocence of starry eyed socialites.

Edward droned on about some random topic Felix didn’t bother to listen to at full attention. He threw out several head nods and “Oh I see”s when prompted, but his true focus was on the blonde Edward had pointed out minutes earlier. It’d been awhile since he’d partaken in social events so it was possible he had missed her presence--but it went without saying that she intrigued him.

If this was to be his last season of scandals, he’d better make it a worthwhile one after all. He took another sip of champagne, eyes glued to her form across the sea of swaying bodies between them. Innocent looking enough, with painstaking detail laced into every aspect of her attire. How many days, he wondered, did she spend daydreaming about what she would wear at her first ball? She’d lock eyes with some dashing suitor across the room--he’d been absolutely captivated by her beauty, and time would slow for the both of them. Everyone else in the room would simply fade away, leaving the two of them in their romantic bliss.

He snorted, as if.

“Felix--bloody hell are you even listening to me?” Edward jabbed his elbow into the soft flesh of Felix’s side, the latter letting out a pained huff.

“Oh! Oh I see,” Edward laughed, having caught the object that had stolen his friend’s focus. “No--no way Felix. That is one young lady that I’m afraid not even you could scandalize.”

“What do you mean? Certainly I can, have you seen me? I’m the written definition of the handsome prince riding in on horseback to swoop the fainting maiden off her feet,” He retaliated. Felix held his arms out to gesture to his body, eyebrows raised at Edward mockingly.

“Yeah, maybe any other fainting maiden around here whose mother is actively trying to pawn her off to the first panting suitor. But not her. Not Madeline Howard,” Edward’s face remained stern. He scoffed. “I mean--have you ever heard of her Uncle? The man is like a kings guard. He rarely lets Madeline out of his sight, let alone let her out of sight with...” Edward trailed off. His gaze turned sheepish, suddenly rather fascinated with the bubbles that surfaced in his champagne.

“Go on,” Felix nudged him. “Finish what you were saying. Let alone let her out of sight with, who, Edward? With me? Felix Lyly, eldest son and heir to Earl Lyly’s estate? Am I mistaken or did we not just witness the drooling mamas together?”

Edward sighed. “He’s not going to let her out of sight with Felix Lyly the notorious rake and center of so many scandals.”

“Nonsense, I’ve been away for several social seasons at this point. I doubt the old man even remembers hearing wind of it.”

His friend simply shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ve heard nightmare stories of the scowls he’s thrown at some of the suitors who even dared look at her a second time. He’s tough, Felix. I don’t doubt your capability, but this--this is a different kind of challenge.”

Hard lines etched within Felix’s pinched brows. Eyes narrowed into defiance at his friend. “What better way to close out my career than with a challenge such as this, as you see it.”

Edward shrugged. “Fine--but it’s your funeral.” He took a sip of his champagne, gaze turning to the spinning couples on the dance floor before them.

“Or wedding,” Felix teased, wagging his eyebrows. Edward choked on the drink he had just swallowed, his breaths coming out in a ragged fight for air.

“Lady Egerton, Miss Egerton,” Felix greeted suddenly. His smile was wide, but there was a wickedness hidden under the surface of it at the state of his friend.

Edward was still coughing through a partially closed windpipe. His face had reddened a shade further at the arrival of the two women. “You must excuse my friend here,” Felix apologized. He placed a hand on Edward’s back with more force than was required. Another choke was elicited from the brunette. “He seems to be having a bit of a fit. My apologies for the inconvenience. We must speak again at the next gathering. Preferably one void of--refreshments.”

Edward glared at his friend, but allowed himself to be led away into the less crowded outdoor area. “I’ll get you back for this,” He wheezed, breath thin.

“Sure, though do not forget I’m the one who saved you from Miss Egerton tonight. I’m surprised you didn’t smell her coming from ten meters away. I swear her mom must bathe her in the most powerful perfume right before any social event. God--I think the scent is still lingering in my nasal passage.”

Edward threw Felix’s arm off of his shoulder once outside, eyes narrowed at his friend. “Oh come on Eddie, let me make it up to you!” He exclaimed. “A drink on me, at the club how about it?”

Edward walked several paces onto the well manicured lawn. His back was set rigid against the flickering backdrop of torches. A second later he turned back to Felix, the hint of a smile beginning to crack across his soft features. “They weren't lying. You really do know how to charm them, Fox. Alright, let’s get out of here.”

Felix smiled broadly. “After you my friend.”


----


The following day marked the opening of a new area of the gallery. Nestled so closely to the start of the season, it was a must attend event for those eager to make a match. Although hesitant to be thrown to the sharks so quickly after the ball the night prior, Felix didn’t put up much protest when his father ordered him to attend during breakfast. It was art, after all, how could he say no to that?

So two cups of coffee and buttered toast later, Felix found himself amid the crowded gathering at the gallery. He never preferred to go when so many socialites flocked to it during social season. Many of them wouldn’t be caught dead inside when it stopped being fashionable to do so.

Still, he plastered on a smile and avoided the mass of bodies clustered around the new section of the gallery. Instead, he traced his way towards one of his favorite paintings so opportunely nestled in a more quiet section of the building.

There, admiring a large painting in silence, was Madeline Howard. A devilish smirk parted his neutral expression. What an opportunity--looks like Edward would be eating his words soon enough.

Felix strolled across the gallery floor with a discrete stride. He observed the various paintings along the wall not unlike any normal gallery goer, eyes roaming in wide arcs across the bold splashes of brushstrokes and color.

He came to a halt a respectable distance from Madeline. “Interesting choice,” he commented. “The Swing. Jean-Honoré Fragonard. Do you know the story behind it?” Felix asked. He turned his attention towards Madeline now. His typically cold gaze was softened into something charming, soft--very narrowly brushing the fabric of seduction. This was the Fox at work.

coded by reveriee.