A Servant of Duty, Chapter 6
Jul. 1st, 2008 01:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupSix:
Hyde Park, Anton muses whilst steering his favorite black along the paths, is the most outlandish waste of time perpetuated by society. To maintain any level of respect amongst your peers, you must dance attendance upon the maddening crowds that flock to gossip like ants to a picnic. He hates the lack of precision in the metaphor, but he does what he can with the tools available to him. How else is he to describe men with not a whit more sense than their boot buckles and women whose sole goal in life is to discuss the miseries of others?
Yet, here he is, a 'chance' encounter with Emilyanne being the prime goal for the evening. Their peers would frown upon his monopolization of her time without a formal declaration of his intentions, no matter what was agreed upon in the country. It simply was not done. In order to please the world at large, they'd agreed to play their respective roles. Having been raised in the same circles meant avoiding the long road of introductions. Of that, Anton was imminently grateful.
But instead of having her to himself the way he truly wanted, he would have to follow society's strict rules. He could barely stomach the thought of balls at Almack's, the insistence on outdated rules of propriety. His lip curls in disgust, and a passing lady huffs her indignation at the slight. He cringes and sets his face to a suitable combination of boredom, interest and superiority so as to keep himself from the ire of the rest of the ton.
He passes by several acquaintances before he runs into David Doyle. He breathes a sigh of relief and dismounts, striding over and shaking David's hand heartily.
"Hallo, Berrisford! Good to see you, old man." David seems genuinely glad to see him, and Anton smiles openly for the first time since arriving at the evening ride.
"Good to see you as well, Doyle. It’s deuced convenient to find you here.” He makes inquiring remarks regarding the horse David is riding, gathering some information about buying good horseflesh. He tries to be subtle, but he keeps finding his gaze drawn away, even as he asks and answers questions.
“She’ll be here momentarily, old man.” Anton startles and looks guiltily at David, smiling a little at the chuckle that comes from his companion. “My sister isn’t known for meeting any schedule but her own. At least,” he adds sheepishly, “not when it comes to anything so trivial as arriving anything less than fashionably late.”
“Now, David, that’s not true.” She’s a vision in blue and white, a long feather curled around and bouncing at her shoulder from her jaunty little cap. Anton has to stop himself from reaching for her, stop himself from drawing her alongside and both coveting and shielding her. She nods a greeting to them both, coming almost within touching distance.
“What, then, is the truth, poppet?” David asks slyly.
“Arriving fashionably late is far from trivial. One must always arrive when one’s appearance is to be most sensationalized, but the least scandalized.” David nods along with his sister gravely, mock serious and sure to have heard this conversation a thousand times. Anton himself can remember it at least a dozen times in recent memory.
“Faith, poppet, how can a man argue with that?”
She turns to look at Anton, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “My lord, it’s good to see you again. If I had known the caliber of company you had to keep, I would have arrived sooner. I fear for your health with only David to speak to.”
He cuts a smirk at David before disembarking. “Miss Doyle, I wonder if you would accompany me on a walk. I would much prefer your company, if you could be so kind?” His voice lilts at the end, inviting without being forceful. He knows well that this relationship is to fragile to waste on forcing each other to stay in company.
Emilyanne dismounts easily, handing her reins to a groom that Anton had paid little attention to behind her. “That would be lovely, thank you. Do excuse us, brother,” she says as she takes Anton’s arm. She pauses and tosses a saucy smile over her shoulder. “That is, if you will allow me to accompany him.”
David snorts inelegantly, patting the neck of his horse with one gloved hand. “God’s blood, girl. As if you would listen to my decision on the matter.”
They walk away slowly, relaxed in this open atmosphere. Anton knows Emilyanne worries about the preconception their peers have of them. They weren’t precisely the closest of friends, not by a long shot, although they were and remain neighbors. It would be less shocking to see her walking arm in arm with his brother, or to see Anton himself striding alongside any of her brothers in deep conversation about some topic or another. Less shocking, perhaps, but even the two of them walking together is less than news to the gossip circuit.
They renew old acquaintances with smiles and polite questions into the happenings of the last year. Emilyanne sees several girls with whom she exchanged correspondence over the course of the year, and she hugs them giddily. Anton is content to hang back just at the outside of the group, letting her draw him in here and there when she wishes to. They never move far from each other’s arm, though, finding each other within minutes if one or the other has strayed to a different cluster of friends. He doesn’t know quite what to do with himself, with his arms, when he’s apart from her. With her at his side, she fits to him like a hand in a glove. He can feel the soft press of her, the tight strength in her arm that stays concealed in the frippery of the gowns she wears, the warmth of her melting into his shape, fitting the two of them together until there’s nothing else.
Anton wants to take her to meet his grandmother, who he knows will be in her carriage, presiding over any number of suitors, despite her age. But dusk is falling faster than he would like, and he knows that he needs to let Emilyanne get home before it gets any later. They make a circuitous route back to where her groom is waiting impatiently. He nearly laughs when he sees the man glaring at him, but he can’t help but be upset to hand her up onto her horse. His hands linger at her waist a moment longer than necessary, the heat of her seeping even through his gloves. She smiles, fleeting and brilliant, before she slides a slightly blanker facial mask into place.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, my lord.”
“Anton, please.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it but she’s really known him long enough to make this formality redundant. “Do we really need to stay so distant?”
“I couldn’t presume,” she says softly, shaking her head. She seems afraid, but relents a bit to his request. “Mr. Crosarme, I bid you good evening.”
He sighs, knowing that concession must have cost her. “Will I see you at Vauxhall? I hear the entertainment there will be far surpassing anything they’ve shown yet.”
A mischievous twinkle appears in her eye. “But, my dear Mr. Crosarme. Surely you don’t suggest a woman of my impeachable reputation would be in such a dreadful place! I hear a mother could lose herself looking for her daughter in such a place,” she whispers conspiratorially.
He finds himself snorting not much unlike David before they parted ways earlier in the evening. “Miss Doyle, I wouldn’t dream of allowing you into such a place. I was merely suggesting that, should you decide to go, I will make it my aim to see that you don’t fall prey to the whims of any wolves that seek out women of good repute to…” he lowers his voice, as though he’s afraid to mention what may happen in the dark walks of the garden, “sully.”
Emilyanne lets out a hearty laugh. “I’m sure that with you as a champion, there could be nothing of that sort happening. Especially if I were to attend a concert in the Gardens tomorrow evening,” she adds nonchalantly, as though the information doesn’t mean this or that to him.
He sketches a bow and smiles. “Good evening, Miss Doyle.”
“Good evening, Mr. Crosarme.” He tells himself that the light chuckle in her voice means that she’s coming to like him more, to give this courtship a chance. He tells himself this and hopes that it keeps him sated until he sees her again.
A concert in Vauxhall Gardens. He smiles and makes it his goal to ask Wills to clear the coming evening for a little entertainment along barely lit walks and a gothic orchestra. It sounds like just the thing.
Hyde Park, Anton muses whilst steering his favorite black along the paths, is the most outlandish waste of time perpetuated by society. To maintain any level of respect amongst your peers, you must dance attendance upon the maddening crowds that flock to gossip like ants to a picnic. He hates the lack of precision in the metaphor, but he does what he can with the tools available to him. How else is he to describe men with not a whit more sense than their boot buckles and women whose sole goal in life is to discuss the miseries of others?
Yet, here he is, a 'chance' encounter with Emilyanne being the prime goal for the evening. Their peers would frown upon his monopolization of her time without a formal declaration of his intentions, no matter what was agreed upon in the country. It simply was not done. In order to please the world at large, they'd agreed to play their respective roles. Having been raised in the same circles meant avoiding the long road of introductions. Of that, Anton was imminently grateful.
But instead of having her to himself the way he truly wanted, he would have to follow society's strict rules. He could barely stomach the thought of balls at Almack's, the insistence on outdated rules of propriety. His lip curls in disgust, and a passing lady huffs her indignation at the slight. He cringes and sets his face to a suitable combination of boredom, interest and superiority so as to keep himself from the ire of the rest of the ton.
He passes by several acquaintances before he runs into David Doyle. He breathes a sigh of relief and dismounts, striding over and shaking David's hand heartily.
"Hallo, Berrisford! Good to see you, old man." David seems genuinely glad to see him, and Anton smiles openly for the first time since arriving at the evening ride.
"Good to see you as well, Doyle. It’s deuced convenient to find you here.” He makes inquiring remarks regarding the horse David is riding, gathering some information about buying good horseflesh. He tries to be subtle, but he keeps finding his gaze drawn away, even as he asks and answers questions.
“She’ll be here momentarily, old man.” Anton startles and looks guiltily at David, smiling a little at the chuckle that comes from his companion. “My sister isn’t known for meeting any schedule but her own. At least,” he adds sheepishly, “not when it comes to anything so trivial as arriving anything less than fashionably late.”
“Now, David, that’s not true.” She’s a vision in blue and white, a long feather curled around and bouncing at her shoulder from her jaunty little cap. Anton has to stop himself from reaching for her, stop himself from drawing her alongside and both coveting and shielding her. She nods a greeting to them both, coming almost within touching distance.
“What, then, is the truth, poppet?” David asks slyly.
“Arriving fashionably late is far from trivial. One must always arrive when one’s appearance is to be most sensationalized, but the least scandalized.” David nods along with his sister gravely, mock serious and sure to have heard this conversation a thousand times. Anton himself can remember it at least a dozen times in recent memory.
“Faith, poppet, how can a man argue with that?”
She turns to look at Anton, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “My lord, it’s good to see you again. If I had known the caliber of company you had to keep, I would have arrived sooner. I fear for your health with only David to speak to.”
He cuts a smirk at David before disembarking. “Miss Doyle, I wonder if you would accompany me on a walk. I would much prefer your company, if you could be so kind?” His voice lilts at the end, inviting without being forceful. He knows well that this relationship is to fragile to waste on forcing each other to stay in company.
Emilyanne dismounts easily, handing her reins to a groom that Anton had paid little attention to behind her. “That would be lovely, thank you. Do excuse us, brother,” she says as she takes Anton’s arm. She pauses and tosses a saucy smile over her shoulder. “That is, if you will allow me to accompany him.”
David snorts inelegantly, patting the neck of his horse with one gloved hand. “God’s blood, girl. As if you would listen to my decision on the matter.”
They walk away slowly, relaxed in this open atmosphere. Anton knows Emilyanne worries about the preconception their peers have of them. They weren’t precisely the closest of friends, not by a long shot, although they were and remain neighbors. It would be less shocking to see her walking arm in arm with his brother, or to see Anton himself striding alongside any of her brothers in deep conversation about some topic or another. Less shocking, perhaps, but even the two of them walking together is less than news to the gossip circuit.
They renew old acquaintances with smiles and polite questions into the happenings of the last year. Emilyanne sees several girls with whom she exchanged correspondence over the course of the year, and she hugs them giddily. Anton is content to hang back just at the outside of the group, letting her draw him in here and there when she wishes to. They never move far from each other’s arm, though, finding each other within minutes if one or the other has strayed to a different cluster of friends. He doesn’t know quite what to do with himself, with his arms, when he’s apart from her. With her at his side, she fits to him like a hand in a glove. He can feel the soft press of her, the tight strength in her arm that stays concealed in the frippery of the gowns she wears, the warmth of her melting into his shape, fitting the two of them together until there’s nothing else.
Anton wants to take her to meet his grandmother, who he knows will be in her carriage, presiding over any number of suitors, despite her age. But dusk is falling faster than he would like, and he knows that he needs to let Emilyanne get home before it gets any later. They make a circuitous route back to where her groom is waiting impatiently. He nearly laughs when he sees the man glaring at him, but he can’t help but be upset to hand her up onto her horse. His hands linger at her waist a moment longer than necessary, the heat of her seeping even through his gloves. She smiles, fleeting and brilliant, before she slides a slightly blanker facial mask into place.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, my lord.”
“Anton, please.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it but she’s really known him long enough to make this formality redundant. “Do we really need to stay so distant?”
“I couldn’t presume,” she says softly, shaking her head. She seems afraid, but relents a bit to his request. “Mr. Crosarme, I bid you good evening.”
He sighs, knowing that concession must have cost her. “Will I see you at Vauxhall? I hear the entertainment there will be far surpassing anything they’ve shown yet.”
A mischievous twinkle appears in her eye. “But, my dear Mr. Crosarme. Surely you don’t suggest a woman of my impeachable reputation would be in such a dreadful place! I hear a mother could lose herself looking for her daughter in such a place,” she whispers conspiratorially.
He finds himself snorting not much unlike David before they parted ways earlier in the evening. “Miss Doyle, I wouldn’t dream of allowing you into such a place. I was merely suggesting that, should you decide to go, I will make it my aim to see that you don’t fall prey to the whims of any wolves that seek out women of good repute to…” he lowers his voice, as though he’s afraid to mention what may happen in the dark walks of the garden, “sully.”
Emilyanne lets out a hearty laugh. “I’m sure that with you as a champion, there could be nothing of that sort happening. Especially if I were to attend a concert in the Gardens tomorrow evening,” she adds nonchalantly, as though the information doesn’t mean this or that to him.
He sketches a bow and smiles. “Good evening, Miss Doyle.”
“Good evening, Mr. Crosarme.” He tells himself that the light chuckle in her voice means that she’s coming to like him more, to give this courtship a chance. He tells himself this and hopes that it keeps him sated until he sees her again.
A concert in Vauxhall Gardens. He smiles and makes it his goal to ask Wills to clear the coming evening for a little entertainment along barely lit walks and a gothic orchestra. It sounds like just the thing.
