Attending such events as these was, more often than not, is a blade double - edged. No one could make a thing mandatory of him unless they were a man of rank more upstanding than his own, but sometimes it is his own restlessness from being too long on land that prompts him to take on mantle borrowed from father and make an appearance at gatherings as luxurious as these. He’d see himself more at home in a pub playing cards with those others of his class would turn their nose up at, yes, but here he finds himself regardless.
Inside of mouth is made redder and sweet with constant flow of wine, pacing himself not a thought fancied for long ( or at all. ) It’s fair exchange, he thinks, for humoring those who approach and ( re- ) introduce themselves, wishing to engage him with a little fishing. They cast their lines, amount and quality of bait wildly varying, then wait and see if he’ll bite. Jude is accustomed to this and only gives them enough to leave the topic be; to make them go home wondering.
Having his name in everyone’s mouth is something he’s learned to accept. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know it would be this way soon as he began refusing to see another woman ‘chosen’ for him — when he left family manor with parting gift hocked at mother’s feet in defiance. “ Excuse me, “ he minds his manners, tone however curt, before withdrawing from a gaggle of high - standing married women he let himself mindlessly be sucked into the affairs of. He’s got an eye out for a servant, but is not above showing himself to the kitchens and topping himself off ( something else for there to be talk of. ) Before he can pursue his quest there’s a hand on his arm, and glancing down to see a marriage band beset with blue diamonds that makes his stomach flop.
“ Julian! “ Marjorie says just a tad too loud, all teeth with her smile. Jude’s heart takes a dive into his stomach, desiring death before the woman can do anything to mortify him. It’s quite the talent of hers, really. Her husband, Gerald… where was he? Jude tries to be subtle with way head tilts from side to side, looking for his father’s long - time friend to come and recollect his wife. “ Julian. “ She repeats herself with tone all the more saccharine, warning him that she won’t go ignored. Can’t go ignored, what with the pressure she’s applying behind her grip. Cobalt meets with sepia, Jude’s eyes narrowing ( silently wishing the Outsider to come and spirit him away to the Void. Anything, really, to escape this woman’s clutches. )
“ Come with me. I want to introduce you to someone. “ Hand falls away but she ushers him after her, frequently looking back to ensure that he doesn’t make a break for it. His only reprieve is a servant come by with a tray loaded with champagne chutes. He doesn’t hesitate to replace his emptied glass with one full and take a second into his other hand; he’s got a feeling he’s going to need all the help he can get, a feeling reinforced when Marjorie next speaks. “ I swore I saw her go this way… Ah, I think I spot her! You know Cromwell’s daughter, don’t you? Lea? “ No, he doesn’t bother to reply. He doesn’t know her but by name despite their families fraternizing from with the same social circle, but it looks they’re about to be forcefully introduced to one another. Wonderful.
She heard her family’s name, somewhere among the rolling turmoil of chatter, and her ears strained to catch another fragment. Her name she heard invoked, and turned her head, pearl droplets twitching from her earlobes. Lady Queshire, she recognized the woman, weaving her way through the slowly shifting mass of people. The man beside her, she did not recognize. Long lashes closed over her eyes once in a slow blink. There was a softness to his features, a softness evaporated in every other young man by the time they were one and twenty. It was not a particularly youthful softness, more of a feminine softness, and Lea thought, privately, that it looked rather becoming.
Ah yes, Lady Queshire had stopped her, earlier, and asked her if she would care to meet a young male relative of hers. Lea had agreed, as was polite, not expecting much of an acquaintanceship — he could always be unrecognized after the night was over without any sin on her part, should he prove more of a scandal than she needed — but nonetheless, it was polite. Ah, and she had nearly forgotten that Lady Queshire had gone to find him, in her rambling thoughts.
She lingered, swiveled her body to match the turn of her head, and smiled. “Lady Queshire,” she greeted, curving her lips into a demure smile. Her gaze flickered to the young man again, a quick glance and no more (as was polite). Only when Lady Queshire began to speak again and begin the introduction did she turn her gaze fully to him.
“It is a pleasure, Lord Meinhardt,” she said at last, her polite smile spread over her face again. Empty, polite words, read out in a script given false, if convincing emotion. His name she had heard, of defiance and irresponsibility, in words far less kind. “How are you enjoying the party?”
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