who: nicholas self para
where: divine masquerade of reflection
featuring/mentioning: @lovelyfxxl; @dasxnalan; @nexiliis
Nicholas had terrified a server. He had not meant to do it. Had simply been trying to call them over for a drink. It was his expression that was the problem, the stormy, intense stare which had not been meant for the poor soul trying to deliver him lemonade.
Nicholas watched them run off wracked with guilt. This was not him. He prided himself on being polite to everyone, on being able to smile through the worst situation and hold it all together. He believed in personal responsibility, controlling what was within your power, and attempting to be the most reliable person you could for the world you lived in. He was not one to sit and stew, to allow the actions of another person to send him into a spiral of self-doubt and self-hatred.
Yet here he was, watching Dovey dance with a man he now knew was the one who had been mentioned in Whistledown.
He wasn't sure what was worse, the knowledge this man, and the public reporting of his actions, had reduced Dovey to public tears, or the realisation that he and Dovey were on such bad terms that he had no ability to approach her and ask how his reappearance made her feel.
The realisation that, following his behaviour, Nicholas had as little right to Dovey's time and thoughts as Nalan did caused a previously unexplored pit in his stomach open into a chasm.
He hated Nalan, he decided in that moment, and likely hated himself a fair amount too.
If you had just accepted those damn earrings with a smile and a thank you, he scolded, you might be dancing with her right now. Perhaps they would have talked about Mr. Das's arrival in the Ton, speculated on his sudden appearance. Nicholas might have insulted his costume (even though - much as he hated to admit it - when he had first observed it, he had thought it one of the best of the night).
Or perhaps they wouldn't have mentioned him at all. They could have danced and flirted and pretended her ex-fiancé did not exist, because he would not matter. Instead, Nicholas was stuck on the sidelines, scaring the waiters, watching as others danced, and realising he had no one to blame for his current predicament but himself.
Perhaps a more casual observer would not have noticed the way Mr. Das removed his glove before taking Dovey's hand, but Nicholas certainly did. His vision seemed to tunnel, that bare hand filling his eyesight, despite taking place across the room. Drop it, he wanted to scream, please, drop his hand.
Nicholas wanted to see indifference as he looked over at the pair, Instead, he watched, heart in his throat, as Dovey pulled Nalan closer, moved with him with a familiarity which seemed to exude passion and anger wrapped in one.
Nick shot to his feet, nearly toppling into a second server as he did so (later he would consider if a letter of apology for the Lytton family and their staff may be required). "Nathanial," he nearly choked the name out, glancing around the room as if hoping his twin might simply appear because he needed him. His brother had already materialised once tonight, when he realised Nicholas had been hiding the truth of his valet's departure and had been too proud to ask for help creating this outfit. It did not seem unreasonable to assume that Nathanial would simply sense, even from across the room, that he was in distress.
The carbon copy of himself, dressed as a Roman rather than Greek messenger god, did not suddenly appear simply because Nicholas wanted him to. Unable to spare another glance at the dance floor Nicholas set off in search of his brother. He had, he realised, gone far too long holding in his fears. It was so unnatural for him, to have a thought or emotion he hadn't expressed to his brother, he felt almost guilty for the ones that were beginning to pile up, about both Dovey, and the family finances, and all of the tiny pieces which had gotten them into this mess in the first place.
where: the side of the road, on the way to kensington palace
Nicholas was already running late. Paperwork would be the death of him, when he stepped into the role of heir, he'd had no idea just how much paperwork there would be. The second he thought he was getting on top of it, another pile which needed attending to would appear.
He had told his family to go ahead without him. Assured them he'd only be a few minutes behind. Instead it was nearly two hours later and his carriage was only just getting on its way.
At least this time he had actually sourced a decent costume, now the tailors and modistes were taking his credit again he was rather proud of the creation he had pulled together. He was sitting awkwardly in his seat, attempting to adjust his boots, when the carriage suddenly lurched, sending him flying into the opposite bench.
"God damnit," he swore. It quickly became obvious the carriage was sat at an odd angle, and unlikely to move again.
Climbing out he discovered the issue, one of the wheels had fallen off, leaving the carriage awkwardly stuck on the side of the road. His groom had already come running, staring at the axel with despair.
"Not to worry man, we'd have missed most of the festivities anyway. Let's see if we can wave someone down and hitch a ride back to London!"
