Having just had probably the best day of her life Alice was slightly saddened by the prospect of returning home. "Home" was Lindeborough Castle these days. It's old halls did not seem quite as menacing as when she'd first arrived. As she ascended the front steps at a beaten down pace she felt herself slowly slipping back into her own self. Her sopping wet skirts were held up daintily with three fingers on each hand. Her head was tipped down as she slowly climbed up the steps to the front entrance. As she came in the front door she half expected for her aunt or uncle to come and yell at her for being imprudent or for gettind her dress soaking wet. But then she reminded herself that this was not home. No. At home her mother would've screamed at her for something less than this. She would've reached for the her smelling salts and gone into a fit while her father would give her a vague look of amusment.

Alice stood in the front hall for a moment. Shames had seen that she walked in the front door and then went to use the servants entrance. She looked down in her hand and realized that she was holding a single stem of lilac. Was this considered stealing? She instantly felt guilty even though she kept telling herself that it would barely have cost a thing. Looking down at the half crushed purple lilac in her hand Alice sighed. It was a nice memory to hold onto. It was almost as if the morning hadn't happened, that somehow she'd read a terribly fascinating book and that something so adventurous could never happen to her.

The quiet dripping of the water droplets on the floor was the only sound she could hear. Within moments maid was walking by her and upon seeing her appearance, called for three sheets and a blanket. Alice just stood, quietly shaking while the sheets were thrown around her.

"Oh my dear, let's pray that you 'aven't caught your death," said the maid as she fervently wrapped blankets around her.

Alice just kept running the morning through her head over and over again. Well, it most certainly had been the most crude, improper, reputation ruining, completely wonderful interaction she'd ever had and as she stood with the maid fussing over it occured to her that life might be quite nice if people acted more like that.

She was snapped back to reality when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She glanced up to see if it was her aunt, uncle or perhaps just another servant.

“Holy Mary… You look like someone tried to drown you.”

Rebecca held her up her skirts as she descended to the entrance hall. Shooing the maid aside, she surveyed the dismal sight of Alice’s attire with a disgruntled expression.
“I hope you are not counting on me to keep you with dresses of this caliber for you to treat as play-rags…” she remarked. “What in the world have you been doing?”

She was not really too interested in the answer to that question. Rebecca was more concerned with the little piece of information that Rupert had just presented her with. He had spoken with Lord Wothersham the previous afternoon, and the baron had said he intended to drop by for a visit the following day – which, of course, was today.

Rupert had once again amazed her with his poor abilities at interpretation. Had he not caught onto the fact that their niece had obviously caught the baron’s eye the other day? Was he daft, or was he just scandalously forgetful? She had no idea why he had not told her earlier – although it might have something to do with the fact that they had not met for dinner last night – but Alice’s appearance needed to be attended to right away.

“Find her something to wear at once,” she commanded to the maid – who rolled her eyes at Alice from behind Rebecca’s back, since this was of course exactly what her intention had been all along. “- And I mean something agreeable; something suitable for an audience with the baron Wothersham.”

She sent Alice a meaningful look. She expected the girl to have caught onto the fact that she was being courted – after all she was nowhere near as slow as Rupert – but if she hadn’t then Rebecca’s look certainly would have clued her in.
“I shall tell him to wait in the drawing room should he arrive before you are ready,” she said. “I will be busy, but Rupert might join you for a while.”

Now, then. Whoever hadn’t figured it out by now would have to be unconscious.

Alice realized that it had been her aunt who had come down the stairs and came into a deeper state of clarity. She realized her fiery tempered aunt would probably not be pleased that she was soaking wet. Her eyes became very wide when her aunt 'commented' on her appearance.

“I hope you are not counting on me to keep you with dresses of this caliber for you to treat as play-rags…What in the world have you been doing?”

"I went for a walk in the park this morning and got stuck in the rain," she said, her voice far sturdier than she would've expected.

She decided to leave Shames out of the story because the Countess most likely would have fired him had she known it had been him who had left her in the rain.

"Please know that it was not my intention to disregard my dress or to upset you," she said in a very apologetic way but managed not to sound like she was groveling.

There probably wasn't anything she could say to soften the Countess's anger so she thought that doing what she wished would probably be the best option.

“Find her something to wear at once,- And I mean something agreeable; something suitable for an audience with the baron Wothersham.”

Alice had been wondering why there was so much talk of this Baron Wothersham. He hadn't seemed like the sort of man who one would want to spend excessive amounts of time with though he certainly was polite and gentlemanly. He didn't necessarily strike Alice as the sort of man who her Aunt and Uncle would choose to spend their time with. When the countess spoke of changing into something appropriate for his visit Alice finally understood. It was the first time she'd been courted by a man so she wasn't particularly aware of the signs.

It was all she could do to keep her mouth from dropping at her realization. He must've been her father's age, maybe older maybe younger but he certainly seemed more mature and responsible than her father had been. She thought back to the way he'd surveyed her when they first met and felt like an idiot for not having realized what that was all about. She opened the door to room which was usually sundrenched but today had a grey shadow over it. She sat down on the end of the chaise lounge while the maid went to the armoir and pulled out two dresses, one navy blue and one marigold. She surveyed them both. The marigold one was clearly her favorite. It had a more modern cut; Narrow shoulders, fitted sleeves, a neckline that started at the base of her neck and a slightly poofed out skirt. She stroked the fabric and then turned to the navy one and surveyed it. It was very pretty but not quite as lovely as the other and had a more traditional cut.

"The blue one will do nicely," she said shortly as she walked behind the screen and peeled off the dress she was wearing. She put on the dress and matching swan bill corset. The other one was more natural of course but this one did have something slightly pretty about it. After she was completely changed she came out. Her maid sat her down in front of her mirror and started to attempt to make her hair presentable. She pulled it into a bun and put a bit of powder in it. Alice didn't even have time to protest but it turned out that all the powder did was make her look like she had normal brown hair.

"Thank you," muttered Alice.

She descended the staircase and went into the drawing room. She couldn't hear any footsteps so she assumed she was alone save for the the old governess who was chaperoning. She let out a breath of air and relaxed her posture. Her fingertips grazed the top of the couch and then moved onto the books on the bookshelf. There were a few science books, the bible, a few shakespeare plays and all the classics. She waited for Lord Wothersham to arrive with a pit in her stomach and half an intention to run back into the rain but of course, as usual, her nerve failed her.

(OOC: He's in a different drawing-room than Alice, since the Countess or Earl must go to that drawing-room before it's acceptable for him to do so)

John Doyle was on his way to Lindeborough Castle, to call on a lady. This was an unprecedented event; never before had he called upon a woman.

Lord Wothersham was known as a rich bachelor. Normally this would have ensured that a large number of young ladies would seek him out at dances, their mothers would invite him to dine with their families, and their fathers would often desire to hunt with him. However, almost as quickly as the news that he was worth a hundred thousand a-year had circulated, so too had a reputation about him sprung up among the young ladies. He was counted as a most disagreeable man; he refused to dance with anyone except his sisters when they came to visit, he did little to further conversation with a young lady, he was excessively blunt because he could not be bothered to be a gentleman except as suited his own ends, and he knew nothing of the interesting and fashionable—curricle racing was unknown to him (fancy, he didn’t even own one!), the theatre he regarded with utmost skepticism, and polo completely escaped him.

And so, by making himself so disagreeable, so proud and with such atrocious manners, he had ensured that the young ladies who might have sought him out found that suddenly ten thousand a-year was not so much less a fortune as to make a merchant unattractive, their mothers had no time to prepare a dinner fit for a baron, and their fathers had a sudden aversion to hunting. John had never minded in the least, because with no one pursuing him he did not have to waste time repulsing any one, he did not enjoy dining with others, and he disliked hunting, finding it a pointless waste of time to kill an animal that he would not eat, nor wear the skin of, nor sell for any profit. Until now. Now that he had found a woman he did want to court, and he reassured himself that Haverhill was mistaken, John certainly did want to court Alice and it was not at all too soon to be certain of it ending in marriage, he wished that he was not so inexperienced in the ways of women.

John walked the gradual incline that led to the castle, and entered through the massive iron gates. Since he had neither horse nor any type of vehicle, yet another oddity about Lord Wothersham, the footman who arrived to assist John found himself unable to offer his services. John brushed right past him sparing only a nod as greeting; it was more than was required of the baron—he was within courtesy to ignore the man completely—but he was trying to appear a gentleman, so it was best to be polite in all things, starting now. The doorman, however, when he opened the door, was too slow and so John did ignore that one. He was met inside by the Lindemans’ butler, a tall, thin, and very pale fellow, who informed him that neither Miss Alexander nor Lady Lindeboshire was ready to receive him yet, and would he please follow the butler to a drawing-room?

Since John was a small amount early, and also it was considered fashionable now for guests to be shown to a drawing-room, even if only for a minute and for no other reason than to show off the drawing-room, so he had expected this. Increasingly apprehensive now that he was actually here, he did not see much of the room, and stared somewhat obliviously at the fireplace and the elaborate marble mantel framing it after the butler shut the door behind him. Saint George and his dragon, but this was almost worse than the anxiety he had felt when he talked to Nora! That thought calmed him, however. Nothing could be worse than that; he was clearly over-reacting. In fact, compared to talking to her, this would be like suing a newly credentialed solicitor.

(OOC: Nora's last post was in: Nora's Place))

Nora had very split feelings about wearing fine clothing. She did enjoy being able to pretend that she was in fact a worthy human being, and she enjoyed the thought of other people looking at her and assuming that she was. At the same time, however, it made her immensely ashamed; as if she had stolen something valuable – as if she was telling a foul lie. She did not deserve approving looks or the feeling of being acceptable. God had put her where he had in life for a reason. Who was she – a worm, a whore – to thwart His judgement? So Nora was staring at her gloved hands, fiddling excessively, when the door to the servant’s entrance was opened. She arrived here as instructed, as there was never any guarantee that some client or colleague – or whoever else happened to know her profession – did not pass by and recognize her.

She was very appropriately clad indeed, in a charcoal dress with beautiful black laced rims, a black petticoat and a matching bonnet, shawl and gloves (all bought at Borden’s charity shop but looking very decent thank-you-very-much). Nora never wore corsets, but the bodice and waist – as well as the sleeves – were still sufficiently tight-fitting that she knew the Lady Lindeboshire would appreciate it. All in all, Nora was not too nervous. The Countess was usually easy to please. All she wanted was to touch, really. And even if her hands could be surprisingly groping and eager for a lady of her standards, they were still gentler than most men’s.

One of the younger maids; a girl who looked as nervous as Nora normally felt - at least when she was sober - was asked by one of the older ones to “take care of her.” Nora smiled at the girl, hoping for it to be reassuring, but simply got a wide-eyed gape in return. The girl nevertheless did a fine job of showing Nora to the drawing-room where she evidently was to be set aside until the Countess saw fit to turn up.
“The Lady will be with you presently,”
I doubt it. The Countess of course had to tend to all other sorts of business before she could enjoy herself – and especially when she would have to do it in secret. Nora nodded at the maid. The last time she had waited for hours.

The last time she had also waited in another room - in the Countess’ quarters. As Nora turned from the retreating maid to inspect her new surroundings, her eyes fell on a tall, dark form by the hearth.
By the Lord Harry! It couldn’t be…? Timidly she raised her glance to meet his. It was a piercing one she met, from eyes over a characteristic nose in a hard-set face. Oh, dear me…. She was unaware that she had frozen to the spot, her fists clenched around the edges of her shawl. Searching her mind desperately for words – Say something! – had little effect. Her lips parted a couple of times. She was petrified. There was no way. Say you’re sorry! Tell him you’re sorry! Oh, dear, curtsey! Curtsey, quickly, do it now!

Trembling, her knees finally obeyed. Quite suddenly, she stooped and curtseyed, lowering her head reverently. Finally.

Again her lips parted, her throat emitting strange sounds that indicated she wanted to speak. Several times this happened, with no result but her face heating up something fierce. If she had not powdered herself before she left, she would’ve been as colored as a cherry by now.
“I-I’m sorry,” she finally spurted out. And as if her mouth thought it should make up for lost functionality, the sentence came two more times, in quite a hurry: “I’m sorry-I’m sorry!” She closed her lips now, hard, and kept staring at the floor. They were on his turf now. What was he doing here?! What was she doing here – that was the correct question. Why was she in a drawing-room, waiting with Lord Wothersham? That could not possibly have been the Countess’ intention. She had been misplaced! Oh no! Something very catastrophic was happening. Someone would be very angry with her.

He was so…

Ah! Stop it! What are you doing?

Help me!

John was distracted from his musings after not two minutes, when he heard someone open the door. He was not surprised at the timing; it was customary for it to be a short wait. He frowned when heard the person say behind him, ”The Lady will be with you presently.” That was odd, it sounded like the person, the woman from her voice, was talking to someone else. And indeed he heard light footsteps enter the room; this was strange. Usually different guests waited in separate rooms. Perhaps the maid hadn’t known he was in here?

Turning from staring into the hearth, he moved to greet whoever was in here with him; it must be a man since otherwise he would not have been left alone with the person. But his eyes fell upon the dark grey skirts and black hat, and he realised someone had made yet another mistake; it was undeniably a woman. Why did it have to be now? Now he would be stuck for however long until the butler came back to get him, alone with a woman who would have absolutely nothing to do but heckle him with inanities; she was clearly upper-class and those sorts never had anything interesting to say. If he was especially unlucky, she might even get hysterical at the prospect of a tête-à–tête with a strange man.

Then he took in her face and he nearly got hysterical himself.

Oh no.

No. No. No. Nonononono… Why was this happening to him?! He had a brief fleeting moment of hope that she wouldn’t recognize him despite his eminently recognizable features—but she dashed those immediately, stopping suddenly in the place she stood and refusing to come closer, her hands clenched protectively about her shawl as if to armor herself against him. Well, he could hardly blame her for that; he would too if he was in her place. He strove to clear his mind of panic, to think of something to say, but all he could seem to think of were thoughts like She’s scared of you. She hates you. Finding this inconducive to saying anything sensible he shut his mouth and said nothing. Why was she here! He should have been safe in the castle!

She tried to say something, but she was so scared that she couldn’t make it come out. He should have offered her a seat, invited her to sit down, but he found he couldn’t go any nearer to her. He was too scared himself. No he was not! He stood immobile from indecision, and she took that moment to curtsey to him, far more than was required by his station, as deeply as if he were a king. She was that scared of him, that she was going to grovel in front of him. How could he have done this to her? It was unforgivable, he would have to apologise. And this time she would hear it, because he would do it properly; he wouldn’t run off like a craven again.

“I-I’m sorry, M-Miss Nora,” he squeaked. What! That wasn’t what it was supposed to sound like! She blurted a halting apology at exactly the same time, however, and then, perhaps seeing the surprise in his face, said it twice more quickly and then dropped her gaze to the floor. John tried to think of something to say to that. Why are you apologising to me?! seemed perhaps a bit accusatory. He was shocked that she felt it necessary to be so afraid of him, and now hurt. Wouldn’t she be willing to look at him again? He had behaved atrociously towards her, it was true, but he wasn’t normally like that. He’d been unable to think clearly around her and things had just happened… and why was he feeling hurt because she was scared of him? Why did it matter? A snippet of remembered conversation floated to him: … reconcile yourself to being violently emotional…

She was so… no! No, not her Miss Alexander. Damn Haverhill anyway. John was here to court Miss Alexander. Yes. Nora was just… well, Nora. And that was not a better thing to be than an Earl’s niece! It was not more special. It wasn’t.

He drew in a shaking breath. “Aaah, good afternoon, Miss Nora. I hope you are well? Why are you apologising? I—that was rude, I’m sorry! It’s just I don’t see you have anything at all to apologise for, indeed I should be apologising to you for my behaviour the last time we met. Which I’m truly sorry for, by the way. I should have said that first. Um, are you well? Um.”

He felt like banging his head against the wall. It was happening again! Why couldn’t he think straight around her? It seemed his mouth ran off without his mind, repeating what he’d already said and making him spout the most inconsiderate and foolish things.

Nora looked for words. She couldn’t just keep repeating she was sorry. – Especially since he wanted her to state explicitly what it was she was sorry for. Not for one minute did she believe that he didn’t know, it. Why he was being so courteous she hadn’t the slightest inkling of a clue. He was just like she remembered him with his outlandish mannerisms and his civility, yet still it was alarming to her. He couldn’t be genuine?

No; he was punishing her. He wanted a proper and convincing apology - And it was more than deserved. In fact what he should be doing was to pick her up, toss her about for a bit and pound on her like a dirty wash-rag. Instead he – what?! What was he… Apologizing?! Their acquaintance seemed to consist of an endless circle of apologies. And he looked sincere, too. He was playing at something. He was testing her. He couldn’t possibly not be mad this time. All right, so he was a bred gentleman, but that would just be too absurd.

To his question of whether she was well, she simply nodded, swallowing to moisten her throat for the monologue to come.
“Why – Wh… - I think you know, milord, that…” No, she was staring at the floor. Not good. She wished she had had more to drink. Reality was becoming painfully clear – and Nora considerably more thin-skinned than she had been only moments ago. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she continued, trembling fiercely. “…what-what… – what I’m… ap-p-pologizing for… I made you uncomf-f-f… Unc-c-c… I disrespected you…your – your… I vi-violated your person and disrespected your p-p-privah – I paid no heed to your personal… Your b-bound-boundar – your limits…”

Dear George and all the Saints including the Mother Mary! How could she be this clumsy after nights and nights on end of going through the “If I Ever See Him Again Or Go To Deliver His Pen-Case”–speech in her head?

“I have your pen-case!” she suddenly cried out as this thought came to mind and she realized that her previous sentence had trailed off into nothingness. The exclamation was so out of place that it sounded more than anything like someone had just prodded her in the side and told her to hurry up and share with him this important piece of information. “I’m sorry!”

She wasn’t quite sure herself why she was apologizing this time. She just felt she ought to do it a lot with him – she was so ashamed, and he kept doing it for no reason himself.
“- N-Not-Not because… - I didn’t-didn’t steal it! I mean I didn’t steal it!” She was so flustered at this point that she was completely unaware of the repetition. “You forgot it! Not that you r-really forgot it – uh – you’re not forgetful, you wouldn’t have forgotten it if-if-if-if it wasn’t for me. But-but I have it!” Why are you still talking?! “It’s not lost! – At home I have it, not here, but I have it! …But it was my fault.” She lowered her head again. “And I’m sorry for that - that too.”

That went well.

An involuntary ”Please don’t hurt me,” peeped out of her then. It would've barely been audible if only there had been some background noise. In the silence of the drawing-room, however, it was quite distinct. She gasped. Oh dear, did I say that out loud?! Staring at him, wide-eyed and terrified, she spluttered: “I mean…! I mean…! Nothing! I’m sorry!” Oh, help! Where to run?! If she hadn't been frozen to the spot in shock and horror, Nora would've probably disappeared that instant.

She had wanted to see him again. Ever since he left McMillians in such a hurry, she had been wishing for an occasion to speak to him again. Here it was - the perfect occasion, she even got to be alone with him, and she was wearing a beautiful dress! - and she had ruined it, like always, by being her cursed self. What a complete and utter blockhead you are! You are a living monument to uselessness, and if he didn’t despise you before, he sure as hell does now. Capitulating, Nora decided that what ever he wanted to do now was fine by her.

John was speechless for a moment. She had disrespected his personal boundaries? That was what was making her so nervous she stuttered? When had she ever done that? He tried to recollect, and at once the instance in the park replayed itself with irksome clarity, and then leapt ahead to where he had left the bar after groping her again. No, it was definitely he who had done all the violating. Despite how embarrassing it would be, he would have to set her straight; she certainly could not be allowed to think it was her fault he had been such a brute. She abruptly changed the subject though, and exclaimed that she had his pen-case. And then she began apologising for recovering his lost property, and saying she hadn’t stolen it and that it was her fault—he wasn’t quite clear what, but she was absolutely convinced that it was her fault. And then immediately afterwards she asked in a tiny, terrified voice, ”Please don’t hurt me.”

She tried to go back and say that wasn’t what she meant, but it was quite obvious that she really was afraid he would hurt her. John was suddenly angry. Not at her, but at the world in general. What kind of life had she had to think that was going to be his response—that he must be going to hurt her? What kind of animals had she known? There must have been something that made her this way; he knew that other people were not so apologetic and afraid. “I’m not going to hurt you!” He exclaimed suddenly. “Only a beastly churl not fit to be called a man would ever hurt you! I assure you that I am not such!”

Then he realised she might be offended by his vehemence and amended more moderately, “I mean, certainly I won’t harm you in any way. And I’m not angry you have my pen-case, only glad that you thought to take it with you. I certainly wouldn’t think that you stole it. And at no time did you make me uncomfortable.” But now his anger was dying out to be replaced by anxiety again, and he became less sure in his language. “I mean, well, you did, but it was my own fault entirely, because I behaved like a boor. So there’s really no need to apologise. Yes. Well.”

They were both too nervous to talk straight, he suddenly thought. And that was probably why it was so difficult for them and why she kept misunderstanding the situation between them. Perhaps if he just cleared the air and then proposed they started over, as if nothing that had happened had ever transpired. “Um. Well. Um.” No, no. Not like that. This would come out fluently or not at all. He made himself appear calm, steadfastly ignoring the rapid beat of his heart. “You do not need to be afraid of me, Miss Nora. I think perhaps our entire acquaintance until now has had more than its share of difficulties. Perhaps if we just pretend that anything previous has not happened and start over again from the beginning, we might feel more comfortable. That way neither of us need feel guilty or apologise further.” Or at least, he could pretend not to feel guilty, and hopefully she wouldn’t notice.

Then, to start over. He would have to introduce himself again and talk about something that she liked. What did she like? Well, he knew she liked Scotch. That seemed hardly an appropriate conversational topic. She would have liked to write if she could… but she had his pen-case and in any case it was hardly polite to bring up the fact that she couldn’t. She liked to laugh; of course, she had said that herself! That was it, he would make her laugh. But how? John was reminded inconveniently that he was remarkably deficient in the area of humor, or at least in the ability to say things that other people found funny. Well, then what did women in general like? He couldn’t think of particulars at the moment, nothing that he was familiar with. Well then, something that people in general liked. He’d start off with a compliment. Crossing the room to stand in front of her, he took her rather limp right hand and kissed it formally, bowing over it.

“Good afternoon. I am Lord Wothersham, but you must call me John. You look most captivating; may I have the honour of your name?” Eh, what?! She couldn’t call him by his Christian name! Only his sisters did that, not even Haverhill did! But it was too late to take it back now. He mentally shrugged; he’d already told her it once, besides. He drew in another shaky breath. It was still beastly hard to talk to her.

”Only a beastly churl not fit to be called a man would ever hurt you!”

It was so silly, but it was such a long awaited, such a sorely needed assertion. Nora clung to it as if it was the pole to which she must hold on for survival. ”Only a beastly churl not fit to be called a man would ever hurt you!” It rang in her head – it echoed like the bells of the Cathedral did every Sunday when she knew she should not be sitting at the pub – and she loved him just then; for saying those words. She was staring at the floor, concentrating on breathing and not yet convinced that she would not receive a strike across the face. But he continued on, and then with a calm voice, a soothing voice even, said something about starting over. Nora’s pulse began to slow down. Perhaps nothing horrible would happen after all?

And then suddenly she saw his shadow on the floor and knew he was near to her, and she closed her eyes and sent a prayer to Heaven like she always did, hoping that maybe, just maybe, He might bother to pay attention this time.

And he did.
“Good afternoon. I am Lord Wothersham, but you must call me John. You look most captivating; may I have the honour of your name?”

Nora looked up at him, and was so relieved, so thankful for this little game of his, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; and so she did both at once. Tears seeped from her eyes as she giggled and gave her automatic little curtsey. She tried to find her tongue. Your name, nitwit. Your name, is that so hard?
“Nora!” she finally erupted, happy to have found the word and the voice she was looking for. She reddened. “I’m Nora. How delightful to meet you, Lord Wothersham.” She wouldn’t use his Christian name for all the gold in the world. She could never use a baron’s first name. It was not suitable – no… It was simply not right – that a Lord’s Christian name should ever pass lips like hers. “Charmed,” she smiled - and she was. Nora had never been so charmed before in her life as she was by this gentleman. Tears still trickled down her cheeks, but no new ones came from her eyes anymore. “I hope you are well?”

(OOC: The mod was discussed with Nora's mun)

Nora had laughed! Normally he could have used this to his conversational advantage, since he had succeeded in producing something she had expressed a previous liking for, but he was pretending that he had not met her before so that she would be more comfortable. Thus, he couldn’t mention it in that context. He was obliged to merely feel a sudden sense of importance, and think how delightful it would be if she laughed again. Only maybe without the tears. She was crying at the same time, he saw, and he wondered if maybe she was only even more afraid of him now. But somehow he thought not; wouldn’t she have backed away if she had been more afraid?

With her very large eyes gazing up at him, John suddenly had the impulse to say something stupid, something that a foolish young fop would be proud of, in reply to her formal question. I am now, Miss Nora. It was only by a great concentration of will that he managed to substitute a more suitable phrase. “Very well, thank you. I trust you are also?” Actually he didn’t trust any such thing at all. If she was so afraid that he would hurt her, she must be actually being hurt by someone else. The thought made him angry again.

”Oh, I’m fine!” Nora exclaimed brightly. She added, ”Can’t complain…” But her voice trailed off and John thought she probably could complain. If anyone cared to listen. Someone should, he thought; he did—wait, what? There was no way to say it, and besides why was he thinking that anyway? Casting about for something else to say, John in the meantime offered her his handkerchief—she still had tears on her cheeks and her eyes were bright, even if no more seemed to be seeping out of them.

She hadn’t given a last name, he realised. She was still going only by Nora. He wondered if that was because she really did somehow have only one name of if it sprang from a desire not to embarrass her family. He couldn’t imagine that she would have only one name—or at least if she did it should have been only her family name. How could she have gotten the name Nora, which was clearly a first name, but not have a surname? He was curious. But there was nothing to be said about it; it would be rude to inquire. She probably wouldn’t tell him anyway. He realised they were standing without talking. John flogged his brain for something, anything, and it came to him. Of course! It was only the polite thing to do, after all. “Would you like to sit down, Miss Nora?”

She colored delicately, and her hands fluttered tremulously at her waist, but she smiled at him and said, “Yes, thank you, if you please.” Then she looked at the floor, looked partway back up at him, half-smiling, before looking at the floor again. John colored himself, thought how stupid it was—there wasn’t any reason at all, and she certainly did not have the most beautiful smile he had ever seen—and they went silently over to the sofa by the coffee-table. John started to relax, his anxiety fading to a manageable level. He was familiar in this sphere; he knew how to behave, all the proper courtesies. He could fall back on them if he couldn’t think of anything to say to her. If he thought strategically, he could come out of this without making a fool of himself like he had in the public house.

He offered his hand to help her sit; she took it and seated herself, and that was when he realised he’d made an egregious tactical error already. She was sitting on one end of the sofa. There was a small lady’s chair on the other side of the sofa, but he’d crush it if he put his weight on it. The only place he could sit was right beside Nora; he couldn’t stand—it would be rude now that she was sitting—and the nearest chair that would fit him was across the room, a giant winged armchair that he wistfully thought looked very safe and very unoccupied by Nora. He sat beside her.

The sofa was one of the strange affairs he had seen, meant to fit two people with a small space between them. Nora was tall for a woman, and he was extremely large-framed, and most of that excess space was taken up by it. He was not sitting indecently close to her, but it was a near thing, and his nervousness immediately shot up again. He could not sit fully relaxed, both because it would be indecent and because then his leg would come into contact with hers, so he propped his elbows on his legs and kept them only slightly parted. He felt like burying his face in his hands at his mistake—this would not be so comfortable a conversation as he had thought—but instead merely folded his hands and set his chin on them. She’s right there! Say something! What to say? This was so difficult. Why was she here, anyway? Oh there it was. Polite, and… why was she here? It couldn’t be the reason that brought men to her; even the Earl, as much of a womanizer as he was known to be, wouldn’t have that much hubris. And he was glad, John suddenly realised. The thought of Nora with the Earl—the old bastard could keep to himself, thank you very much… and why on earth did that matter? He squashed the chain of thought and turned to Nora beside him.

“So, ah, Miss Nora. What brings you to the Castle?”

She studied him as he sat next to her resting his chin on his folded hands. He looked for a moment like he was engrossed in thought, which made her think how very intelligent he must be. Compared to her he was probably a genius. He had undoubtedly read so many books! She looked at him in awe as she considered all the things he must know about the world that she didn’t.

He was a large man, and so he took up much space on the sofa. Though he was careful not to come in physical contact with her, he was sitting so close to her that she could feel the warmth from his body. She could hear him breathe. Suddenly she was not nervous anymore. His words; ”You do not need to be afraid of me, Miss Nora,” resounded in her head, and she so wanted to believe them, because he was so… He seemed so safe, so calm and composed, and she liked him. She liked him a lot.

Touch me...

Good grief, did she like him that much?! Nora was shocked at her own thoughts. She could hardly remember the last time she had truly wanted a man to touch her for reasons that weren’t work-related. She looked at his hands, folded shut and so completely without the intention of moving towards her. Why wasn’t he touching her? What was wrong with him? Nora was dying with curiosity.

“So, ah, Miss Nora. What brings you to the Castle?”
Hm? Oh, no, don’t ask me that! She couldn’t tell him why she was here! Didn’t he understand that? Oh. He probably didn’t think she could possibly be here for those reasons. – Or maybe he simply didn’t want to think it. He wanted another excuse. Yes. He wanted her to lie.
“Oh… Um…” Well, Nora could lie, sure. She fiddled with the handkerchief, thinking fast. “Um, I’m… Modeling a dress.” Yes. That would do. “It’s ah… a surprise for a lady who… is my size.” ...and who didn’t wear a corset, evidently. Nora wondered if the Countess even had acquaintances who didn’t wear corsets. She wondered, also, if the Countess would really have a dress made for anyone beside herself. They needed a quick change of subject, so Lord Wothersham would not start wondering about things like that as well.

“Thank you for this.” She gave the handkerchief a little wave. It wasn’t completely white anymore, but had little spots of makeup on it. “I shall have it cleaned for you, of course, and returned – along with your pen-case.” She was well aware that he probably wanted nothing more to do with a whore, so she quickly added “But I promise I will not shame you by coming to your house. I’ll have someone deliver it.”

She felt odd, sitting so close to him, a sort of awareness of his presence filled every nerve, every muscle in her, and she enjoyed it. She caught herself feeling an affectionate connection with him that made her want to lean her head on his shoulder. Had she had more to drink, she might have actually done it. She could care no less about the Countess right now. In fact she hoped the Lady was delayed something awful, and that whoever Lord Wothersham was here to see (which most likely was the Earl) was as well, so they could sit like this for a very, very long time.
“What about you, milord? I presume you are here to deal with some sort of business with the Earl that a woman like me couldn’t possibly comprehend even a fragment of,” she smiled. How very, very clever he must be, and how – in his eyes, but also her own – utterly pathetic was she in comparison.

But for the first time in years, Nora felt she had found something that she must have. She needed it. She needed him. And the only way to make sure she could ever have any contact with him whatsoever was to try and loosen him up. Only if he became her client could she see him sometimes. She knew very well she was not entitled to have anything that she wanted or needed. But… surely it was worth a try? Hmmm… How…?

She reached inside her purse and pulled out a small flask of brandy. This was outrageous. It could turn either way. It was a test; one of her usual childish ways of prodding limits. What was wrong with her? But she needed to see what would happen. She needed to know about him, and she needed to at least try for something good – someone good in her life. For herself. Just this once.
“May I offer you a sip of Brandy?” Please don’t be angry. Please. Please. Please.

Nora seemed nervous answering his polite inquiry, but that was probably just residual remembrances of John’s previous mis-behaviour. She was here to model a dress, it wasn’t the Earl after all. But of course, that must be right; the maid who had shown her into the room had said the Lady would be with Nora presently. He felt vaguely guilty for having thought of the Earl at all. Since Nora did not have a wasp waist, something that John found ever more beautiful each time he saw her, much to his discomfort, the Countess’ friend must be one of the rational dress women. The Countess would have had to look long and hard to find a more attractive model for her dress. “You will look lovely, I’m sure. If the dress is half as beautiful yours, she will be quite delighted with it.”

The Devil take him sideways but he sounded asinine; he was supposed to be an intelligent man and yet here he was making remarks that, while perfectly polite, were completely not in his character. “I see.” That was what he would have said to any one else. Why did she get under his skin so? Change the subject, he needed to change the subject at once, before he was tempted to make some other remark like that.

She did it for him, thankfully, perhaps also uncomfortable with the subject. He couldn’t think of anything to say to her chosen subject though. If she came to his house people would gossip about it. It would be a shame. Then why was his first thought to say she was welcome any time, his second to say she need not bother since he had many handkerchiefs, and his third to say that perhaps if she didn’t mind very much he could arrange to pick up his pen-case himself some other day? His second contradicted his first and third and if said any of them then she would hate him for ever. If he said the second she would think he shunned her—and why was that a problem? He should shun her, she was a shameless woman. So why then did he have either the first or third thoughts at all? Which he also couldn’t say. She would think he meant that he wanted to arrange to meet her about the pen-case as an excuse for meeting her about the services she offered, he was quite certain. After all, if she could manage to mistake his apology for groping her as the preliminaries to it, she certainly would mistake his asking to meet her again. He kept silent.

She went on to ask him about his business at the castle, and John wanted to bury his head in his hands again. Why did she have to ask that?! Because she was politely returning his interest, he reminded himself, and he should have expected it. “Oh… Um… I’m here because—“ An excuse, quick! He was here because… oh! “—the Earl wishes an inheritance dispute to be settled in a manner favourable to him. I am sure you would not have any trouble comprehending it at all; but it would be excessively dull for you, I think. It is almost too dull for me.” Yes! That was believable, and he had managed to refute her self-depreciation and at the same time hopefully discourage her from inquiring about it more.

But… why had he lied?! That was foolish! He never lied; he told people the blunt truth. He was well-known for it, and many of the upper-class and peerage thought it was a disconcerting habit and avoided him for it. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? I’m here to court Miss Alice Alexander. It would have been easy, really. Seven words instead of trying to come up with a plausible story. Yet he still felt that he would have lied anyway, even if he were given the opportunity to go back and change his words. Why? There was no reason she could not know of it; in fact she would know of it. He was going to marry Miss Alexander after all. It must be because she was sitting next to him, he thought. Yes, that must be it; he felt it would be rude to talk of courting with a woman. Much too improper and certainly bound to make Miss Nora uncomfortable; it couldn’t help but remind her of his unfortunate behaviour on their last meeting, despite their pretense that it had never happened. No doubt that was it.

When he quit talking the silence seemed to drag on. He knew rationally, of course, that it was only his perception of it, but that didn’t seem to help any at all. He put his chin back on his hands. The sofa was much too small, he thought. The Lindemans’ house steward clearly had horrible taste in furniture, otherwise he would not have picked such a piece. He could feel Nora beside him even though he wasn’t looking at her just at the moment. He felt, for no reason, that he would like to protect her. He didn’t even know from what, it was more a general feeling. He would like to be the one that she asked for help. And that was foolishness of the highest caliber. He hated it when people asked him for help. He didn’t want them to, didn’t find it a thing to wish for. But it was curiously comfortable, sitting next to her and thinking that. Of course, he would never tell her; that wouldn’t do at all.

And then he felt her moving beside him, so he turned to see what she was doing at precisely the moment she asked if she could offer him some brandy. His right elbow slipped off his leg in shock, causing him to crack his chin on his hands and his leg to lurch and bump against hers. He removed it immediately and tried to collect himself, still too surprised to think about anything but her offer. Brandy! Here! From a lady! His rational percolated through the shock. Well, not a lady, per se, but… he had not expected it, not in this setting. He had forgotten that she was not proper, and thus was unduly startled. “Ah, thank you, Miss Nora, but I will have to decline. Last time... my behavior—“ oops, they were pretending that hadn’t happened! “—I think it’s best if I don’t,” he amended, rubbing his banged chin.

It would be best if she also did not drink it; the Countess might be angered if her model came in with alcohol on her breath. It did not enter into John’s mind to condemn her for drinking it at all, especially at such a time of day. The only thought that came to mind was that she might be reprimanded for it, and that he should not like for her to have to suffer such. Of course, he couldn’t really say that she shouldn’t drink it either; that would be rude. Hmm. Diversion then. He took the small tin of liquorice-mints he carried with him out of the inner breast-pocket of his coat, and unfastened the lid. The somewhat pungent odour wafted off the little foreign candies; both the smell and the candies were some of his favourite in their respective categories. “May I offer you a liquorice-mint instead?” He looked into her eyes as he asked it, and a thought occurred to him.

Miss Nora was incredible, and he simply could not figure her out.

He laughed, because he felt like it, and completely forgot that he was at the castle for any other reason than to talk with Miss Nora. Miss Alexander was erased from his mind, and he hoped for nothing at all except that the maid and butler would not come back and disturb his conversation.

He was clearly surprised by her offer – so much so that he lost his composure and collapsed in quite an inelegant, but very adorable manner – surprised, yes, but not angry. She giggled and wanted to stroke his chin where he had hit it. She didn’t, but she did follow his leg with her own when he removed it, turning almost sideways on the sofa so she was half facing him. They were inappropriately close. She felt her pulse rise.
“Ah, thank you, Miss Nora, but I will have to decline. Last time... my behaviour — I think it’s best if I don’t,”

Your behaviour… Ah, yes. He had this absurd delusion that he had displayed atrocious manners the last time they met. She had never been treated so well by anyone in her entire life. Was that…? – Oh! Of course! That was exactly it! He probably did want her and did not understand why he acted towards her the way he did. He should be treating her like a whore, and instead he treated her like a lady – probably because that was the only way he had learned how to court a woman – and he was ashamed of himself for fancying her at all! She smiled at him. His compliment about her dress had been sweet and polite, but hardly necessary, considering who she was.

If he was this high-strung, this well-mannered and this ashamed of flirting with a whore… and he was still unmarried, then… Oh, my. Could it be that… he had never had a woman? How old could he be? 35? Definitely somewhere in his mid-thirties. Oh dear… Oh, you poor man! Nora knew better than most how much men needed to be satisfied, how desperate they became if they were not contented and pleased almost constantly and able to alleviate themselves any time they wanted. Could it be that Lord Wothersham had gone all these years without anyone to help him – without anyone to use for this?

“I don’t think it would be best at all,” she retorted. “But as we both know you have more experience in the area of thinking than I do, I will trust your judgement.” She wondered, however, if a man’s judgement might not become clouded from suffering Lord Wothersham’s fate. She had seen what men were like when they didn’t get what they wanted. They were like children, really, only larger and stronger. Like animals, they were; their instincts uncontrollable and wild. No wonder this man was so tense! No wonder he always looked like he chewed down too hard! He spent all his energy containing and repressing all that extreme anger and lust. He must be exhausted.

“I shall have your sip as well, then,” she winked and drank from the flask just as he produced a small tin from his coat, opened it and held it out. She corked the bottle and leaned over with a child’s eager curiosity in her eyes.
“May I offer you a liquorice-mint instead?”
“Ooooooo….” She gaped at them. Candy! No one ever offered Nora candy! A thrilled beam exploded on her face as she met his eyes. “They smell heavenly!” Oh dear, he had charming eyes. And when he laughed she didn’t care if it was at her folly he was laughing, because he looked so very kind and handsome as he did. “I really shouldn’t,” she said, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that she would all the same. “But thank you, milord.” She had one and spent a long time savoring it, thinking how he had said the other day that he did not laugh, but that he had done so just now, for no apparent reason whatsoever, and she wished that that reason were her. What a silly, silly woman she was.

“I…” she began. Someone would come and get her very soon – or get him and take him away from her. She might never see him again. She needed to see him again. And she could offer him the only thing she knew that he needed. “I know it is shameful, what I do. But many people, because of certain needs, they overlook that. And-and…” She lowered her head because she did not want to look at his face while she said this, in case she would see loathing there. “Well, you are a man, you have your desires, and if you… If you…Want me,” She brushed away a blond lock that had fallen from her bonnet. Her neck and ears felt warm, but she was composed otherwise, and put her hands calmly in her lap, so close to his legs that she could have caressed him almost without moving them. “…you can have me,” she breathed. “I mean, I would like for you to have me.”

Nora said she really shouldn’t but thanked him and took one of the liquorice-mints anyway, popping it in her mouth. She appeared to enjoy it very much indeed, perhaps more than such a small thing warranted. John put away his tin of mints and propped his chin on his hands again, only this time his face was turned so that he could observe Nora. He thought it might be that which he found so fascinating about her. She appreciated such small things in a manner so out of proportion to the action, but it was a genuine appreciation instead of an annoying farce like some of the ladies he was acquainted with would display over trivial items. It wasn’t calculated to get her anywhere, it was just how she was.

He watched her, without thinking that it might be rude of him to do it. She had such a beautiful face; it reminded him of a story his governess had told him, back when he was a small boy. Mrs Beckham, her name had been, and she was a pious woman indeed, who preached of virtues and told him parables ad infinitum. This particular day, she had been on the subject of the poor, destitute, and underclass, and how to treat them. Her story had gone thusly: A small boy, out walking in the street, was asked by a prostitute if she might have a coin, because she was starving, and the boy had refused to give the coin, telling the prostitute she was a fallen woman and would burn in Hell for her sins, and the boy had moved on.

John had seen the story in a book of children’s parables before, and that was where it ended, so he was very bored. Mrs Beckham’s story, however, had continued, and John, curious to see his governess adding a bit he knew wasn’t there before had sat up and paid attention. The boy had turned back, she said, to see a different boy passing the same prostitute. The second boy had looked at her with kindness in his eyes and said that he only had two farthings, but she could have them if it would help, and so he gave them to her. No sooner had he done it than the prostitute transformed into an angel, who said she had been testing people all day and he was the first one that cared enough to help without asking for anything in return, before blessing him and vanishing. Mrs Beckham had been adamant about treating those less fortunate with kindness and respect.

John, of course, did not believe in angels any longer, having expunged childhood fairytales from his life long ago, but he thought that if he should ever see one that she would definitely look like Nora. She smiled at him, and he thought how lucky he was to have obtained the story angel’s blessing for only the trouble of a liquorice-mint. The thought made him self-conscious again—how stupid was he! Angels!—and he noticed that Nora had moved herself close to him. She was touching him, her leg right against his, and he could feel the warmth of her right through his trousers. It was like there was a burning brand where she touched him. Anxiety took hold of his thoughts again and he had to force himself to stay very still and show no reaction that would be inappropriate, like jumping off the couch and away from her.

Instead he only withdrew his leg as much as he could and as discreetly as he could, until his own were closed. It seemed almost like hers was stuck to his, perhaps that she had sewn her dress to his trousers while he was occupied with woolgathering over her face, because he ended up without any more distance between him and her than before. She began to talk then, and he told himself to ignore that she was touching him and pay attention to what she said. It turned out that she wanted to talk about her profession, an improper subject if there ever was one, and he wished he had jumped off the couch after all. Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? What sitting next to a flawless woman like her and having her say such things did to a man? How could she not know? She was a whore, she must be aware. If you want me you can have me. There was absolutely no mistaking what she meant. She had to know that he already knew that; he could have purchased her the day he met her. Why was she determined to try and make him be less than a gentleman? I mean, I would like for you to have me. Oh God, if there was one, help him!

Perhaps if he told her some of the truth she would understand and cease. He was known for being improperly honest, wasn’t he? Yes, he would do that, it wouldn’t be so very hard. "Ah, Miss Nora, perhaps, I mean if you don't mind, that is, er, you see, um, maybe, ah, this—this subject is making me very uncomfortable. I am very much afraid that it will be difficult for me to remain a gentleman if you continue." That was far too much of the truth for him to have said! His face grew as hot as a furnace and he thought that he might melt simply from the humiliation.

“Oh…!” she leaned towards him, her hands grabbing his and her face so close to his that he must feel both the brandy and the liquorice-mint on her breath, “Oh, but that’s just it! You don’t have to be a gentleman with me! I just…” I just so need someone like you in my life. Tell him! She could never tell him. How come she could degrade herself in every possible other way, but she could not tell him that?

“I’m sorry I make you uncomfortable, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and I don’t think you have to be!” the last part of her statement turned into something similar to a whisper, but more intense than the rest, as her face followed his when he tried to turn away. “There’s no need to be,” she repeated. She suddenly felt like holding him, comforting him. He looked like he could use a hug.

“And there’s certainly no need to be a gentleman with me, I’m a whore, Lord Wothersham, you can treat me any way you like.” She studied his face – his very distressed and avoidant expression – and added: “But you have treated me better than anyone has ever done before, and for that…” You poor bastard, you have me stuck to you like glue. Never feed a stray dog… What’s wrong with me? I’m asking for rejection! No, no more personal feelings. Tease him. Get him to want you.

Yes, that was it. She would entice him, drive him mad, tempt him out of that hard-shell of his. And she would show him the best time he had ever had, and he would have to come back to her at least once a week. She would be his first, and after her he would compare all others to her, he would always come back to her, even when he got married to some… - Oh, what a depraved sinner she was…!

But… But… She could have stomped her foot then, like a child pouting over something it wants - But he’s nice to me! - only this wasn’t just something she wanted, she needed it, it was necessary, it felt like it was crucial for her very survival. So she stretched to move her lips closer to his ear, although he was too tall for her and she got no further than his neck.

Well, fine, that’ll do. She filled her voice with as much air as possible for him to feel her breath as she spoke.
“…well, I’d very much like to repay you.” Putting a hand on his thigh and moving it upwards – getting scandalously close to his groin – she let her lips brush the skin on his neck while murmuring coyly: “It would be free of charge…?” Now, there! He was bound to accept, he was a man, he couldn’t possibly resist that!

John’s heart nearly stopped when Nora took his hands. No, no, she couldn’t be doing this, it was hard enough to contain himself as it was! Did she think that he was a statue with limitless powers of control? Did she think that he had really forgotten what she felt like? Her words intruded into his private despair, ”Oh, but that’s just it! You don’t have to be a gentleman with me! I just…”

He frowned at her. What? Of course he did! There was no other way to be. Well, there was, but only if John wanted to abandon his principles entirely. Such would demean her if he allowed it, and therefore he would not. He could only be a gentleman to her if he was to show his admiration for her. That thought went through his head like an opera soprano’s voice through glass, shattering all other reasonings and leaving the broken shards littering his mind. What was wrong with him? He was so anxious with himself that he even managed to show no outward sign of discomposure as Nora said he didn’t need to be uncomfortable. All very well and good for her to say, but he was not her; he felt that there were very great and pressing reasons for him to be uncomfortable.

Then she said, ”And there’s certainly no need to be a gentleman with me. He began to get annoyed. Why was she so certain she was worth nothing?! He didn’t think that was the case at all! "I’m a whore, Lord Wothersham, you can treat me any way you like.” Oh. Oh, right. Because she was a whore and that was what whores were: worthless. “But you have treated me better than anyone has ever done before, and for that…” His heart swelled when she said that, and he felt more important than he had ever felt before in his life. He had done something better than every one she knew; she had bothered to compare his manners to all her acquaintances’! And he had come out on top! But it shouldn’t affect him so, he reminded himself, and tried to be annoyed instead of elated. “…well, I’d very much like to repay you.” It was high time to end this conversation, her voice had grown breathy with the last and was giving him licentious ideas.

Articulating very carefully, he opened his mouth and said, “Nornngh—!” She had just put her hand on his thigh and was moving it towards the joining of his body! He had thought her taking his hands was bad! How was he supposed to think at all when she did that!? His restraint was not boundless, he could not sit here with her touching him so and remain a gentlemen for any length of time at all! Her lips touched his neck and he started; she had not been that close—she could not really be doing this to him! He had principles that would not allow it! What were they again? She whispered against him that it would be free of charge, then, and that was what allowed him to hang onto his overtaxed will-power. It struck him suddenly in the midst of his desire that this was so very sad, that she felt she must be like this with him, that she felt she must repay him for common courtesy. Why did she do it? But this was not the time to ponder, not when he was having trouble ruling his base instincts.

He took his hand and covered the one of hers on his leg with it, entwining his fingers in hers and removing it completely from him; he placed it on her knee and kept it trapped under his so that she could not put it back on him and distract him from his purpose now. At the same time he crossed his leg to disguise what he could feel happening to him, causing his body to half turn towards her. His other hand moved to cup her face with the lightest possible touch and he gently moved her head away from his neck, until he was able to look into her eyes. His voice was calm; it was long past the time to be anxious of impropriety. He didn’t think about his words at all but rather said what he felt, and they came out much more naturally than before.

“I don’t have to be a gentleman with you.” He smiled very gently and very sadly at her, his hand falling from her face but the one imprisoning her hand on her knee staying. "You cannot mean that. Even if you did I would not consider it. I could never be less than a gentleman towards you—I could certainly never demean you by forcing you to submit to me in payment for my respect. Since you give me your leave to treat you in any way I like, I will take you at your word and treat you as a lady. It is what you deserve.” He removed his hands completely from her. He couldn’t even keep sitting beside her without her touching him and remain a gentleman now. There was only one thing to do, of course. If he couldn’t remain here and remain a gentleman, he would have to choose. And there was only one choice to be made.

He stood up very quickly and walked out of the room, only pausing at the door to say politely, “Good day, Miss Nora. It was a pleasure speaking with you again.” Once outside in the hallway he shut the door softly, then all at once leaned his back against the wall, and buried his head in his hands. Why did he get like this around her? He was indecent again; he could only hope that his fast movement had hidden the evidence from Nora. He wasn’t this way around other women; in fact it was only when he was young and pubescent that he had ever even been remotely similar, and he had been at Eton, which only accepted boys, at that time and so had never been forced into a situation where he might lose control of himself. Panic set over him. He had to control himself at once otherwise… well, it would be humiliating if he couldn’t. He was the master of his body, it would do what he wanted it to do and nothing else. And he most definitely did not want this!

Snow, he would think of snow. Yes, winter chill and snow. It wasn’t working. Colder. He was ice. All ice. All ice all ice all ice allice allice Alice! The thought of her accomplished what the previous ones had not as if indeed he were suddenly all over ice. The Devil take him, he’d forgotten he was here to see Alice! It was almost startling how fast he shriveled when he thought of her face and voice. He must regain his composure before he saw her… but now that he was decent again it proved to be a much easier proposition. He tried to think logically. He had comported himself well, he felt. Of course there had been that bit at the end but he couldn’t have been expected to do any better, could he? Not with a woman who looked like she was freshly sent from Heaven whispering things that could damn a man to Hell at him. Overall he had done well; in fact much better than he had done last time he had met Nora—he had show himself to be a true gentleman.

Well, not a true gentleman since if he was he would have been able to stay in the room instead of having to run out to escape her, but certainly enough of one to not feel embarrassed at his behaviour. Yes, he had been. And now that he knew this, it was time to move on and forget about Nora. Especially since he was here to court Miss Alexander. He conjured a picture of Alice in his mind, but was obliged to cease when she obstinately refused to remain Alice and kept morphing into Nora smiling at him. He was very much afraid that he was about to become indecent again just from thinking about Nora when his salvation arrived in the form of the Lindemans’ butler. That good gentleman appeared beside John and said, “The Earl and Miss Alexander will see you now.”

Thankfully the butler made no inquiry as to why John was outside the drawing-room; but then of course he wouldn’t have, he was a well-trained domestic. John allowed himself to be escorted away, determinedly setting his mind on the upcoming meeting. He was courting Miss Alexander here; that was what he would think about. What would she say? Would she be happy to see him? Would she even care? Did he even care? He wasn’t planning to marry her for love, after all. Would she smile as beautifully as—no, not that, new thought—would she even be able to tolerate him? The question brought to mind that no woman had ever found him attractive before, and all had thought him atrociously ill-mannered… he would have to modify his behaviour for Miss Alexander; at least he could make up for the one. Finally having something to completely occupy his thoughts, he gratefully seized the opportunity and concentrated very fixedly on how exactly he would be different from his usual self.

((OOC: Modding of Rebecca Lindeman cleared ;)))

Overlooking his “Nornngh-!” – for she assumed it was intended as an attempt to interrupt her – she had practically thrown herself at him, and as he reacted with no sudden moves or strikes, she was fairly convinced of her triumph until he quietly put his hand on hers and firmly removed it. Though surprised, she nevertheless continued kissing his neck until also her face was lifted – carefully, yet decisively – and moved to a suitable distance. She wanted to kiss his hand then, for holding her so gently, and she was about to do so when he started talking and she met his eyes.

He looked sad, but his voice was so warm and kind that all Nora could think was: Kiss me.
“I don’t have to be a gentleman with you.” He let go of her face with a bleak smile. Good. Maybe now he was about to realize - "You cannot mean that.” - Hm? What – Why couldn’t she? ”Even if you did I would not consider it. I could never be less than a gentleman towards you” Nora blinked. Confusion must be written all over her face right then, because she frowned and tried to stifle a laugh at the same time. Surely he must be joking?

She was a whore! She wanted to scream it at him. She was a horrible sinner, a worm, a low-life with close to no mind whatsoever and a complete lack of talent at anything at all. Of course he could be less than a gentleman with her! Sure, she would appreciate for him not to… pound on her or anything, but there was no way they could even meet again if he was going to be all stuck on principles! Couldn’t he just use her to fulfil his needs and still not necessarily hurt her? There was no reason to be all gallant about it, she had even told him she wanted him to have her! What was wrong with him? Was he queer? Did he like men and not women? Then why did he not just say so – she wouldn’t judge him, she couldn’t judge him even if she had wanted to, considering her position. No, this was too bizarre. Any time now, he would fling himself forwards and kiss her forcefully or he would covetously grab her and pull her towards him like any normal man would.

But he was not joking.
”I could certainly never demean you by forcing you to submit to me in payment for my respect.” What?! Why on earth not?!

”Since you give me your leave to treat you in any way I like, I will take you at your word and treat you as a lady.” But..! Why?! ”It is what you deserve.” No! Again she felt an unbearable need to scream at him. No! It is not what I deserve! What did he know about what she deserved anyway? You stupid, stupid man!

He stood up quite suddenly and walked to the door. She stood up as well, and opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. Her anger gradually turned into feeble frustration. Please! Don’t go! She wanted to yell at him, to plead with him. Don’t leave me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t leave me! Desperation brought tears to her eyes and she helplessly reached for something in mid-air that obviously did not exist. He turned to address her with a courteous: “Good day, Miss Nora. It was a pleasure speaking with you again.” Then the door slid shut and he was gone.

Nora gasped for air. Somehow she felt like the entire castle was going to crash down over her head. How could this have happened? When did it happen? How did she always manage to spoil every good opportunity that came her way and chase away anyone decent who approached her? All the regrets she had had about the last time she had met him suddenly came back to her in a flash and she realized she had just done the exact same thing all over again. How could she lose her senses so? How could a person be this dense? She grabbed her flask, opened it with vehement force, and with her head thrown backwards emptied it in merely a few minutes. It wouldn’t do to come to work crying.

After not too many more moments, a maid appeared and took her to the Countess’ chambers. For reasons that would soon become apparent, the Lady was clearly less than pleased with her maid
”How – if you don’t mind my asking,-“ (Nora thought that the maid looked like she very much minded her asking, but doubted that the Countess really cared about this) “-How in the name of all that is holy can you lose a hooker in a castle?”
”Deeply sorry, milady.”
”With good reason!” The fiery woman cast her arms out in an exasperated sigh before she hit her forehead. ”What if my…” she did not finish that sentence, which was probably just as well, since not only did the maid not know why there even was a prostitute present at the castle, but also because anyone who knew would find it hard to pity the Countess if her husband did find out. ”So where did you find her? Where was she waiting?” she talked past Nora, as if she was a runaway horse or some other pet of sorts.
”In the drawing-room, milady, downstairs with the main foyer."
”But that’s where Lord Woth…-“ The Lady’s face paled considerably.
”He wasn’t there, milady. Not when I came to pick her up.”
”Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?! Not when a whore has been placed in his presence! He probably marched home in-”
“Milady…” Nora hesitantly spoke up. The Countess looked at her with an expression that said “Oh! It talks!” and lowered her waving arms expectantly. Nora curtseyed. “May I?”
”You may.”
“I told him I was here to model for a dress, milady. I think he believed it.” Nora wasn’t at all sure whether or not Lord Wothersham had believed her, but she felt so sorry for the poor maid and for the very tightly wound up Lady Lindeboshire, that she felt like trying to restore some peace to the situation.

She succeeded with flying colors. The Countess was very suddenly – in fact so suddenly that she herself seemed surprised by it – no longer angry. She looked at Nora and her voice was mild when she spoke to the maid again.
”Leave us.” The maid didn’t wait to be asked again; the door closed behind her and the Countess’ arms closed around Nora.

((OOC: Next post: The Easter Ball (I think) ))

The Earl of Lindeboshire was in one of the many drawing-rooms in the castle; it so happened that in this case, it was the wrong drawing-room. Rupert Lindeman was sitting in a large armchair, and he was acutely aware of the need to hurry himself to the other end of the castle. He was required to join his niece, Alice Alexander, in the northeast drawing-room of the first floor. He wanted to get there with as much haste as possible, so that he could spend some time encouraging his niece. But he had let the time run away on him as he was reading his paper, and now he had to move quickly or he would be late. Very soon, John Doyle, the Lord Wothersham, would be shown into the drawing-room where Alice was, and the business of courting could get on.

Rupert had been quite surprised at his wife’s reaction to the news of Doyle’s impending visit. She had very nearly chewed his head off for not telling her sooner (completely disregarding the fact that it had been her fault that he hadn’t, given that she had not taken supper with him last night) and then informed him that he would have to serve as Alice’s chaperone since she would be busy. Rupert had obligingly agreed, although he had seen no reason why Alice should have had to be present at all. His confusion must have shown in his face, because Rebecca had given an exasperated sigh and explained (rather condescendingly, he felt; there had been no need to treat him as a small-brained child) that obviously Alice had made an impression on Lord Wothersham the other day and that of course he was now coming to the castle to lay the foundations for a courtship.

Hmm. Well, Rebecca was usually right about these things, but Rupert hadn’t noticed any very great change in the baron at the theatre. He had seemed his usual sour self; however, Rupert could hardly think of a better match for young Alice, and so he was perfectly willing to perform his necessary function here—namely, to be present to make sure that nothing dodgy went on, yet without diverting any of the baron’s attention from the object of his… love. A wide grin crossed Rupert’s face at the thought of the baron attempting something dodgy.

The man was as concerned about his honour as any knight of old, and he had a stick the size of Wales up his arse. He would probably die of humiliation in the attempt, long before Alice was ever in any danger. It was very nearly as funny to imagine the baron in love with Alice; it must simply be that he knew how to keep an eye out for a good prospect—and there was none better for him than Alice in all Lindebo. Rupert imagined that the baron might never fall in love; he doubted that there was any woman who could penetrate the man’s hard head and unfailing logic. Well, Alice was second only to Rebecca as far as looks went, so if anyone could do it, she could. Perhaps his niece’s delicate personality would soften the baron’s sharp edges. It could be hoped. Besides as far as that went, Alice would be getting a husband with power and wealth, and it wouldn’t do to ask for too much more.

Rupert stood and made his way to the other end of the castle. When he arrived he entered the correct drawing-room and greeted his niece cordially. “Good afternoon. You look lovely; I’m sure the baron will approve.”

But Alice appeared a trifle unsteady, as if she did not wish to be here at all. She ran her fingers along the spines of the leatherbounds on the shelves, and looked as if she wanted to run out into the rather wet afternoon. Rupert smiled sympathetically. It must be trying to have to be courted by the baron; he could not imagine what he would have done if he had needed to court a woman as cold and insufferably rigid as that man was. Luckily, Rupert had found Rebecca, and if she was not always the most attentive wife, at least at the times when the mood struck her she was very passionate indeed. Imagining the baron displaying any sort of passion at all was really quite beyond the scope of Rupert’s mind, and so he felt a twinge of empathy for Alice. But really, it was for the best, since she would be adequately—more than adequately—supported if she married the baron.

Still, though, Rupert kindly told his niece, trying to make the situation as humourous as possible, “I am very glad that Rebecca has enlightened me of the situation; he shall probably be taken with a fit of passion at your beauty and I shall have to wrestle him from you. I am suddenly appreciative of your need for a chaperone. Promise me you shall have pity on your poor old uncle and not tempt his guest too much?” He kept a straight face as he made this preposterous claim, but the laugh seeped into his voice.

A soft yet sturdy sound was coming from somewhere down the hall and Alice knew it could only be the sound of her Uncle's footsteps. Light, yet heavy and confident and she could almost hear the natural bounce. The corner of her lip twitched upwards as she continued to read the spines of the books. As she moved around the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. How very different she looked from earlier today. Brunette, because of the wet nature of her hair, and even paler than usual with a slight flush due to the weather. She exaimined her face. It had been a while since she'd actually looked at herself in a mirror and it was getting harder and harder to remember what she looked like, as odd as that might sound. Her skin looked transluscent as usual but it was glowing slightly from the morning activies.

Her uncle was in the room. She turned to greet him with the grateful, slightly sad, but all the same genuine smile she reserved just for him.

“Good afternoon. You look lovely; I’m sure the baron will approve.”

"Thank you," she responded, not completely positive if it was correct.

The dress was conservative, and far more elagant than what Alice felt comfortable. She didn't feel particularly lovely but she was sure that the Baron certainly would approve.

It was a comforting thought that her uncle would remain in the room, although it might be a bit awkward. The Baron must be almost as old as her uncle and it seemed rather odd for her uncle to be "chaperoning". She tried to keep her face serene and lady-like at the notion of spending the next few hours with Baron Wothersham. Surely she'd feel just as unintelligent and young as she had at their previous meeting. However, it was possible that they'd touch on a subject that they both thought pleasing...there was always a glimmer of hope, even if it was impossible for Alice to believe.

“I am very glad that Rebecca has enlightened me of the situation; he shall probably be taken with a fit of passion at your beauty and I shall have to wrestle him from you. I am suddenly appreciative of your need for a chaperone. Promise me you shall have pity on your poor old uncle and not tempt his guest too much?”

A short, crackly, unlady-like laugh burst out of Alice and she quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth. Surely that must have been too loud. Servants down the hall would surely have heard it. She threw her uncle a jokingly reproachful look, though a smile still was situated on her face.

"My dear uncle," she said, recovering a bit, "I far too concerned for his physical health. We wouldn't want him to leave the house with broken bones I suppose I'll just have to make myself as unappealing as possible," she said with mock sincerity.

A few moment later a small maid entered the room, "The Baron Wothersham," she said in a humble voice, announcing John Doyle's arrival.

John followed the butler that was leading him to meet with the Earl and his niece, busily thinking of everything but Nora. He was not thinking about the way she smiled at him. He was not thinking about how soft the skin of her face was in his hand—Good Lord, he had touched her face, impropriety itself; but it had been her fault, he reminded himself, as he certainly could not have let her continue kissing his neck. He was not thinking that he should have liked to have felt her lips against his fingers or to have run his hand along the gentle curve of her neck. These were indecent thoughts for him to think, and so as a Baron and a gentleman he absolutely was not thinking them. Or, at least, he was doing his very level best not to think them.

To that end, he was attempting to catalogue what about himself a woman might find displeasing, so that he could be sure not to behave that way to Miss Alexander. He had already determined that most women found his conversation boring. This was probably, from a critical standpoint, because with most women the way he conversed was to stand about and make the occasional very short reply to their idiocies. Who wanted to talk of this or that person who had done such and such a scandalous thing? What did he care about that? If, on very rare occasion, the woman in question had something that was not gossip to talk about then he would either, if he was in a foul mood, amuse himself by arguing every point with her, or, if he was in a good mood, would listen politely and make an effort to be a good conversationalist. He resigned himself to taking this last approach with Miss Alexander; he was not in an especially good mood after having almost embarrassed himself with Miss Nora, but that could not be helped. Miss Alexander would be accorded his most civil and attentive conversation.

Oh, and he never smiled. Yes, women liked it when men smiled at them, did they not? He was sure they did, otherwise there would not be so many smiling fools about Lindebo; it could not be that so many men were so happy with their lives that they went about smiling like that. He should remember to smile at Miss Alexander. He thought it best to practice this before he must actually do it, so he arranged a wide grin on his face. The butler happened to glance backwards at this moment, and John noted that the fellow blanched and turned away, hastening his stride. The grin slid from John’s face. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all… it wouldn’t do for Miss Alexander to be afraid of him. But, some annoying part of him that seemed to think of nothing but Nora pointed out, Miss Nora did not think his smile was so horrible as all that. Maybe he smiled differently at her?

A much smaller smile appeared on his face without his knowledge; this was the one that very few people ever saw, but was much more genuine than his previous attempt. He was quite amused to think that he might smile at any one any differently than he did to the rest of the world; a preposterous thought, it was. No, it must simply be that Nora had a sterner set of nerves than this butler. The only people John cared to smile at and did not have to force the expression with were his family. He would have to make it so that Miss Alexander was the exception; it should not be so very hard, as she would be a part of his family in the future. Somehow this was not the happy thought that it should have been, and once again the smile leached from his face. He did not have time to dwell upon this any more, though, as the butler arrived at their destination and left John in the care of a small maid with a bow. The maid opened a door and announced to the occupants of the room within, ”The baron Wothersham.”

John walked into the room confidently. He had never courted a woman before, but at least Miss Alexander would stick to customs and formalities that he was familiar with; this was a situation that he could handle—he had a frame of reference and expectation to work within. He noticed that the Earl was there as well, and immediately knew that the man was chaperoning. He was obliged to smile; the idea that he, a man of thirty-six years, was being chaperoned by a man only a few years older was quite amusing to him. That the said chaperone had a reputation as something of a philanderer only added to the humour. The Earl got in the first word, greeting John with ”Good afternoon, Wothersham. How do you do?”

He was required to greet the Earl first, now. He had intended to greet Miss Alexander first, but now politeness dictated that he reply to the Earl. As both were peers and it was an informal setting, John replied, “Lindeboshire. How do you do? It is a lovely afternoon, is it not?”

The Earl seemed amused at this comment. ”I suppose so, if you enjoy the rain.”
John said, “I confess I do. I think it very fine weather, which I suppose is quite fortunate since England has so much of it.”
The Earl knuckled his moustache to hide a smile, and then said, ”Yes, indeed.”
John, not particularly interested in swapping pleasantries with the Earl, turned to Miss Alexander. She looked perhaps a trifle pale, and he hoped that she would not be too shy to talk to him. It was quite important that he be able to engage her in a conversation; he hoped to find out something of her personality today, in order to determine if she would be the ideal wife he thought she would. He said to her, "Miss Alexander, it's truly a pleasure to see you again. You are looking well today." The pleasantry slipped glibly from his tongue.

Rupert smiled as Alice laughed; it was good that she relieve her tension. Sure, she was a bit loud, but it was genuine, so he excused the breach of propriety. It wasn’t as if the Lindemans had always been perfectly stuck on moralistic upright behaviour. Well, perhaps some of them had been, but neither he nor his wife… well, enough of that. He chuckled as Alice sent him a mock-resentful look and grinned unrepentantly. Alice assured him, "My dear uncle, I am far too concerned for his physical health. We wouldn't want him to leave the house with broken bones. I suppose I'll just have to make myself as unappealing as possible.

The Earl nodded as if he agreed with this sentiment, but ruined his solemn façade when he winked at her and said, “It is completely impossible for you to be any other than my most beautiful niece; I shall have to be prepared to call him out at a moment’s notice.” He grinned again, but at that moment, before any more could be said, a maid ushered Lord Wothersham in and announced him. Rupert decided to get the first word in, so that Alice could have time to collect herself. Assuming a cheerfully calm expression of goodwill, he greeted the man with, ”Good afternoon, Wothersham. How do you do?”
The Baron obligingly replied with, “Lindeboshire. How do you do? It is a lovely afternoon, is it not?”
Boring, boring, boring. Rupert could spend his time much better with the pretty new maid, what was her name? Tyler? Libby Taylor, that was it. But some things were necessary, and this was one of them. Rupert replied, ”I suppose so, if you enjoy the rain.”

Doyle commented, “I confess I do. I think it very fine weather, which I suppose is quite fortunate since England has so much of it.”
Rupert hadn’t known that about the baron, but he could hardly say he was surprised. Doyle seemed to have a rainy sort of personality, constantly brooding, much like the grey storm-clouds that hung in the sky during a rainstorm. Amused at this idea, he knuckled his moustache to hide his smile, and replied, ”Yes, indeed.”
The baron turned to Alice then and very adroitly complimented her with, “Miss Alexander, it's truly a pleasure to see you again. You are looking well today."
Rupert was almost as amused at this as the other, since it was quite odd to hear the baron saying anything of the sort to a woman. Rupert could not remember one time that the baron had complimented any lady about anything, except of course his wife, Rebecca. But Rebecca would always inspire compliments wherever she went, so that was to be expected.

Still, he was not needed in the conversation just now, so, placing an encouraging hand on the small of Alice’s back, he told the baron, “She is, is she not? However, I have a letter of urgent business to write; pray forgive me if I leave you in her excellent care for a moment.”
Nodding at the baron, he gave a small rub to Alice’s back and then went over to a writing-table in the corner of the drawing-room. This way, the two of them were free to have their conversation without him butting in, but he had also not really left Doyle in Alice’s care (such would be indecent for poor Alice). He smiled to himself as he began to take things out to write with. Since he had no pressing business letter to write, he would have to make something up to appear busy. What should he do? He smiled as it came to him. All the passion swimming through the room from the two love-birds must have gotten to him; well, perhaps that was just his imagination. He looked over at Alice and Doyle. Yes, definitely his imagination. Eh well. Back to his task.

He leaned over and began to write a love-letter to his wife.

“It is completely impossible for you to be any other than my most beautiful niece; I shall have to be prepared to call him out at a moment’s notice.”

Alice smiled uncomfortably at the compliment but before she had a chance to say anything the baron was announced. She straightened her skirt and brushed off some invisible dust.

In came the baron, looking just as tall and stern as ever. She fixed a casual, tight-lipped smile on her face that caused her to have little dimples in her cheeks and watched the interaction between the baron and her uncle with restrained amusment. She was, however, delighted to hear that the baron enjoyed rainy weather. It was the first thing she could see that they had in common.

"Miss Alexander, it's truly a pleasure. You are looking well today."

"Thank you, as do you. I trust you are well?" Alice replied in a sweet but slightly curt voice.

“She is, is she not? However, I have a letter of urgent business to write; pray forgive me if I leave you in her excellent care for a moment.”

Alice smiled weakly as her uncle walked away trying somehow to tell him telepathically to stay so the three of them could talk and keep it from being a courting between herself and the baron.

John remembered too late the circituitous path of all pleasantries. He would never find out anything at all of Miss Alexander's thoughts and preferences this way. He gave the requisite reply, and then tacked onto the end a request. "I am, thank you. Perhaps, if it does not trouble you too greatly, we might sit at the window? It is too wet to walk outside, but we can enjoy the light at least."

"That sounds delightful," she replied with a happy but slightly pained expression. As they crossed the room to sit at on the window Alice began to think that perhaps he wasn't quite so unpleasant as she had thought. As they sat down she decided to speak first, seeing as how he'd been silent for a moment or two. "My lord, may I ask you a question?"

John courteously waited until she sat before taking a seat beside her. The Earl, who had not spoken since the required greeting, wandered over to a nearby chair and sat to read a book. John wasn't sure what to say to Miss Alexander then, but she took the responsibility from him in the next moment. "Of course," he replied.

Alice had half a mind to ask him how old he was. That had been her intention but instead she glanced to the open newspaper she had just put down before the Baron had entered.

"Have you heard of Annie Oakley?" she said, though not after pausing for a moment, probably giving the impression that she had intended to ask something else.

((Is that the way you wanted it done? Trusting in my supreme competence I'm sure it's completely wrong. Just let me know))

(OOC: Issfine! :) Have more confidence, I think you're excellent at this sort of thing. :thumbsup:)

(OOC2: In case anyone wondered, the mods in the above post and this one were fully discussed and this is all above-board)

John blinked. What an exceedingly odd question, but how delightful. They were not to have a stodgy conversation after all, it seemed; Miss Alexander might even be persuaded to share some of her own opinions and thoughts. That was really what he had come here to find out; how she thought, in order to find out how suitable she really was. "I have only a passing notion of who she is, I am sorry to admit. I believe she is the American sharpshooting lady, is she not? Do you have a particular interest in her or in sharpshooting?" He could not imagine that such a delicate young woman would. Perhaps No—no, he would not think of her.

Alice blinked for a moment at Mr. Doyle. He had seemed to have a sincere interest in what she was saying. This wasn't quite the way it'd been when they'd first spoken.

"Sharpshooting?" she asked, contemplating the answer, "I wouldn't know would I? Perhaps I'm quite good at at and just don't know it," she said in a rather serious voice which was followed by a little smile, "I was just reading an article in the paper," she said nodding her head towards the newspaper on the coffee table, "It said that she shot the ashes of Wilhelm of Prussia's cigarette," she she said in a voice similar to that of a child when they're telling their mother about the muddy toad in the creek discovered that afternoon, "She was in England not to long ago. It would've been lovely to see her, don't you think?" She asked interestedly.

John was reminded of Nora by Miss Alexander. She had the same enthusiasm about the article she had read that Nora had displayed over having her name written. How strange, he thought, that it didn’t have the same effect on him. Whereas he was touched by Nora’s eagerness he found that Miss Alexander inspired no such emotion. However, she was right in this case, so he obligingly agreed. “It would have been most fascinating, I think. I don’t think I would dare her to shoot the ashes off my cigar, though. Imagine if she had missed! She is reputed to be better than most men, though, so perhaps it would not be so dangerous after all. Have you ever seen a marksman’s display, Miss Alexander?”

"Oh no," she said and voice that sounded as if she was worried the answer might dissappoint him, "I think it'd be rather exciting to have the ashes shot off your cigar though,"

She a shaky breath, similar to one that occured after one had been crying for a few hours. His manner made her a bit uneasy. It wasn't anything he'd done. He'd been nothing but polite and kind but she found that she got the feeling he'd rather be anywhere in the world but sitting there, next to her.

"Shall I send for tea?" she asked brightly, "We just got some jasmine tea from that you might like. It's a bit different than most...It's a ball and then when you put water on it it blooms like a flower...Very pretty," she said awkwardly. She felt like she was talking either too much or too loudly which in reality she probably wasn't.

John could tell that she was nervous from the hitch in her voice, so he tried to be more gentlemanly. "I'm sure it is," he said, making his voice warm. "I should love to try it. Where does it come from?" This wasn't going as badly as it could have, he thought. Miss Alexander was quite a proper girl but not entirely boring; he thought it might be possible to come away from this without feeling that the afternoon had been a waste. However, he was glad when she changed the subject back to their previous one; it might have taxed his reserve to talk of teas for an hour or two.

"Have you ever been to a Marksman display Baron Wothersham?" Alice asked, and John was happy to continue upon the topic.

((Aw! You're so sweet :wub: ))


It went on like that for a while. The conversation remained interesting in an appropriately subdued way. Surprisingly the conversation was actually entertaining. The talked a bit about music, art, literature and a few randomly interesting subjects. A lot of it was made up of fake smiles but every now and then she would surprise herself with a genuinely happy smile.

When it was time for him to leave the said respectable goodbyes and explained their hopes to see eachother at the easter ball.

She watched him walk down the pathway that led away from the home, thanked her uncle for chaperoning and slowly ascended up the stairs, her pretty little head filled with worry. The Easter Ball was doubling as her her debute into society and surely there would be lots of respectable gentleman there, including Baron Wothersham. As she entered her room she stood by the giant window that looked out towards the direction of town. A smile twinged at her lip and she couldn't hellp hoping, ridiculously, that Mr. Bristol would be there.

((Next Post...To be announced))

John left Lindeborough Castle after saying his polite goodbyes to Miss Alexander and the Earl, asking Mr Lindeman to convey his regards to Mrs Lindeman. He was in a much better mood than he had been upon arriving, and was quite satisfied with the events of the day. He was, in fact, so pleased with himself that he told the maid who opened the door for him, “Good day.” She gawked at this unexpected magnanimity, and it was a moment before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to notice servants beyond a nod of the head. Eh well. So he nodded at her as well and went out, smiling to himself as he put his hat back on his head. The expression on the maid’s face reminded him of Nora’s when she saw her name on paper for the first time.

There now. He had managed to talk to Miss Alexander for almost thirty minutes without being bored to tears. In fact it had been somewhat interesting in a disjointed way; he would not have thought her the sort to keep up with gun-shows or anything of the like. She had been eminently graceful at the tea she ordered, polite and charming with a thorough knowledge of the customs used when serving tea to guests, which indicated that she was well-versed in hostessing. That would be a necessity for his wife, of course; he could not marry someone who didn’t know a tea fork from a fish fork. Her conversation had been kind, without ever casting aspersion on any one or thing, as so many women did; she was not snide at all. He had confirmed his mind upon her as his choice for wife, and was well-pleased with the way his first official call had gone.

And, more importantly, he had managed to keep from making a fool of himself in the drawing-room. He had kept within courtesy at all times, even if Nora had not, and had done admirably well at restraining himself. He would have liked to have had a longer conversation with her, but at least he had not disgraced himself there. It had gone well. It had. Oh, she had his pen-case still. He would have to send Haverhill to get it back some time. He had numerous pen-cases, but that one had come from Samantha, so he really should get it back. He wondered where Nora lived? Was she comfortable there… he did not wonder that. Haverhill knew where she lived, Haverhill could take care of it. Indeed.

Still in a reasonably good mood despite that he was irritated to be thinking about Nora, he left the Castle grounds and walked back down to Lindebo, heading home to the house on Waverley-street.

OOC Next post in the House on Waverley-street.