Mind Your Manners (closed for wrterlogan)

AmandaAce

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The door swung open with a bang and Isobel nearly tumbled out of bed. She sat up, shading her eyes against the sunlight that streamed in through the now open blinds.
“What?” she said blearily. Margaret, the maid, clucked at her disapprovingly as she bustled around the room.
“It's nearly nine of the clock, Miss,” Margaret pronounced. Her accent was so thick as to be nearly incomprehensible. Isobel squinted at her for a moment before nodding slowly.
“It's the day of Lord Beverly's party, Miss,” the maid continued, looking at Isobel expectantly. Isobel paused, deciphering the message. Lord Beverly's party.
“Oh!” Isobel shouted. “I forgot.” Margaret rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way as Isobel leapt out of bed, her auburn hair flying behind her like a flag.
“Miss Jane has already gone, Miss,” Margaret said, as Isobel slammed open the bedroom door.
“What?” Isobel turned. “We were supposed to go to the shop together,” she said. Margaret shrugged. “Well, how am I to get there?” She stopped for a moment, and threw her nightdress over her head and onto the floor. Margaret picked it up silently, ignoring Isobel's sudden nakedness. She reached behind her and closed the bedroom door.
“Miss Jane said to --” Margaret began, but Isobel hushed her.
“Perhaps Mr. Gregory will let me take his coach,” she speculated of their neighbor. Margaret picked up the pitcher she'd brought in and began to fill the basin. Isobel snatched the cloth from her. “Go get my grey, will you?” she said. Margaret nodded and ducked into the closet.
Isobel stared into the small mirror for a moment. “But first!” she called. The maid came back from the closet, her arms full of grey silk. “First tell Edgar to call on Mr. Gregory and ask about the coach! Hurry! I have to go pick up my dress for the party.” Margaret laid the grey silk carefully on a chair and left the room. Isobel turned back to the mirror and began slowly and methodically washing her face and brushing her hair.
Jane had left without her. She probably intended for Isobel to miss her, to not be able to pick up her dress. To have Isobel turn up to Lord Beverly's party in last month's dress, while Jane wore her new pink. Certainly Jane was jealous of her --- tall, gangly, and mousy, she certainly bore no family resemblance to Isobel, compact and delicate, with her riot of auburn hair.
Isobel snorted to herself. Why would there be any family resemblance? Jane wasn't really her cousin, after all. Jane thought she was, which was really all that mattered.
Margaret bustled back in and Isobel, caught up in the flurry of dressing, forgot about Jane.

An hour later, Isobel was being helped into Mr. Gregory's carriage, her light grey suit showing off her complexion to advantage. The footman closed the door and she sat back against the padded seat, closing her eyes in satisfaction as they took off into town.
 
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"We don't really have to go to the horrid party do we?"

Silas stopped looking at himself in the mirror for a moment to glare at his friend Edmund, "Of course we have to go, unlike you some of us have to find our money through such channels."

He turned back and regarded his appearance once more. Tall with dark hair and dark brown eyes, Silas had always attracted a small amount of interest wherever he went. A mustache was just the right touch to further that effect and it didn't hurt that it was now in vogue with all the other artists. The outfit he was going to wear for the party was laid out behind him. Edmund had arrived a few minutes earlier, hoping to cancel their plans.

"It's not that bad for you, I'll probably have to dance with Lady Hortence's daughter, the ugly cow. Do you know that last time she stepped on my foot so many times with those hooves of her's I was sure I'd broken something."

"Well then, you'd best try to avoid spending all your time with a glass of sherry in your hand," replied Silas with a smile, "You get stuck with her as a partner because everyone else has already been taken."

The blonde haired gentleman shook his head,"It's easy for you, the new favorite poet always gets first choice."

"And we remember when that wasn't the case. Stay close to me this time and I'll make sure that you are better partnered."

Silas couldn't fault Edmund for being interested in dancing but he had to focus his efforts where they needed to be: on securing more money. Appearing to be a talented poet was easy, paying for a room and food was not. These types of gathering would allow him ample opportunity to meet rich people with money to spare, people wanting to be entertained and humored. He could do all those things so easily.

"Are you going to wear your blue jacket?"

Edmund nodded, "Of course, I always wear it!"

"That's your other problem. I was talking to Agnes Upworth and she told me that she quite liked you except for the fact that you always wear such silly clothes together."

"Did she really say that?" asked Edmund, somewhat taken aback at the prospect.

"Of course she did, just don't ask her about it, she told me in confidence."

Silas finished in front of the mirror. Agnes hadn't told him anything about Edmund and he severely doubted she ever would. It was easiest way to get him to change into something less flashy. Something was telling him that this party would be a golden opportunity and he did not need his well connected friend upstaging him.

"Come on, let's get going then," said Edmund.

"Of course," replied Silas giving his mustache a small twirl.
 
The halls of Marsten house were chaos. Below stairs, Edgar and Charley were being scrubbed and thrust into their tight coachman uniforms, their whiskers combed and brushed, their hair slicked back with oil and water. Upstairs, maids flew back and forth between rooms, trailing ribbons, tripping over shoes, tossing cosmetic items at each other. Jane Marsten, already fully dressed, glided through the upstairs hall like a ghost in her light pink silk, her ungenerous mouth turned down and eyes narrowed.
From Isobel's room came a desperate gasping and thumping. Jane raised an eyebrow and marched down to the door. There was another bang, and a cry. Jane flung the door open to see Margaret – the source of the gasping – holding on to Isobel's corset with both hands, one knee braced against her back, while her cousin stood calmly at the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. Margaret pulled, gasped, and Isobel's waist got even smaller.
“Tighter,” Isobel remarked. She was perfectly composed, her white knuckled hands on the vanity the only indication of the strain she was under.
Margaret wrapped the corset ribbons around her hands and pulled again. Isobel stood up straighter and took a shallow breath.
“Tighter,” she said. Her voice was barely audible.
“Oh, come now, that's enough!” Jane exclaimed. Margaret looked at her with relief, and quickly tied off the corset ribbons. She stood back and rubbed her scarlet hands.
Isobel turned to Jane with an expression of boredom. Her auburn hair had been painstakingly pinned to her head in a series of fat curls. From underneath, her dark blue eyes regarded her cousin with something like contempt.
Jane's tall, straight frame was overwhelmed by the fussy pink dress she wore. The lacy sleeves dangled from her pointy elbows like curtains. Her shoulders were too broad for the wide neckline, her ears to big for the small hat she wore perched on top of her head.
“You look lovely, Jane,” Isobel said, lifting her arms to allow Margaret to slip her dress over her head. It fit her perfectly, the delicate green silk bodice clinging to her tiny corseted waist, and Jane frowned.
“So do you,” she said, turning to leave the room. “Hurry, Margaret.” Isobel made a face at her behind her back.

Edgar and Charley helped them into the coach, and Isobel sat forward, looking out the window. Jane fiddled with her hat and gloves.
“I do hope William Montclair makes an appearance,” she said quietly, and Isobel turned to her with a raised eyebrow.
“William Montclair?” Isobel repeated. “His eye is adrift.”
Jane tilted her head. “He's nice though, don't you think?”
Isobel gave Jane a look and turned her attention back to the window. William Montclair indeed. She said a prayer of thanks that she hadn't been born ugly like Jane, to have to welcome the attentions of someone with bucked teeth and a rudderless eye. She shuddered.
“He is nice,” she allowed. Jane nodded and sat back in her seat. “Not long now, Jane, fix your hat!”
 
Silas sat across from Edmund and fixed his tie moving it just slightly to the left, giving him the air of apparent disinterest.

"I do hope there will be some new people here, I'm getting dreadfully tired of the old group," murmured Edmund.

Silently, Silas had to agree but not because he was tired of them, more that they were tired of his act. He was still able to gain a certain amount of patronage from those who believed his stories or who felt that he had adequately honored them. The problem was that he still needed money and those resources were starting to dry up. He anticipated that he would have a few more months before having to move on unless he could cultivate new audiences.

"Well hopefully there will be some more of those from that new social club you joined, they would be good for some entertainment."

Due to his background, Edmund had been admitted into a recently formed society for up and comers in the area. Silas would have relished the opportunity to make new connections but did not want to rely too much on his friend should he damage that bond. No, for the time being he would do his utmost to help the youth to find himself while achieving his own ends.

"We'll find out soon enough," replied Edmund looking out from the behind the glass.

They would indeed thought Silas as he stroked his mustache.
 
The line in the Beverly's drive was at least seven coaches long. They'd passed the Montclair's coach on the street, and Jane sat forward, waiting impatiently to exit. Isobel sat quietly against the seat, watching the guests arrive. She saw Agnes Upworth and Mary Fordyce step elegantly out of the Upworth's expensive short-stage. Lady Hortence and her fat daugher Catherine popped out of their coach like corks from a bottle. Blond, rakish Edmund Braithwaite scrambled nimbly out of a hired cab, followed by a tall, dark haired man Isobel didn't know. And then it was their turn, and Charley was helping her down the stairs and into the large parqueted hall. Jane was already gone, in search of Mr. Montclair, and Isobel stopped for a moment, allowing Charley to take her wrap, and gazed around the hall.
Agnes Upworth lifted a hand to her, and Isobel made her way through the crowd.
“Agnes,” Isobel acknowledged.
“Isobel,” Agnes said warmly. She greeted Isobel with a kiss on the cheek, then stepped back to look at her. “You look quite lovely. Who did your dress?”
“Mlle Ardant, in the Row,” Isobel said. Agnes nodded.
“I've heard she's much talented. That color becomes you.”
Isobel's response was interrupted by Edmund Braithwaite. He stepped forward and nodded to Agnes, then Isobel, in turn.
“Miss Upworth, Miss Marsten,” He smiled handsomely at the two of them. “You both look lovely this evening. I've had the pleasure of seeing your cousin Jane as well, Miss Marsten.”
Isobel nodded. “Jane certainly is a – pleasure.” She smiled back at Edmund before looking at the floor. He was a rogue, but he was one of the most well-connected people at the party.
“Miss Marsten, I've been meaning to introduce you to my good friend Silas Mabry. You haven't met him, have you?” Edmund gestured across the room to the tall dark man he had come with. He was deep in conversation with Mary Fordyce, but Isobel saw him glance up when Silas indicated him. His eyes were as dark as his mustache and hair.
“No, I haven't,” she said, and Agnes clutched her shoulder.
“Oh, you simply must meet him,” she said. “He's ever so charming.”
Edmund took their leave with a nod of his head, and strode across the room to his friend.
 
Silas inwardly groaned as he saw Edmund approaching after speaking with a few girls. The comment about Agnes had come back to bite him and he would have to endure several minutes of agonizing conversation with them before he could make his escape and find more charitable targets. Then again he would be more of a chance to practice his part.

"Silas! You must meet Miss Marsten, she's a friend of Miss Upworth's."

Silas smiled in return, "Of course Ed, if you think this will in some small way help to fill your dance card then I guess I shall make my introductions."

He allowed himself to be lead back across the room. Yes, it was Agnes Upworth and someone else, someone he had not encountered. His mind was turning, attempting to place this face somewhere. In the course of his business, he found it very important to remember faces. Knowing who to quote and who to avoid was a very important part of this game, more important than who one was caught dancing with. The fact that he could not immediately place this Miss Marsten troubled him a bit but he could not afford for that to read on his face. He adopted a more amiable grin as they finally approached.

"Miss Upworth, I'm sure you remember Mr. Silas Marby. Mr. Marby this is Miss Marsten, a friend of Miss Upworth's. Miss Marsten, this is Silas Marby, I don't know if you've heard of him but Mr. Marby is something of a local celebrity. He's the poet in vogue for this season if you must know."

Silas thought that Edmund laid it on a bit thick but there was nothing to do about that. He bowed slightly, "Miss Upworth, I am pleased to see you again and Miss Marsten I'm glad to have met you."
 
Isobel narrowed her eyes at Mr. Marby. He grinned at Agnes and Isobel as Silas introduced them, and Agnes blushed and made eyes at him from underneath her hat.
"Miss Upworth, I am pleased to see you again and Miss Marsten I'm glad to have met you,” he said, and Isobel inclined her head in a polite nod. His voice. His accent. There was a hint of Southwark in the broad way he pronounced her name. She looked at his heavy, dark hair, his thick mustache, his handsome, intelligent face. He was a gentleman, certainly, but no gentleman had ever come from that thieves den.
“It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. – Marby,” Isobel replied. Edmund clapped his friend's shoulder with a grin and departed the group. She waited for him to speak again, to try to place the strange slip of accent she could hear in his voice.
“Yes,” Agnes added. “I was just telling Isobel how you recited those poems at the Fordyce's – it was very diverting. Your voice is ever so good.”
Isobel nodded. Agnes had been telling her no such thing. Mr. Marby was looking at her intently, and Isobel tossed her head and looked back at him pertly.
“I've heard you're very talented, Mr. Marby,” Isobel agreed. “Do you intend to perform for us tonight?”
There was a rustle of silk, and Lady Hortence pushed her way into the group. “Mr. Marby,” she crooned in her syrupy voice. “It's so lovely to see you. I see you've met our Miss Marsten, isn't she a beauty?”
Agnes shot her a disapproving look and interrupted. “Yes, Isobel has the look, but there's something to be said for – classic beauty,” – here she tossed her blonde head – “isn't there, Mr. Marby?”
Isobel raised an eyebrow and backed out of the circle before Mr. Marby could respond. He was handsome, of course, but Agnes was making a fool of herself. She'd be better off chasing Edmund Braithwaite – he'd been after her for years.
Turning around, Isobel almost ran directly into Jane, who huffed at her before moving on. Mr. Montclair was nowhere to be seen.
“Isobel,” Mary Fordyce said from behind her. “Have you met Silas Marby? He's ever so charming.”
 
Silas made his introductions as smoothly as possible but something did not sit well with him. The other girl, Isobel, she had reacted differently than he had expected. Agnes had responded with her usual platitudes and praise but she had not seemed so impressed. He was used to being distrusted by newcomers but there was a different quality to it, distrust was perhaps not the right word for it. If he was being honest, it almost felt like recognition. Not recognition as a famous poet might expect but as someone being truly seen.

Before he could say anything else, the boring Lady Hortence had made her presence felt. Silas had always hoped that she might part with a bit more of her money but she seemed to have an excuse every time he asked. He wouldn't be surprised if her family was actually in worse financial straights than the rumors would have him believe. She was babbling on about something before being cut off by Agnes again. This time the poor girl wanted him to make some sort of comparison between the two girls. He regarded Isobel again.

There was something about her face that intrigued him. Perhaps being recognized on some level had alerted him to a uniqueness about her, a quality that he would find lacking in girls like Agnes and her fellow socialites. They would certainly be Edmund's sort but not his. He could sense that she was thinking something else as well, that the conversation was not really interesting her either.

He began to form a few over used phrases on beauty in his head but watched as she quickly broke away. This appeared to have placated Agnes somewhat and Silas hoped she would return soon.
 
Isobel took a deep breath and resisted the urge to simply round on Mary Fordyce and slap her in the face. Ladies didn't show irritation in public, and it was imperative that Isobel maintain the charade. She blinked her eyes, arranged her lips in a sweet smile, and turned around to face Mary, who was looking at her expectantly, eyes wide. Over Mary's shoulder, Isobel could see Agnes throw her head back and let out a peal of laughter. Edmund Braithwaite was dazzled, but Silas Marby was regarding Agnes with a kind of puzzled contempt. He fixed his face after a moment, smoothing his mustache with one hand, but Isobel had seen the look.
“Isobel?” Mary asked, putting a hand on her arm.
“Oh! Yes,” Isobel replied. “I met him briefly, he is very charming.” Mary nodded.
“Agnes Upworth is quite taken with him,” she continued. Isobel nearly snorted. She caught herself at the last second, raising a gloved hand to her mouth.
“Last year Agnes Upworth was quite taken with that man who brought around the automatons. She is very susceptible to the charms of artistic men,” Isobel remarked drily. Mary nodded.
“Come, let's see if he is going to recite for us tonight,” she said, and took Isobel's hand. Isobel allowed herself to be guided back into the group, which had expanded to include fat Catherine Hortence and Jane Marsten.
“Mr. Marby!” Mary called. She pulled Isobel into the middle of the circle. “Miss Marsten and I were just saying how much we'd like to hear you recite.”
“Yes,” Isobel murmured. “We'd love to hear you recite.” She wanted to hear his accent again. He kept looking at her with his unsettling dark eyes, and Isobel couldn't help but feel that he was seeing right through her.
“Come now,” Edmund Braithwaite said. “We've only just got here.”
 
Edmund was nothing if not loyal. Silas had to give him credit for that, his friend had never once questioned his stories or appearance or disturbing habit of foisting the bill on someone else. No, instead Edmund had always offered him friendship and for that he would always be grateful. It could make him see past the other things...

"I'm afraid Mr. Braithwaite is right, we've only just arrived and I would hate for you all to tire of me so early in the evening."

This was met by a few warm chuckles but Silas was only interested in how Isobel would respond. She did not pretend to laugh or even give a sincere smile, she seemed more interested in something else.

Lady Hortence had made the most noise of anyone, sounding like an overamused swine, "We will forgive you just this one time Mr. Marby but I am certain Lord Beverly will expect some of your best work later when the timing is more fortuitous."

"Of course my lady," he quickly responded, "like all good artists I would be nothing if I was not able to find the moment and seize it."

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mr. Rodderick Clegham, one of his more regular patrons. Mr. Clegham was entertained by simple verse and appreciated the fact that anyone would choose to heap attention in his direction. His money was in decent supply as well.

"You must excuse me for a moment, I must have words with Mr. Clegham."

Silas bowed to the group and pulled himself away.
 
Isobel watched Mr. Marby depart the group. He cut an elegant figure as he slipped through the crowd.

“What do you think of him?” Catherine Hortence muttered in her ear. Isobel jumped nearly a foot. After regaining her composure, she turned to regard Catherine. She was large, stuffed into an elaborate dress that matched her mother's, but she didn't have the red-faced braying boisterous aspect of her mother's character.

“He's – very interesting,” Isobel replied. She allowed her gaze to return to Mr. Marby, who was now speaking with that old fool Rodderick Clegham. Mr. Clegham gazed up at him, hanging on his every word. He was as taken with the stranger as Agnes and Mary were.

Catherine was not. She shot a glance at the other members of the group. They were listening to Edmund tell an animated story about getting stuck in a hansom in Bethnal Green Road. Jane and Mary Fordyce were listening, anyway. Agnes was watching Mr. Marby like a hawk watches a mouse.

Once Catherine had satisfied herself that no one else was listening, she leaned forward to Isobel. “I think he's rubbish. And I don't like his mustache. And last week I caught him reciting a poem that wasn't his. He and Edmund are just shameless rogues. Not a scrap of dignity between them.” She recited all this in a fierce, vindictive whisper. Isobel turned to her, mouth open.

“Really?” she asked, pretending to be scandalized. Her ribs hurt from holding in laughter. Catherine Hortence had never spoken more than three words to her before, so this blast of vitriol was unexpected.

Catherine nodded grimly, turned, and flounced away. With a sigh of amusement, Isobel glanced around the room. Mr. Marby was still talking to Clegham, but he was looking at Isobel. She looked behind her. Agnes Upworth was watching her icily. Across the room, Jane was regarding her with a dour frown.

“Isobel?” Lady Hortence boomed behind her. Isobel turned, grateful for the distraction. “You're absolutely white, my dear, are you all right?”

“Oh! Yes,” Isobel replied, with a delicate wave of her hand. “It's just, my dress, I need a bit of air.”

She pushed past Lady Hortence and into the hall. A startled maid looked up at her as she stumbled through.

“Garden?” Isobel asked. The maid ran ahead of her to open the doors, and Isobel stepped out into the blessedly cool air .
 
Silas waited until the group had dispersed from Edmund before moving to his side once more. His friend appeared pleased that another of his opt embellished stories had gone over so well and no one would blame him. This group was always dying for news of some sort, even the kind that had no truth to it. People always appreciate an amusing story over a true one. Truth was always the last refuge of the insane or desperate. And currently, he was neither of those.

"What can you tell me of Miss Marsten?" he murmured in hushed tones. Edmund gave him a rather amused look. Asking about partygoers was usually reserved for people who might benefit him in some way later.

"Truth be told, she's not worth much more than that dress. If you are interested in money you'd be much better off looking to her cousin."

"I could have guess that myself," Silas retorted, "I mean what else do you know?"

"What else is there to know? She's certainly better behaved than the Cow and she knows to speak only when spoken too. Other than that, I assure you she is probably just as droll as the rest of the lot here. If you are looking for exciting crowds you have to go to the Gingham's parties. Reginald is more likely to invite the sort of people who actually have a bit of character about them. This is a party to see and be seen. And as I can attest, you can unsee some of them, no matter how much you wish you could."

Silas sighed. Edmund was right about this group, he'd seen almost all there was to see of them. The few he could count on for support were nice but it wasn't truly satisfying his needs. He finally nodded to Edmund.

"You're right of course, it was a silly idea of mine to come to this party. Next time you'll have to make certain that I know about the next little gathering for your club friends, that is how you know Reginald right?"

Edmund's face soured. He was still trying to keep his club friends from meeting Silas, worried about what might happen. Then again, as Silas reasoned, most of them couldn't claim to have saved his life either. His friend still battled with himself.

"Don't worry Ed, if the opportunity arises, it will do so naturally. And, I promise not to drain them too much."

Edmund chuckled, "They'd probably end up taking it all back from you at cards."

They both had a laugh and turned back towards a cluster of people, slowly making their way into conversation.
 
The Beverly's garden was magnificent. It sprawled out from the back of the house, all neat, straight paths and flowers leading to the great greenhouse in the center. Someone clever, the gardener most likely, had placed tiny gas lights at intervals, giving the garden a glow even at this late hour. The lights glinted off the greenhouse and reflected off the huge windows of the house. The park itself was a lush, well kept green, spotted here and there with the blues, pinks, and whites of the domestic flowers. Their perfumes rolled across the garden like fog, and surrounded Isobel in a cloud of sweet scent.
She took a few deep breaths, looking out at the cool, rolling green expanse, and she felt her head clear somewhat.
With a quick pat of her hair and a swirl of skirt, she turned to re-enter the house. The ballroom was perfectly visible through the floor length windows, and she peeped inside. She could see Agnes and Mary, following Edmund and Mr. Marby through the crowd like lap dogs. The two men were oblivious to it, of course, making their rounds and greeting people heartily. Lord Beverly had produced cigars from somewhere, and was trying to convince Edmund, Silas, Roderick Clegham, and Robert Fordyce, Mary's father, to retire to the smoking room with him. Lady Beverly was trying to convince her husband, discreetly, that it was too early for the men to leave. She watched as Silas and Edmund slipped away from them.
Isobel entered the hallway quietly, closing the door behind her. The same maid that had watched her leave stood up and opened her mouth. Isobel shushed her with a raised hand. She entered the ballroom through one of the great doors, and joined up with Agnes and Mary just as they corralled the two men again.
“Oh, hello, Isobel,” Agnes said, startled. “I thought you'd left.”
“Just went to get some air,” Isobel replied. She sniffed and turned her attention back to the two men.
“Mr. Marby,” Agnes demanded, “have you met the members of the club yet? My brother, Goulding, is just dying to meet you.”
Edmund Braithwaite shot a look at Mr. Marby and cleared his throat. “We haven't, as yet, had the opportunity--”
“Oh, Edmund,” she interrupted with a tinkling laugh, “Are you keeping Mr. Marby hidden?”
She placed a hand on his arm.
Isobel turned to the men with a merry smile. “Of course he isn't, Agnes. If he was keeping him hidden, he'd hardly have introduced him to you, would he?”
Edmund nearly choked.
 
Silas had to do his very best to stifle his chuckle into the sound of rather forced cough, "No Miss Marsten, I'm afraid Mr. Braithwaite could not keep me hidden forever, even if he had wanted to...I was rather in need of getting out to parties and meeting new people and I really should thank Miss Upworth for her help in doing just that."

This Miss Marsten was certainly unaware of how close she was to making this party a true disaster for him. Disaster was probably the wrong word, he'd have a little more money until next money but trying to get Ed to talk about anything important would be to the embarrassment of them both. His friend was not stupid, at least not very stupid but could easily be played into corners by the truly inquisitive or pushy. It was still unclear which Isobel was going to be.

"He and I have broached the subject many times and we both agreed that it would be better for me wait for you see there are some men who rush into gambling circles too quickly. I have been blessed with some talent for words but I'm afraid my luck is no where near as impressive."

He looked at Isobel, "Well Miss Marsten I feel like you've been dying to say something, what do you make of this party?"
 
Silas Marby turned to Isobel, his dark eyes merry with amusement. “Well Miss Marsten I feel like you've been dying to say something, what do you make of this party?"

Isobel raised an eyebrow. The cheek! Dying to say something! The absolute cheek. He was waiting for her to respond, waiting, perhaps, for her to take the bait, to say something snippy and ill-bred. If he thought he was going to catch her out, he was badly mistaken. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She could see Agnes Upworth's smirk out of the corner of her eye, and she wanted to turn and slap her senseless. The rest of the party, including Mary and Edmund were oblivious to all of this, most of them chattering on about next night's outing at Vauxhall.

She blinked and smiled innocently at Mr. Marby. “It is a very lovely party,” she replied, leaving his remark unacknowledged. “But you must ask Agnes, you know, she and Goulding are much more busy in the social circles than I.”

Agnes interrupted. “Oh, Isobel, you're just as active, I'm sure ---”

“Oh no, Agnes,” Isobel said. She laid a hand on Agnes' arm and Agnes had to restrain herself from pulling away. “I'm not invited to half as many parties as you are, you know. I'm new to London, really.”

Isobel turned to Mr. Marby. “And so are you. Where are you from, Mr. Marby? I don't recall you mentioning.”

Before anyone could speak, there was a shuffling. A trio of musicians had been placed outside on the terrace, where Isobel had been standing earlier. Lord Beverly opened the doors and pulled back a heavy light green curtain. He gestured to the trio and they began to play, as two servants threw open the doors to the main ballroom.

Edmund took the opportunity to offer his arm to Agnes, who reluctantly took it. Mary Fordyce flounced next to Catherine Hortence and her mother. The crowd streamed around Silas and Isobel. She said nothing. If Mr. Marby was the gentleman he claimed, he'd know very well that she couldn't go into that room without a gentleman to accompany her.
 
Inwardly Silas would have admitted he was impressed. This Marsten girl was clearly out of her element, at least in so much as he could gather that she would rather speak than be spoken too. The others would likely accept her soft-spoken voice to be charming or appropriate but he knew that whenever someone agreed as much as she did, there was a reason behind it.

He leaned in closer as everyone was beginning to move, "You know as all the good poets and artists, I spontaneously rose out of the waters of creativity. My story is not nearly as fascinating as your own must be Ms. Marsten. A girl such as you must have all sorts of insights that could prove most useful to your time here."

Silas slowly offered his arm, "Don't worry Ms. Marsten. While I might not be as wealthy or connected as some here, I do think I am more than capable of serving as an escort."
 
Mr. Marby leaned close to Isobel and spoke in her ear. She tried to remain still, to keep her face fixed in a polite mask of propriety, but she couldn't suppress the smallest shiver that came over her when he said her name. Catherine Hortence was right, he was an absolute rogue. She sniffed and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don't worry Ms. Marsten. While I might not be as wealthy or connected as some here, I do think I am more than capable of serving as an escort." He certainly was. He was more handsome by far than Mr. Braithwaite or Goulding Upworth, taller and more elegant than Victor Fordyce, more clever than Reginald Gingham. He was not what he said he was, but Isobel was beginning to see why everyone was so taken with him.

He offered his arm and she took it, daintily, with a toss of her head. She saw Agnes ahead, nearly dragging Edmund down as she tried to look back at them. Edmund registered none of this. He was too busy trying to hide his absolute elation at having Agnes on his arm. Catherine Hortence turned around once and shot Isobel a warning look, which she pretended not to see.

“I'm sure you are,” she murmured to him. “And as far as insights, I do have a few. Mostly concerning you, Mr. Marby, and your – shall we say, indeterminate origin? I do hope your dance card isn't full. We have much to talk about.” She tilted her head up to look him in the eye. Her face was the picture of demure propriety, but the fiery gleam in her eyes belied it.

They entered the ballroom nearly last, their faces politely blank, and took their places next to the rest of the group.
 
There was something in the way she said 'indeterminate' that Mr Marby did not care for at all. It was as if she were trying to uncover some secret or announce some trick the way that some did at seances. It was very full of confidence and not the kind of confidence that he was used to. Aristocratic women were confident in matters that they were familiar with, things that they had many experiences with. This Ms. Marsten was beginning to seem less like any sort of lady he had encountered before.

"I'm sure we will find time for each other, should I not be called upon to do a lengthy recitation. Some of the others do so love hearing poetry from the source, they say it feels more real to them that way."

As they walked into the room, his eyes began to dart carefully around the room, looking for reactions that everyone was having to the music and more specifically to partners and pairings throughout the room. He was mostly interested in his patrons eyes, caring little for young women and their aims.

"Edmund looks quite pleased with himself doesn't he?"

He said the words with as little tone as possible, hoping to see how she would react to them.

The music was simple yet elegant, the kind that was customary for gatherings like this. It was times like these that Silas wished that he had a greater appreciation for music. Too many times it seemed as though it was used as mere background noise and not promoted for its own worth. Perhaps that was the same value of all his honeyed words, mere distractions for the rich and influential as they went from party to party, trying to appear as interested with one another's innate lives.

He would have to begin to plan his exit strategy. For a time he had convinced himself that he could live this life forever, slowly leeching money here and there, always enough to feed his lifestyle but never enough to anger the system. But could he stand this? This feeling of constantly having to appease these idiotic dames and their offspring? Of pretending to care about who was vacationing where and wearing what fashions? No, now was the time to begin looking for a more permanent exit. But who would provide him with that out?

His eyes again roved across the room, this time looking for salvation.
 
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Isobel stood next to Mr. Marby, her hand still daintily wrapped around his arm, and surveyed the crowd. Most of the guests had paired off, standing with the person to whom they'd promised their first dance. There were waiters circling with small glasses of sherry, and a few guests were well on their way to tipsy.The music started, and Lord and Lady Beverly swept onto the floor. They began to do one turn around the dining room, as was customary for the hosts of the party. Isobel tried to amuse herself by counting the hairpieces that Lady Beverly was wearing. They were all a slightly different color blonde, and her complicated hairstyle looked like a puzzle someone had put together. Her lavender gown was elegant, though. Isobel wondered how that color would look with her skin tone.

“Edmund looks quite pleased with himself, doesn't he?” Mr. Marby said quietly. She glanced up, following his gaze, and saw Edmund, his ruddy face glowing with pride, standing next to Agnes, who, to her credit, was trying not to look disappointed.

“Of course he does,” she replied. “He's been after Agnes for years. She'd do well to give him a chance – he's the only one with more money than she has. The Upworths are well off, the Braithwaites are rich, but together, they'd be a force. She could use him, he'd help stop Goulding gambling away the family fortune.”

She knew this about Edmund and Agnes because she made it her business to know this sort of thing about everyone. She presented it as a young woman's curiosity, the gossip about who would marry who. It wasn't. She was keeping track, counting allowances, trying to put together the plan that would get her where she wanted to be.

The music changed to a gavotte, and Lord and Lady Beverly left the floor. Her puzzle piece hairdo had come somewhat disarrayed. Edmund Braithwaite and Agnes Upworth were the first guests onto the floor, Edmund's face split into a grin, Agnes holding her head elegantly and staring out into the crowd with a resigned expression on her face. William Montclair escorted Jane onto the floor, her elbows stuck out like the branches of a tree. The crowd slowly trickled onto the floor, leaving Silas and Isobel standing next to the couch that held the Hortence's. Lady Hortence leaned forward, a glass of sherry in one fat hand.

“Don't you two look well together?” she boomed. Her daughter made a huffing noise. “Mr. Marby, aren't you just so taken with our Isobel?” She fluttered a handkerchief at them and tittered.

Isobel turned to him and raised an eyebrow.
“We seem to be attracting plenty of attention,” she said. “Are we going to stand here all night, Mr. Marby, or are we going to dance?”
 
"First," he said as he started to move forward, "I must give you a word of advice Ms. Marsten: never be taken with anything, if you are ever to be taken, be taken by everything."

As they started to move towards the dance floor, Silas tried to keep his eyes from looking at the others. Dancing was not his strong suit, he was not meant to be out on his feet like this. His place was standing among a crowd, getting them to laugh at his wit and charm. Ed was the dancer, not him. Too much attention such as this would be bad for his reputation, whatever that was. A reputation had to be carefully fashioned but once it was left to other, it had a mind of its own.

"I must also apologize," he said as they slowly began to dance, "you'll not find me as agreeable a partner as some. My own skills as numerous as they are have never shown so strongly when moving to the time."

Silas was out of sorts, why was he bothering to pay this girl any attention at all? She was clearly at odds with the Upworths but favored by Lady Hortence, for whatever good that would do her. She was not the sort that would pay his wage in this life. Then again, she was more like him than not and hearing her speak was a small comfort in that it sounded the way people ought to talk, rather than the way they normally did. Though their dance would be fleeting, should he not at least enjoy it for what it was?
 
“You'll not find me as agreeable a partner as some,” Mr. Marby said. “My own skills as numerous as they are have never shown so strongly when moving to the time."

Isobel nodded, trying to keep her forehead from creasing. There it was again. It was so fleeting, just a touch of broadness around the way he said his vowels, but it bothered her. It niggled at her. She couldn't place it. It was like the sound of the river, or the smell of damp stone. It reminded her of something that she didn't fully remember.
He was a perfectly serviceable dancer, especially in such an old-fashioned dance as this one. The elegance of his carriage was more than enough to distract from the sometimes hesitant placement of his feet. Even so, Isobel kept an eye on the other dancers, pulling in close to him in order to avoid hitting the other ladies with her dress.

The steps became more complicated as the music went on, and Isobel allowed him to lead her around the floor, watching carefully to make sure he didn't step on her shoes.
They whirled past the couch where Lady Hortence sat with her daughter and Mary Fordyce. “It's a shame,” Isobel said. “Mary Fordyce is by far one of the most eligible young ladies here, but she is always ignored. Goulding Upworth would do well to marry her, then he could spend her money instead of his own. Perhaps it's because she has such a ruddy face.” She shrugged.

“Victor isn't her brother, but her cousin, you know,” she continued. “Like Jane and I. Mary doesn't have any brothers or sisters.” She nodded to Edmund as they circled past him and Agnes, then tilted her head up to look at Silas. “That reminds me, Mr. Marby, how did you come to know our Edmund?”
 
Silas was as careful as he could be during the dance, carefully moving his feet so not to trample the girls dress. She was an admirable dancer, possessing the ability to sense his movements and adjust her's accordingly. He had danced before but never this smoothly. If the notion had struck him, he might even have allowed himself time to enjoy it. But then again, who could find dancing to be enjoyable?

As they danced, they passed Lady Hortence and listened dutifully to Isobel's remarks. For the most part, he filed away such conversations, he cared very little for the relationships of these people, just so long as someone bothered to show an interest in his work. The girl however appeared to have a greater interest in such matters, perhaps she was worried as a cousin that her own prospects would likely be determined by her fickle peers. She was very attractive in her own right but looks alone mattered little here, a shame.

Finally the conversation returned to him. Silas was still attempting to determine just how far this girl's interest extended. Was this the polite and inane batter she'd been instructed in using or was she trying to probe more deeply into his past? Either way, he would have to be careful.

"Edmund and I met through a mutual acquaintance, a officer in the Navy. It's not really that interesting of a story to tell to be honest, we were together at a gathering and just found that we were both entertained by the same things. Although Ed may not look it, I think he has a keener ear for poetry than most would give him credit. He happened to hear a few of my sonnets and decided that he would introduce me to his friends and it all grew from there."

He tried to make his tone as jovial and light as possible, something that would her believe that he was recalling good times and fine memories. He looked her over once again, "And you Ms. Marsten, beauty such as yours must surely be missed in the place that you are from. Tell me, what brings you here to this part of the country?
 
“I came here to live with Jane when my mother died,” Isobel said vaguely. She could see Agnes wrestling Edmund around, trying to take another turn past them, and she dipped gracefully around Jane and William Montclair to avoid them. She went on tiptoes as they passed them, which caused her to press against Mr. Marby quite closely. It was only for a moment, but he looked down at her in surprise, and she could feel a blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks.

“I'm from the old house, you know, up north,” she said, stepping back from him. “It didn't make sense to keep it open just for me, with the servants and caretaker and all. So we were advised to combine households, at least until such time as we make acceptable marriages. Jane and I make good company for each other, and I do enjoy London, it's very diverting, don't you agree?”

She tilted her head up at him, but before he could answer, the music slowed, then changed. There was a shuffling as people changed partners. Edmund and Agnes came charging over to them, Agnes' mouth pursed in determination, Edmund apologetic and sweating.

“Miss Marsten --- Isobel,” he said at a look from Agnes, “Would you mind, if we – well, let's dance.” He held out his hand to her. She looked from him, to Agnes, to Mr. Marby, and nodded.

“Of course, Mr. Braithwaite,” she said. He extended his hand, and she took it, allowing him to escort her away from the other two. With one last demure glance back at Silas, she turned and began to dance with Edmund. They were quite graceful together, but Edmund looked embarrassed and Isobel looked bored as they made their way around the floor.

“Mr. Marby,” Agnes said with a toss of her blonde head. “Your friend Edmund seems to have left me without a partner.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him and held out her hand, waiting for him to take it.

From the sidelines, Catherine Hortence stifled a snort of laughter.
 
If Silas had been less patient, he might have fumed. Agnes was probably the last person he would have wanted to dance with, outside of that cow. She made no secret of her feelings and it was torturous to attempt to deflect every single one of her flirtations without appearing to be boorish. In truth, the fact that turned her away so often was probably what attracted her all the more but Marby tried not think about the inner workings of her mind if he could help it.

"Well then," he replied with a false smile, "let us see if I can match my dear friend's abilities."

They began to dance but it was no where near the fluid movements of Isobel and Silas was constantly concerned that one of them would trip. Agnes didn't seem to mind, all of her focus being on him.

"I did not get to tell you Mr. Marby, I've begun to compose my own verses at home. Everyone tells me that I'm getting quite good and you call upon us so I can recite for you. I'm sure your advice would do much to improve my work."

Silas wanted to vomit. Instead he flashed another smile, "Oh, I am certain that your words are in no need of changing on my account. Every poet should have their own style, I would fear changing one bit of your own perspective for mine."

"But could we not merge the two together? I'm sure that our perspectives together would be stronger than they could ever possibly be apart."

The girl was grasping, grasping for any little bit of wit that she might be able to twist back in his direction. His eyes momentarily trailed to Edmund and Isobel, what were they talking about? He only dared a brief glimpse for fear that Agnes would feel duty bound to redirect his attentions to her which would only further take away from her dancing abilities.

"One might think it good but at this point your voice is still developing. Yours is the rising dove that has just begun to take flight. Mine is a proud and soaring eagle, majestic and powerful. That eagle might not mean it, but in his quest to soar the skies he might obscure the flight of the dove. Do you understand?"

"I think so," replied Agnes when it was quite clear that she did not.

"Good," he answered, allowing her to believe that he respected her assessment, "now let us not speak of such weighty matters just yet. We should instead focus on joy and merriment. Are you enjoying yourself at the party?"
 
“You are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Isobel?” Edmund asked. The two of them circled around the floor perfectly, like automatons, dipping in and out between the other couples easily. Isobel looked out over Edmund's shoulder, her face polite but bored. Without shifting her gaze, she smiled and nodded.

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Braithwaite, you are ever such a good dancer.” Edmund pulled back to look at her and let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Will you please call me Edmund, Isobel, you make it seem like we barely know each other. There's propriety and then there's propriety, even Agnes calls me Edmund.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight. Agnes calls you Edmund, you ox, she thought, because she thinks of you as a little boy, not a man. You don't see her calling Mr. Marby Silas.

“Of course, Edmund,” was all she replied.

They slipped past the couple in question then. Isobel slid her eyes over to look at them, just for a moment. Agnes was clinging to Mr. Marby like climbing ivy, her blonde head tilted up at him, the two of them tripping over their feet every other step. She lifted her eyes away, to the ceiling. Her ribs hurt from holding in laughter. Edmund didn't notice, only continued to guide her easily through the crowd. They circled next to Jane and William Montclair, and Jane beckoned to her.

“What?” Isobel said, trying to avoid her cousin's elbows. They circled again and Jane whispered from behind her.

“I'd like to leave,” Jane said. “You'll get a ride home with the Upworths?”

“No,” Isobel hissed. Edmund patiently circled again, and the two cousins were face to face. “Agnes came with Mary. You get a ride home with – him.” William nodded at Jane and she glared at Isobel before he swept her away, elbows akimbo.

She looked around for Silas and Agnes, and saw them, still tripping, across the room. Agnes was laughing, her head thrown back dramatically. Silas looked like he was biting his lip under his mustache.

“Edmund,” she said, “Where did you meet Mr. Marby?” He cleared his throat, and Isobel waited.

“Oh! Well, Silas and I, we met through a mutual friend, that is –“ Edmund broke off and mopped his brow. “Certainly is getting warm in here, don't you think? That is, a mutual friend --”

The music stopped again, and Edmund dropped her hand, bowed slightly, and rushed away to claim Agnes. Isobel sighed, turned around, and bumped right into Goulding Upworth. He looked down at her with his usual spoiled, bored expression, and shrugged his shoulders.

“D'you want to dance, Isobel?” he said, and held out one large hand.
 
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