𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐃'𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐄.

"Naturally, she couldn't leave the spaniels behind. The children, however..."

A ripple of appreciative laughter accompanied Topsy's joke. Smiling wryly, she sipped her champagne and considered the little ring of guests around her. Occasionally, very occasionally, she enjoyed such extravagance, although with each minute she had to suppress the urge to disappear upstairs and to hide away with a good book.

The problem was - as it usually was - that her brothers had vanished early into the evening, citing friends to see and acquaintances to catch up, leaving Topsy to entertain the set that no one else wanted to be saddled with: Montmere's elderly neighbours, all tweedy and typically dull, were it not for the champagne that a footman Topsy had tipped. Continuous flow: that was the trick.

Topsy scanned the crowd. Noticing a saviour, she caught their eye and gave them a tight little smile that said Do NOT move.

"And thus, I shall leave you. Please, enjoy your drinks. I've just seen someone I must say hello to." A chorus of good-natured groans accompanied Topsy's retreat; her face fell once her back was turned.

Clasping their arm, Topsy nearly sank with relief.

At the heart of the room was the Viscountess Melville — the title was unfriendly to an non-English tongue, but she had once heard Patrick refer to her as 'Topsy,' which was not easier to pronounce without much effort. Madame would have to suffice.

Aurélie looked upon her with admiration, yet an impending feeling lingered somewhere in her soul. The viscountess was so in her own right, and observing her almost felt like Aurélie was staring into a mirrored reflection of her future once she inherited her father's business.

Even if her gaze was persistently set on a conversation on the opposite side of the room, she usually went unnoticed. Not this time. Dark eyes found her, and the message in them was unmistakeable. Concise, even.

Aurelie grinned as she made her way too her. The eyes followed her. She guided them away as soon as their arms were intertwined, Aurélie's reassuring hand atop hers. She shook her head at her initial question. "With so many guests at Montmere, it is much easier to spot someone with whom I am not acquainted than otherwise. But I imagine they could not have gone too far."

It was far too loud downstairs, for him. No matter how much he wanted to try and achieve his goals, there - he simply couldn't when there was that much... mess taking place. He wanted nothing more than to hide the second it began - and so that's exactly what he did. He took off and found a place to read and listened to the party rage downstairs with a disdain typically reserved for whatever Edwin was up to this week.

Unfortunately, Pru had managed to get just a bit too much champagne in him before his retreat. That was definitely part of it, he felt off guard and vulnerable - and he hated to feel vulnerable around anyone, even the people he trusted. It made him too easy a target.

He looks up when someone enters the room, fully ready to swear until they disappear - but it's just Aurelie, thank god. He doesn't know why he's so relieved, he also doesn't want her to see him this way, but... Well, it's better than if it was anyone else.

"How rude," Emerson comments, shaking his head, "I say, as if I wouldn't do the same thing by accident. It's why I avoid the dance floor at all costs - the safety of a young ladies' stockings is paramount." His voice is light, it's a joke - and it's presented as one instead of the normally deadpan humor he likes to let out.

"Ah, quelle gentleman!" she replied amusedly, empty flute in one hand, bottle in the other. Once filled, she gently pushed it along the desk in his direction.

"But what is a tear in fabric to a foxtrot? It is not quite a charleston, but it is essentially only walking, donc il n'y a aucun danger. Really, you might've loved it. I could have sworn I was in Gatsby's mansion and not the middle of Yorkshire."

She let out something between a sigh and a giggle as she raised her own champagne flute to her lips. Aching feet swung below her, but if he asked, she would dance with him sooner than a heartbeat. Alas, he was firmly sat in place, as was she. Just the thought of such a proposition pounded at her entire being. She just hoped she could pass off her flushed cheeks as inebriation.

Eager to rid himself of poltergeists, Patrick had thrown himself onto the parquet dance floor, where he'd danced with every one of his girl cousins, sisters, and had even tricked his aunt Topsy into a spin or two (she'd protested every minute, but no one made Topsy laugh like Giles, and so he was forgiven in an instant). Patrick released some local girl - the daughter of a baron, maybe - before staggering into the crowd, nearly breathless with laughter.

The smell of Aurélie's cigarette smoke mingled with her divine perfume. Patrick grinned at her, retrieving a cigarette of his own, which he lit with a smart silver lighter he'd carried all through the war.

"Enchantée," Patrick mumbled, champagne slurring his words and burnishing his tone with a rosy glow. He exhaled a stream over one shoulder and admired one of his oldest friends. "Of course I'll dance with you! What sort of a question is that? All we need is dear Gog to come and complete the picture." Emerson was likely buried away in a room upstairs. Really, Patrick ought to ferret him out. His cousin was missing all the fun!

The crowd heaved, pushing Patrick and Aurélie close together. Patrick leaned down to talk into her ear, his lips brushing against inky hair.

"I wish you had come sooner. This summer's been awfully boring. Though I'm starting to wonder if that's just me." Leaning away to drag on his cigarette, Patrick considered how the truth sparked on his tongue, like champagne bubbles. Leaning back in, he added: "Tell me you're not going away again. You'll stay, won't you? You're not going to run away and leave me with all of these..."

Patrick was drunk, but he wasn't drunk enough for rudeness. His nose wrinkled as he grinned. "I can't say," he continued sheepishly. "Only, I am pleased you're here. It'll be like Oxford all over again!"

Boats and sunshine and boys and wine. Freedom again - freedom at last.

The thought of it made her laugh, though she forced herself to laugh a little harder than normal. There was no feigning innocence, as Patrick had long known of her feelings for his cousin. But he would not see her falter.

Though falter she did, and not because of her heart. The crowd swayed in time with the band, taking them in with the tide. She used her free hand to balance herself on his chest, a final, champagne-bridled giggle escaping her lips.

"Perhaps you should have feigned some kind of emergency! You know how I absolutely loathe papa's insistence that I spend the first half of my summer and Montaroux, with him and the hordes of strangers he invites." Aurélie took a drag before an idea came to her. "En fait, you should have come south! We would have made right fun of it. But alas, where Montmere beckons, tu dois aller."

She studied Patrick a moment, painted lips relaxed over her cigarette. When she received the invitation to Montmere, all she'd known of it was the stories of childhood antics and adolescent shenanigans. And yet, there was a look in his eye . . .

Though she was perfectly fluent in English, she could not even place the word in French to describe it.

"Of course I'll stay," she said a little softer now, any trace of folly absent from her voice. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me." Aurélie smiled now. "In fact, one day you'll be begging me to leave and you're going to regret asking me now."

While she certainly wouldn't have minded being an important guest of honour, Nora was grateful she could slip away from the party-goers and enjoy a moment of quiet solitude. Well, that might have been the case if her planned hiding spot hadn't already been occupied by someone with similar intentions.

"Oh, I am sorry," she apologised immediately, taking a step back as if allowing the other just a little more space. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything. I simply needed to step away for a moment." Nora had spent her adult life in the service of fine houses and the wealthy families who owned them, but parties of such a calibre were still a rarity, especially ones where she was allowed to meander and loiter about. She wasn't overwhelmed per se, but the excitement of it all was starting to get to her.

She enjoyed a glass of champagne like the next person, but she was not one to foxtrot without complete control of her faculties. And if the constantly shattering champagne tower was any indication, no one would any such control tonight, by design. When she'd had enough boozy conversation with a curiously masked man — she'd sworn she'd seen him before, but could not place her finger as to where — she simply up and left.

Perched upon the corner of the garden fountain, Aurélie produced a lighter and a cigarette, the flame catching as soon as she heard the woman. "Non, you needn't apologize," she replied. Inelegantly she shifted, allowing her a place to sit and gestured to it. "Big parties such as these are made for slipping away to have an intimate moment to yourself," Or with another, she thought crudely. "If this party were any smaller, every conversation would speculate the reasoning behind your brief disappearance."