wolf like me

-

Caroline shook her head. Wherever that statement was about to lead, they still had several weeks to get through. Preparations to make. If they ever showed their hand, they had to mind the timing. Right now was too soon. She set down her cup - though one more sip would hardly make a difference - and waited for the room to settle. For the weak-hearted among them to scamper off into the shadows.

“It’s two to one,” she whispered, knowing full well that anyone who remained in this room intended to join in the fray. Between drink and ignorance, injuries were inevitable. But so was the need to establish a hierarchy.

Pushing her chair back, Caroline slowly stood. She reached across the table. Picked up a bottle by the neck. She weighed it in her hands a moment, and glanced over at Damien. She wondered, then, if he could read her thoughts as often as she felt she could his. They were about to find out, she supposed, and she flipped the bottle around in her hand.

She slammed it down on the table. Smashed off the bottom half, and lifted up the jagged edge as she kicked the chair out from behind her. Taking the sound a cracking glass as a cue, what was left of the crowd erupted into a terrible din: cursing, cheering, and the clink of a cup hitting the wall after being tossed across the room.

-

A small shake of Caroline’s head told Damien to corral the idea he had, to clear the air of who they were and what they were capable of. As much as he wanted to protest, it was Caroline’s venture. Damien only played a small role. For the time being, he would have to follow her lead.

Two to one. As Caroline reached for the bottle, Damien became aware that a weapon was needed. The sound of glass breaking was his first cue, followed by the rush of patrons to either make a swift exit or gather around to become spectators. He made a lunge for one... 

The navigator appeared amused while eyeing the broken end of Caroline’s bottle. He held up his hands to bring the jeers and shouts of the room down to a hush. “You gonna give me a shave with tha’ bottle?” 

The corner of her mouth quirked up. Poor Fitz. He was a very intellectual person, and he was kind-hearted and meant well. But he did tend to only want to debate about medieval art and literature, and there was so much more out there. “He’s kind,” she said, the half-smile betraying her less favorable thoughts. And safe. Which these days she was beginning to tire of.

She should stay where she had been. She should go back to the table, sit beside Fitz, smile, engage in conversation. Definitely not go anywhere with this man and his temptations. But she was already going to be an outcast after this Season, she was almost certain. So what exactly did she have to lose? Her title? Her home? Her good standing in court? She wasn’t entirely sure what the Queen would do. Then again, the queen might not even notice her absence. She certainly wasn’t the favorite around here, which she didn’t mind.

“I’m amenable to the idea,” she said, looking away from the musicians and toward him. “It’s such an interesting location. How much trouble could we get in for admiring it?” Plenty. She took one step backwards, away from the table and the other lords and ladies.

-

Kind. Combined with any number of outstanding descriptors, kind might be tolerable. As a stand alone, kind sounded like an anchor to avoid as it drifted to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Thank you for being amenable to my whim. You are a lifesaver.” A hint of frowned brows, a teasing smile. “Trouble? Oh come now. Of course we will avoid it. Or... we’ll do our best.”

Damien led them in the direction of the garden. At the last minute a hasty turn was taken down a corridor. At the end he opened double doors to a larger room than the exclusively intimate one they had come from for the luncheon. Pendant lights hung from the high ceilings. A flourish of drapes pulled back from wide windows. Accent chairs lined the walls.

A pianoforte stood in the center of it all. The only draw in the empty space. Damien approached and gracefully lowered fingers to the keys. A deep, single low chord echoed in the room. A brief flicker of sadness crossed his features. Soon he would not have access to an instrument. 

He looked over a shoulder. “Do you play?” 

-

A Few Days Later, 3:30 PM 20 Upper Grovesnor

The doors to the parlour room flew open.

“Mr. Keyes! Welcome!” said Freddie, his greeting tinged with a sense of urgency. He strode into the room, propelled forward by a sort of frenetic energy. The last two days had felt rather like two years for everything that had happened since. Luckily he’d had the foresight to inform the staff of an impending visitor so that they, in turn, could remind him this morning.

Behind the earl trailed a smaller, younger, more feminine version of himself. There was no question of relation between them, something his mother mentioned far more often than was interesting. But where Freddie was singularly focused on his guest, his sister feigned indifference. She did not so much as look in the man’s direction before settling down in a plush chair on the far side of the room.

“May I offer you something to drink? Tea or something stronger? I rather like - ” He cut off suddenly, turned away from the man, and pointed to the huge reptile positioned under the window. “Oh no. Who left Belinda in the sun?!”

“Archie,” Effie lied without hesitation.

“Archie!” he shouted toward the door, but received no reply. Freddie composed himself. One thing at a time. For what it was worth, Belinda was much easier to maneuver about the room without all the gold stuffed inside her gut. It had always been such a task to move her before, but no longer.

“My apologies. It just wreaks havoc on her scales. Did you say tea?” he asked again, and then, “And I know you said no at the luncheon, but is there any chance you came across a card case since last we spoke?”

- 

Beautiful home. Spectacular looking family, such a stunning mix of strong and delicate features on what he assumed to be siblings. No further removed than cousins. Damien took it all in as he followed. A smile here and a nod there. 

Whatever the earl was having would suit Keyes just fine, however an interruption occurred. A huge, hulking, frozen in time creature looked ready to charge at him. He took a step backwards as two reptilian glass eyes stared, a fixed gaze on Damien. Holy hell, what was the monstrosity? 

“Is it... what is it, exactly?” From the colonies? From the Far East? Good heavens. “Did you kill it yourself?” Damien could not fathom why cash was so easily thrown away on eccentricities. Such as giant lizards. 

He smiled brightly as the lord turned towards him again. “No apology is necessary. Whatever you are having will suit me fine, thank you.” 

Down to business. He fetched the necklace, wrapped in red lace supplied by Lady Pallenberg, out of a pocket. Damien was quickly interrupted again. What was it with the bloody card case? Damien wondered. A small item could not hold coins but certainly held a value. Maybe more than the kitchey little necklace  “No. No case, sir.” 

Without ceremony he unfolded the lace. Fingers pinched the leather string that held the prize, and Damien lifted it. Sunlight caught, a hint of colors reflected back. Not terribly impressive. The payment for it better be. “Will you confirm this is the piece in question?” 

-

Caroline froze, buried instincts rising to the surface, sobering her up right quick as she watched the hand sweep toward her face. Close enough that she could see the line of dirt under ragged nails. A subtle hint of salt water and whiskey wafted past her nose. Raising her hand from her drink, she moved the wayward finger out and away from her face quite firmly.

“When the time is right, you’ll know,” she answered, slurring just slightly. When she was good and ready. Not before they were on a ship, and there were several weeks to go before that would happen. The last thing they needed was a bunch of brainless dolts running their mouths along the docks.

“It will be a most enjoyable excursion, I assure you.”

Beaches. Food. There were a number of things she could promise, and yet she held her tongue. Always better to keep things vague. Like how con artists read fortunes. Anything could be made to sound like the truth were it lacking in any real details.

She reached for her drink.

“Isn’t that right, Damien? Enjoyable, yes?” she asked, for what man believed such a remark without hearing assurance from another man first. Ignoring the rest of the table, even as another round of song threatened, Caroline took a long look at the man at the bar. Then turning her attention back to Mr. Keyes - an address she’d forgotten to use - and asked,

“So, which of us is going to sweet talk the navigator into lowering his price?” She raised her cup. “Race for it? Whoever finishes their drink last.”

- 

A strong desire in him wanted to grab Billy’s wrist and pin it to the table. For the sheer intrusion into Caroline’s space. Damien knew well enough the move was meant to intimidate. To shake them both up, loosen the grit impossibly hidden under the finer clothes and fragrances from their borrowed, sponsored society homes. 

The bait had been left untouched. Damien carried on with pacing himself through the many rounds of drinks. The boat, the crew-- these were pieces of a machinery for his escape out of London. For Caroline, the excursion meant so much more. A trade of all the prior months of dancing, performative smiles, curtsies, tolerating condescending parlor conversations, and fending savage commentary from the ton.  

Damien followed her lead. Even the suggestion of downing drinks to see who might approach the navigator-- he could not miss a beat. He lifted his cup level with hers. A small smile shared with only Caroline. “I’ll drink to that. On your--” 

The interruption came from the bar. The nameless navigator had turned on his stool to watch the table. Before Caroline’s cup could reach her lips... “ ‘Ey! Now then!” A shout-- gruff, textured by rum and too many late nights in the tavern halted Damien’s attempt to drink. The voice did not match the youthful person it came from. Tall, thin and spindly like an overgrown teenager. Large blue eyes, a thick honeyed head of hair. “Dutch courage ain’t gonna help with the... negotiations. But fightin’ me will. I ain’t steppin’ foot on board a ship with two passengers like you two. ‘Less you prove you can hold yer own.” 

-

“No!” he shouted, drawing the attention of a few other guests who had been admiring the flowers nearby. The parchment crumpled between his fingers as they curled inward. If that necklace went to auction, it would disappear into some idiot’s private collection - someone who couldn’t possibly understand its worth - and never seen again. Frederick cleared his throat, and then lowered his voice.

“That is to say… I believe this necklace was sold to you under false pretenses, sir, and I should like to see it in person to verify. There is a reward for its return.”

He smoothed out the paper. Stared down at the rough sketch of a piece he knew so well. The one tangible reminder of a trip he had never forgotten. One he would return to if he could reverse time. Or where he would choose to stay if he could live in a singular day forever (although, upon further reflection, what a nightmare that would be trying to get anything done if one woke up in the same day repeatedly). 

“It wasn’t part of a set,” he continued, offering the drawing back to the man, “But the necklace and the card case should have been together. There would be a reward for that too, obviously. I do apologize, this is the most unnatural way to make introductions, but may I ask your name?”

-

A small eruption from Effingham drew the attention of others in the garden. Damien smiled courteously to those who stared. And then a brow rose. 

Sold under false pretenses. One could say the same of the mackerel shelled out in the neighboring stall. Damien could dutifully explain to the nobleman how such notions did not play out on the docks. Instead, he waited for either the suggestion of a reward or to angle for one. Luckily, the former option was brought up. 

The card case showed up in conversation again. “Regretfully, no. I do not recall a case on the day I purchased the necklace. And I beg your pardon for my rudeness. Mr. Keyes is my name. I would happy to bring the necklace to you, if you would like to confirm the item. I would also be interested in hearing of a reward. Shall we schedule a plan to meet soon? The auction is in a week’s time, you see.” It wasn’t, however the need to purchase supplies for the trip planned with Caroline approached.

damien-keyes​:

-

A further shift occurred with Caroline. Spine pulled even straighter towards the ceiling. Perhaps even a measured tossing out of what he’d said. Damien meant every word and wished he could say more. 

And if he couldn’t, if the words failed him… action. I know what you’re thinking. He fought a small smile. The less they needed to dip into Lady Faithfull’s inherited reserves, the less Caroline would owe in the end. But also extracting a little revenge along the way. 

Caroline probably did read the thought in his mind. His gaze lifted to spot the man who had so brazenly offended Caroline. At a social function. With the Queen, no less. “Tell me. Which pocket.” Dark eyes back on Caroline. 

“For the Black Dahlia.” 

-

For more than that, she thought, but he made a good point. London, the ton, had no vested interest in her particular wellbeing. Even the captain - though he had once, a very long time ago, claimed he’d like to see her comfortably settled - spoke so disparagingly of her in public with little regard to what that might do if anyone else had been listening. 

What choice did she have, but to look out for her own interests? 

“The chain hangs at his waist,” she said, softer than a whisper. Beyond the benefit to the Black Dahlia, Caroline suspected the watch was headed for Damien’s pocket whether she helped or not. She could not let him get caught.

“I believe he would be well distracted if you spoke about ships.”

damien.

-

The air was cooler outdoors and every breath felt rejuvenating rather than suffocating. The night felt more alive out here with the chorus of crickets and the like. The party was in a steady decline as the musicians and dancers tired. The late hour was normally Victoria’s favorite time, when party goers got sloppy and amusing. Tonight she didn’t feel like she could derive any joy out of drinks spilling and causing slurred arguments. Her mood was simply too low.

But improving, slowly, with the fresh air and the handsome man she’d convince to lead them into seclusion. She kept her gaze steadily onward, only stealing a glance at Mr. Keyes after he had asked his questions.

“Hm,” she hummed thoughtfully, aware of his larger hand rested on top of hers, and also of the distance between the two of them and the estate. Distracted and unable to come up with a clever answer, she made a short, pouting sigh.

“You would think less of me if I told you.” Victoria didn’t mean to sound so flat, or to say the words at all, really. She paused their walk to reach her free hand to a pink hydrangea near the walking path. Then she looked back at Mr. Keyes with a renewed confidence.

He was tall, but so was she, and so she locked eyes with him and leaned in to whisper. “I take pleasure in the attention of a handsome man. Like yourself.”

-

The night air away from the dying revelry indoors helped to shake off the last of the boredom. Damien much preferred one on one conversations over broken conversations on ballroom floors. You would think less of me if I told you. A scoff from Damien. “I don’t see how it could be true.” A soft, settled smile appeared, dark eyes lingering over Miss Hale’s face in the moonlight. 

“Yes, I do recall from our short time at Vauxhall.” He spoke low, just above her hushed tone. “Except on that night, you were attracting not only my attention.” Damien’s gaze remained fixed with hers, and he slowed the already leisurely slow. “Forgive me for being so forward, but I find you rather fascinating. And so you have my attention. For now. I do wonder how long you might choose to hold it.” 

damien.

-

Jeremiah blew a puff of air from his mouth. He found it difficult to feel sorry for the handsome Londoner with a lot of money, even if he didn’t have a title. If someone as rich and good looking as Mr. Keyes wasn’t married by this point of the season, what hope did Jeremiah have?

At least Mr. Keyes was trying to be helpful, unlike Jeremiah’s tutor, who insisted on practicing boring things like table manners, dancing, and knowing how to address lords and ladies. “Uh, I know how to hunt, but not like the English do for sport… I don’t suppose it would be difficult for me to do. I can, er, whittle.” He looked up at Mr. Keyes and realized further elaboration was necessary. “I can carve things out of wood. My tutor said it wasn’t necessary to talk about. I think she doesn’t like my whittling. Or anything that has to do with America. I never thought about discussing it, but it’s worth a, uh, try.”

He found himself smiling, and he shrugged. “I suppose I’ll stay as long as my brother and mother are here. If I can’t have a title–a real one–” Jeremiah didn’t think to clarify if the Queen put lord on a placard if that made it official? “Then I will need to come by money somehow.” Jeremiah became lost in thought. “Legally, of course. Uh, hm, though it’s not as if I have a, uh, real chance at marrying anybody, not that I want to.”

-

Whittling. Damien tried his best not to wince. “Mm. Perhaps focus on the hunting angle, as it would seem to be the more impressive skill. The differences in the sport between our two countries may make a point of interest. And for you-- hunting may be more of a matter of living off the land? Again, I cannot emphasize enough... the ladies are often interested in the exotic. The unique way of life in America is often read about, but to hear tales first hand may be exciting to some.”

Obtaining money was also in Damien’s wheelhouse-- but through more illicit paths. “Coming into money at the end of the season would be a challenge. Unless you have a wealthy relative who has take ill.” A slip of smile from Damien. Nothing too wicked. 

"You do not wish to marry but wish to learn how to woo a woman?” Come now. But Damien kept his grin gentle despite the younger man’s conflicting words. He glanced off and quickly caught sight of Caroline in the distance. “Well then... whether you are engaged or not shortly, I wish you much luck. It has been a pleasure, but unfortunately I do believe I am being summoned.”

Marie’s gaze flicked to him. Was it so very clear on her face? Wonderful. It wasn’t that she disliked Fitz, it was just…the outside world was calling, and The Season was ending, and she wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. There were so many countries and not nearly enough time to see them all. She was tired of sitting and waiting for permission that was never going to come.

A half-smile crossed her face at his accurate guess. Let him read into it what he would. Giving a vocal or even silent confirmation that this luncheon in particular was not her favorite most likely was not an excellent idea.

But his next question… “Not so strange,” she whispered back, seeing an excuse to leave the table and latching onto it, even if it was just for the moment. “I can’t see the harm in it.” With the fast step that often led to the beginning of an escape, she got up and stepped around her chair and headed that way, looking back at him with a bit of mischievous ‘come on’ in her eyes.

-

Damien had found a willing soul to slip away from the confines of the table. He left his chair with the same amount of hedged in enthusiasm to follow the look in her eyes. And took both of their drinks in hand to meet up with Marie on the edge of the floor. A short distance away from the musicians. 

So many rules, so many ways to trip over oneself. Not unlike Liverpool, of course. The spirits there were bored. Less distractions. No Queen. Easier to lure into a bit of fun. Damien had long realized he missed the color of up north. The fun. The tug of wars between lords and ladies. The particular brand of intrigue and gossip. 

Maybe the petite woman beside him felt the same. He leaned to an ear so the lady could hear him over the rising tuning of the musicians. “Your companion is dull, isn’t he?” Anyone could see that. Anyone with eyes could see. Not everyone would say. Damien had so little to lose, so it came easily. “How much would you risk here...” In front of Queen Charlotte, before the spotlights fixed on the chairs of the favored players of society. “To have some fun? Because we’ve made it this far.” Far away from the table, at least. “We’re here, shouldn’t we have a proper look around?” 

damien.

-

“No, quite the contrary, Mr. Keyes. I remember your introduction and our conversation well.” 

More champagne was sipped as she continued to watch Mr. Keyes. It was not very becoming of a lady to so blatantly soak up flattery with a satisfied smirk. Compliments were meant to be swatted away with a coy blush. But it was too late in the season for that, and Victoria was eager to find something to lift her spirits. 

Her smile was dark when the glass lowered. “You are quite right. I tire of dancing, indeed.”

Victoria took a deep breath. She recalled the masked man dressed in black possessing a wandering gaze. Whether it was the anonymity and their seclusion at the carnival or genuine interest had yet to be determined. Victoria looked away, toward the dance floor with another exaggerated sigh.

“If being in my company interests you, then may I invite you for a stroll through the gardens?” Victoria asked with an innocent smile.

-

“I would love nothing more than your company, Miss Hale.” He offered an arm and guided them around the corners of the ballroom before heading outside. 

Colorful lanterns were strung above a small connected garden. The scent of roses and larkspur as bright as the lights. Miss Hale stood out in the moonlight. A visage as soft as the petals and buds they strolled by. Yet Damien did recall how easily she played with the couple in the maze. Compelling them to be drawn to her before they realized, tempting as the glass front of a sweets shop. 

A hand rested on hers, which felt warm under a satin glove. “Have you found many adventures since Vauxhall? The maze did not seem to hold your interest then. Much like the dance tonight. What does it take to stir your soul and grab your attention, Miss Hale?” 

damien.

-

Jeremiah seemed to slump, too dejected to even notice if his conversation partner took a particular interest in the lady with a title. He shook his head when asked to sit. “No, I’m fine. I can’t be still with all of these people around.”

Yes? “Uh, no. Not me.” Unless being called “the American” was some form of high praise–Jeremiah highly doubted that.

Luckily, it seemed like Mr. Keyes was making more sense about society. Focusing more on what Jeremiah could do and not what he couldn’t do. He turned thoughtful, nodding along. “I see. The only things that seem to make a good suitor here are titles and money. I don’t have either. But when we spoke, at first the lady seemed cold, and by the end, uhm…”

Jeremiah folded in his lips and looked at Mr. Keyes. “Still cold, but less so. She spoke of dancing, so I have learned a dance she prefers. I confess I’ve no other skills for impressing a lady. Where I lived in America, there weren’t any ladies around. What would you do, Mr. Keyes?”

The only things that seem to make a good suitor here are titles and money.

The truthful statement coaxed a laugh out of him. “Very true. Myself, I have the money but no coveted title. It has been a detriment. You, on the other hand-- today you have a title.” A reference to the placard on the table and return to a prior suggestion. 

Ackerley seemed to drown in the season’s tide. Such a shame. Received a cold reaction as well. Damien wanted to shudder at the thought of the absence of ladies in this gentleman’s particular neck of the woods. He made a note to never travel to America. Not that he had plans to do so. 

“I’m so sorry you’ve found it difficult to connect to the eligible women of London society.” And he still didn’t have enough information to truly offer reasonable advice. There was always the cheap thrill of appealing to someone’s base needs and desires. Damien certainly preferred such a road himself, and felt a certain disappointment that London wasn’t the playground he’d imagined. 

“Perhaps your appeal lies in the.... exotic nature of your background?” London did flock to the unusual like vultures to a fresh carcass. Maybe not for long, as the novelty wore off. “Anyone can learn to dance. You say you have no skills, but I might disagree with you. I could be wrong, but are American’s not avid outdoorsmen? Of an independent spirit? I would think anyone may be interested in learning about your life back home. How these things may translate to England. You are planning to reside here once you’ve married, yes?” 

-

Frederick turned his head. His eyes followed the imaginary line that leapt from the point of the man’s finger, and crossed the garden to chase after poor Miss Dorrington. He heaved a long suffering sigh. Mother couldn’t have picked anyone else out of the entire ton? Not that there was anything extremely wrong with Kitty. She simply wasn’t – demure, he told himself. 

Or fun. Except Effie seemed to enjoy her company immensely. Which he could only blame on the follies of youth, and the fact that his sister was, in so many ways, the absolute worst.

“Jewelry?” he echoed with a start. All thoughts of his luncheon woes were tossed by the wayside, and he rounded on the stranger. Giving the man a thorough once over - from the perfect swoop of coiffed hair all the way down to his shoes.

“A necklace?”

There wasn’t anything else it could be. Frederick prided himself on knowing - or assuming he would know - if anything remotely related to Mozart had found its way into the city. Right now his necklace was the only piece of memorabilia that was floating around without an owner.

“Was there a card case with it?” he asked quickly.

- 

“Yes. A necklace.” Finally Damien had captured the other’s attention. Although confusion crossed Damien’s face briefly. 

“Er... card case? No but, was there originally supposed to be a card case with the piece?” It would not be unusual for items such as these to be parted out on the docks. He hoped there wasn’t a better opportunity for an even payday lost. “This was the only item sold at the time. I found it exquisite.” Damien paused then, pretending to search his pockets. When he knew exactly what he was looking for. 

A piece of parchment folded in quarters. Damien handed it to the lord. “I do have a drawing of the necklace. Have a look. It is unique. The auction house told me it should fetch a high price with a collector. In fact... I am still debating whether to place it up for bid in auction. Or if I should pursue an avid collector of Mozart’s by other means.” 

-

One drink somehow turned into several. With the first few, the cost weighed heavily on her mind - who was paying for them, how much would she eventually owe - but soon enough those worries melted into friendly chatter. Some of the older, salt-worn types like to reminisce at length on their travels. Caroline let them. An occasional hint of a grin was the only encouragement needed.

Her voice chimed in when half the table erupted into a familiar melody. Cups pounded rhythmically against the table. Not hers, though. She held it steady with both hands. She glanced at Damien’s cup, wondering if she should anchor that one down as well. 

The song swelled. It nearly drowned out the small man with a thick accent, sitting on her companion’s other side, who was going into great detail about explosives. Some new technique that combined gunpowder with… something. Caroline missed that last part. She turned to Damien, and leaned in close to whisper.

“Watch the man in blue a bit, would you?” 

With a little flourish of her fingers, she mouthed the word sticky. She hiccupped. Skimming the pocket of a stranger was one thing, but these men were soon to be crewmates. Theft now was a precursor to what would happen on ship, and there it would become in-fighting. Though the man might be useful if they wished to make an early example out of someone.

“Who’s next for consideration?”

-

Over drinks with the background of bawdy shanties, Damien mentally recorded who among the men in the tavern might be the best fit for particular positions of a crew. As a child, he often looked forward eavesdropping on such gatherings his father dragged Damien along to. After a fairly lackluster season, he thought perhaps the day there on the docks would assuredly be the most natural. 

So far, it was. While lifting another pint to his lips, he heard Caroline’s whisper. With a nod he acknowledged. The man she had picked up on had been sat at his side opposite the inner pocket cash was carried. He appreciated the warning nonetheless. 

“I do believe most posts are filled. Except that of navigator.” One of the most urgent positions. He leaned forward to see Billy nearer to Caroline. “Who here amongst you could navigate the ship?” 

Billy set down a mug, A tight grin etched itself on his face. Shrewd eyes darted between Damien and Caroline. “Well y’see... a finger pointed, aimed at the bar but unfortunately close to Caroline’s face. “There’s a lad over there. I’ve ‘eard him to be capable. But expensive. Don’t know how deep your pockets are.” 

-

Rude was one word for it. She could think of a few others. Scorned, however, was not among the terms that came to mind. For had she not been perfectly amenable all season? Had she not overlooked every odd turn of phrase, every prolonged absence, and even a strange standpoint on household pets?

Caroline mulled this over as he spoke, trying to ignore the thrumming in her ears. Holding herself in an unnaturally stiff way, both in a show of self-restraint and to avoid yet another social blunder. Personally failings aside, it was easy to blush aside a game one had already conquered.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she warned, narrowing her eyes. Caroline, herself, was once again thinking about those few weeks still standing between now and the opportunity to make London a distant memory. But then again, after everything that had been said about her at the table - her cheeks tinged pink, and her expression hardened.

“I might be able to point out which pocket.”

-

A further shift occurred with Caroline. Spine pulled even straighter towards the ceiling. Perhaps even a measured tossing out of what he’d said. Damien meant every word and wished he could say more. 

And if he couldn’t, if the words failed him... action. I know what you’re thinking. He fought a small smile. The less they needed to dip into Lady Faithfull’s inherited reserves, the less Caroline would owe in the end. But also extracting a little revenge along the way. 

Caroline probably did read the thought in his mind. His gaze lifted to spot the man who had so brazenly offended Caroline. At a social function. With the Queen, no less. “Tell me. Which pocket.” Dark eyes back on Caroline. 

damien.

-

Unlike the gold dress Victoria wore, dancing lost its shimmer as the night wore on. Sara accused Victoria of being too morose to enjoy the party, and her cousin was lucky that Victoria felt too morose to insult her ridiculous feathered hair piece. Victoria’s dissatisfaction with dancing had nothing to do with her attitude and everything to do with the lack of suitable gentlemen at this party.

All Victoria had to do was pass the time watching Sara and Lord Blakeley dance until it was time to leave. Lord Blakeley did made the most amusing faces while dancing, especially after drinking. Victoria glanced away to take a drink off of an offered tray, looking up at a pair of eyes watching her from the other side.

She blinked. The man was familiar, but she was sure she did not recognize his face. It was the dark eyes, and the voice, both too deep and too soft all at once. She withheld a smile until she was sure. “Mr. Keyes, is it? I could hardly recognize you without the mask. I must tell you, the mask did you no favors.” After a sip of her drink, Victoria did offer a smile.

Victoria fled from the man the moment she flirted enough to gain his attention. She felt her heartbeat thudding loudly in her chest and took another drink, peering over the glass at him. She ventured a step closer. Blindly forging on from where she left off. “Once again, we find ourselves to be the last ones standing.”

-

“Ah, so sorry. I should’ve offered a better introduction. And I’m more than delighted to see you as well. You are far too beautiful to be hiding behind a mask.” 

As Miss Hale stepped forward, so did Damien. After a sip of champagne, he smiled warmly. “Indeed. It would seem so. Funny how it has happened once more. In your case-- I can’t imagine why. Is it possible you have grown tired of dancing in ballrooms? Personally, I find dinner parties a bit more intimate. Much easier to meet others and hold a conversation.”

 “However, if on the chance you are waiting for a dance...” Hardly imaginable for such a woman, but there was a dour, bored expression held in otherwise such vibrant features. “I would happily escort you to the floor, Miss Hale.”

damien.

-

Jeremiah felt dizzy. Was he breathing too quickly? He pressed one of his palms into his eye and glanced around for any other fancy-looking old ladies. What were they saying about him? Surely he’d already committed some slight against a lady with a vindictive mother?

“I–I’m–”

He looked back at Mr. Keyes just as the man turned his attention to the conversation. Mr. Keyes seemed to take the news of the lady spreading rumors about him much better than expected. Jeremiah would be shaking in his stockings if that had happened to him.

“Oh, right, a common interest. Well she is–I meant to look, or to ask, I’m not exactly sure, but she’s some kind of…” Jeremiah nodded his head and lifted his hand as if the words would appear in it. “Title?”

His lips folded in as he paused in thought. “I’m not sure what she likes. I suppose I should ask. I can’t assume we would have much in common… Though I gave her a rose. Mr. Keyes, you don’t think giving a lady a rose would get me into some sort of–of, er, trouble, do you? There’s so many rules here, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake without knowing it.”

- 

If the season had gone as planned, the rumor would have been devastating. A giant boulder of a truth rolled downhill to blindside and easily decimate whatever precarious deceit Damien had built. But rather unfortunately, there was nothing to destroy. He could afford to be blasé and finish (quickly) what he needed to at the luncheon. 

His temporary companion, however. The American’s face had lost color. A hand lifted to his head. “Are you... would you like to sit down?” His hand hovered just under Ackerley’s elbow in case the man lost his balance. 

“She has a title?” Damien felt a delicious twinge in his chest. Old habits, and he shook off the sensation. “And the Ackerley name carries substance, or else you would not be here, so far from home. Yes?” 

“If a mistake had been made, it would be brought to your attention.”  He gestured around them. “It is the only time they are pooled away from gazing at themselves in a reflecting pool. To point out how someone isn’t following the rules.” No venom in the words, his air almost flippant. A simple truth, after all. 

Damien even smiled. “I don’t know about ‘the rules’. In my view, we would be living in a terribly offensive world if one couldn’t give a lady a rose. Her reaction certainly gave you some clue as to how she felt, did it not?” 

A pause. “Otherwise... it takes more than a rose to show interest. And a waste if you do not advise the lady why you are an eligible -- and highly desirable --suitor.” 

-

Marie was inspecting the decorations with a bored gaze that she hoped merely looked aloof when the gentleman beside her spoke. She realized he was talking to her and nodded once as she shifted in his direction. “Very much so,” she said, resisting the urge to look around the table. She had thought it might be a good idea to come here since there had been an invitation, but she was regretting her decision. Marie would normally say that she preferred libraries or the theater or outdoors or, really, anywhere besides such a tightly laced place, but… Things like that probably shouldn’t be said at the queen’s table. She searched around for something innocuous to say. “It’s very much a change of pace.” Huh, maybe that wasn’t entirely harmless.

Oh well, she was probably going to get chalked up as a unmarriageable wild thing after this Season, anyways. Might as well begin sliding into the role.

-

The lady... he leaned in the most obvious way to see the name placard, but so be it. The Lady Marie Kenworthy. Damien reminded himself of protocols-- which in all honesty felt tedious. However, Queen Charlotte reigned at the end of the table. 

If anything, the son of Remy ‘Cut-throat’ Keyes was in stabbing distance of the queen. As did the daugher of ‘the dreaded pirate ‘Mad’ Fenn. Not that he had collected silverware or plotted with weapons (although they were in reach...) to do so. No reason for that. The luncheon would be a note in personal history. 

They climbed the peak. Damien and Caroline. Unexpected and unplanned, and he doubted there would be a celebration between them. But still. 

Children of pirates. Boat babies-- a term so filled with hostility and denigration that Damien did not want to dwell. 

Lady Kenworthy was pretty, and appeared to want to slink between a fall of chestnut hair and a boring suitor. Judging by the repetition, Damien might’ve proved just as boring to her. And for that, he had to laugh under his breath. 

“I’m sorry.” He started. “Predictable at best, I know.” Damien never bragged about shooting an arrow straight at a heart on first glance. He worked slower, perhaps too slow. He’d missed an opportunity here or there for calculating and recalibrating too long on a target. 

But here they are. Coming up on the end of the season. Much of it could be chalked up to fluff, and yet he wouldn’t let a chance with such a beautiful woman pass. He spoke in a low whisper. “A change of pace, yes.” Repetition. “Forgive me but you do seem... not so pleased?”

Oh, the pain of talking to someone at a dinner party. Damien could relate. Another whisper. “I wanted to get a closer look at the musicians.” Or, the instruments waiting for someone to come and adopt them, to pick them up and subdue everyone within hearing. “Would you care to join me, before the luncheon begins? I do like to see what will be played. Makes it a bit more personal for me, in a strange way.”