Grasping

she had already had several spins around the dance floor, with as many different partners as there were dances; sophie had been a fan of dancing even before her debut in society all those years ago. “you haven’t seemed to have asked someone yet tonight,” the blonde said, her eyebrow arching as if she had asked a question. she knew the duke had been absent from ton events for a while, and she had always found it best to jump into things head first rather than dip her toes in it; and sophie thought she might help the gentleman do the same. “come along, one dance and then i shall show you where all the men have hidden away so they can smoke, talk politics, and gamble away their family fortunes.”

_

Part of him felt foolish for thinking that his lack of dancing might have gone unnoticed, especially when it wasn’t as though he was new to the scene. He had spent enough years as part of it to know that everyone’s eyes were on everyone else, he should not have thought himself an exception. Her question was met with a wry smile and simple, honest answer, even if it did withhold some truth. “No, not yet.” It would be far from proper to confess to her that he had been purposefully delaying, placing a heavy meaning on a dance when he knew that it would pushing him more firmly into taking the necessary steps to move on from Mary.  But at he suggestion he reminds himself that it was hardly a marriage propose or even a statement of intent at this point. Only a dance. And if he were to eventually find a new wife there would be countless more to come. “Your offer to help me rectify it  and the suggestion of an oasis is too kind, thank you.” There’s a small, warm smile on his features as he takes a step towards her, holding a hand out towards her as he does. “Shall we?” 

“Is that the best topic of conversation you can come up with, old friend?  To be frank I’m tiring of the topic of just how great the evening has turned out to be.  Surely, it’s been a success, but have we all not one other thing to discuss?” Thomas vented.  Perhaps he had been naive to think so, but he had planned the night to be a night of victory and success in securing investments and new patrons for his family’s business.  He had hoped to have some meaningful conversation with a lady or two with the goal of furthering his search for a (rich) wife.  But instead all he had been met with in both categories was polite conversation about just how beautiful the night had turned out.  The flowers? Splendid.  The color scheme? Dashing. Champagne? Costly.  

“I think I would have had more entertaining conversation with Cecilia and Amelia.”

_

From someone else his words might have stung, a bruising assessment of his current abilities, but even then Henry had never been a particularly proud man. Just one that had never welcomed pity. His main concern was that if his company was deemed subpar it would raise questions about his readiness to return, something he had no prepared answers for. Still, he knew his friend was right but also that the other man’s frustration did not seem to solely be aimed at him. Though he was inclined towards being more emotional, he had never been too sensitive of a man, especially not about matters like this. The evenings could be drawn out and repetitive, enough to bore even the most genial men to the point of frustration. “Do I get no allowance for my being out of practise?” 

Smile curved over his lips at the mention of his daughter, quick to seize the topic to liven and lighten up their conversation. “If that is the case then I am truly letting the side down given they have been my conversational partners for the past two years. They clearly did not get their talents from me” A moment of pause was taken before he raised at brow at his friend, questions posed in equal part curiosity and jest. “What would the great Sir Thomas Hyde-Parker have us all discuss then? Burning philosophical questions? Works of art? Or perhaps politics has your interest now?”

For all he had prepared himself ( or rather, braced himself ) for the barrage of interactions he would face at the ball, experiencing it was another thing altogether. Barely two years ago he had no cause to doubt himself, not when both his upbringing and years of practise meant that he could attend events without thinking twice. But now he was painfully aware of the break he had taken from the season and the questions and talk that had undoubtedly come with it. So far most had, to his great relief, kept their queries to a minimum and allowed him to quietly enter himself back into the throng that was The Ton. But there was a nagging thought at the back of his mind that had convince him that there would be plenty that would have their questions about his motives for returning. He was never usually inclined to vanity and on another occasion he would not have believed that most would give him a second thought but nonetheless he found himself hesitating during interactions. His usual ease with other’s somewhat deserting him as it made way for tentativeness when he felt so out of practise. 

It had seemed easier to remain in group discussions, safer almost when he could rely on others to continue the conversation leaving less chance for him to falter. For the most part it seemed to have worked, at least until his most recent companions made their excuses to greet someone else, leaving him with only one other to entertain. Words that once came so easily evaded him and he found himself grasping for the simplest of topics in the hopes that it would satisfy them long enough that he might think of something better. “Quite a night, is it not? Our hosts have truly set the bar.” 

Ever since his sister’s passing, Brandon Seymour found himself spending less and less time in London. He had looked for any reasons to be anywhere else and somehow had ended up in representation for the East India Trading Company and sailing off to spend time in the foreign country. It seemed he found more excuses to be away then being here. But the wayward Seymour found himself back on London spoil only forty-eight hours past and the matron of the family, his mother, was quick to make sure he was in attendance to the Duke and new Duchess premiere ball. That’s why he was here now.

Standing off to the side, Brandon spotted his mother speaking to what appeared a mother and one oft he featured debutantes of the evening. He already knew what she was up to and quickly turned to the first person at his side. “Could you do be a favour and pretend like I said something incredibly witty and maybe give a small laugh so my mother thinks I'm otherwise engaged in conversation and won’t come over here.”

-

The season and its balls had been a fixture in his life for years now and he was well adept at dealing with them. Or at least he always had been when his personable nature tended to make it so easy to interact with as many fellow guests as possible. His habit of caring about other’s lives, showing genuine investment in their tales and stories meant that he rarely found them boring. In fact before the loss of his wife they were perhaps among nights he might have considered the highlights of his year. Except when Mary had died it had felt as though they would only make him feel the absence of her all the more keenly. He had proven once again that he knew himself well given that within moments of entering the Argyll Ball a wave of grief had hit him. Just perhaps now, with two years to adjust, he would be able to cope in a way he would have been unable to before. 

Despite his determination to find his resilience, it had not stopped him from seeking solace in familiar company, hoping to break himself into the evening somewhat. Finding himself at Brandon’s side he knew that their long years of friendship would allow him to relax and the fact that he was perhaps one of the only people who missed his wife as much made him worry less about any shows of grief. Lips curled up in amusement at the words that his friend greeted him with. “I doubt very much that she would see it as anything but a ruse, my friend.” After all, his mother in law knew of their close friendship enough to guess that they would be conspiring. Nonetheless, he laughed and motioned for them to start walking in the hope that they would at least look as though they were searching for other company to engage. “But perhaps we can stave her off a little longer for you if we keep moving.” 

so far, at least in sophie’s eyes, the evening was going smoothly- so smoothly, in fact, that she doubted the gossip columns would have much of anything to say for the next week; which meant that the ball would be forgotten about in a month’s time, and she had no wish to see of the first time her sister hosted as duchess. “now,” sophie said, sliding in next to someone standing on the sidelines, “are you not keen on a quadrille, or is it simply that no one has asked you to dance?”

-

In the past dancing had not been something that he had shied from when it had been impressed upon him from a young age how it was the polite and proper thing to dance with as many ladies as possible. Even once married he had still felt somewhat duty-bound to give young ladies their turn, a chance to show themselves at their best to potential suitors. Back then he had been able to enjoy the luxury of no expectations on him, able to go back to his wife without having to do anything more. But now he was back among the ranks of suitor and he found himself hesitating to claim a place on the dancefloor, all too aware that at times it was almost impossible for a dance to simply be a dance. “It has been some time since I was the asked rather than the asker.” Easy smile touches his lips at his confession, an honest one but he’s quick to move the conversation on before it lingers too long in sombre waters. “I trust you have not been so neglected? I should be quick to rectify it if that has been the case.” 

he would bear the weight of the world like Atlas; until his shoulders collapsed || all he hasn’t always been a house on fire but he has always been full of light || about as golden as they come with irises that are a radar of warmth & sunlight || portraits  || threads  || inspiration constellations get named after heroes or grief so ancient & earth changing || mary

he’s bleeding sunlight