𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 @mcralitas the most honorable, the marquess of elingwood the queen's garden party, garden games section, london
It was a thing entirely necessary that they were seen together, glittering and gleaming, as usual. Athénaïs was well aware of how it would look if they did not. So she smiled. Not too broad -- her smiles in public always carried an edge, a sharpness, the familiar imperious quality which ever had marked her out from the rest. It was a quality she had learned at Versailles, all these years later, still reflecting back the fabled Hall of Mirrors for the world to see. It was a quality which always had served her well. Generally, of course, its cruel edge was reserved for the outside world. Generally, on her husband's arm, she felt she was being presented with her nearest ally. Yet now, even with her arm tucked into the familiar warmth of his, she felt strangely alone as her silk-slippered feet touched the verdure of the Hampton Court Palace green. Alone, and surrounded by courtly vipers.
She felt she was being gawked at. It was untrue, she knew, a mere fancy conjured by her own horror of her husband's secret getting out, but this rational certainty did nothing to chase away the awful gut feeling. Besides, there was someone watching, indeed. Lady Whistledown meant to discover and expose everyone's secrets, if she could.
The Marchioness' jaw set. Clutching her husband's arm, she half-guided him towards the games area. "Come. I've rather a mind for a little exercise." She felt like shooting or hitting something. "What do you think, my lord? Pall mall, first, or a spot of archery?"
Like a familiar dance he easily fell back into step to he remained poised, head held high and back straightened as he took a turn about the gardens, Athénaïs on his arm. What had once been a grounding weight felt like it was pulling him lower and lower, six feet under, rendering him as small as he felt. Yet no matter his feelings about the situation, no matter his self-pity at falling out of his family's favour, and deservedly so, for what was gravely more important was to save face, appear as if they remained unchanged to one another. As if the ward-sized secret taking dinner with the family and occupying her own room had not caused a rift presumably irreperable between a couple once thought a love match.
How he'd love to wallow, drown himself in work back in the country, grovel for his family's forgiveness before repeating the same wrongdoings over again. Christopher doubted he'd ever have the gumption to truly change, his character already spoiled, rotten to the core. The least he could do was to ease his family's troubles, brought on by the burden that was his nature, and keep up appearances. Keep up their good name.
"A game of pall mall sounds entirely sensible." The thought of his dear wife 'accidentally' losing her aim and sending Her Majesty's arrow deep into some soft and unguarded part of him rather made his stomach churn. "A group game, my dear? Or would you prefer we go against one another, one on one?"
