pursuit of power

@pursuitofpower

Sophie looked around the ballroom with wide eyes. After being in The White Rabbit, especially its more sordid parts, Sophie found that she was not usually surprised, but the grandeur on display for all was truly a sight to behold. Privately, Sophie worried that the event would simply lead the working class to a more pronounced view of the grand divide between themselves and the upper class; she found that the thought left her ill at ease.

She found herself something to drink. Perhaps the alcohol would steady her nerves; she was loath to allow herself to dwell in pessimistic thoughts when she should be enjoying herself...even if the enjoyment would be under the influence.

She sipped from her glass and peered over the rim to find the view of her boss Nathaniel Dormer. She made her way over to him, marking her deference as she greeted him. "Baron Dormer, I must admit, it is odd to see you outside of The White Rabbit. You seem to be so dedicated to the work that I must say, it is odd to see you in this setting...forgive me.if I am being too bold for saying so." Maybe she had drank a little too quickly after all.

At the sound of his name, Nathaniel's gaze shifted to the woman standing before him. A White Rabbit attendant, he knew. "Yes, well." Nathaniel's voice dipped as he considered her words. In the years since Elise's death, he'd thrown himself into building the business. So, her statement hardly came as a surprise. "That is rather forward," he noted, "but I'll allow it." He gestured with one hand to the activity occurring around the ballroom. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

With a sigh, Simon conceded the point. "You are quite wise, my dear," he commented, enjoying the shared sense of mischief between them. "After this, I think we're entitled to at least a few days sequestered away." When they'd first gotten married, Simon hadn't expected much from the arrangement. A companion, yes. Someone with whom he could share conversation, sure, but Ceren had quickly become a respected and dear friend to him; in the years since they'd wed, Simon could even say that he loved her. That particular emotion had been unexpected to say the least. "There's always one." If it had been anything other than less than proper, Simon would've rolled his eyes. Leave it to the peerage to flaunt their charitable givings. "To your question," he answered as he began the loop around the ballroom, "The exact amount is yet to be determined, a donation of any size is too much. Unfortunately, it simply won't do for anyone to suggest that the Duke and Duchess of Richmond are lacking in funds. Especially not for a charitable cause."

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 for simon ( @pursuitofpower ) location : ballroom at st. james palace

"That truly sounds like a much better way to spend our time." Simon leaned in and lowered his voice. "It's not too late for us to leave," he suggested. It was mostly a joke, but there was a hint of longing in the statement. A quiet evening at home with his wife and children. What a man wouldn't give for the simple pleasures in life, but decorum had demanded their attendance. He rested his other hand on top of hers as his rested on his arm, patting it once, before straightening up to his full height once more. "Donations have yet to be made. Shall we make our rounds and rectify that?"

his father had been a gentleman, and although his blood was hardly aristocratic, colin anderton's lucrative business endeavours had paved the way for his children's entrée into the so-called beau monde. gabriel was not unfamiliar with those gathered at almack's tonight –– impeccable breeding tended to produce a closed-knit society, a crop of over-familiar faces. half of the assembled gentlemen he'd rubbed elbows with at st. pauls, or eton; the other half, he recognised from the gambling tables of white's. a glass of ratafia in hand, a pair of copper brows furrow as his eyes scan the crowd, a sea of peach satin-silks and feathered plumes, a flushed crush of bodies twirling beneath the heat of at least a dozen twinkling chandeliers. "almack's may be a far cry from billingsgate, but the stench is not altogether very different." the captain clears his throat, bemused. "–– another drink?"