christine chapel loved parties. between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two, there had rarely been a night she didn't spend at some event or another; it didn't matter what it was for, or who was going to be there, she loved the noise of it, the buzzing of the room. she had been far too alive to ever be bored, in those days.
lady christine korby longed for a night-in, on the other hand.
longed for an excuse to stay inside the big old house roger had shut her into at twenty-three with the library he loved showing off to his guests. she was never there long enough to crack a spine, and when she was, oh, there were things to be done, her own events to plan and host, and a proper wife does not need to be reminded of these things, christine, how hard is it to host a simple dinner?
her thoughts took her husband's voice, and she followed the sound of laughter, over dwight's shoulder, to find him. he was deep in conversation with stratton, each with a drink in hand, and she'd bet her right leg neither of them were listening to each other.
they'd be at it for hours. it was why the offer rushed out of her lips. she'd been at the knife's edge all week long, searching for an escape, and when she had to strain to listen to hear dwight describing an article he read - a proper medical article! - the words just came tumbling out.
โโ are you saying i have ulterior motives, doctor enys?โ โ she asks, inching backwards, keeping a disenterested gaze over his shoulder, hatching their escape. โโ you helped me. i'm just... returning the favor. โ โ
