#ll.starter

Bella was late. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last. And she wasn’t concerned. Not yet, at least. The day had been a common dance she participated in with her governess or Mother. Embroider aimlessly or some other dainty lady-like task as she took social calls with her mother and sisters. Do her best to convince anyone to let her take a stroll through town. Be denied. Draw up a persuasive excuse to go into town. Give her chaperone a run-around and then taste freedom to stroll through the market and through town. But now she was late for supper and no doubt, she was going to getting a tongue lashing. Curving into the quieter alleys so she could avoid the bustle in the main streets, she fell into a hasty pace, as much of a run as she could in skirts. So often she was undisturbed in her rushed clamber back to the Aldwyn residence that she was momentarily stunned as she crashed headfirst into a chest, effectively knocking the man’s effects from his hands and practically knocking the wind out of the girl’s lungs.

She gave a little cry of surprise, before regaining some semblance of balance. Instinctively, she gasped out a, “My apologies, Sir” before glancing up to focus on who she had charged into. Unsteadily, Bella picked her skirts up and ducked down to swoop the book up, offering it back to the man. “I did not expect anyone on this route. I was not looking at where I stepped.” And she hadn’t. Why would she? This was a shortcut that her cousin had showed her to get back to the estate quickly and what made it such an effective route was how desolate it often was. Part of her knew the precarious situation she found herself in but the impact of knocking into muscle and bone was enough to daze her.

Circumstances sometimes can be both fortunate and unfortunate at the same time oddly enough. 

In this instance, as Byron St. Clair took in the sights of the hustle and bustle, he recognized how fortunate he was to find himself back in the city so unlike any other. A city that, no matter where he visited or would settle, would always be his first. He had grown up in the country as most children of polite society did. So it was no surprise that his first real taste of adventure had been spread across the landscape of London town—a fact that made sure his somewhat sentimental heart latched onto it. 

What was unfortunate, however, was that he’d been rudely reminded of how busy it could be even in winter as a landau sped down the street a sliver too close to where he’d been meaning to cross. Byron stumbled back enough to avoid being trampled but fate was not as kind to his top hat that dove in doom’s way in its master’s stead. “Blast.” Byron cursed, uncaring who stood within earshot.