#ls.open

But Charlotte didn’t have long to dwell before she almost fell through the door she was leaning on as someone opened it from the other side. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

She when tending to a pink and yellow dog-rose bush when she heard a twig snap underneath someones shoe. Turning around she was greeted by a familiar face. “Oh hello,” She said, giving her new companion a charming smile and hoped that she didn’t have any dirt smudged on her person that she didn’t know about. “I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t expecting any company, I would have put on something more appropriate.” She said looking down at her sage green gardening dress.  

       ––– AS THE ORCHESTRA GREW LOUDER, the heat in the room seemed to swell and in spite of the copious amounts of ratafia and champagne being served throughout Almack’s, the sudden swelter had reduced the Countess to little more than a blushing bride–– refusing Lord Palmerston her next dance in exchange for the ability to flee onto the balcony. Breezes from the Thames’ eased Henrietta’s reddening throat and the roseate tint to her cheeks, though within moments she found that she was not alone and turned to the newcomer, gracing them with a tight-lipped smile. 

      ––– WITHOUT THE PRESENCE OF ITS precious aristocrats, London had become like a crown without its jewels–– a hollow thing, quiet as it clattered upon the floor. The Regent’s light eyes surveyed the assembly room with a joyful, nearly boyish glint, absorbing the various sights and sounds to be had. Yet, as another Quadrille sounded, pounding in his ears like a second heartbeat, Frederick excused himself; reluctant to seek out a partner, he instead moved toward the smorgasbord of libations and delicacies. 

The house bustled with people. Here and there were women in increasingly beautiful – and some most excessively extravagant – dress, and men equally as well attired too. His show was yet to start, and this portion of the evening was mostly used for his friends to peacock and socialise in the drawing room. George, uninterested in the peacocking, but an unfortunate victim of attention nonetheless managed to slip away into the fountain of greenery. 

However, it seemed someone had bested him to his destination. No person to be seen but a left behind sketch-book. Its middle page open to a rough drawing of a too familiar face. Picking it up a rough laugh parted his lips. They were his features. Someone dared to copy his likeness. His laugh was thus overheard and a rustling from behind forced George to turn, sketchbook in hand he placed it near he cheek. 

“Are my eyes really SO close together?”“