#woundedwrath

It felt like she’d been in the salon for years, not hours. There were so many people, so much noise, and too many things happening for her to ever fully relax, and she felt almost hypervigilant as she glanced around, taking in face after face and yet seeing no one. She’d lost track of Dottie ages ago, and Sophia had disappeared sometime around the evening meal, which meant she was on her own. Which was fine, of course –– she hadn’t expected both women to remain at her side all night, after all –– but perhaps she hadn’t realized how long the event would drag on, and she was exhausted, and there were at least three more dances, if she’d been keeping correct track of her dance card (which, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely sure she had), which meant at least another half hour of this. 

God, she just wanted to be curled up in a chair with a book. 

How she was going to do this for most of the year, she had no clue. But there was nothing for it now –– Sophia was nowhere to be seen, which meant she could not slip out with her godsister, and she would not leave her best friend behind. Even if Sophia was likely having a far better time than she was. 

One hand came up to her necklace, fingertips idly tracing over the painted cameo pendant as she glanced around once more. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was looking for, only that she knew if she were to stand alone and unoccupied on the side of the dance floor, she would certainly be a source of gossip the next day. Catherine might be new to London, but she knew that much, at least. And then...there he was. She blinked, her eyes widening, and then blinked again, closing her eyes deliberately tightly only to open them once more. Surely she was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be––

“William!” She didn’t think about how it would look, or how people might stare, or the fact that she was nearly flying across the salon and interrupting a conversation between him and a set of ladies –– a young woman and her chaperone, she might have noticed, had she eyes for anyone other than him ––  or anything, really, other than the fact that he was here. Catherine nearly tripped over her dress as she reached him, her eyes wide, her heart in her throat. “My god, it’s really you –– I –– how are you?”