LEONORA MERCIER

The moment her hand settled into his, Edgar smiled faintly and guided her away from the ballroom, slipping easily through the crowd until the music and laughter faded into a distant murmur behind them. The hallway beyond was quieter, lined with tall candles and walls crowded with paintings in heavy gilded frames. "There,"he said softly once they were alone enough to breathe. "Already an improvement." His gaze lifted toward a large oil painting nearby; a ship caught in rough seas beneath a storm-dark sky. "The Barnetts seem to have excellent taste in art," he remarked, stepping closer to it. He stepped closer to the painting, studying it with genuine interest rather than the bored glance most gentlemen offered artwork at balls.

a heavy breath she hadn't realised she had been holding released as they cross the threshold, the quiet blanketing her in calm as the music becomes distant and the crawling gazes have been blocked. nora watches the young man now, taking his side portrait in as he shows genuine interest in the paintings the barnett's have lined their home with; after a moment, she joins him at his side and looks to the piece of art. "a little gloomy, if i may say." though, leonora held more interest in paintings of flora and fauna, she has a particular favourite piece depicting blooming chrysanthemums in a rainbow of colours providing sustenance to honey bees.

Something in Edgar's expression shifted the moment the words left her mouth. Not shock, not judgment. Recognition. A faint smile touched his mouth, though there was sadness beneath it now. "My Mama, Lady Edith, died four years ago. The other papers made quite a spectacle of grief for a month or two before deciding she was old news." His gaze drifted briefly toward the ballroom. "My other mother, Lady Daniella, is still living through it now. Most people just see her as a widow; not a person." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked back at Leonora. "And I think that is the cruelest part of mourning in society." His voice softened. "People stop seeing the person before they stop seeing the grief."

even her own family look at her with pity - maybe they don't realise it, but nora recognises the darkness in the eyes, the concern and worry they hold for the cousin who returned in black; she may be happy to be home, but she was not happy to be percieved in such a manner. the looks made her skin crawl, as if a million tiny ants were creeping beneath her skin and nipping at her veins, reminding her that she is alive and living through her life now as a ghost of a woman she once was. she could offer her condolences to edgar, but she knew all too well how such a phrase could turn the stomach and become numb to its meaning. "perhaps people do not wish to see past the shadow of grief, to see past it is to accept the life the widower lived without them in it." her voice is quiet, thinking of the time she spent away from her family, the strangers they became through distance. even now she has yet to speak truly of what occurred with the baron to her cousin.

The correction made the amusement in Edgar's expression soften almost instantly. "Ms. Mercier," he repeated quietly, more carefully this time. "Then I owe you my condolences." There was nothing performative in the words, no hollow politeness recited out of obligation. His voice carried genuine sympathy as his gaze settled on her, noticing the way that brief flicker of happiness had vanished almost as quickly as it came. "I am sorry," he added after a moment, gentler still. "For all of it."

condolences. that word had lost all meaning by now, every person she knew - strangers too - have offered their condolences to the wife of a man she barely scratched the surface to know. a marriage, not for love, filled with duty and few moments of companionship which she truly enjoyed. she sees the sincerity in mr o'connor's features though, no facade of pity or false genuinity, true sincerity for her emotions. it was a breath of fresh air. "please, do not apologise. it is the way of this world and it is my fate to live through it."

reaching her hand away from her ring, she picks a flute of champagne away from the drinks table and holds it close to her chest - another distraction for itching fingers brewing with thrums of anxiety. she had never been much of a lover of alcohol, often speaking of its bitter taste that made her stomach twist, but she also followed the ancient rule of it being a drink of courage. something she needed to stay at this ball for longer and not embarrass herself, or her family.

the ball reminds her of one she had attended upon her entrance to french society as the baroness of mayenne, all glittering and gaudy with overpriced decorations and flowers that may have been discarded the following day without thought. though the music at the barnett's ball was far more to nora's taste than that of the neighbouring lord in mayenne, she still found herself out of place within the dance hall. gems of higher quality dance beneath the lights, shimmering in just the right way that her amber could never acheive - but she preferred it this way, to be hidden.

Katherine had seen miniatures of all the eligible people who were attending the ball. Some young and never married, like herself, others old and widowed and now looking for a second, third, or even fourth spouse. Leonora Mercier was somewhere in the middle- a widow but still young. More experienced than the average debutante but also not aged and, if Katherine had to guess, not as wise as other widows.

perhaps leonora should have requested for a list of potential guests attending or even miniatures to allow her some repreive from the anxiety riddling her bones, she is sure her cousin would have obliged her after everything she had been through - just something to let her practice long forgotten names that don't roll of the tongue as easily as they did when she was younger. even now, she scouts the faces of the ballroom with her eyes, seeking familiarities and features that may pinpoint her back to the family they hail from, but with her mind racing it was a nought job.

Edgar nearly walked past her before recognition struck him. Not from personal familiarity, but from old newspapers he used to skim through years ago, back when society marriages and French estates had still managed to hold his attention for more than a passing moment. He remembered the name Mercier well enough; remembered whispers of beauty, wealth, France. He did not read the papers anymore. Had not for quite some time. So seeing Leonora Mercier standing here, alone near the drinks table instead of somewhere across the Channel, caught him genuinely off guard.

society had never felt welcoming to nora, not as a young debutante and not now as a widow. though she had enjoyed the dancing and the inconspicuous flirting when she had first stepped into a ball, the facade quickly faded away and she found herself longing for the comfort of her home and the books she enjoyed far more. france had offered little relief as she was the wife of a baron, a man who wished for more and would do anything to get more - a lout through and through. and now, here she was. hidden by the drinks, a gemstone made of tree sap chosen to protect her and offer strength among a glittering sea of diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald and so much more.

perhaps it could be argued that the anxiety rose in nora once she left for france, the ring being a constant companion the moment she left the english shore, however, the movement dates back to her childhood. her own mother. nora would watch her diligently and would copy movements day-to-day and ring spinning was a constant. it had calmed her mother after arguments, during ball planning and visits with her family - it offered a solace that nobody else could, not even nora. perhaps there was magic in the old ring, a touch of her mother offering her own support during moments of conflict for nora.

Ceara knew this was too much for her. She had never attended something so grand, so beautiful but crowded and perfumed. Before long, she maneuvered her way through the pushy society to nestle herself into a small alcove, taking a few deep breaths.

perhaps she should have stayed put at home, stayed hidden within walls that held her secrets and kept her safe. safe from stares and the people she no longer knew - people she had entered society with now married or eloped, children in their bellies are at their side. it was all too much change for her to take. she once used excuses of illness and pain to escape from such events in french society, a ghost of a wife who few knew truly - it was harder to escape unnoticed now as a returned widow to a french baron. to the murray family, a well known family of the ton. she was stuck.

Vitoria had not entirely missed society balls. She had always been the first of her siblings to try and make her polite escape, even if it had never worked and she had ended spending her evening caught up in it all. The English court felt more treacherous than the Portuguese court ever had but she imagined that happened when you pretended to be something you weren't. Her eyes caught on an unfamiliar face and she made her way over.

though her husband had been a stranger and a lout the majority of the time, he had made balls and societal events in france tolerable - allowing her to leave early due to a 'stomach ache' and taking all of the eyes off of her with his own ridiculous ideas. for that, she was grateful to him: though that gratefullness extended no further.

Arthur had arrived in attendance to the Barnett house earlier with Alisa. He had spoken to the Barnetts and complimented their preparation of the house for the ball. The theme was quite lovely and something most people could play to; the colors were muted but they reflected the personality of those who wore each specific stone. As the music played, he continued to walk through the room.

there was a slither of hope that she may recognise old friends among the crowd, people she had wrote letters to over her course in france - to no avail, unfortunately - and she had not wanted to bother rosalind at such an event. her father may be her cousin and the family was close, but to be trailed by your older second cousin wasn't the best look for a young lady.

“Did you say something?” Tobias asks, turning to face the woman. He hadn’t seen her before and thought he would have remembered but wasn’t entirely certain on that given his habit for enjoying life a little too much. The ring on her finger he notices and, puzzled, thinks that she was talking to that and not him since there was nobody else around. If she was, he didn’t really care. He’d seen stranger things in his life and was far too open minded for the position he was born into. “Or are you worried about the ball? I find dancing and drink helps quite a bit! Lucky for you I can help with both,” he answers offering her the second glass in his hand. They were both for him but he thought she might need it more.

"just a prayer . . . i fear i have been away far too long to be comfortable here . . ." though she had attended balls and societal events in france alongside her husband, it was different - she had no friends nor family in france, nora felt judged and mocked whenever she entered the room there. it was hard to remove that anxiety forever, even now surrounded by familiar faces. "i will have to pass on dancing, i'm afraid i may step on too many toes these days," a breathy and small laugh manages to slip between her lips as she finally looks upon the man speaking to her - a minor recognition, perhaps she knows his family. "a drink, however, would be most helpful. thank you." finally releasing the ring, leonora reaches out and takes the glass offered, bowing her head slightly before taking a rather big swig of the liquid.

Dominic’s feet started to ache half an hour ago. He’d danced with a fair number of ladies, all eager to be the next marchioness. None of them knew anything of Ireland. They all lived for the social season and spoke of how they’d influence it as his marchioness. They didn’t know that wasn’t what Dominic wanted to hear. He needed someone who understood expectations that came with all of it, not just the money and influence. Dominic didn’t see where he was going when he collided with an amber-inspired woman. “My apologies,” he said quickly, watching as his drink spilt on the floor. “I didn’t see you there. If I’ve damaged your dress, you’ll have to let me pay for it.” It wasn’t ideal. Dominic could already hear his mother scolding him.

her mind had wandered to years passed when she watched the dancing ladies and their potential suitors, remembering her own introduction to society and the way her feet stung and burned by the end of the night from dancing; a swirl of emotions was pushed down as the thought of those being the last time she truly enjoyed dancing before being whisked away to mayenne by a stranger. in the midst of her thoughts, she is pulled harshly into reality at the collision with the man - hands outstretched in shock and sights set down at the floor, checking for any liquid that may have caused reason for an early escape - but alas, there was none. the floor had unfortunately taken the brunt. deep breath in, her hands return to the mechanically anxious ring-spinning as she looks to dominic.