CL.
Guttersnipe
Chapter IV - The Beautiful Life of Extravagance
“Why did I let you talk me into going to this stupid soiree?"
Archie caught the glimpse of a smile on Henry’s face.
“You're just too soft, ol' boy. No wonder the Merciless Bastard hasn't presented you at court you'd be ripped apart in a matter of seconds."
Archie was inclined to agree, imagining himself lone against a battalion of Cerberus’. "Well then, explain to me why I am going?"
"Because, lovely,” Henry grinned fiddling with one of the buttons on Archie's frock coat, "I refuse to go alone.”
Henry was right, Archie mused, I am too soft. He grimaced as he remembered the incident earlier when Henry had presented Archie with the ensemble he was now itching to get out of, and proceeded to order him to get dressed. Damn him. They were in the coach now, headed towards some winter palace owned by an acquaintance of Henry’s- Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, one in the endless list of the wealthy residents of Bethel, who in Archie’s opinion, held parties just to show of their immense wealth. It was some kind of challenge between the elite that he did not understand. And yet, again, Henry had convinced him to appear. The costume was itchy, his head ached with prophetic visions, and his palms were drenched in sweat. Henry beside him exert confidence, as always, and seem un-affected by Archie’s fidgeting.
Before Archie could ask who Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So were this time, the carriage came to a stop.
“Ready?”
Archie sent Henry a withering glance, “I hate you.”
Henry only laughed.
The ballroom was ancient Greek in structure, marble Corinthian columns rose to meet the painted ceilings: pink cherubs dancing across a blue sky, Aphrodite cradling the golden apple; her nymphs frolicking around her their faces full of foolery. Henry nudged Archie with his elbow, across the threshold. “Welcome to the beautiful life of extravagance.”
Henry pointed out their hosts, an aging couple, instantly; a thin man who was deep in conversation with another; he wore thick glasses perched on his nose, and the sides of hair were slicked back. The woman, with a mass of white curls that started atop her head, wore a vibrant violet evening gown that would have been popular decades back; three strands of pearls attached to a shimmering pendant were centered on the top of her large bosom.
As Henry approached them, the woman squealed and embraced him. “Henry, dear, you actually made it!”
“Never fear Hettie dear, for where there is free food, drink, and merriment I shant be far away.”
“Oh you scoundrel.”
“And who is this?” Mrs. Hale had turned her eyes on Archie.
“This,” Henry said with glee, “is one and only Archibald Gant, who favours people who call him Archie, and lives entirely too much like a hermit.”
Archie fought the urge to strangle something, and bowed curtly. “Mrs. Hale, it is a pleasure.”
She squealed. “Oh, and civilized too. Where did you find him?”
“You know to be honest ma’am I haven’t a clue,” Henry beamed.
Mrs. Hale beamed, “Well now, Archie, dear, make yourself at home. You know as the natives say, ‘Mi casa es su casa.’. She then extended a vibrant, purple gloved hand, “And don’t let Henry here monopolize, you know how he can be.”
“I won’t ma’am,” Archie assured her.
“Good, good. Now you two enjoy yourselves.”
As soon as Mrs. Hale was distracted, Archie glared at Henry, who seemed oblivious. When he got close enough, he leaned in and muttered, “I hate you.”
Henry only laughed.
Henry managed to introduce Archie to a few more of the guests, before they were buttonholed by an aging Captain Junah whose dress was impeccable, and proceeded to speak at length about some passed Battle he had been in, where he had commanded a 76 gun, Ship of the Line: The Arabella. Henry was then apprehended by a Mr. Rowle to discuss some governmental maters, of which Archie had even less interest in. After he managed to extricate himself from Captain Junah and his garrulous tongue, and retreated to a corner of the ballroom, out of sight from most of the guests. Henry had cajoled him into coming, and he was here, after all. That didn’t mean he had to be friendly about it.
More guests flittered in and out of the ballroom, and Archie did not venture from his corner, even when the dancing started. After the first four sets, Henry appeared in his vision with a tallish, curvy redhead on his arm. Her dress was in the latest fashion; an all white ensemble, low cut, with ruffles and a large beryl flower in the center of the neckline. She nodded her head at something Henry said, before drifting off. Henry, now void of company, scanned the room. He focused on Archie, and since he was in a corner there was no plausible way out.
“Come, Archie,” Henry frowned, “I wont have you standing about by yourself in this foolish manner. There is many a maid without a partner.
Archie sent Henry a scathing look, “When I come to woo ladies, I fright them.” Archie paused, “Besides, you are dancing with the prettiest girl here.”
“Now, there you see is fallible logical at its best, and you won’t deter me from my mission, fear not ol‘ boy. At least let me introduce you to some one, I swear she won’t bite.”
Archie felt himself herded away from his haven to the other side of the ballroom. The same redhead Archie had seen with Henry was there with another woman. As they approached Archie grew nervous, and fought to keep his hands from tunneling through his hair. The other young woman was petite and plump, a figure that made men, unfortunate for her, think of their mothers. Despite having plain features, Archie was caught by the brilliance of her hair; a rich, stygian brown intermeshed with mahogany highlights. It was long and curly, and she wore it down, the top half brought up away from her face with a green ribbon that matched her dress.
Henry was the first to speak. “Alice, Ms. Tremaine.”
“Henry- I mean Lord Roseden, what a surprise!” The brunette exclaimed showing off the dimples in her freckled cheeks.
“Please don’t flatter him, Adele, he needs no encouragement especially from you,” Alice -the redhead- remarked.
Adele ignored the comment, and turned to Archie, “And you sir, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Archibald Gant, Miss.”
Before anyone could reply, Henry cut in, “While you two children are getting to know each other, Ms. Borland, may I have this dance?”
Although Alice‘s lips twitched with the hint of a smile, her comment was terse, “If you call me Ms. Borland again, I may have to smite you, severely.”
As Henry departed, Archie itched to flee, and he tangled his figures in his coat seam. The young woman at his side did not seem to notice this. Archie did not want to seem arrogant, or even aloof, so he made the best of the situation.
“Ms. Tremaine was it?”
Her eye lit up as he addressed her, “Yes, but please call me Adele.”
“Under one condition, you call me Archie.”
“Of course, Archie.”
Archie could not help but smile.
“How do you know Henry?” Archie asked.
“Alice introduced us a few summers ago when I was first in Bethel - Aunt Geraldine insisted on having a welcoming soiree for me, and Alice made the dress.”
“She made your dress?” Archie was confused: Ms. Borland, a dressmaker?
“Oh yes, after her husband Leigh died she took over the business - though on paper she owns next to nothing, not one has questioned her authority. I’m surprised you have not heard of her before, she is the first most dressmaker in Bethel, and Henry’s cousin, after all.” She eyed Archie for a few moments. “What do you do, Archie?”
“I’m a printer. Mr. Temple, Henry’s uncle is my benefactor and employer. It is really very dull, I work the machine, I set the blocks, order the engravings, set the press.”
“Oh, that’s fascinating. Do you have a favorite book to make?”
“Hmm, that is tricky, probably William Blake’s Book of Thel; the intricacy of Blake’s carvings is fantastical.”
She smiled, “And for pleasure?”
“Well, that is a tie between Shakespeare and Wordsworth. You?”
“Jane Austen.“ Her eyes narrowed, “Oh, don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.” Archie fought to keep a straight face.
“Yes, you are.”
“No… I… uh…” Damn, how did one talk to ladies without making an ass of yourself?
Archie was spared by the gong of the dinner bell.
“May I escort you, Milady?”
“Certainly, Milord.”
Unfortunately, when they arrived a the dining room Adela and Archie were at opposite ends of the table, though Henry was seated across from Archie. As Archie adjusted his chair, Captain Junah bumbled in taking the seat nearest Archie.
Archie inwardly groaned.
Their host, Mr. Hale, tapped the side of his raised glass, “Ladies. Gentlemen.”
On cue, glasses were raised.
“I shall start this evening off with a short toast - To the Empire,“ Mr. Hale spoke.
A chorus of voices rose up in reply, “To the Empire.”
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