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before the dancing comes the waiting
Mar. 24th, 2010 06:33 pmIn a sweep of fine fabric and fussy women, the Lefroys soon arrive at the ball, hosted by one Lady Gresham, a woman whom he is not entirely fond of, if only because she seems (quite clearly) not to be entirely fond of him.
Her slightly dismissive look in his direction upon his entry made certain of that. A young man from the city, one who thinks he's better than everyone else; someone trying to charm his way into the aristocratic society's bosom with little to no money. Why wouldn't she look upon him thus?
*
There is a disparate air to this gathering than he is used to, having now attended his fair share during his stay in the country. The men here certainly attempted to master the pomp and glamour of a London ball (he'd crashed a few of those in his time), but the atmosphere is different. It feels refined, yes, but calmer somehow. Peaceful. Less prone to the outright conflict that often arises amongst the royals and politicians.
They had arrived early - all the better for his relations to mingle - during which Tom held back, occasionally chatting with the other men and women his own age of matters related to the law and of things in London. He kept the ladies entertained while he, himself, grew bored.
Finally, a moment alone, Tom takes note of the grand clock chiming the hour by the entrance. Then he is climbing up the steps, glancing out the window; his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of a woman, of what he should say to her, of whether he ought to bring up the novel he'd recently been reading - and why he feels like such a fool.
Her slightly dismissive look in his direction upon his entry made certain of that. A young man from the city, one who thinks he's better than everyone else; someone trying to charm his way into the aristocratic society's bosom with little to no money. Why wouldn't she look upon him thus?
*
There is a disparate air to this gathering than he is used to, having now attended his fair share during his stay in the country. The men here certainly attempted to master the pomp and glamour of a London ball (he'd crashed a few of those in his time), but the atmosphere is different. It feels refined, yes, but calmer somehow. Peaceful. Less prone to the outright conflict that often arises amongst the royals and politicians.
They had arrived early - all the better for his relations to mingle - during which Tom held back, occasionally chatting with the other men and women his own age of matters related to the law and of things in London. He kept the ladies entertained while he, himself, grew bored.
Finally, a moment alone, Tom takes note of the grand clock chiming the hour by the entrance. Then he is climbing up the steps, glancing out the window; his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of a woman, of what he should say to her, of whether he ought to bring up the novel he'd recently been reading - and why he feels like such a fool.
