A/N: This sort of reflects Jaye's history from other fanfics... It's hard not to see her that way now that I've read some of those stories. Thanks, y'all.
BTW I hope you all get the Rocky & Bullwinkle reference...
Alison Hart-Burnett gracefully stepped out of the back seat of the limo. She nodded graciously at the footman who held open the door for her, and looked up at the large mansion where she would be spending the evening.
It was a huge house– more of a complex, really, with a twenty-room main house, separate servants' quarters, stables, greenhouses, gardens, and various other small storage and equipment buildings. She knew there was a lake on the forty acre grounds as well, and if she remembered correctly, even a small nine-hole golf course.
She sighed. Must be nice. Of course, with the trappings come the responsibilities. Like this party. She scanned the drive and parking area. There must be over a hundred people here, she thought. Ugh. This is going to be even worse than I thought.
She had been asked–no, told– by her mother to attend tonight's formal gala. To make matters worse, it fell on All-Hallow's-Eve, and the guests had been asked to wear costumes. At least my mother isn't here with me, she mused. She would be introducing me to 'eligible bachelors' every fifteen minutes.
A butler took her invitation at the door, and another took her fur wrap and purse to be put in the cloakroom. She watched for a moment to make sure she could find the room later. She felt a little strange being separated from the Beretta in her bag, slightly nervous at its loss. She shook her head. This is a social engagement, not a Covert Ops mission, she told herself firmly.
It felt like an undercover mission, though– thanks to the costume. Alison was wearing a gold gown with a drop waist that ended mid-thigh; the top was squared off just above her breasts, with off-the-shoulder, flowing sleeves that fell to the ends of her fingers. The material was shimmery and nearly translucent; a separate layer of darker gold bands around her chest and hips made the outfit barely decent. Her sandals had straps that wrapped around her legs to her knee; around her throat she wore a wide, Egyptian-style band that sparkled with color. She also wore a small but detailed mask, giving her face a catlike appearance. Her own green eyes and slightly wild hair added to the effect.
Her mother had bought the outfit, and had cheerfully presented it to her when Alison had finally buckled and agreed to go to the party. It had sparked another round of debate, but she had already promised to attend, and her mother had pointed out that wearing her BDUs would hardly be acceptable, and since she didn't have anything else that was suitable as a costume...
Alison had ignored the dig on her career and agreed to wear the Bast costume only to stop her mother from arguing further. She had planned on shopping for a replacement in New York during her layover, but the plane had been delayed. So had her flight into Heathrow, giving her a scant hour to change before having to leave for the party. At least I don't know anyone here. It's all up-and-coming British aristocracy, she thought. God, imagine running into someone I know while wearing this...
Actually, she could think of one person she might let see the outfit back in the States– but that would have to wait. She forced a pleasant smile on her features and walked into the main room.
The ballroom was stunning. Teak floors shone in the spaces between guests' legs. Ceiling-high windows ran across the entire opposite wall, leading to balconies overlooking the gardens. The other walls were covered in huge banners and tapestries where they were not hung with expensive paintings. Chandeliers cast a soft glow on the people beneath, accented by the flickering light of hundreds of candles placed on tall stands along the walls.
The right side of the room contained an assortment of small couches and chairs, as well as several large tables laden with food. A small orchestra played softly from the far corner. To the left, a large marble staircase wound up to a second floor balcony overlooking the dance floor.
She scanned the groups quickly, noticing that her outfit was not nearly as risque as some of the others she saw. One woman was wearing a black velvet cape– and apparently little else. Alison shuddered, happy that her mother was not into online shopping. The boutiques near her home certainly didn't carry things like that.
Several clusters of chatting individuals were scattered around the room. She noted the ones that contained mostly older men with their wives. That would be safe. Older men tended to talk politics and history, which was at least tolerable. God forbid she go anywhere near the arrogant young men who were obviously looking to pair up with someone for the night. She was certainly NOT interested in witnessing the typical male posturing about stocks, mergers, and bank accounts for hours on end. I can hear them now, she thought: 'My portfolio is bigger than yours...'
A footman offered her a tray of drinks. She chose a glass of wine and approached the nearest group of men with their tagalong wives, who were listening with bored expressions on their faces as their husbands discussed military strategy. Perfect. Maybe I won't have to interact with a single other soul all night, she smiled to herself. Obligation to the mother met, obligation to the boyfriend met. Done and done.
She listened to the friendly banter for a moment, until one of the men noticed her standing nearby. Polite introductions were made, but the men seemed a little flustered at her presence. "I don't think you'd be interested in the conversation, dear," piped up one of the wives, who appeared to be dressed as a figure from Greek mythology . "They're talking about the uprising again." The woman, who had been introduced to her as the Lady Baddeley, gave her a kind smile.
Her husband, Sir John, in costume as a phoenix–at least she thought it was-- placed a hand on his wife's arm. "Wait a minute, dove." He smiled at Alison. "Lady Burnett– Your family is Scottish Highland as well, is it not?" At her nod, he turned to the others two men. "Well, that evens the odds, then, eh?" He staged whispered to her, "Lowlanders! Think they were right to have kept out of the whole mess."
Alison stifled a laugh. They were talking about the Jacobite rebellion of 1745. The man continued in a normal voice, "I keep trying to tell them that if the negotiations with France had been more open from the start, Sweden would have-"
"More open!" One of the others interrupted. "The prince's own father didn't even know what was going on until the army was already gathered and on Scottish soil!" He turned to Alison. "Tell your compatriot here that Charles Edward Stuart was a fool!"
Sir John sputtered, looking to her for help. She wracked her brain, trying to remember everything she'd read on the subject. "Actually," she responded, "I think that Louis could have very easily won back the support of Prussia and Sweden if he had sent his men as promised. A second invasion on the English front would have made all the difference, and Europe would hardly care who sat on the throne once all the fighting was done. Louis just cared too much about appearances."
Her 'compatriot' beamed. The wives looked a little startled, but made no comment. Alison only listened with half an ear as they continued to debate the minute details of the historic event. Thank God Scottish men can go on about this for days, she thought. I may not have to speak with another person the whole evening.
A half-hour later the discussion was starting to wear thin. Her smile felt glued in place, and her neck was already sore from nodding politely every few minutes.
She unobtrusively flagged down another footman, exchanging her empty wineglass for a full one. It was going to be a long night.
Alison was considering the possibility of simply hiding in the ladies' room for the rest of the evening when a familiar voice behind her caught her attention. She turned, looking for its source. A woman dressed as a biker was laughing off the advances of an extremely drunk Julius Caesar. She wore high-heeled boots and leather chaps with only a pair of tight black bikini pants underneath, leaving quite a large area of skin exposed. The rest of the costume consisted of a tight red halter top and a black leather jacket.
It took a minute to get past the details of the outfit and pay attention to the face. Long black hair fell over a pale oval face, red lips sneering at the man's attempts to speak to her. The effect was slightly ruined by a pair of wire-framed glasses...
It hit Alison all at once. Oh, my God. The Baroness is at this party... She nearly dropped her wineglass, but years of training kept her outward appearance calm.
The Baroness must have felt her stare. She looked up at Alison, frowning. I am wearing a mask, she can't possibly know it's me... she told herself. Unless I decide to have a little fun. What would she do if I approached her? She wondered. She decided to find out.
'Caesar' had finally stumbled away, but there was still a crowd of eager young men standing at the ready, looking for a signal that the Baroness was approachable.
Alison got there before any of the men decided to try their luck. "Baroness, dear, how good to see you," she said in a cheerful voice.
The woman looked Alison over, trying to place her.
Leaning in to give her a European peck on the cheek, she whispered in the Baroness' ear, "Interesting look. Going as a Dreadnok tonight? Or is that not a costume? It's hard to tell."
She stood back as recognition dawned on the Baroness' face. She didn't as much as twitch, showing not a sign of her surprise. She gave Alison a condescending smile. "Speaking of outfits, dear," she purred, looking Alison over, "Tell that repressed CO of yours he should keep his fantasies separate from his work. Or does he make you dress up like that on base, too?"
Alison's mouth crept up at the corners. "Oh, I'm not working," she replied. "I was invited, as I'm assuming you were. Unless your employers sent you..." She scanned the nearby crowd. "Where's your silver-headed keeper? Does he know you escaped?"
The Baroness actually looked startled. "You were invited? By whom?"
She rolled her eyes. "The host. Who else?"
"But you... Ugh. Are you telling me that we actually run in the same social circles?" The Baroness looked disgusted. "They'll let anyone buy their way into the aristocracy nowadays."
Alison was thoroughly enjoying this. "Actually my family has been titled for several generations," she replied in a perky voice. Fully prepared to duck either a punch or a glass full of wine, she continued, "Tell me, are you really a Baroness, or is that just a delusion of grandeur?"
The Baroness' grip on her wineglass tightened visibly, but she didn't try to douse her with its contents. Her eyes narrowed, and she hissed, "Shouldn't you be at home 'entertaining' the troops?"
Alison imitated her accent, replying, "Shouldn't you be out chasing moose and squirrel?"
Any opportunity for a rejoinder was lost as the lights suddenly dimmed, leaving only the candles to illuminate the huge room. The partygoers fell silent, assuming the host had an announcement to make.
Instead the sudden silence was broken by the sound of a loud voice coming from the second floor balcony. "A'right Ladies and Gents. Please listen to the instructions and there will be no need for violence. Would everyone please drop to the floor and remove your valuables from about your persons?"
There was nervous laughter from the crowd. It was Halloween, after all.
"I would not like to repeat myself," the voice continued. The burst of an automatic weapon firing into the ceiling punctuated his statement.
Pandemonium broke loose. The crowd tried to surge toward the doorways, but were halted by the appearance of more men at the two exits. The candlelight gleamed red against the metal of their guns.
Unbelievable! Alison thought. We're being robbed! This evening can not possibly get any worse!
