A/N: Hello! I've been having some writer's block with Shoebox lately, but I've still been itching to write, so I decided to channel my creative energy into this story. It's set in 1800s England and so I've tried to get my writing style to reflect that. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 1 - Their First Encounter, Which Includes A Frenchman And Several Blondes

Ike's long-term stay at the Tucker residence lasted three days longer than he said it would, and so Mrs. Broflovski was left drowning in worry for the last seventy-two hours before her son arrived home. It was not entirely unlike Ike to run amok England without considering his mother's wellbeing, which was always threatened by her son's carelessness, but two factors had Mrs. Broflovski especially close to tearing out her hair when Ike did not appear on their doorstep on exactly the date he had specified: first, Mr. Broflovski had recently been forced to reprimand Ike for his lack of responsibility and the father had made his son promise that he should return home late again only if an emergency presented itself; second, the Tuckers had a young daughter, who was a few years older than Ike, and who Mrs. Broflovski was convinced her son was wooing and hiding away from other men who would make a much more appropriate match for the beautiful Ruby. As such, Mrs. Broflovski paced feverishly through her home, her face periodically passing from worry to embarrassment and back again, as she thought alternatively of what she believed were the only explanations for her son's absence.

Kyle Broflovski spent the three days of anxiety scribbling in his sketchpad, designing various prison cells for his parents to lock Ike away in when he finally returned, as he believed that at the very least one would be necessary, and he was admittedly the sort of older brother who found a certain amusement in tormenting his sibling.

When Ike decided the Broflovski estate had been missing his presence for long enough, he burst through the front doors with rosy cheeks and a few stories to tell. Upon seeing his younger brother, Kyle's face was immediately distorted into an expression of pure terror, and as Ike's soon followed suit, both brothers had apparently come to the same conclusion, a few minutes too late. Mrs. Broflovski had, by this time, already flown down the stairs in a rage and flung herself at her son, hugging him one second and yelling at him the next, until neither Broflovski boy could hear above the ringing in his ears, and Ike had been suitably shaken. The young boy's hair askew and clothing ruffled on a level Mrs. Broflovski deemed appropriate, the matriarch called her husband to dinner and the family sat down to a table full of food. Kyle exchanged glances with his brother throughout the first few minutes of the meal, urging him to remain silent, lest their mother's rage resurface. After even holding a knife threateningly in Ike's view failed to diminish the excitement in his eyes, Kyle sighed and nodded shortly, resigned to the possibility of losing his hearing for the second time that day.

"The Tuckers are all well," Ike began, lifting his mouth into a charming smile that almost sent his mother fuming again. However, before she could begin speaking, Ike continued onto another note entirely. "Although truthfully, they were far from the most exciting part of my visit, and they were not the reason for my extended stay."

"Ike," Mrs. Broflovski said shrilly, "if you are testing my patience, you may excuse yourself from dinner early." An even wider smile found its way onto Ike's face. Kyle decided against speaking, and shared a look with his father.

"Oh, no, Mother! You misunderstand me. I truly do have important information to share with the family. In fact, it will interest Kyle especially."

Mrs. Broflovski's eyes lit up and turned accusingly to Kyle, as if he were somehow involved in his brother's long absence. Kyle, both upset by the shifting blame and intrigued by Ike's statement, kept his eyes squarely on his brother.

"If you are about to tell me of a beautiful woman you saw who I simply must become acquainted with, then you should already be aware that I am, at this point, uninterested in such affairs, and instead am focusing entirely on my architectural career." Kyle spoke carefully, attempting to absolve himself from any guilt and yet still make his words sharp enough to get Ike to keep quiet. "And if your information has nothing to do with either young ladies or my career, I think you will find it holds absolutely no relevance to me."

"Aha!" Ike exclaimed, acting as though he had caught a bear in his trap. His eyes gleamed as he set his fork and knife down, ready to use his hands to better express himself. "But my information does pertain to architecture, as much as you seem to think it unlikely! I see the shock in your eyes! But a piece of gossip has made its way to my ears, and I thought it inconsiderate to flee the Tuckers' company before I had acquired more of the news which may very well help propel Kyle's career."

Kyle sat up straighter and, if his mother made anymore disagreeable sounds, did not hear them. He had been, in the last five years, researching and reading books on architecture in the hopes of becoming a successful architect himself. His days were often split between reading up on the subject and designing his own hypothetical projects. Although his last three days had revolved around sketching prison cells, his many notebooks contained a wider variety of design, ranging from farmhouses to castles. Kyle, not being especially social, having only a casual interest in music, and having exhausted most of the academic materials in his household, found architecture a wonderful creative outlet, as well as a challenge in terms of planning a strong structural blueprint. Additionally, and although he would not dare to mention this in front of his father, the idea of becoming a banker was so far from what he desired for his future that he had since a young age resolved to become a successful architect so that he would not spend his life handling other peoples' money.

Ike paused for a moment of suspense before continuing.

"Someone has bought fifty acres of land, quite unexpectedly, less than a day's ride from here," he said, "and, if we are to go by word of mouth, intends to construct a mansion there with the help of Mr. Herbert Garrison."

Kyle leaned forwards, trying to ascertain whether Ike was attempting to provoke some sort of jealous reaction out of him by mentioning the name, or if there was an opportunity hidden within his words.

"And, according to what the younger Mr. Tucker has heard from his good friend, the man who has purchased this land will be attending Mr. Donovan's ball in only a week's time, most likely looking for social connections, which I will now advise Kyle to make with him."

Kyle's mind whirred at what Ike's statements implied, considering how, if he should plant himself in this rich man's good graces, he should be able to observe the renowned architect Mr. Garrison at work. Even to someone whose interest in architecture stopped at being a passive hobby, it still sounded like a tremendous experience. But—for this rich man to be attending one of Mr. Donovan's balls, which had a certain reputation for being overly loud!

"Have you heard any details concerning this man, especially in terms of age?" Kyle asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "It seems to me that a gentleman who is capable of spending so much wealth on a project such as this should not be interested in knowing someone with so few years of life to account for." Kyle, although twenty-four, recognized that he was not nearly old enough to be placed on the same level as the men with whom his father associated, much less those of such a high class. Ike continued on.

"Ah, but you see, here is the most fascinating part: this rich man is only five years older than I, and yet hundreds of times richer than our family! And, strangely, the man has no living relations. Imagine!"

Kyle quietly took in the information, now feeling overwhelmed by the opportunities for him at hand, and occupied by thoughts of such a young, lonely man.

"Five years older than you," Kyle said, slightly amazed. "My age exactly."

...

After mulling it over for only a few hours, Kyle decided to take his younger brother's advice. True, he had already turned down Mr. Donovan's invitation, as he had attended several of the man's balls in the past and found himself receiving unwelcome advances from Miss Stevens as well as harsh looks from the host himself. But he thought that attending and making this mysterious, wealthy man's acquaintance should outweigh the embarrassment he would feel upon facing those two difficult friends again. Additionally, Kyle's closest friend, Stanley Marsh, would be ecstatic at Kyle suddenly changing his mind, as the boy often said that when Kyle was not around, Mr. Donovan's balls were sorely lacking in good company. And so, on the eve of the ball, Kyle found himself in a carriage approaching the Donovan household, accompanied by Stanley and Ike. Ike, miraculously, had managed to assuage his mothers' frantic worries and had somehow persuaded his parents to give him permission to attend with Kyle. Kyle himself was still in awe of his brother's skill with sweet words.

The three flooded into the ballroom, with the atmosphere already uncultured and rowdy. The entire house was severely masculine, as it had been missing a female presence since the death of Mrs. Donovan many years prior. This rough tone, which pervaded every aspect of the home, was likely what had kept the younger Mr. Donovan from marrying, as although Clyde had money and eagerness to spare, the idea of feminizing the estate even to a small degree was quite intimidating.

As the musicians readied their violins for another song, and a large group formed a procession of dancers in the middle of the room, Stanley gripped Kyle's arm and dragged him into a slightly smaller room off to the side, one with people mostly engaged in eating and speaking.

"Not minutes into the ball," Stanley said, with a weak smile, once they had come to a stop, "and you should already be thanking me. I have just spared you from an encounter with your lovely mistress." Kyle peeked around the doorway and immediately caught sight of Miss Stevens parading through the ballroom, looking distracted, and dancing with a man she obviously could not wait to be rid of.

"Is there ever a moment when I do not owe you my endless gratitude?" Kyle said, sighing. Stanley chuckled and the two up took a more covert spot against the wall, observing the various partygoers and their manners.

They both laughed heartily as Ike, who had been left to his own devices immediately after they entered the house, tried to flirt with the oldest bachelorette in the room, Miss Henrietta Biggle. Miss Biggle, her eyes narrowing further at every word coming out of Ike's mouth, was clearly attending the ball only reluctantly, and had likely been trying to avoid Ike's company. She was a favorite of the younger boy's, although the difference in their ages made any union of the two seem almost obscene.

Although Mr. Donovan himself was in the large ballroom, his friend Mr. Tucker could be seen arguing quietly with Mr. Tweak over some trivial subject or another, while the younger Ruby Tucker was speaking quietly with her friends, which consisted of her cousin, Miss Rebecca Tucker, and several of the other young ladies who inhabited the surrounding area.

"Ah," exclaimed Kyle to his friend, as someone else caught his eyes, "I may already be able to pay back my dues." He directed Stanley's attention to the woman who had just walked into the room, the lovely Miss Testaburger. Kyle felt his friend jolt immediately to attention, and saw him begin nervously wringing his hands.

"Miss Testaburger looks rather—occupied tonight," Stanley said, with clear anxiety. His eyes wavered over to the man she was approaching, the rather wealthy Mr. Gueermo.

"Miss Testaburger, I believe, would not mind being doubly occupied," Kyle whispered before giving his friend a quick shove in the lady's direction. He sent a reassuring smile Stanley's way when the man paused and looked frightfully over his shoulder one last time.

Now left alone, Kyle stood quietly for a moment, then proceeded to find himself a glass of wine and set off on his mission. Although he hadn't even a name for this man, he assumed that the presence of such an obviously influential character would be difficult to miss, and that, with the large density of people attending the ball, at least one would have the knowledge he was in need of.

While he toyed with the idea of asking Miss Stevens, as she had quite the reputation for being a gossip and would be more than willing to share her information with him, Kyle quickly found another option.

"Zees party, ah, eet eez, magnifique!"

The unmistakable French accent came from the ragged character at Kyle's left, who was attempting to engage in conversation with a gaggle of girls who seemed a bit too young for his company. Mr. Christophe, infamous and often feared, attended balls which he was not invited to; a scruffy-faced man with clothes that were more often dirty than not, his business was unknown, and most were reluctant to deny him entrance to their homes for fear of the consequences. Although always drunk at balls, seeing him in daylight was quite a different experience. He would still remain unshaven and uncleanly, yet his demeanor would change significantly, and he would present himself as a serious, close-mouthed figure who would scrutinize those around him. His business partner, Mr. Gregory, who was a stark contrast to Mr. Christophe, did not appear to be in attendance. Thus, Mr. Christophe's intoxicated mouth was free to speak as it pleased, uninhibited by sobriety or his tight-lipped counterpart.

"Zee company as well, such wealthy visitors, and, such, ah, respectable women!"

At this point, Kyle decided to intervene between Mr. Christophe and his 'respectable women', both to spare the ladies from any further embarrassment and to inquire further about the 'wealthy visitors' previously mentioned. He wedged himself into the conversation.

"Excuse me, but perhaps you may grant me a private audience with Mr. Christophe?" Kyle said. The girls immediately scattered, shooting him thankful looks before going on their way. However, this interference earned Kyle a rough glare from the Frenchman as well as the girls' gratitude.

"I did not mean to be rude," Kyle said carefully, "but it was not difficult to see that the conversation had run dry, and I believe we can agree that my entrance did little more than permit them a more graceful means of exiting it."

Mr. Christophe twisted his mouth into a sneer and threw back his drink, finishing it off and adding to the pink tinge of his face.

"Non, non, I believe we can not agree, as whether or not you are right, my drink often makes me, eh, disagreeable." A second glare was directed at Kyle, who resolved to extract the necessary information and make his leave as quickly as possible.

"Well, while the ladies may not have been engaged by your discussion, I was most certainly intrigued by it," he began. "I apologize for listening when I was not invited to, but your mention of the 'wealthy visitors' currently in attendance could not escape my notice. A brief elaboration on the point and I shall gladly leave you to—further your other pursuits."

Upon being reminded of his pursuits, Mr. Christophe adorned a wide grin to his red face and nodded deeply and clumsily, so much so that Kyle was afraid the other man would topple over at any instant.

"Yes, I suppose indulging you would not harm me, would eet?" A deep chuckle rose from Mr. Christophe's throat before the man suddenly adopted a stern expression and grabbed Kyle by the front of his shirt. Mr. Christophe proceeded to drag him across the room until they were placed at the doorway, both peeking out into the main ballroom. Mr. Christophe once berated Kyle for allowing himself to be visible from the 'enemy vantage point', and although Kyle had by this point been thoroughly shaken by the experience, was soon rewarded for his troubles.

"There," Mr. Christophe whispered, pointing towards a long table, covered with food and drink, which lay beside the ballroom's left wall and was currently being swarmed by a variety of guests. Following Mr. Christophe's finger precisely, Kyle's view landed on three men who were seemingly engaged in conversation, and, judging by their casual stances, were apparently close friends. "Zee Mr. Cartman, he eez among them, and, by my knowledge, easily the richest to have set foot in zee Donovan's wretched home tonight." While Kyle thought it quite rude of Mr. Christophe to insult the Donovans, considering that he had not even been invited to the celebration, he kept quiet in the hopes of gaining more information. "Zee three arrived together, and I understand that zeez has generated shock among some of zee other guests, as zhey appear somewhat—unrefined." As Kyle observed the trio, a young woman made a brief attempt at approaching the three—likely seeking Mr. Cartman's attentions—before being promptly rebuffed. Beside him, Kyle heard Mr. Christophe murmur. "Ah, perhaps she does not mind her men unrefined." The Frenchman wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand before clapping Kyle on the shoulder and muttering, "wish me luck."

And so, his source of information having fled in the pursuit of other interests, Kyle was left to his own devices, with only a vague knowledge of his target. He remained in his position near the doorway, analyzing the appearance of each of the three men in turn, still thoroughly in the dark as to which was the wealthy Mr. Cartman and which comprised his entourage.

The three made an odd group. The first, lanky and with terrible posture, stood a few inches taller than Kyle and bore a slight smirk. Rough blond hair lay messily on his head, as though its owner had just woken up from a night of heavy drinking. And while the trio had previously denied ladies entrance into their circle, this man's eyes lingered on the women as they left. The lasting impression that the man gave was not that of a gentleman.

The second man was quite a bit shorter than the first, perhaps two inches shorter than Kyle, yet quite wide. Contrasting his friend's, this man's light brown hair was combed through thoughtfully and parted neatly on one side; additionally, the man was clean-shaven, and had taken pains to appear quite put-together. And while he carried extra weight, he had significant poise and, even from a great distance, appeared quite intelligent. Yet his words, uttered quickly and covertly, seemed to have a great effect on his friend, who would often break out in rough laughter, and so Kyle determined that this second man was slightly rude, and likely underhanded.

The third man was likewise unappealing, albeit in his own way; Kyle began to have slight doubts that, given the incredible intoxication of Mr. Christophe, the Frenchman had made a grave error or otherwise deluded himself into believing the group of hooligans he was currently inspecting were actually the confidants of one of the area's wealthiest citizens. The third man's hair, blond like the first's, yet much lighter, was not quite as well-kept as the second's, as the third's seemed more difficult to manage—though not for lack of trying. His posture was horrible, though a sense of anxiety pervaded it that made his errors almost excusable. Kyle felt unexplainable pity for the pale man, who laughed along with his company yet seemed less engaged in the conversation.

Truthfully, Kyle was at a loss. There was not such a difference in the three manners that one man could clearly be singled out as the owner of several thousand pounds while the others appeared obviously too coarse to be wealthy. He supposed his best bet was the third man, who, although he exuded a nervous air, looked to have the best breeding out of the group. Kyle thought it more likely that a rich heir be fearful than speak frankly cruel words, and after remembering that Ike had said the man had no living relations, thought it not unreasonable for Mr. Cartman to be constantly distraught.

Thinking that his detailed analysis held considerable merit and deciding that his best course of action would be to simply approach the group and request an audience with Mr. Cartman, Kyle found a place to set his wine glass and smoothed his outfit. Finding his cravat in appropriate order, he adopted a confident pose and, with heart slightly busy in his chest, began to walk towards the three.

He stopped abruptly in front of them, while the third man, his Possibly-Mr. Cartman, was speaking with the second man about a matter which was apparently quite important, as frantic hand gestures were now being employed. As such, Kyle first caught the eye of the slender first man, with whom he shared a gaze. Kyle, deciding that it would be in his favor to appear friendly towards Mr. Cartman's companions, offered a smile which was not returned. Upon reaching the conclusion that Kyle had business with them, the first man tapped the second quickly on the shoulder, at which point Kyle's Mr. Cartman closed his mouth hurriedly. As the second man, the brunet, caught sight of Kyle, Kyle suddenly realized that this man's effect on the group was altogether too large for him not tobe Mr. Cartman. Thrown off by this new, more accurate thought, Kyle had little time to revise his plan of attack, and floundered slightly as the group, having accepted Kyle as their fourth member, changed shape to allow each equal access.

"M-Mr. Cartman, I presume?" Kyle addressed the brunet. He instantly cursed himself for his stutter. "My name is Kyle Broflovski. May I say that I am quite pleased to make your acquaintance."

When he had still thought the third man was Mr. Cartman, Kyle had planned on deeply bowing to him after speaking, in order to show his respect, and to defer appropriately to someone of such a high rank. However, the brunet's cutting, narrow gaze had suddenly struck Kyle with a desire to place himself on a level playing field with Mr. Cartman, as he had no wish to be subjected to the slurs he was certain the man had been making throughout the night. As such, Kyle did not bow. Instead, he kept steady eye contact and extended his hand.

If the move was considered disrespectful or if it had been unexpected, it was not clear. The two blonds remained silent while Mr. Cartman—who Kyle was now certain was indeed Mr. Cartman—reached out to firmly grasp Kyle's hand. Kyle thought for a moment that an impressed look flashed across Mr. Cartman's face, although impressed with what, he was not sure. Mr. Cartman kept their hands together while he responded.

"The pleasure is all mine, certainly." Mr. Cartman spoke with a deeper voice than Kyle had expected. From a closer range, Kyle had the opportunity to inspect the man's eyes, which, although an incredibly dark brown, were quite piercing. Mr. Cartman kept a light smirk across his face while he brought Kyle's attention to the two men by his side, although his eyes remained on Kyle's figure. "And while my men must hate to trouble you with their presence, I shall take the initiative and introduce you to them in turn." While the first blond muttered lowly under his breath something about not being a part of 'your men', Kyle became aware that Mr. Cartman was accustomed to speaking to his friends in ridiculing tones.

"Kenneth McCormick," Mr. Cartman said, referring to the unkempt blond. While Mr. McCormick merely nodded his head, Kyle decided to treat each man as if he were an equal, thinking that Mr. Cartman's great wealth was not a good excuse for his crudeness or any subsequent misconduct, and so he shook hands with the blond. Mr. McCormick's face softened slightly at the gesture, and Kyle was certain that although he may not have angered Mr. Cartman as of yet, he had almost certainly piqued his curiosity. And this, he concluded, was likely to his advantage.

"And Leopold Stotch." At the second introduction, Kyle acted the same, and the excited, smaller blond broke into a bright grin.

"It is a pleasure," Mr. Stotch spoke, with a strange accent. Noticing Kyle's confusion, Mr. Cartman clarified for him.

"Mr. Stotch is an American." Mr. McCormick subsequently held back laughter as Mr. Stotch adopted a sheepish look. Kyle felt rather lost in the mess of what were likely years-long relations between the three men.

"All of that besides," Mr. Cartman began, "I believe that you, Mr. Broflovski, had some other aim in approaching us, rather than to simply place yourself in my company."

"Yes," Kyle began, eyes flitting to each of the three men while Mr. Cartman's gaze on him did not stray. "I hope that I am not intruding on a private matter, but I had heard through a good friend of mine that a highly respectable man had commissioned a mansion to be built not far from my home."

"And may I inquire as to where your home is?" Mr. Cartman said, still smirking, eyes still probing. Kyle noticed Mr. McCormick look briefly between the two of them, perhaps not seeing why Mr. Cartman might choose to evaluate Kyle so thoroughly.

"Ah, it would be here, in Parkshire," Kyle said. "We are but a few hours from here."

"Then I can confirm your good friend's word, and say that yes, I am in the very beginning stages of taking on such a project."

"But I have heard that you have already selected an architect," Kyle continued.

"Yes." Mr. Cartman's tone turned his words into a slight taunt.

"And would that architect happen to be Mr. Garrison?"

"Yes."

Kyle, though he would have preferred not to ask anything of Mr. Cartman, who seemed the kind to take full advantage of anyone and everyone, still went ahead with his plan. However, he again could not bear to present a more submissive picture of himself to Mr. Cartman, and ultimately engaged the man eye-to-eye once again while he revealed his intent.

"Then, while I understand the suddenness of my request, and that you may interpret it as being far above my station, I shall make myself clear on the matter, so that we can either go swiftly ahead with it, or forever place it behind us: I myself am an aspiring architect. Mr. Garrison, as you are almost certainly aware, has a far-reaching influence and would be an incredible man to work with. The experience which I would gain from this endeavor would be invaluable to me. And thus, I will ask you if I may be present for a great part of the planning and execution of the project. I give you my word that I shall not disrupt the process, and should you so wish, I could give my amateur hand in assisting with it. I shall obviously request no payment in return."

Hoping that the sheer length of his request had not bored Mr. Cartman to tears before he could make a sound decision, Kyle stood silently and waited for a response. Mr. Cartman seemed to consider it thoroughly, while Mr. McCormick scratched at his face and Mr. Stotch remained silent, as he had for most of the evening.

"Perhaps," Mr. Cartman began, "were I to further make your acquaintance, I should ascertain whether or not you are fit to take part in my plans." Kyle did not miss the satisfaction that passed across Mr. Cartman's face at being able to single-handedly decide another man's fate. "And so, express to your wife—"

"I am unmarried currently, and am living still with my family."

Mr. McCormick seemed to repress a slight snicker.

"Ah," Mr. Cartman sighed. "Then express to your relations that a visit from myself should be expected in a rather short amount of time." The man took a step towards Kyle. "I trust you will make the Broflovski household accommodating for me."

And before Kyle could speak again, Mr. Cartman continued stepping forwards and passed Kyle without a farewell, their arms brushing slightly as Mr. McCormick followed impassively and Mr. Stotch trailed behind, leaving Kyle a slight nod.

Kyle turned, in an effort to watch Mr. Cartman depart, and as a consequence, he heard a few lines of the trio's conversation before they exited the Donovan household:

"We are already leaving?" Mr. McCormick asked.

"Shush!" Mr. Cartman scolded him. "We have left Mr. Broflovski behind in a grand fashion, and I will not cheapen our exit by meandering about for some time before leaving; the only result would be the lessening of our excellent first impression. Ah! He was quite in awe of my presence, was he not?"

Kyle noted, with slight shock, that Mr. Cartman's short rant included both a marked shift in tone and a change in expression, his face now bright with childish excitement. The three left with Mr. Cartman reprimanding Mr. Stotch for being overly nervous and possibly threatening the image he had worked so very hard to present.

Kyle adopted a confused, furrowed brow, as he had been assessing Mr. Cartman's character based on their previous exchange. And yet suddenly, with his last few words, the man had become twice as puzzling.

...

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, it was a lot of fun to write! Shout-out to the lovely Pallas-Athena of tumblr for being my historical advisor, although I've essentially just been using her as an editor as well. Please tell me what your opinion of the story is! Thank you!