Formed as inevitably by mere consequence of action; the Dregen family did ascend to a coveted position within the flocks of nobility. This: was due to the ignorance and incongruent ability of King Henry the Eighth of the Kingdom. With a near incompetent ability to have born a male heir in due course, his previous station of Dukedom had been left vacant. Doctrine did dictate that he be a man of faith and patience in waiting to recreate the title with one of good bearing to hold it. Albeit a fruitless hope of the crown and church as known for reckless action his Majesty did deliver with swift action what they preyed him to leave alone.
Speculation brought forth the proposition that the King had an infectious relation with one of the fair maidens of the Dregen household which was cause for his grant. Others were unsettled by the knowledge that the highest man in the land had gone senile in his corrosive pain. In frail health, it was considered his very last act of true kindness before his ailments completely banished all form of good manner. Still, the King in 1540, did declare that the youngest son of one of his most obliged Earls the eighteen year old Indra Dregen would become the new possessor of the title which Henry himself had held: that is as Duke of York. -Although at the time it was quandary as to why he did not pick the eldest son, the Queen at the time that is Anne of Cleves, was truly aware of her husband's reasoning. A reason of which, even after his death, she refused to disclose out of lawful loyalty to the crown.-
Respect of traditional form had lead this decision to be met with controversy, even presently. Persons of doubt however, are venemently swayed by the understanding that the House has held the title within many sons for -at its least- fourteen generations, that is of pure lineage.
Thorough, they had been near hanged whence there had been fervent religious dispute being the most outspoken of Prodecent, which angered Queen Mary the 1st with through passion. Often she would outcry their denial of Catholic values as disloyalty to the English crown. It was to her detriment that they were in a position for her to act without reprimand.
Their religious devotion did insure alliance with her sister, who did later ascend the throne. Queen Elizabeth the 1st of England regularly employed the Dregon's in her servous to dispose of rebelling Irish non-conformists. Tasks of a nature so non-descriptive in there horrors that they should be consigned to oblivion.
As matter of their much accumulated knowledge in politics and war, the many Dukes of York have had the ruling Monarch's ear for nearly three-hundred years.
In consideration with extensive and powerful historical fact: the young Naruto Uzumaki servant to the household was well aware of his own point of drastic irrelevance. For in grievous miscalculation the darker toned man had found himself within the grounds of a forbidden maze, as his spiraling affection for a man of such prospect did lead him to stray only further in. A question of his honour and true devotion to the family he served often plagued fragile and condemning thoughts. One can be very much certain of in what manner propriety guides them, inclination is far more a vast subject in the mind of a heart overridden by illustrious feelings of romance. In the longing caresses of elegant vocabulary, and spinning graces a man of good breeding afforded one born near into slavery; the deliverance of delirious romance. Forbidden and prude in nature, unbecoming of a man of faith and good conscious the Duke was a man untouchable in title alone. Yet in the aid of a frightful waltz, withering his soul for any other, Naruto had lost footing and fell for the noble in the way of a young and overeager maiden.
In a matter of silenced moments interlocked in the unassuming position of a dance, both of them had not strayed from the other's eyes, both enraptured by the depths they saw. Afterwards it had been the tales of a novel, evening of rendezvous by the virgin Mary, a moment abandoning the estate in seeking freedom from irefull eyes.
Dearest Naruto,
I find myself in a troubled position. A man whom I have known to be of character and class has outspokenly declared an alliance with the institution of slavery. An act I cannot permit in good conscious to allow within the halls of my estate. You no doubt have heard of the strife caused by the Colonies and their unbecoming nature of limiting liberty encompassed by the bounds of reprehensible notion of superiority. He has bid onto me the telling's of his stride in support of the Confederate movement within the Colonies in form of monetary donations as attributed by -in his candid words 'a family of devout Catholicism.' My position of the institution of slavery remains firm; so scarred by our mars of the past we must strive forward in appreciation of all persons diverse least our country fall. Yet this man -whom I shall not name- is one of Mother's most loyal advisers, I am torn by morale of the most common of men, and the need for propriety. Mother's displeasure into the consequence of my action not a standing factor. I must turn to you, one whom I know to have the same views as me, whom I have loved devoutly without passion regardless of the tender brown tones of your skin, what would you do?
Ever in Your Favour
~ Madara
The letter came on the date of May 2nd 1862 upon the leg of a well trained falcon as opposed to common post. The effort was to please the needs of secrecy, yet the skill of friendship the man held with birds was truly testament to his character. In the contents of the ink, inscrolled the eloquent calligraphy of the Duke's hand. Naruto did read without pause, and in seperation of the knowledge of the man condemned his mortality to lucifer with nothing more than a gaze. He wrote back with quick pace and measured patience.
Dear Madara
Your letter, -although I know you realize not the extent was flattering. For while it is not widely acknowledged outspokenly, there is a common understanding that people of your ethnicity do not seek the opinion of those borne in darker tones. Albeit mere coincidence that I should be of negro descent.
Continuing on in ignorance of bias tidings: Defending the limitation of freedom is a crime proportional to the slaughter of witches within our own English history, tarnished in prejudice and misunderstanding. The colonies -or the States as gossip reaches me- harbors the unique position of beginning an era of tolerance and patience unbesmirched by the stains of the Kingdom's many unwise actions in the wake of independence. Yet already they battle under the banner of discrimination; I fear for the sanctity of their future, should they forge ahead singularly.
I trust I have conveyed onto you my position on this matter. Your fellow is only aiding a grueling campaign that will end with unpleasant result for all within the next several decades. Should the South prevail: slavery becomes once more institutionalized then shall not dare to pain my mind on the consideration of the effect the new country shall suffer, under the legalization of a person losing place as human. He is no friend of mine, and my disposition remains clear, as such you shall be the one to forge his future. No doubt plagues me, as to the knowledge you will choose wisely.
In regard to another matter entirely, you will be staying within the London estate for the fall season yes? I eagerly await your arrival. As does the household all the maids have been whispering behind their hands in quandary as to your appearance. I hope for poor Obison, the man has not a moments peace his duties carry him around each ward several times a day, and he will frequently be ordered to town to make further preparations. Most of our cleaning staff aid little, to entranced by their gossiping thoughts and romantizations. Her Ladyship is in high spirits as well, although I presume that to be a regular occurrence when ones children visit. The estate is rampant with the spirit of festivity. As you can assume, I am no different, with the passing days I become eager for your voice, and plagued am I to wait for another dance -as you so promised, when we had parted so long ago.
Dancing in your Embrace
~Naruto
Her ladyship had brought with her a young man, a squire marked at five-foot-five, who spoke with the plainest of voices, an opinion on the values of local trade. He spoke of little else, and due to bland nature was ignored by most of the staff. His thin button waistcoat and tracked trousers of faded brown spoke not to the maids of the household. In fact his presence did install into the servants a feeling equal to that of observation through the shadows of an alley. It was of such abundance that the head of the keep, Obison had chosen to watch the man and mark his movements in a well hidden suspicion. With hope throughout the estate that the discomfort would be sorted upon the return of his Dukeship.
On the morn of his arrival a young launder maid by the name of Ino was hanging her wash on the line, perfectly content with her work well done, for although the sun had not fully risen, she had started her day earlier then usual. All preparation for the Duke's arrival. Although her load was unfinished, and the linen's were waiting in the bisan, her hands were already sore from the scrub she had just finished.
She as most of the house had been anticipating the arrival of the Duke, working with a diligence not commonly seen in order to sort all the rooms launder for his time at the house. Well within the estate, any fear of danger was near nonexistent, this instilled in all the staff the elation of confidence. However as she pinned the second corner of the fine red silken sheet did a sound distract her, having emerged from the doorway leading to the parlor, yet no figure could be seen. Being a lady of good nature, Ino pinned the last clip, and as silenced as she could peeked into the windows further. No one stood inside nor outside the room, and in confusion Ino turned hesitantly back to her wash. Upon seeing that the red silk she had only just hung had slipped free of one of the clips and fallen onto the dirt below.
Being alone, she let out a meager groan of frustration unbecoming of a lady, and stomped her foot as her work was put to shame by mere accident. As it so happened, being the time it was and due to the recent weather a fog hung low around the land, casting a longing landscape of peculiar beauty. Most of the wash was white, apart from the one crimson in the mix, it produced the obscure image of purity tarnished to the woman's eye.
In concert to her circumstance the young blonde lady undid the rest of the now sullied fabric to be washed again, and picked up her basket so that she could transport the next lot.
The laundry room was uncramped, however cold in part because of the day, and because it was below the house. Ino herself had never seen fit to complain. The sudden dampness soaking her shoes did shock her however, and the culprit? A turned over glass of water she had left unattended while having been outside. Most likely having been knocked off kilter as she had passed with he basket. Placing the treaded twine aside she uprighted the glass and cleaned the remaining liquid with her apron, sighing as she did so. A whole manner of things had gone wrong and with it being before late breakfast it spoke heavily of the remaining pace of the day. Unfortunately the lighting of the candles could not afford her to wash the dirt from the sheet in due course and she would have to wait patient before she could bring the machine out into daylight before she could start again.
Well enough for her, as a smile graced her face. For now she had the unique time to practice her skill at reading and writing. A gift her father had instilled in her, in part before his passing at her fourteenth year. Uncommon though it was, a woman who could write and read among men was far more desirable then one who couldn't, and as such would afford her the opportunity to marry a pleasant man of richer income and live comfortably. Yet as she plucked the small volume from her high shelf the mounted candle nearest the entranceway blew out. This was not unusual in the slightest, for although she was in the ground, the hallway just a little ways above her was not. The estate was one of inheritance and as older buildings are the hallways and windows were full of frightful drafts. Unfazed, she grabbed the mount nearest to her, and clutched at the lowest of the wax she could as to not scaled herself with the dripping wax. She was in the midst of placing the flame to the wick to light it once more when the candle over her work area blew out as well. An area not near to any source of wind.
The shock made her drop the stick she held and it broke on impact with the floor. Then in succession all illumination was gone from the room, and Ino was surrounded only by darkness and the rapid sounding of her own laboured breathing.
She felt around her for the handle, trying to exit into the hall as her fear had her hands shaking mighty she could hardly clasp upon the metal flap to open it. Time was only slightly not in her favour as just as she began to stumble through the arch a hand clasped upon her leg and had her swiftly collapsed on the topmost stairs. So quick she felt the pain far later then she felt the fall. Now panicked the woman attempted to scream for help, in understanding that someone was attacking her. Her leg flailed harshly trying to hit any target as to help her get free from the firm and painful grasp. A body could be clearly felt above hers as her head was suddenly impacted into the wooden stare, a pain erupting from her nose as cartilage broke, cutting her cry in half. The attacker stood and with them her leg moved up as well, showcasing her pantellons and modest crinoline. Shamed, in pain, and fearful of her life, the woman desperately attempted to pull herself forward. So that she could at the very least bang on the door. She was wrenched backwards and thrown back the steps. A sharp crack that was heard not felt filtered through the room, she landed at the bottom not moving. Unable to do so. Paralysation had inflicted her with the snapping of what she realized was her back. Fear set in quick as the steps drew closer, the thump on the wood getting so near that each of the footfalls was causing her to hyperventilate further.
Their stopping cast a long silence over the room, and Ino prayed the attacker could not find her in the dark of their own making. Fruitless as her panic painted clear the way. Unable to move as the body splayed above hers, nausea crept up her throat and she shut her eyes tight. A large male hand tugged at her long blonde hair, pulling at it painfully as her head was tilted up. Ino tried to hit him with her arms, but her strength wasn't there as pain began to set in. The other hand covered her mouth as she began to scream in earnest before her begging for aid was cut off by the snapping of her neck.
As the clock struck the twelfth hour, chimes of a dozen rung throughout, and a carriage of grand design pulled to the front. Indeed the Duke's arrival had been marked exactly at the time he had presumed he would arrive. All hands flew quickly as the staff made themselves scarce from the lobby, so that the butler and her Ladyship would be the only ones to greet the man. That is to say that heads did not peek out from the corners of doorways, and peering eyes could be seen curiously from the balcony.
Obison opened the door with a polite bow, stoic in his expression. The man who stepped in was a vision, not at all what anyone had expected. Even his Mother dropped her calm demeanor for a moment in disbelief, no matter as she held it aloft only moments after. For although Duke Willard was of good -fine one could argue- grooming his visage was not that of a noblemen, in anything other then dress. In opposition to a respectable man of his station he had no facial hair to speak of, and instead of being cut short the man had adopted the long hair of a century past hanging down his back in the straightest of forms and held back with a slight large, drooping crimson ribbon from the center of at the back of his head. He did bare a commendable top hat with a knot of similar crimson and a cane carved by expert hands. His hands were gloved and respectable white as he took off his headwear, and gave a kind bow to his Mother.
The Duke of York had come to London.
