The next week was an experiment in human tolerance, just how long could I last before I suffocated as the air in our house was used up by my frenzied mother. As soon as news of an impending visit reached her highly attuned ears I was put under house arrest; there was not even the smallest chance that my mother was going to risk my being out when Royce deigned to arrive.
Every morning I was woken up, fed a token amount of breakfast, and stuffed into the same delightful dress, though by the third day or so I was growing disenchanted despite its darling pink plaid. After I was poked, prodded, and generally harassed into a state of presentability, I was placed on the settee in the drawing room that drew the best light and commanded to stay there. Occasionally I was allowed to play on my piano, since that would demonstrate the fact that I was accomplished, but besides that I might as well have been in manacles. To make matters worse as I was sitting as still as a very bored statue, Mother was rushing around like some kind of dervish: cleaning, dusting, and polishing any visible surface. It was enough to make a girls head spin.
There was, however, one thing that almost made up for the sitting and the constant criticisms fired off by my mother like machine gun shells. Every night Father would bring home some delicious morsel to serve our potential esteemed guest, simply to show of our hard earned affluence, and every night that Royce didn't show up I was allowed slightly more than my usual allotment of dinner as both a reward and a bribe of sorts. The good food was delightful, but the rest was dreadful.
Possibly the worst part of the entire ordeal was that had anyone bothered to ask me, I could have told them that Royce would not call immediately. It was not that I didn't have faith in my particular charms, au contraire, I was confident that I had made quite an impression, but that I recognized in Royce someone who, like myself, knew how to play the game. Just as Mother had not wanted to appear overeager in sending me back to the bank, Royce would not want to show his hand, so to speak, by being over-enthusiastic. My parents might have been too obtuse to realize what he was doing, but every night new roses came and I knew I had nothing to worry about.
The agony finally came to an end on Thursday night with a brisk knock; the roses came with a bonus of Royce himself that night. Mother was the one who answered the door and I sat up straighter on the settee when I heard his voice, arranging my face into pleased, but simultaneously disinterested, surprise. I listened carefully to their exchange, evaluating his greeting.
"Mrs. Hale, I assume? I'm Royce King; I believe you were expecting my call? Well I can certainly see that your daughter comes by her beauty naturally. I brought flowers." He exuded charm and confidence, I could tell even from a room away.
When she responded Mother's voice was a little bit breathy, and I couldn't tell if it was simply to further her agenda or if she was genuinely flattered. Maybe it was both. Within moments she was leading him into the sitting room where I patiently waited.
Royce strutted into the room, there was no other word for it, and sat down directly across from me; I think it was because there he had the best view. "Hello, Miss Hale, how nice to see you again." It was a quite conventional thing to say, but his voice gave the simple salutation increased charm. It was just so very polished!
"Its lovely to see you as well Mr. King, I do hope you will be joining us for dinner." I said in a low voice, I had a distinct feeling that men like Royce liked their women more on the submissive side. Thankfully I had a carefully polished veneer of demureness.
"Why, I would be delighted to Miss Hale," he replied promptly. It was as if we were operating off of a script, which for all intents and purposes we were. During dinner comments were kept bland and objective, my father and mother did far more talking then I did myself, and I ate the correct bird-like portions that distinguish a well off lady from a street urchin. My brothers were dismissed as soon as possible to eliminate any opportunity for them to assault the carefully maintained gentility of the evening and my mother kept all of her snide little comments internalized. All in all it was the same dinner I had had many times with many men, but they could now be viewed as simply practice for tonight, the main event. I preformed admirably, as did everyone at the table, and careful preparations came to fruition as we were bidding Royce a gracious adieu in the foyer. He was halfway out the front door when he turned back and addressed me, "Miss Hale, I would be much obliged if you would allow me to escort you to a little party my family is hosting at our home next Friday."
It was an immense struggle not to give a victorious smirk, but I managed to convert it to a decidedly less expressive pleased smile. "That sounds simply lovely Mr. King, I look forward to it."
After elaborating on the details for a moment he excused himself and faded into the night. I made sure he was out of earshot of out house before I finally allowed my exuberant laugh to bubble up in my throat, Mother didn't even scold me. A party at the King's, the crown of Rochester society, we could hardly have asked for a more stunning success; I knew I would be at a fitting for a new dress in less than 24 hours. That night I kissed my reflection before going to bed
A/N- To those splendid people who have been waiting for an update, I sincerely apologize for taking so long. I just have only just finished being soundly abused by finals and had to regain my mental faculties before I could write anymore. Anyways, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and please review because I am considering dropping this fic in favor of a marauders story that is currently in its embryonic stages in my brain. Thanks readers!