(A/N) I live! Sorry this took so long to write, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. This fic, as some of you might have noticed, is somewhat inspired by Thessaly's The Beautiful People, which everyone should go and read. Cassandra Austin is also an invention of Thessaly, but I claim her mother and brother. Anything you recognize probably doesn't belong to me, and cookies go to anyone who recognizes the Lymond reference.
A week later, the young Mrs. Malfoy descended on London, and settled into her town house. She paid a visit to Grimmauld Place, heard form her aunt of the trouble her young second cousins had gotten into when they'd last visited, received compliments to pass on to Bellatrix, who never had time to visit her dear old aunt anymore, and neatly sidestepped all the delicate allusions about her husband's part in His work. Everyone knew Bellatrix was one of His chosen, but Lucius didn't spend enough time in London for gossip to spread. After conversing with her aunt for a reasonable period, Narcissa returned to her new house, enjoying herself more than she could remember having done before. Married women heard so much more than debutantes, and she no longer needed to drag an aunt or elf everywhere with her, just to satisfy propriety.
Alighting from her carriage, she walked up the path to her door, a smile drifting around the corners of her mouth. That morning she'd received an invitation to an evening party at the Macnair's, and after talking to her aunt, she'd gathered that was the best thing for her to attend. And Macnair, of course, was a friend of Lucius's, so he'd be happy to escort her, if he were around. Narcissa couldn't help enjoying the triumph of it; Bellatrix was sure to be there, and Bellatrix would know Narcissa had been in London only a few days before receiving such an invitation.
"Good day, my dear," Lucius said, as she entered the hall. "I was wondering when you'd come home."
Concealing surprise out of habit more than anything (he'd just left that morning), she smiled at him and said, "I've been to see my aunt, and I mean to accept the Macnair's invitation for this Friday. Will you join me?"
"I might, if Macnair can restrain himself from discussing his experiments during dinner." Lucius offered her his arm, and escorted her to the parlor. "What did you learn from your aunt?"
"This and that. Nothing of particular interest."
"Who Bellatrix is sleeping with these days?"
A small frown marred Narcissa's brow for a moment. "Don't be crude, Lucius. Auntie mostly wanted to know what you did with your time."
"What did you tell her?" he asked without apology.
"That you devote yourself to the estate, but other than that I don't concern myself with your free time."
"No more do you." They had entered the parlor, and the pale blue walls approved the cool unconcern in the soft voices. Lucius seated Narcissa on the couch and went to stand by the gilt mantelpiece, staring out the window at the grey London drizzle. Narcissa opened her workbag, and applied herself to her lace, relaxing the slightest bit in the comfort of her own home.
Narcissa spent the rest of the afternoon arranging threads on her pattern, sorting them neatly and evenly, making sure the lace was just so. At the same time, her brain organized and prioritized the information her aunt had given her at tea. Lace threads wove together and separated as bits of gossip were tied together to show her the total picture.
On Friday, Narcissa sat in front of her mirror, pinning gently curled gold hair into a delicate confection on the back of her head with long gilt pins, and reflecting on all she'd learned and inferred. Dacia's tale of Evelyn Parkinson appeared to be true in facts, though Narcissa gathered from some of the looks and smiles of the ladies she talked to that the entire affair had been arranged by Mrs. Clare and her daughter, and Evelyn had deserved what he got by falling for it. Cassandra Austin was out of town, unfortunately, but her brother Pyramus was at home to embarrass his parents again. He'd come from Italy, where Mrs. Austin had hoped he'd stay, and his newer poetry was spattered with the bits of phrases he'd picked up there. Bellatrix was still undisputed queen of society, and a French cousin of Clio Varens was accounted to be the most beautiful debutant. The Abbots did not support the Dark Lord, but the Masons did. Theodore Nott said he did, but didn't actually do anything, and Mark Flint was one His most fanatic bullies, always trying to shake off his Grandmother's Muggle heritage. Overall, He controlled the leaders of society, but not those in the Ministry. In fact, the Ministry was justifying the faith of the common wizard as a protector of the rights of mudbloods. The last pin slid neatly into place with slightly more emphasis than necessary.
Standing Narcissa turned slowly in front of the mirror on her closet door, critically eyeing the figure she saw there. Very slightly too short, but perfectly proportioned, a tiny waist emphasized by the cut of the gold and white gown. Pale gold curls framed a pretty face, doll-like in its neatness and symmetry, the touches of make-up darkening eyes and lips all but invisible. Narcissa raised her chin slightly to compensate for the lack of height, and, in a swirl of silk and perfume, was gone.
Helena Macnair greeted them at the door, and drew Lucius off to a conversation with Macnair and Francis Austin. Narcissa, left on her own for a minute, examined the room coolly, identifying friends and enemies. It was a beautiful assembly, full of swirling robes and flashing smiles, sparkling jewels and edged glances. Dancers swirled through the center of the floor, matrons and wallflowers decorated the edges, card tables and cigars dominated a small red parlor through the half-open door to Narcissa's right. Everyone laughed and talked and drank and flirted, showing off new robes to the best effect or trying to hide that the new robes were only last year's made over. The whole room was drenched in light and laughter and perfume and just a touch of malice.
Halfway through her examination of the glittering assemblage, Narcissa's composed blue eyes were caught by flashing black ones. Bellatrix was in dark maroon, and had left her thick black hair to fall in a silky wave down her back. For a moment, the sisters eyed each other across the room, then Narcissa coldly turned her eyes away to continue her inspection of the room, and Bellatrix, with a pointed smile, returned to her conversation.
"Your eyes are frigid as ice, Miss Narcissa. I hope your sister is not unhappy to see you?" Idiots and children have always been the ones privileged to point out that the emperor has no clothes, Narcissa thought, but the children remain children and the idiots remain idiots. Or poets.
"Hello, Pyramus. How was Italy?"
"It was lovely, Miss Narcissa. Oh, but you're Mrs. Malfoy now. Lucius has claimed the fairest rose of the Black garden for his lady. I like that; the fairest rose in the Black garden. Where to go next? White as moonlight? No, pale as ivory…" Pyramus trailed off, and drifted away, clearly lost is his own particular world.
Marcella Abbott replaced him, gushing and tittering. "Oh, dear Mrs. Malfoy, how are you? I feel I haven't seen you absolutely ages."
"Quite well," Narcissa murmured, smiling politely at her companion. "And yourself?" Marcella's looks had not improved since their school days. What had been attractive curves in a teenager formed a stout base for a matron who already looked twice her actual age.
"Fine, fine. Mr. Abbott looks after me very well." She leant in conspiratorially. "He's always sure to be about when I come home, and is ever so kind about asking if I have plans for the weekend. And he absolutely always tells me where he's off to, so I can be certain he's not up to anything he shouldn't be." Marcella looked smug as an overlarge tabby that had gotten into the cream.
Narcissa resisted the desire to curl her lip in severe distaste. Lucius would never bother her with such petty details, no more than she would talk to him about the state of the linen closets. "How delightful for you. Lucius and I also get on very well, in our own way. And is Mr. Jonathan Abbott still ambitious for a post at in the Ministry?"
The Abbotts were a good family. Nothing to the Blacks, of course, but they had their pride. Or they had had their pride. Both of the boys in Narcissa's generation, Jonathan and Edward, had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Though Edward had made a good match with Marcella Persus, Jonathan had yet to marry, and Narcissa's sources told her that he was courting the youngest Prewitt girl, Virginia or something. Even for an Abbott that was aiming low.
With a bit of work, Narcissa extricated herself from the conversation, and slid into a crowd of well-dressed school friends, smiling automatically at a joke she hadn't heard. Evelyn Parkinson lounged at the center of the group, tall, lazy and inbred as ever. Narcissa supposed the pert, pretty girl hanging on his arm was the much talked-of Celia Clare.
Celia was the first to notice Narcissa, and approached with a gushing greeting just familiar enough to be offensive, but not enough to merit a real reproof. Celia had a few inches on Narcissa, but Mrs. Malfoy still managed to look down on the younger woman, and responded to her greeting a shade too coolly, clearly granting a concession by allowing herself to be drawn to the center of the group. Narcissa remained, listening and absorbing, for a little before slipping on, and continuing through the ballroom. Ten minutes listening to their conversation had convinced her that Evelyn Parkinson was still a fool, but Celia would need careful watching. The girl was sharp, sly, and ambitious, and if she was a touch crude compared to some that Narcissa knew, it wouldn't stop her from getting just what she wanted.
The next familiar face she came across was her cousin Regulus. He looked rather dashing in black and silver, she thought, smiling honestly for the first time that night, as they drifted, seemingly at random, together. Regulus was the only one in her family that didn't tower over her, and the nearest to her in age, now. When she inquired after his health that evening, it was a straightforward question. He didn't look entirely well. Actually, he looked downright ill and only halfway successful at hiding it. Narcissa supposed she understood a little. As the youngest of three, now two, girls, her parents had brought her up strictly, but with little pressure to make something out of herself. Regulus, now the only Black heir in his generation, suddenly found that his parents, and aunts and uncles all expected him to be more than just a good boy. He had to be someone deserving of the name of Black. Narcissa was enjoying the ball, enjoying the power she held over so many of the people in the room, intimate as she was with their secrets, but she could see that Regulus was near collapsing under the strain of trying to find all those secrets, so Narcissa paused in her circuit of the room to try and make her cousin smile a little.
Pyramus Austin joined them, ostensibly to share the verse he'd composed for Narcissa, but he never got a chance because Narcissa, not feeling him to be a threat, finished explaining to Regulus why, precisely, Mrs. Mason was probably related to a kneazle, before turning to listen to him, and by them he was laughing loudly.
Bellatrix, wanting to stop anyone from enjoying themselves that much, Narcissa supposed acidly, appeared almost instantly. "Narcissa, darling, share the joke," Bellatrix smiled lazily, bending to kiss her sister's cheek. "I dearly love a good joke."
Narcissa returned the smile and the kiss, eyes chilly. "Pyramus was just telling us about a scrap a young wizard he knew in Italy got into. I suppose it was more amusing if you were there," Narcissa said coolly, and turned to dip a slight curtsey to the gentleman who'd arrived in Bella's wake. "Mr. Mason, how do you do?'
"W-well enough, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Armand Mason managed, glancing at Bellatrix as he spoke. He was a handsome young man, but not overly intelligent. Narcissa wondered what Bellatrix saw in him; usually she liked her toys brighter.
Before she could discover that, however, they were interrupted by Jealousy, in the person of Rudolphus Lestrange. "Marriage agrees with you, Narcissa. You're even more beautiful than before," he greeted them, with a nod to his wife and slightly more than brotherly kiss on Narcissa's cheek. She just managed not to jerk back in surprise. The last time she'd seen Rudolphus, he'd still been following Bellatrix with almost laughablely dog-like devotion. Clearly, he'd found a new way to make his wife notice him, since. A slightly more effective one, Narcissa thought smugly, seeing a flash of anger in Bella's dark eyes.
Smiling brilliantly up at Rudolphus, Narcissa thanked him and returned the compliment. Rudolphus, with a glare at Bella, and the way her hand rested on Armand Mason's arm, asked Narcissa to dance. She was about to accept when Regulus "reminded" her that she had promised the next waltz to him.
Narcissa allowed Regulus to escort her onto the floor before she requested an explanation of the falsehood. Spinning her into position he smiled a little. "You didn't really want to spend the next half-hour manhandled by Rudolphus while Bella tried to kill you with a look, did you?"
Narcissa couldn't help but smile back. He did have a point. "I suppose not. I think you just didn't want to be near her death-glare for the half-hour."
He smiled properly at her as the music began. It was bliss to dance again, Narcissa thought. She loved the feel of her skirts swirling, letting the music pull her around in a swish of glitter and gold and scent.
When the dance ended, Regulus led her to a seat opposite the Lestranges. He got her a flute of champagne, and hovered about as though building up his courage to ask her something, until Mrs. Austin joined them, when he took off to avoid his friend Pyramus's rather terrifying mother.
Narcissa, undaunted, smiled at Mrs. Austin. This was a woman whose good side she had to be on. The Blacks were by nature political creatures, interested in shaping the destiny of an entire world. Mrs. Austin applied herself to much smaller destinies, those of young witches and wizards who entered Society every year, trying to make a place for themselves. If Mrs. Austin looked unfavorabley on a debutant, the girl's career was finsihed. If Mrs. Austin labeled a young widow fast, and a young matron loose, the unfortunate simply had to retire from public life.
Miss Narcissa Black had always been a favorite with Mrs. Austin, intimate with her daughter, and kind to her son. It appeared that Mrs. Malfoy was no less favored, as Mrs. Austin greeted her, "How beautifully you dance, Narcissa. We've missed you these past months."
"Thank you. I've missed this, too. Is Cassandra well?"
"I had a letter from her just yesterday, and she sounded quite well. How is your mother?"
They continued with pleasentries for the appropriate five minutes, trading insights on the weather for the health of all recognized relations. Then, finally came the purpose. Narcissa found herself privledged to be invited to tea with Mrs. Austin, and a few other ladies the following Tuesday.
Several hours later, she was in front of her mirror again, brushing the curls and pins from her hair, and assessing what she'd learned. Most of it was the general gossip she'd been collecting since she'd arrived. Regulus had found her later in the evening, and had seemed again ready to tell her something very important, but had been again interuptted, this time by Lucius. He'd taken off very quickly, without even a proper goodbye after that. Narcissa stared at herself in the mirror, trying to decide what exactly what he might want to discuss. Perhaps she would invite him over for luncheon tomorrow. Yes, she thought as she set her brush down, luncheon tomorrow would be perfect.