It has been said that of all bitches dead or alive,
A scribbling woman is the most canine.
If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth.
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My name is Lady Whistledown.
You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall!
But be forewarned, dear reader - I certainly know you.
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"Elena, are you alright?"
She lifts her shoulders in response, absentmindedly tracing a silver locket from one of the stalls. Doesn't know what to really feel about what happened yesterday. While she's thankful to have lessened the probability of possible callers, Elena still cannot bear the thought that her value must be decided by the Queen, her entire life reduced to just a single moment.
Caroline's eyes dampen in sympathy. She had long been subjected to Elena's active protests of officially entering society. Of her apparent future heavily reliant on her marriage. Could never understand Elena– this has been a woman's role. It is what they are raised to be, to marry into a respectable household and to sire an heir.
In the midst of their pondered silence, a newsboy hands over a piece of paper. Intrigued by this Lady Whistledown Social Paper, Caroline snatches a sheet in haste, skimming through the many words. She squeals beside Elena, something about being mentioned in the paper. Elena reads from her own copy and it is to be expected her sisters are on the front page, describing them as the 'Diamonds of the First Water'. As if their arrogance has not grown enough, she muses, rolling her eyes.
Elena turns to another page, finding her name mentioned at dead last. There are a few words written about her, of her distinction from other ladies – that she might be the start of something new. Lady Whistledown is certain that Elena Petrova-Gilbert may just exceed the author's expectations.
As soon as Elena returns from their home, she is summoned by Tatia's maid. Once she has settled comfortably on a plush chair, the youngest is assaulted by Katerina's incessant gushing over the fact that out of 200 ladies presented yesterday, she and Tatia were graciously recognized by Her Majesty - the Queen herself as nothing, if not flawless.
Elena recounts the instances wherein both her older sisters behaved anything but the misnomer Queen Qetsiyah imparted upon them. It occurred just this morning before she left to visit Caroline– a sight only Elena was privy to– of Katerina stubbing her toe against a table's leg, a mumbled curse in response to the pain (how very flawless of her, indeed).
Her musing is cut short when Isobel infiltrates the room, "Your dresses have arrived!"
Tatia and Katerina giggle loudly, rushing after their Mama enthusiastically. Elena follows naturally, fingers tight around the edges of Lady Whistledown's Social Paper wondering who exactly is the face of the intrepid author.
"This is quite ravishing!" Katerina comments, fingers tracing the delicate embroidered flowers.
"Meredith Fell wore a similar shade last season."
"And has secured three offers the very next day, one from an Earl."
She did not want to dampen Katerina's mood early in the morning, but if Lady Whistledown's information is factual, then Elena must do the best she can to protect her sisters.
"Meredith Fell, now Countess of Fulton apparently spent the last year living in a cottage hundreds of miles away from her Earl–" Katerina's fury is unmistakable– "She is miserable. It says it all here."
Isobel's eyes harden. "Do not tell me that is yet another scandal sheet, Elena."
"It is not, Mama. This one lists subjects by name, in full."
Intrigued, Tatia snatches the paper from her hands, turning to read slowly. "Lady Whistledown."
Handing her dress to her maid, Katerina then lunges for the sheet like a predator, getting her hands on the cream parchment.
"Surely that is not her name," Tatia reads over Katerina's shoulder, squinting her eyes on one of the paragraphs but before she could get a nice look, Katerina hands the paper to their Mama.
"The papers were distributed across town today without charge," Elena supplies for them, brown eyes focused at the very middle, particularly the section concerning Tatia and Katerina's title.
Her mama and older sisters gasp in surprise. "She has named Tatia and Katerina as the season's Incomparable. She calls them diamonds of the first water! How lovely!" Elena does not miss Isobel's unhappy gaze, nor Tatia's sympathetic look particularly reserved for her.
"Worry not, dear sister. My success on the marriage mart will influence your prospect, however minimal it may have been." Katerina remarks, holding her dress close to her body to inspect herself in the mirror.
After meeting with Elena, Caroline comes home to a complete disaster. Their servants weave back and forth, each carrying heavy bags. She approaches her father who is overseeing the strange unloading of items on their estate.
"Caroline! Welcome home, sweetheart."
"Father, what is going on?"
He answers her with a grin, tasking his butler to look over in his absence. Bill pulls her under the crook of his arm, guiding her inside their sitting room where her mother waits for them, speaking with a lady she has never seen before.
She is quite beautiful– and if Caroline dare say so herself, her beauty rivals that of Tatia and Katerina however, she could never best Elena– waves of brown tresses cascades down her back in large curls, her high cheekbones accentuating her exquisite features, her slim figure wrapped in a bejeweled sage green dress.
"Caroline, this is Hayley Marshall, a distant cousin of yours. She will be joining us for the entire season."
Hayley stands to greet her, a lovely smile gracing her lip. "Good Afternoon, Caroline. It is lovely to meet you."
Heads turn and lips move at an alarming rate as the striking features that could only belong to the young Duke gallops through the town square, pausing to reconsider– should he have waited for Rebekah's business to be done with before he took off to London? Niklaus shakes his head to relieve him of his thoughts, finding it a burden to retreat. He snaps the reins, propelling his horse onward.
He takes a swig of whiskey from his flask. He might need it to face his audacious Aunt.
"Well if this is not a sight for my sore eyes!"
Niklaus turns on his heels to reluctantly face his Aunt Dahlia. The last he'd seen of her was when he was but a boy, protecting him when her sister– his own mother cannot.
"I was told Rebekah came with you?" She asks, squinting her eyes as if his little sister can magically appear at any moment if she tries hard enough.
"Rebekah sends her deepest regrets. It would appear that Mother is in need of her presence back in New Orleans. She will be arriving at a much later date than what was anticipated."
Dahlia hums, narrowing her eyes at the revelation. "How spontaneous of your mother to summon my lovely niece on such short notice. Do you think she hates me still?"
Never. Niklaus mouths. "It is wonderful to see you too, Lady Hansdottir." He grins, tipping his hat.
"That would be Aunt Dahlia to you, boy. Come!"
The Hansdottir estate, he notices, is somewhat busy. If he remembers correctly upon the excitement in Rebekah's eyes, their Aunt will be hosting a ball – just in time for their arrival. A coincidence? Niklaus knows better than to perceive it a timely occurrence. He was hoping to avoid any interactions with other nobles, in particular ladies of age, but alas, Dahlia plowed through his reluctance which eventually led him to her home with nothing but a horse to aid him in his travels. He would have to wait for Rebekah before completely settling in London.
"Do not worry, nephew. I have kept news of your return a secret. But when those vulgar mamas discover that there is an eligible Duke present at tonight's fete, I shall be able to keep such a secret no longer."
He inwardly groans. Although Niklaus agreed to be home per her request, he does not wish to mingle with society. And he has unfinished business to tend to. "You must understand, Aunt Dahlia. I do not wish to… socialize with others. I've only returned to London to deal with my late father's affairs and so whilst I appreciate your most gracious invitation, Lady Hansdottir, I must ask you to understand."
Dahlia merely raises a brow, already used to Niklaus' excuses enough to last her a lifetime. "Understand? I do not." She meets his eyes, unblinking, challenging him. It seems he has inherited his mother's family's side of being eternally stubborn.
"Perhaps I shall make a brief appearan–"
"Lovely, my dearest nephew. I shall see you tonight." Dahlia departs, a victorious gleam in her eyes.
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The season's opening ball at Hansdottir House
is a most highly sought-after invitation, indeed,
for every darling debutante from Park Lane to Regent Street will be on display.
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Titled, chaste, and innocent,
This is what they have been raised and trained for since birth.
Tonight, we shall discover which young ladies might succeed at securing a match,
Thereby avoiding the dreadful, dismal condition known as "The Spinster."
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Despite Elena's insistence over shedding unnecessary accessories, her mother still won the argument. And so, with a barely concealed huff, Elena steps down the carriage, itching to fling the offending large jewelry resting against her collarbone. Jeremy's eyes gleam in amusement over her evident displeasure, choking back a surprised grunt when she subtly stomps on his feet.
Given her status as a Gilbert, more so as a Petrova, Elena had been, if not privy to invitations from the Lady Hansdottir herself but she still cannot help herself from fawning over the architectural beauty of the Hansdottir house. Yes, it is a far cry from the Pejačević house – Nikolai's preening tone echoes in her ear, detailing the prodigious history of their manor. Elena takes note to send another batch of letters to Bulgaria addressed to his name.
Once Jeremy recovers from her fatal blow, he extends an arm to her; a clear picture of a young gentleman. She takes him up on his offer, following behind her quivering, breathless sisters.
"Are you ready, sister?" Jeremy murmurs, stealing her attention away from Tatia and Katerina.
"I trust you'll be keeping me occupied and guarded throughout the ball, Jer."
"Anything you ask of me, sister."
Hansdottir house buzzes with anticipation upon the entrance of the season's Incomparable – her older sisters, Tatia and Katerina, the famed Petrova triplets have officially joined them for the night. Elena can feel the ground beneath them vibrating, of zealous men longing for their attention and jealous women vying for the men's attention even more than the finest jewels of the season have appeared.
Unaffected by the brewing competition, Elena asks to be excused with Jeremy to take a turn about the room in search of Caroline and Tyler. After much deliberation from Isobel, who is hesitant to leave Elena alone (her Mama was hoping to accompany her– she even concocted a plan to introduce her to some of the bachelors she has handpicked herself for Elena) but alas, John obliges their daughter's whims, ever enchanted by her.
Elena parts from them with Jeremy in tow after pressing a kiss to her parent's cheeks and bidding her sisters a stroke of quiet good luck as a formality, even though they are quite well-off without it.
"You must take notes, brother." Elena teases, her eyes dancing in mirth.
"Is it a necessity, sister? I am told to be irresistible." He smolders down at her.
She giggles, a lovely sound and unknowing of the bewitched gazes of men falling upon her.
"Oh, sod off Jer. You look absolutely horrid!"
Their banter stops short when Caroline glides in front of them, blonde locks curled to perfection and braided atop her head, finishing the look with a bejeweled headband. She is absolutely ravishing in a cream dress interspersed with glimmering gems, her gloved arm is naturally looped around Tyler, whose dark locks are meticulously slicked back (an unusual look for the Lockwood Heir for he typically styles his hair sticking up as if a horse has licked him) and dressed impeccably suited for the event.
"Elena! You look lovely!" She meets Caroline's embrace gleefully, pulling back to address Tyler.
"Tyler, you clean up well." Elena grins as Tyler takes Caroline once more in his arms.
"You look surprisingly like a lady, Elena. Are you sure you aren't Tatia?" He then angles his body to Jeremy, "Is Katerina still pulling pranks?"
"I cannot wait to crush you tomorrow, Tyler." She promises, eyes blazing in determination.
He raises a brow in challenge, a knowing gleam settling deep in his orbs. "We shall see, Elena."
Still occupied with their conversation, the group is unaware of the crowd parting to make way for the host of the evening's ball. When Lady Hansdottir's eyes fall to them, she advances – determined to acknowledge the Gilberts, Forbes, and Lockwood ensemble.
"Good Evening."
Their group whips around, bowing politely to address her. "Lady Hansdottir."
"Miss Gilbert, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason I've yet to see you on the dance floor?"
Elena smiles, "I am in no hurry to get acquainted with suitors, Lady Hansdottir. I am merely catching up with my friends."
"If you say so, Miss Gilbert," Then she leans forward surreptitiously; a traitor planning a coup to overthrow the monarchy, "I'd say that the Queen is terribly wrong in her presumption – you are your own person, Elena. Only you can assert your value." She winks at her, ever the eccentric character amidst the ladies of tradition.
Elena is thankful for the Lady's advice, finding her resolve hardening. Whilst the Queen has not acknowledged her well as her sisters had – her failure to capture the interest of the Queen all but made her value plummet to unthinkable depths. Elena hadn't done anything – none a glimmer of displeasure flashed through the Queen– leaving Elena to wonder just how all of this works.
It is of no matter. Elena is hardly ready for marriage. For now, she enjoys catching up with Caroline and in particular curious over the subject of her friend's cousin, Hayley Marshall. Caroline tells Elena that her sisters are in a great deal of competition, finger-pointing to a brunette dancing with Lord Wetherby.
Elena can only imagine Katerina's face once she knows of Hayley's presence. Puckered lips, unblinking, a raised brow appraising Hayley's tacky steps. Katerina will find it her mission to destroy Hayley's prospects should Lady Marshall choose to steal a few of her suitors.
A few bachelors slowly edge closer to the dance floor, clearly intrigued by the new face. It is only a matter of time till her sisters hear of Hayley's presence and Elena does not wish to be around once that happens. Heaven forbid, she will be subjected to Katerina's complaints.
"Let us dance, Caroline!" Giggling, she tugs Jeremy and Caroline together with Tyler towards the other nobles.
Niklaus would do anything just to get out of this… predicament he finds himself in. Forced against his will to attend his Aunt's ball, thereby attracting the debutants and their mama which is the last thing he wants. It has not even been minutes before he is swarmed by ladies. There is one Lady in particular, woefully plowing through his silence.
"May I introduce myself, my Lord. I am Tatia Petrova-Gilbert." The ladies within his vicinity sags, seemingly defeated by her. One by one they start to leave once Miss Tatia decides to, and is quite persistent that he should recognize her.
Niklaus, however, is skilled in the art of dodging ladies, having experienced years of being hunted down by vicious mamas does have a bit of an advantage (in a way). And so without any pretense, he mumbles an excuse of being summoned by his Aunt, the Lady Hansdottir – running off to wherever it is he deems safe from ladies, especially from Miss Tatia.
"All those years of building up your endurance, yet you tire from a simple dance? How laughable, Elena! Alaric is turning in his sleep as we speak!"
Elena punches Tyler's bicep before heading off to have a sip of lemonade. She directs a polite smile at some of the elders present in the ball, staring off at the distance– and finding Tatia rather agitated as if someone had ruffled her feathers but before she could run off to question her sister, a low drawl intercepts her.
"Miss Petrova, the moment I laid eyes on you, I just knew you were the one for me."
Elena grimaces, bending a knee to curtsy. Her father had warned her of Lord Vanbutchell– of his beady eyes always following her every move– in her moment of happiness, of dancing with her friends did she forget the reason why her papa is adamant about her always being escorted by family. The Lord is direct in his approach, finding it a waste of time to dance around a conversation. His ash-blonde curls fall over his forehead and Elena cringes once he licks his palm to flatten his stubborn locks.
"My Lord."
"How are you enjoying your evening?" He asks her, taking a step closer.
She takes three steps back, trying to find Tatia or Jeremy, but alas, Lord Vanbutchell is a relentless predator, keeping her on her toes.
"I have noticed that you have yet to dance with a man other than your cousin. May I ask you–"
Elena looks over his shoulder again, feigning recognition. "Please excuse me, My Lord. It would seem my Father requests for my presence." She sets down her empty glass. "Adieu."
She sets a fairly fast pace once hearing of Vanbutchell's exclaim, "Miss Gilbert! A moment please!"
Elena flinches once more at Vanbutchell's harrying, "Miss Gilbert?"
In her haste of seeking a member of her family, Elena does not notice a tall man walking her way, equally uneasy just like her. She collides into him, grunting in pain when her bruise from yesterday morning comes into contact with this hard wall of muscle.
There is some kind of air to him, one she cannot name but she finds his bright blue eyes expressive – the apparent disdain shrouded with utmost propriety, catching her shoulders before she could very well topple over the floor.
"Forgive me."
"Pardon me."
Elena throws her chin over her shoulder. Vanbutchell is relentless in his pursuit, polite and hurriedly dismissing the next set of nobles eager to speak with him. She does not wish to entertain him alone, without her Papa or Jeremy to assist her and with the man she collided with moments ago still here with her, Elena uses the opportunity to escape from Vanbutchell's revolting gaze.
"Tell me your name." The man before her purses his lips, infuriatingly silent. Elena tries once more, a dash of hysteria to her tone. "Your name, sir?"
"You think me a fool, my lady?" He bites, observing her. "How very efficient of you to change clothing in such a short period of time."
Elena frowns. He must've met her older sisters then – if so, why does he seem to be confused? Did he not piece together the puzzle yet, that they are triplets? A rare occurrence, yes, but not entirely impossible.
"Pardon me? You must've mistaken me with another."
"I do not take kindly to lies, my lady."
Elena steals another glance behind her, finding Vanbutchell occupied, thankfully by a group of nobles yet his eyes are still trained on her – on them. She smiles venomously. It seems as though this escape she has concocted is nothing if not exasperating. "Why would I lie to you, sir? I am merely asking for your name, it is hardly a challenging question."
He narrows his eyes at her, itching to rid of her company. "And I am to believe you do not know me? Truly, they will try anything."
What an egotistical man! "Excuse me, sir? I hardly know you–!"
"Hastings? Niklaus Hasting!" The pair twists to the commotion. It is John Gilbert, a rather surprised and barely contained smile etched on his features as he trudges to shake hands with the most infuriating man Elena has ever met.
"Sir Gilbert." The hostility she had been given disperses, leaving a civilized man behind.
Elena stands confused in front of the pair, having no knowledge of how her Papa and this man came to be acquainted. She has never seen him before in her entire life. Her eyes shift back and forth at the strange exchange unfolding before her.
"I told you not to call me that, My Lord."
"And I to you, as well… John."
"You are the Duke of Hastings!" John exclaims, and Elena is suddenly assaulted by memories of making her father tea late at night– of Jeremy's mistake of putting salt instead of sugar (they had all suffered a good laugh from that)– and her Papa's proud proclamation of his student's brilliance. "It is improper not to address you as such."
"The Duke of Hastings, is it?" She interjects. Her father may have been right to some extent– she remembers wanting to meet this student of his, wondering what had inspired her Papa's trust. Yet all she can see is his arrogance. Noting nothing about his brilliance, or grace.
"I see you have met my daughter, Hastings."
"Your daughter?" The Duke cocks his head at her.
"Elena, you recall my student, yes? Niklaus?"
"Of course Papa, how could I not? You were very proud of his intelligence and grace." Elena conceals her snark underneath praise. She may have been beneath him because of his title as Duke, but he does not have the right to tell her off like that.
John flushes under Niklaus' surprised turn. Niklaus has been called many things over the course of the years– but it was certainly never a positive remark.
Clearing his throat, John composes himself. "We must get reacquainted soon, Hastings. I expect to see you at our club."
"Indeed. Evening Gilbert–" Niklaus nods politely, and then to Elena "–Miss Gilbert." The father and daughter pair takes off, yet Niklaus cannot take his eyes off of this… girl. Elena, was it? It seems he has erred in his judgment. Elena deserves an apology, especially since she is her father's daughter– his mentor's daughter and Niklaus is utterly indebted to the man. He was too occupied trying to make do with the ball – its significance to him and what it meant for his Aunt for him to be here.
Elena meets his gaze from over her shoulder, blue eyes trailing on her figure. A flash of blue eyes and golden curls races through her mind years ago – the first ball she and her family had attended yet before she could clearly take another look, he is gone.
What she does catch is a pair of beady eyes. Lord Vanbutchell raising a glass to her. Elena significantly pales, hiding her discomfort by gripping her father's arm. Sensing the sudden movement, John stops at his pace to attend to her.
"Papa, I wish to retire."
"Are you sure, dearest? You are anything but weary. Did something happen?" Her lips curl at his concern, every bit the protective father.
Jeremy chooses that moment to appear, a perfect timing because if then she would not have to look for him and risk being near Vanbutchell again, "Elena, there you are. I kept looking for you everywhere!"
Tucking herself close to Jeremy, she answers her father's question, making a point of dabbing a bead of sweat from her forehead with Jeremy's handkerchief. "Nothing happened, Papa. I am simply tired. That is all, besides I think I have had my own fill of dancing." Elena wishes not to worry her father even more. After all, he has to deal with Tatia and Katerina's persistent suitors and while she trusts her mother can handle them, Isobel can only do so much.
He sighs in resignation, "If that is what you wish. Jeremy, escort her home, would you?"
"Of course, Uncle. Let us go, sister." The pair bids him farewell, a nod from Jeremy and an embrace from Elena.
Jeremy escorts her home in silence. Thinking nothing is amiss, she dozes to sleep, lulled by the quiet and then he speaks, cutting through her peace. "You cannot lie to me, Elena. I know something happened," He pauses, gauging her reaction and not missing the way her hands clenched her dress, "What is it?"
"It is of no value. Your worry is misplaced, dear brother. I am fine." She lies through gritted teeth.
Jeremy looks away, letting the matter go for now. Watching the slow journey back to their home in darkness. He hopes nothing really happened whilst he was away. He could never forgive himself if so.