Chapter Three
Party for...four hundred? (Mrs Candice Barber, writing for The Society Gazette)
Bound to be the event of the early season, Cardinals is hosting a gala unlike any before. Finishing the renovation of the 'Star of Bethlehem' fresco that overlooks the ballroom, fine young Ladies and Gentlemen are welcome to partake in the drinks and dancing of a merry evening. It will be a night made for young lovers and socialites a plenty! The establishment would kindly like to bestow thanks to Mister David Scott, who's kind donations helped with the restoration of the magnificent venue, and who's son is thought to be attending tonight. Don't forget to pick up your copy of the Gazette next week to read a tet-a-tet with the lady honoured to help organise the event, and discussions about the evening itself.
Lyra was disturbed by a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, her breath catching in her throat as she locked eyes with the man that had interrupted her walk around the hall. The moment soon passed as she became alarmingly aware of the excessive amount of eyes focused on her. She blushed and, and not forgetting her manners, curtsied as Pan wound around her feet, trying to hide under her dress, expressing her discomfort. In reply to her curtsy, the nameless gentleman swept into a very graceful and well rehearsed bow, his magpie daemon bobbing on his shoulder as it changed its footing to avoid falling. The young man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of attention they were gathering, his daemon preening its feathers as he offered her an arm in a practised move. She accepted courteously and he steered them towards the drinks, handing her a glass of champagne.
Lyra, who had only just regained her composure, shook her head slightly, sending her earrings swinging. She shared a look with Pan, and risked a glance at the debonair young man from underneath her eyelashes. He picked a glass of champagne up for himself, and turned to face her with a smile. It was quite uncalled for, to be swept off the dance floor by a gentleman with no prior introduction.
The mystery man stood peering at her expectantly over the top of his glass. He raised it to take a swig of champagne, as if waiting for her to confirm that she was alright, and of sound mind. He seemed to be enjoying his effect on her, but the blanket of silence that had draped over them became uncomfortable as the background music of the band came to an end.
He drained his glass, and, seeing Lyra throw a curious glance in his direction, said, "I apologise greatly for interrupting you, Miss, and coming over without being introduced by a mutual acquaintance… it was incredibly ill mannered of me."
Lyra looked up at him fully now, a quizzical expression gracing her features, as her brows drew together. "And what exactly was I doing, that you could interrupt?" she enquired as politely as she could. She briefly wondered if she had been doing something outlandish without realising, perhaps something mortifying that would shame Dame Hannah and the girls at the college. Not that she cared about the girls, or Dame Hannah…much. She fiddled with the stem of her glass and took a swig, bubbles tickling her nose.
The young man drew a breath, and with an amused expression, replied, "Indeed, it looked to me," he leaned in confidentially with a sparkle in his eye, "an untrained individual of course, that you were on a very important endeavour," He paused as Lyra stood, confused.
"An important endeavour?" She echoed.
"Yes. You see, I can tell when a woman is trying to look too busy to dance." Lyra smiled as he continued, "I don't see how that is possible tonight though, with all of these dashing young bachelors around..." he trailed off as a small balding man strolled passed, obviously trying to get the attention of a beautiful young woman ahead of him, his damp forehead and wheezy breathing did nothing to aid his physical appearance. The young man gave him a nod as he passed.
Lyra laughed amiably at the look on her companion's face, "Now why would you get that idea?" she teased, "What if you, Sir, interrupted me from a very important task that needed to be carried out at this very moment?" Lyra smiled at his expression, which clearly showed how taken aback he was that a woman would answer him back.
Around them, other couples chatted; some calm and composed, and others flushed from their exertions on the dance floor. The band struck up a quieter tune as the dancers took a break, and for some, a chance to escape from their partners.
The young man recovered from Lyra's answer and responded humbly, "Well then, I find myself mistaken, but," he said as he leaned towards her again, "Why then are you standing here, talking to me instead of carrying on with your task?" his hearty expression spoke volumes and Lyra felt a pang of annoyance rise in her. Who did this arrogant man think he was, presuming he could read her so well?
He continued, "I would also like to enquire, if you are, as you say, not trying to avoid dance partners like the plague, why your dance card is not full?" He glanced down and brought her card up to his face, "surely, if you were up to dancing, your card would be filled to bursting and you would be the busiest young lady in the room..." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a shadow of a smirk playing around his lips.
Lyra blushed, and at his compliment, found her resolve to stay angry wavered and her exasperation diminished. Looking up into his face for the first time since their meeting, she realised how handsome his features were, his straight roman nose; clearly defined cheekbones; dark green eyes. Not a shadow of stubble could be seen, and his dark hair was slicked back in a most fashionable way, but it seemed to be straining against the wax, as tendrils of hair had escaped and fell into his eyes, framing his face his face and giving him a slightly impish look. She looked up at him, and couldn't help being drawn to him, as though his charisma permeated the space around him and promised of excitement and adventure.
As she watched him, she also became aware of his laid back manner even at such a prestigious event, said to be "One of the highlights of the young people of Oxfordshire's lives" According to a well-to-do newspaper.
Aware of their close proximity she stepped back, Pan curling about her shoulders, his sleek pine martin fur gleaming in the lamp light. He seemed to be appraising the magpie daemon, his jet black eyes transfixed on the bird. In turn, the magpie seemed to be transfixed on Pan, her small head cocked to one side, the two of them locked in an epic battle of wits.
Lyra looked between one and the other, and then back at the gentleman in front of her, realising that she did not know his name, never mind coming up to her without a proper introduction, but to conduct a conversation with her, all the while not even hinting towards his name was downright rude!
She cleared her throat, and he turned back towards her, having been appraising the room almost as she had been inspecting his appearance.
"I seem to recall you saying that it was bad mannered of you to start up a conversation with me not having been introduced to you." She stated, and at the slight nod he gave her, she carried on, "Well, is it not exceedingly disrespectful to continue addressing said person when proper introductions have still not been made?"
At her observation, he had the decency to look sheepish, cleared his throat roughly and swept into yet another bow. "I once again apologise greatly mademoiselle," he said, straightening, "I am David Walter Scott, the second." He smiled at her as she stared at him blankly.
"You." was all that she could manage, as she realised that she had spoken to David Walter Scott the second, not only one of the pompous idiots, who only moments before had strutted into the hall like freshly pruned peacocks, but also the son of The David Walter Scott.
Everyone had heard of the Scott's, from the most eligible lady to the humble laundry maid. They had made their money relatively recently, but spared no expense, and no excuse to prove that 'new money' was just as honourable as 'old money'.
The original David Walter Scott was now considered to be one of the richest men in Oxfordshire, and heck, Lyra thought, maybe even England! The Scott's had been a favourite of the gossips in St. Sophia's, and seen as Lyra shared a hallway with Kitty, or rather Katherine, possibly one of the biggest gossips in the school, she found she knew a lot about his financial side; rich in friends and status as well as money, and blessed with happy manners and an even happier appearance. She looked up into his face again and was relieved to find that he was neither mad nor pitying towards her, but his haughty expression was firmly back in place. How irritating.
As the band struck up another, more lively tune, he glanced at the dance floor, and then at her, before boldly asking, "May I have this dance?" and sweeping her off in a rather uncouth manner, not waiting for an answer. Pan clung round her neck in fear that he might fall off, all the while muttering about, 'Untrained individuals in the politest of society...think it's below them, manners...' and it was all Lyra could do but try not to laugh.
The gigantic clock at the head of the hall ticked out the time; ten thirty. Will wondered what he was doing surrounded by the grandeur of the hall. He found himself wondering where Kirjava was… she had been right next to him as he... It suddenly dawned on him. He must be dreaming! If this was his mind's way of having a joke, he certainly wasn't finding it very funny. He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, and leaned sulkily against a gigantic column. At least he was wearing reasonably smart clothes in his dream. He glanced down at himself. Well, it was the same outfit he'd fallen asleep in but still… pin stripped trousers and a white shirt, so he didn't feel too out of place. He had a feeling that he would probably be thrown out if he was not dressed right, and then he'd have no way to figure out what the dream was trying to tell him.
His eyes found the figure again. She had been talking to him for half an hour. That bloke. The one, who in Will's opinion was far too full of himself. He watched the couple, transfixed as they waltzed around the room, the girl's skirts swishing and showing her white petticoats.
She was young, and looked to be about his age, her face set in silent concentration, only broken when her partner passed a comment, when she would smile absentmindedly before continuing to focus on her dance steps.
He moved around the edge of the room, trying to catch her eye, just for a moment. He was sure that there was something about her. She looked familiar and he couldn't help but feel a curious sensation rising towards this young woman.
She laughed politely at something her partner said and Will found himself smiling too. He immediately felt guilty as he remembered the way Lyra used to smile at him, and as he realised he was being eyed up by various girls, he pulled himself out of his daze and stared resolutely out of the French windows. Walking along the wall where the windows stretched nearly as high as the ceiling, Will stopped next to a door that led out onto a large balcony. A cool breeze fluttered in through the door; welcome relief from the warm room. Looking around the shimmering grand hall and then peering out into the darkness, his eyes trying to adjust, he stepped outside into the fresh air.
A breeze wrapped around his body, and he breathed out a sigh to calm his nerves. His dream was so vivid. He touched the stonework of the balustrades, cool and smooth under his hand. The scents of flowers from the walled garden greeted him and the strains of the strings wafted out through the doors. Gas lamps cast warm circles of private light at intervals as the shadow lattice of the windows stretched over the balcony.
Very few guests had ventured onto the polished marble walkway, instead choosing to stay inside and dance, or in the case of most girls, gossip. He glanced around, there were four or five couples promenading around the space, the ladies dressed in high fashion, and the men smart with cravats poking out from the top of their waistcoats. He leaned on the railing and stared moodily out into the garden, the last fading rays from the sun illuminating the rose beds.
He heard a tittering sound, glanced to his right, and saw a pair of girls come to rest on the carved railing beside him. He was in no mood to be bothered by such silly girls, and was just about to move away when his heart gave a leap at the young women's conversation. He froze in position, straining to hear their hushed words.
"Yes Bessie, she really was dancing with him. I don't know what makes all of these men show any sort of interest in her, I mean Lyra never comes across as the sociable type! I could almost swear that, for the most part of the evening she was trying to avoid talking to anybody!" A girl with tight brown ringlets was saying, her Yorkshire terrier daemon scuttling excitedly around her ankles, showing her delight at the chance to gossip behind another girls back. Will's heart stopped at the name 'Lyra'. Surely it wasn't that common a name, was it? Was he in Lyra's Oxford?
He was soon drawn back to the present as the conversation carried on.
"I understand what you mean, Kitty," Replied the other girl, who was slightly plumper than her companion, her mousy brown hair hiding her mouse daemon, whose black eyes shone in the light from the hall, "I was wondering when he would come and ask you to dance, everyone knows that you two would make such a darling couple!"
The girl called Kitty tittered again, replying, "don't be so loud Bessie! People might actually hear you, and we could not have people spreading rumours about the wonderful Mr. Scott!" She leaned towards her companion, and continued in a lower voice, forcing Will to shuffle closer towards them and strain his ears to hear. "I mean not everyone knows that she used to be a wild and uncivilised child! Used to live at Jordan, amongst all of those men! How she managed to get a place at St Sophia's is a bit of a mystery too. Disappeared for a long time, then out of nowhere, poof!" She emphasised with her hands, as the other girls face gave away the surprise at the scandal, "She comes back from god-knows-where, and gets a place at Sophia's! Although it's been said..." At that point she trailed off as Will noticed a couple joining their party.
The girl with ringlets rushed forward to meet them, as Will moved away so he could watch the exchange.
"Lyra!" the slim girl exclaimed as she greeted the couple, and then, addressing the young woman's male counterpart, she swept into a low curtsy with a humble, "Mr. Scott! How wonderful to finally make your acquaintance!" The plumper girl soon followed her friend, her curtsy slightly more clumsy and less well rehearsed, while she mumbled a, "Miss Silvertongue, Mr. Scott." The man graced them both with a bow, and then turned to his companion, who introduced them all, and promptly started up a conversation.
Will sat on a bench a short way down the balcony, so as not to pry, but could not help his heart speeding up as he gazed upon the woman who had just joined the group. She was the girl in the room. The one he'd seen dancing, been drawn to, and jealous of her companion. Lyra Silvertongue. He was sure that name wasn't common, and only bestowed upon Lyra. His Lyra. He watched as she contributed to the conversation, the two girls perfectly friendly, where as mere moments before they had been raising hell about her. He realised that he recognised her because he had loved her, had known her. Yet here she stood, the same but different. So civilised and elegant. He glanced down at himself and wondered how their time apart had altered his appearance.
She was pretty, no beautiful with a slim shape, complimented by her dress, and her face shape was more defined. Her long hair had darkened from days spent indoors, studying, and it was pulled up to show a glittering choker around her neck. Will could not believe how she had changed, and yet he had a sudden urge to touch her, hold her, kiss her.
He was pulled out of his retrieve by the young man, who addressed him directly, "Good evening Sir! Could you lend a voice in trying to explain to these ladies why the recent aircraft developments mean so much to us, and that, in fact it will enable us to travel further, and faster than any zeppelin ever could?"
Will glanced around. Had this man been talking to him? The rest of the inhabitants had left to find more secluded spots and he was utterly alone. Swallowing, his mouth dry, he rose to join the debate. His feet felt like lead as he walked towards them until, finally, he stood in front of her. Lyra.
A/N: There you have the revised chapter three... I'll be catching up soon(ish) hopefully and then the new chapters will start to appear!