So yes, it has been literally half a year since I published Mabel... Sorry! Thank you to Lady Dudley who read and reviewed - and asked for more.

This has actually been sitting on my laptop for a while, and I finally finished it tonight. I think I'll do a long one for the actual proposal and work in quotes from the play, though I can't say when it will be posted... Hopefully sooner than six months though!

Enjoy! xx

Reflections: Arthur

If someone had told Arthur Goring a year ago that by the end of this season that he, Lord Arthur Goring would have fallen deeply, desperately, passionately in love - so much so as to want nothing more than to whisk his beloved away as soon as feasible to marry her - he would have laughed pityingly at the fool who had suggested such a thing. He would have then proceeded to dismiss their suggestion scathingly with a particularly cutting witticism. He, Lord Goring, get married? The idea was certainly laughable. Marriage? No. Not a chance. Lord Arthur Goring did not become "enamoured"; he did not "fall in love". Not desperately, not passionately. Not. At. All.

And yet, it would seem - at last - that the joke was on him.

Of course he had never been indifferent to her - how could anyone feel anything akin to indifference when in the company of such a creature? He was also fully aware of the gossip surrounding the pair of them - having been subjected as he had been to the bawdy jokes of his peers and the sly insinuations of the society women how could he not? He would have had to have been utterly and completely obliviously idiotic not to have heard it. He supposed he should have been more careful, more discreet, in his interactions with her but she was just so... so... what? Terrifying? Wonderful? Utterly magnificent? She was one of the few people in the world who understood him, who had not attempted to change him in the same way as his father and all those society ladies Arthur had had hurled at him were desirous of doing - and "hurled" was the only accurate word in this context.

He was damned if he would let that Trafford get his hands on her. Perhaps that was the most terrifying part of it all. This jealousy; the fact that the very thought of Tommy Trafford had him clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. That Mabel knew it did. Whether consciously or not he was unsure, but surely, surely she must be aware that he behaved differently towards her, that he would - often rather abruptly and extremely rudely - abandon whatever conversation he was having as soon as she entered the room. Although he would never dash across the room to hover desperately about her person as some people were wont to do. No, he would circle, he would catch her eye and smirk knowingly at her as she expressed her exasperation at whatever suitor was dancing attendance on her with a slight widening of her eyes, or quirk of her eyebrow. And then they would slowly make their way towards each other, as though being pulled by some invisible force, that same force that caused his throat to constrict and his palms to moisten before he caught himself and regained control. Did she feel this?

And now this whole ridiculous mess with that Cheveley woman had caused him to miss the appointment which he had promised faithfully to keep, the one that he had felt even as he made it should not be broken - could not be broken if he had any wish to gain a more intimate acquaintance with her. And by God, did he! Where were his pithy comments now? Oh, he knew now he could face the knowing looks of Society if he could have her by his side always. Now, when it might be too late! He snorted in derision at his own sentimentality - the very sentimentality he had scoffed at in others, those friends who had found love. It had been Robert who had smiled pityingly and replied with a shake of his head,

"Oh, you'll see Arthur... Some woman will come along whom you cannot simply dismiss with one of your cynical jokes, and you'll understand."

And understand he did. Oh, if he could but get this ridiculous farce in which Robert had entangled them all over with... If Miss Mabel could forgive him... If -

The clearing of someone's throat pulled him from his reverie. The footman. Ah, they had arrived at the Chiltern's. Swallowing nervously he alighted from the carriage.

Well, at least she would not be at home for another little while... No, best not think of that. With any luck Robert and Gertrude would be sorted out this morning at any rate. And then... Well... Then. Straightening his back he pulled sharply on the bell-pull and waited foe the butler to answer.

Battle stations.