The Twilight 25

Prompt: Red

Pen Name: CherBella

Pairing: EdwardxBella

Rating: M

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~*~ Red ~*~

The young Lord tugged at his constricting collar. Carlisle had tied his tie too tight; he would have to reprimand him later. As if the boy needed one more thing to make his night miserable.

His father had forced him to attend the ball this evening, in the hopes that he would find fancy in one of the many suitable single young ladies at the dance tonight. He had been pushing and prodding the young boy for some months now to court a young lady. Any young lady would do, providing she was of the proper social standing.

The young man was almost twenty and his father apparently wanted to see him married off before he reached twenty-one. Which mystified the son because his brother, three years older, was happily unmarried, unencumbered and actually well known for his many dalliances with the young ladies in their social circle. And yet his father had not once prodded his brother into thoughts of marriage. The young man chuckled to himself–perhaps that was the problem; perhaps he just needed to start squiring and whoring around with as many women as possible and maybe that would get his father off of his back.

He was quite the opposite of his brother and frankly had little interest so far in any of the young ladies they knew. He hated the insufferable, copious balls and dinners and teas that his mother and father forced upon him. Because there were invariably young women at these balls and dinners and teas–young ladies who were looking for a husband and the young Lord was "prime property" to put it politely. He came from a wealthy, noble family with an upstanding reputation, and to add insult to injury: he was astonishingly handsome. Had he none of the other aforementioned attributes, young ladies would still be clamoring for him on his beauty, alone. Tall, slim, with a face some women said was sculpted by Michelangelo himself: a strong, sharp jaw line; prominent, high cheekbones; red full lips and piercing green eyes. Add in a most unique head of unruly burnished red- colored hair and any red-blooded female was immediately swept off her feet. His brother often teased him mercilessly about his popularity with the ladies, but the young man hated every minute of it and found it insufferable.

Tonight, as he surveyed the room, he had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes in boredom. This party was just like the party he'd been to last week…and the week before that. Same annoying tinkling waltz music, same young ladies–hair done up, wearing their same sweet pastel frilly dresses and dancing with the other dutiful young men who, like himself, were here out of family obligation. Or who, like his brother, were here staking out their next conquest. Clustered in the corners of the room were more young ladies chittering and twittering and giggling in groups of more drab pastel. And invariably during the course of the evening each group would, at least once, turn their attention to him, whispering and pointing. If he were in an agreeable mood he would sometimes nod to them and tip his drink in acknowledgement. He certainly did not wish to encourage them, however he did like letting them know he'd caught them in the act. Of course even this ever so slight bit of attention from him just sent them twittering amongst themselves even more.

Occasionally a few brave young girls would extricate themselves from their packs and approach him. Tonight's sacrificial lambs were Lady Lauren Mallory and Lady Jessica Stanley. They were both upon him before he had a chance to sneak away into the crowd. His father caught his eye from across the room and raised an encouraging eyebrow at him.

"Lord Masen," Lady Stanley sing-songed. "Are you feeling ill this evening?"

Well that was a new approach, he thought to himself.

Edward, assuming the role of the polite gentleman, bowed slightly toward them before addressing the women. "Good evening ladies. I am feeling quite fine, actually. What, may I ask, made it seem that I was ill?"

"Why, Lord Masen, you haven't been out on the dance floor once this evening, you've been standing alone over here, all by yourself." Lady Mallory's voice was more of a squeak and the young Lord had to grit his teeth to avoid making an unpleasant face at the awful sound.

He sighed. He'd been caught. As much as he detested it, the easiest thing to do would be to take each of the ladies for one spin on the dance floor–it would satisfy both his social obligation and his obligation to his father.

He opened his mouth to ask Lady Stanley for a dance, but before he could get the words out something across the room caught his eye. A flash of red. Such an out of place color amidst all of the pastel dresses and the men's dark formal wear. He looked again but saw nothing. Just as he was about to think he had imagined it, a gentleman moved aside and he saw the source of the red flash.

The woman had her back to him. Her deep brown hair was piled high on her head exposing a long, pale expanse of neck. She was dressed in a red gown that dipped a little too low in the back, revealing more naked skin than most would deem acceptable for society norms. She was exquisite, a vision of absolute beauty.

He rapidly mumbled apologies to Lady Mallory and Lady Stanley and moved off to get a better look at the woman in the red dress. A new dance started up and in the flurry of couples leaving the dance floor and new couples sashaying on, he lost sight of her. When his line of sight cleared finally, she was no longer across the room. He walked the edges of the room, darting in between various partygoers, his eyes constantly searching for a scrap of red.

"…did you see that harlot in the red dress?"

He was passing by a group of one of the twittering, gaggling women…his ears pricked up at their words and he paused to listen.

"So scandalous…and showing so much skin."

"Brazen hussy, she is."

"She probably didn't have anything else to wear…her line of work certainly doesn't require much clothing!"

"You know those Italian men…they prefer those kind of women."

The Lord scowled at the comments from the gossiping cows. Snooty, supercilious highbrows–condemning a woman simply from the color of the dress she chose to wear.

He moved on, not wanting to appear that he was doing what he was doing–eavesdropping on such busybodies. They mentioned the Italians…was she Italian? Was she with the visiting Italians? That was the reason for this particular party–some Italian aristocrats were visiting the family of one of his parents' acquaintances.

He continued scouring the room more frantically. She seemed to have disappeared again, vanished into thin air. Had it not been for the confirmation from the biddies gossiping about her, he might have thought his numbingly desensitized brain had dreamed her up. Crushed, he was about to abandon his fruitless search, when finally he spied the red beauty again. At the end of the room were ornately etched glass doors leading out to a balcony and he could see her on the other side of the doors, out on the balcony. Through the distorted facets of the glass she truly did appear as if an apparition…no, he thought, more like a work of art. Blurry, smudged brush stokes reflecting only the beauty of light and shadow and color…she was a Degas masterpiece come to life, Lady in Red, he imagined the title in his head. And he was not going to let her get away again.

~*~O~X~X~O~*~