Jet walked to the enormous gaping maw that was the entrance to the hall. He shifted uncomfortably in his suit tugging at the front to help it lie flatter. He scarcely acknowledged the tall man who relieved him of his coat. He unconsciously tested his cufflinks - each gold encasing a single square of shining black stone - a gift from Arthur, in reference to Jet's nom de guerre he had joked. Jet took a deep breath and began his descent down the large stairway into the ballroom.
"Lord Chester Jenkins Moore III" the man announced to the crowd. There was a general nod of acknowledgement from some members of the crowd who immediately turned their attentions back to their conversations. At the bottom of the stairwell an older gentleman approached him and bowed slightly.
"Lord Moore, how was your trip to the south?" the man inquired politely.
"It was very diverting. I availed myself of the opportunity to observe some of the new farming techniques. There are a few new models of plow I am very interested in purchasing and I was quite impressed by their performance."
"Ah, Lord Moore, you never did learn how to take a proper holiday - always letting your mind get in the way of things." Jet held out his hands in submission.
"I suppose I am guilty, Lord Danvers, but if I am to manage the affairs of the estate I must be vigilant. I can rest once all is properly in order."
"Aye, that will never be!" Lord Danvers admonished his junior. "Enjoy your youth while you have it, you have my word, it will not last." He rested his hands on his round stomach as though to prove the point.
"I shall take your words to heart Lord Danvers. Will you please excuse me." Jet bowed slightly and walked over to a middle-aged lady who stood with her hand on the shoulder of a gentleman in a wheeled chair. He bent slightly to address the man. "With your permission, may I borrow the Lady Greenley for a dance?" The man smiled and nodded his assent. Jet offered his hand to the lady who readily accepted it and led her out onto the floor.
"How is the good Sir Greenley these days?" Jet inquired as he turned the lady about the floor.
"He is well. though he has been a bit dejected as the babies have grown so - they are no longer merely content to spend the day sitting on their father's lap listening to stories of the treacherous Boers."
"And what of you? Are you adjusting to life in England?"
"I do not see how I have much option in the matter. Africa will always be my first home, but I am growing accustomed to the English way of life. Though I must admit it is far too rainy for my taste."
"And the children?"
"They are too young to know any different life. They are happy, of course. I suppose I will soon need to employ a Governess to see to their education." she sighed heavily.
"I will keep a look out for qualified candidates." Jet said reassuringly. The song ended and Jet escorted the lady back to her husband. "Thank you, my Lady, for the dance." He said, releasing her hand.
"I'm sure I should be the thankful one." The gentleman replied with a grin. "Never much cared for dancing, my poor lady has suffered my two left feet for far longer than she has suffered my loss of them." Jet allowed a smile at Sir Greenley's irreverent treatment of his grievous injury. "I'm sure she was quite honored to take a turn around the floor with such a fine young lad as yourself. It gives the ladies something of a distinction among her peers."
"Then let us agree we are all of us grateful for our continued friendship." Jet granted. "I must inquire, how has business fared for you this summer?"
"The gem trade has proved excellent this year, though we did lose one ship off the Cape."
"And what of that canal business?"
"I must say since we have taken control of the area it has been much smoother than dealing with those French. Our Oriental market has been *ahem* most profitable." At this remark Lady Greenly placed a delicate hand upon her husbands shoulder,
"Darling, it's gauche to discuss business at a dance." He coughed and sputtered.
"Quite right my dear, quite right." he assented. "My apologies Lord Moore."
"No offense taken, Sir Greenley, after all I am the one to blame - it was I who made the inquiry."
"I was meaning to ask you about accompanying me on a fishing expedition -" Sir Greenley was interrupted by the announcer.
"Lord Arthur Wyndham, Duke of _shire." A hush fell over the room. Down the stairs Arthur descended in an almost sideways manner, the very picture of high society fashion from his brightly shining pointed shoes to his silk top hat. The lights of the ballroom reflected off his diamond topped walking stick creating a momentary dazzling effect upon anyone who looked upon it. He smiled widely at the crowd and condescended to give a small, good-natured bow of his head to the audience. Then he waved his hand at the musicians indicating that they might continue at which point they struck a spritely tune and many of the couples returned to dancing.
"Pardon me, Sir Greenley, please send further details of the excursion to my house for me to examine."
"Very good!" the older gentleman replied. Jet quickly extricated himself from the pair and aimed himself for a group of young ladies gathered around the tall Duke. Jet gripped Arthur's arm with his gloved hand,
"Save me!" he hissed into his friend's ear.
"Not enjoying yourself? Tsk, you never were one for a party." The Duke winked in reply. "Let's see if I can assist in furthering your discomfort." He turned his attention back to the ladies. "My dear ladies," Arthur raised his arms expansively as though bequeathing a benevolent gift upon his followers. "This is my dear friend and compatriot Lord Chester Jenkins Moore III. Lord Moore, this is the lovely Miss Katherine Williams," he indicated an open faced auburn haired beauty who curtsied. "Miss Geraldine Foxham" a small featured raven haired woman inclined her head. "Now now, Miss Foxham, don't be rude." he teasingly scolded. She performed a deep curtsy that Jet could only interpret as sarcasm, he indulged her with a half smile and a deep bow with a flourishing hand. "Countess Angelina Erlyton." a plainfaced but shapely blonde woman gracefully lowered herself in a curtsy. "And of course, my darling Miss Bernice Mareton." He proclaimed raising her hand in his and reflecting her beaming gaze. Of the group she was easily the most comely with shining brown hair gathered upon her head finished with ringlets and small rosettes. She had all the radiance of a woman enraptured in her first great love. Jet observed her gown with a smirk as Arthur and Bernice joined the other revelers on the dance floor. The neckline was cut so low as to almost be scandalous and, in case the viewer did not notice, a large red garnet dangled from her neck, resting gently on her chest - Jet had to acknowledge Arthur was, in this manner, a model gentleman - his eyes never waivered from her face. The waist was cinched tightly, the slippers too prominent in shade, there were far too many bows and ribbons of fabric and lace borders attached as though the family were begging for their wealth to be acknowledged. The noveau riche, he chuckled. He had never heard of the Mareton family before and it was instantly clear as to why - they were attempting to climb the social ladder and prostituting their daughter in exchange for a faster ascent. Of course Arthur would take full advantage of their lack of scruples, if only to teach them a lesson in respect. Likely, her innocent glow would be but a memory by the end of the season; never mind the end of the season - he corrected himself - it would likely be gone by the end of the night. Arthur never was one to suffer fools. He heard a short, mocking laugh from beside him. There stood Miss Foxham.
"How long do you think she has?" She remarked caustically.
"How long did it take for you?" Jet replied without looking over. He knew he had struck the heart of the issue by the sharp intake of breath he heard in response.
"Why is he allowed to continue in such a scandalous manner?" It seemed she had misperceived Jet as an ally; she could not have been more mistaken. Jet turned to face her, his physiognomy as black as his namesake.
"I wonder who you are to judge a man for accepting what a woman offers him of her own free will. You have no right to speak against him, you are but the daughter of an upstart speculator who made a few good gambles - and you thought you were worthy of his hand in matrimony! No man here would fault him for casting aside a woman of so low character as yourself. He has been generous enough to spare you the humiliation a whore such as yourself has earned. Be gone from my sight and don't speak a further word on the matter to anyone or I shall expose you to the ridicule and derision you deserve. You are nothing more than a six-cent strumpet who should consider herself honored to have known the caresses of a Duke. Or did you give it away for free?" he enunciated every syllable so that, even though he had never raised his voice above a whisper, the full impact of the words could be felt. Lady Foxham stared in utter disbelief and shock, then the full weight of what was said sunk in. She turned away quickly and walked over to the side room. Though she never shed a tear in his presence, from the fluttering movements of her hands around her face, Jet could tell she was weeping. The proper tears of a fallen woman he thought. How dare she even presume to think she was worthy to address a gentleman - particularly in such a familiar manner! And she believed she had the right to accuse Arthur of scandalous behavior? These course people who believed sudden wealth made them worthy of acknowledgement disgusted him. He took a glass of champagne from the server's tray and returned to the company of Lord Danvers - the so-called "ladies" at this event were scarcely worth his attention.
"My boy, you seem distracted." Lord Danvers remarked after having gone on for a number of minutes on a topic Jet had not followed in the slightest.
"Oh sorry," Jet replied placing a hand gingerly on his brow. "I seem to have developed something of a headache."
"Perhaps you should find some young lady to dance with - it will get your blood flowing. And they are all such pretty girls, such a selection of lovelies I could only wish had been collected in one place in my youth." Lord Danvers suggested helpfully.
"No, no thank you. While they may hold the eye the interest is another story."
"You are far too picky my boy, one would think you desired the solitary life."
"If being a bachelor all my days saves me from from the discomfort of a course, ill-tempered, imprudent wife; then so be it."
"My you are harsh on the fairer sex." Lord Danvers chuckled.
"Do you seriously believe me in error?" Jet replied archly. Lord Danvers thought for a moment before he solemnly answered,
"No. There are many women who would make a man yearn for his lonely days. Women who chase a man from their bedrooms into those of others. Who through neglect and bad temper lead a man into a life of sin or miserable solitude. Or those insipid creatures who disgrace him at every turn and lead his children down shameful paths. And there are even those terrible women who make of their man a cuckold raising a dark eyed child not his own. These women who make the household a barren wasteland and a hearth a hell. But then there are those women who brighten the corners of every room they enter, who can warm the soul from the deepest chill, the women who compliment us so completely as to make a half into a whole. Like my dearly departed Millie, or your mother, Mary. Goodly women who remind you that you cannot abandon the sex entirely."
"Such women seem to be an endangered species, I have yet to meet one outside of my household." Jet responded darkly.
"Well perhaps you merely have not been looking properly." Lord Danvers suggested with a wink and a nod to the staircase.
"Count Frederick Mason, Countess Hilda Mason, Miss Ingrid Mason." The announcer pronounced. Jet looked towards the staircase to behold the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. She was tall and slender with a graceful long neck. He skin was pale as milk and her long flaxen hair sat, exotically braided, atop her elegant head. Her eyes were clear and blue as the sky on a cloudless day. Her white and blue dress only complimented those eyes. She smiled widely at the crowd below - it was as if the sun, itself, had decided to grace those below with its presence.
"She is exquisite! Did they say 'Miss'?" Jet asked Lord Danvers eagerly, though he could not face his conversation partner for he had yet to find the wherewithal to turn away.
"Yes, it seems your ears have begun working properly again." Lord Danvers chuckled.
"Did the say her father is Count Mason? Why have I never heard of her?"
"Her mother is a Swede, she insisted the child have a proper Swedish upbringing rather than languishing under the smoke of London."
"I must say, seeing the result, I can agree with the wisdom of that idea." Jet allowed himself to smile. "Lord Danvers, you are familiar with the family, how do you suggest I approach her?" Lord Danvers smiled.
Some minutes later Lord Danvers had managed to bring Jet in front of the young lady.
"Miss Mason, how lovely it is to see you again." he said taking her hand.
"My dear Lord Danvers! It has been far too long. I believe you were much taller on our last visit" she replied in accented tones.
"Ah yes, I suppose I have shrunk since." The two laughed. "Anyhow, I have a friend I should like you to meet," he said gesturing to Jet. "This is my business partner, the young Lord Chester Jenkins Moore III."
"It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Moore." she beamed offering him her hand. He gently took it in his own with a low bow.
"Du är väldigt vacker i kväll." he replied. Her face flushed deeply and she put her hand to her mouth to cover a giggle. Jet was suddenly panicked. "What? what did I say?" He begged Lord Danvers. The young lady approached him and gently whispered in his ear,
"You are very beautiful tonight." Now it was Jet's turn to flush. She giggled at his reaction. "Thank you, Lord Moore, I am most flattered that you would pay me such a compliment."
"It is no flattery," he said, regaining his charm. "It is merely the truth as I observe it." Miss Mason had now turned a fine shade of pink. "If you are willing, would you care to accompany me to the dance floor?" The lady nodded in assent.
The morning bells had begun to chime by the time Jet escorted Ingrid and her parents to her carriage and waved them off. It seemed his heart would soar from his chest. Such a lovely lady, and so accomplished! The daughter of a Count no less! He would have to thank Lord Danvers - the man's irreverence sometimes made Jet forget the shrewd businessman his father had long ago chosen for a partner - that old man was always one step ahead of the game. He made his way to the terrace to watch the rising sun and was quite surprised to find Arthur leaning upon the thick stone balustrade staring blankly at the horizon.
"I thought for sure you would be nestled in bed with your lady friend by this hour." Jet remarked. Arthur's gaze remained fixed outward. "Pass me a drink." Without looking over Arthur handed him a flask from his inside pocket; Jet took a swig of the reddish brown stuff.
"As did I, old chap." he replied absently.
"Did she turn you down?"
"Oh no, she was quite eager. But my heart wasn't in it so I sent her home."
"You sent - you sent her home!" Jet stuttered. "Since when has your heart ever had anything to do with it?"
"Since now, I suppose." Arthur mused. "Where was Elizabeth tonight?"
"She's home with a cold." Jet answered offhandedly. "Oh... I see."
"It was the first ball since Philomena married; I was hoping to finally see her properly in society where she belongs."
"If it brings you any cheer she was horribly disappointed to miss it. She has been so long delayed in coming out! But father would not have it until Philomena was properly wed - I thought sure Elizabeth would be an old maid before he finally gave up on Philomena's nuptials. I must say I have found my new brother to be a rather dull sort - but then, I am surprised anyone took her at all." Arthur feigned horror at Jet's words.
"Do not insult Lord Norbert! It cost a princely sum to encourage him to even consider her - she is the odd sort, you know, not mad per se, but odd in her way... in the set of her eyes and the form of her mouth. Nothing to entice in looks either - there can be no question: your father's face is much better suited to members of the male gender." At this remark both gentlemen briefly chuckled.
"Ah, so that is how it happened. It did seem strangely sudden. You really love her that much?" probed Jet.
"Nonsense! It was merely done in the service of a friend who would otherwise have been saddled with her care and... Yes, I truly do." His tone was serious now. "Every sin I have ever committed in my life I intend to make up for in my devotion to her. I shall be a slave to her happiness."
"You have been a slave to her happiness since the moment she curled those tiny plump fingers around yours." Jet grinned at the memory.
"She was so small then, and yet I could barely hold her for her weight - which would be nothing now but to a mere child as I was... As I recall she had a nasty predilection for punching you in the nose."
"She still does, I'm afraid to say. My nose has suffered greatly from her abuses these past 20 years." Jet smiled, rubbing his nose. "So when can I expect to call you my brother?"
"I suspect by the end of the season - if she consents, of course." Arthur replied.
"So, the end of the season then, as I have no doubt in her acceptance of your proposal."
"I wish I could be so certain. All of my indiscretions, my habits, have never been a secret to her - it would be a challenge to ask her to accept one who has made himself so low." Arthur took a draught from the flask.
"She loves you, Arthur! No one adores you as she! There is no crime you could commit that she would not forgive you! She would follow you to hell, if you asked, and make a heaven of it for you."
"Yes, she would follow me to hell..." Arthur looked back to the horizon where the sun was fully above the hills now. Jet attempted to change the subject.
"I believe the largest obstacle you face is gaining father's approval. He does not believe a man should marry before he is thirty. He says a young man is often a fool in love and will follow his heart where reason would fear to trod; while an older man who is established in the world will properly weigh the consequences of a match."
"Perhaps that is where long acquaintance and title will win the day. There is no sense in delaying the inevitable. Besides, it will greatly raise the rank of your family and business to be so closely tied to a Duke." Arthur said with some sense of assurance. "I imagine your father's rule will make things quite difficult for you and that elegant Swedish swan you passed the evening with." Arthur glanced over at Jet with an arched eyebrow.
"She is perfection! If it were my decision we would wed tomorrow - but alas Gretna Green is no place for the business of being bound to one so wonderful. Still there is something to be said for delay - it allows for defects to make themselves apparent."
"Ah, so you don't fully accept her perfection?" Arthur smiled mockingly.
"I have never been one for willful blindness, though I do admit if she promises to be even half so good as she has presented herself to be there is no question on it being a very propitious match."
"Then I congratulate you." Arthur raised the flask to the sky before taking another dram. He offered the bottle to Jet.
"And I you, my soon-to-be brother." Jet slapped him on the back and emptied the bitter contents into his mouth.