Shadowed Night

First Draft - not edited at all yet!!

The Weekend

The strains of music receded into the background as Lady Evelyn made her way onto the balconette overlooking the grand entrance. Her hostess for the evening, Lady Victoria Wellingham, Countess of Wright was still by the main doors, greeting the late arrivals. At this point, it consisted mainly of bachelors who did not have to contend with the strictest adherences of propriety - it would not have been acceptable for any of the unmarried ladies to arrive at a ball after ten.

From her vantage point, Evelyn could not only see the young rakehells pull up in their sporty cabriolets, but she could also see through the doors of the ballroom to the sparkling sea of the assembled ton. With a quick look to assure that no one had seen her make her escape from the ball, Evelyn turned around to explore what had once been the solar. The Wellingham estate was quite old and the current building had been built around the original keep. In fact, the courtyard was from the original bailey. And although the moat had been filled in, the portcullis and wall remained. The chance to explore the infamous Welsh holding was the only reason that Evelyn had accepted the Wellinghams invitation for a fete at their country holding.

She was actually rather surprised that the Wellinghams had chosen a date so close to the beginning of the London season to host their extravaganza. Most of the ton spent this time of the year at their dressmakers and tailors, getting ready for the whirlwind of balls and parties that the season entailed. Lost in her musings about the vagaries of the english elite, she failed to notice the shadowy form that had appeared at the edge of the balconette...

The balconnette led into a narrow gallery lined with heavy, gilt framed portraits of nobility. A particularly large painting dwarfing a bay window trapped Evelyn's attention. The visage of the girl portrayed in the painting held mischief and laughter - certainly not encouraged in any well-bred lady. The portrait could not be of any of Wellingham's lineage... Evelyn doubted that the sherry that dripped through their veins allowed for any mirth, for she had never seen either those born to the Wellingham name, or those married to it, ever do more than offer a clipped smile. And that face... the features were exotic and vibrant - different than any she had seen... the woman in the painting was certainly no wan English rose! Contrary to the pale beauty of the nobility, the girl had dark, ebony hair - olive complexioned skin and warm, midnight eyes. Slim and tall, the artist had captured her grace and her fire, all at once - for she seemed about to bound out of the canvas.

Despite the unique features of the girl in the picture, Evelyn had a niggling feeling that she knew her somehow. A strange sense of familarity drew Evelyn to the painting - she felt as though she had met a long lost friend. Evelyn stepped toward the painting, her hand outstretched, as though mesmerized by the canvas. She seemed almost about to step into the wall when a voice startled her from her reverie.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" drawled a husky male tone. Evelyn whipped around, for she had neither heard nor seen anyone enter the gallery. A gasp escaped her, for there was no one there. The gallery was poorly lit, yet enough light spilt through the doorway from the balconette that anyone between her and the door would have been easily illuminated.

Evelyn's heart pounded within her chest, and it took her a moment to realize that the voice had emanated from a figure clothed in black that all but dissappeared into the dark drapery lining the bay window.

In the dark light, he appeared as no more than a shadowy figure. "I beg your pardon," murmured Evelyn, disconcerted to have found company when she wished none. "I sought respite from the throng below - but I did not intend to intrude upon your privacy. Good night."

She stepped toward the archway leading back onto the balconette, and found a warm hand gently restraining her, and a soft chuckle halting her step. "'Tis more likely that it is I, who am intruding upon your desire to be alone. Although I too came up here to escape the 'throng' below as you so eloquently put it, but than, you are hardly a 'throng' so I suppose there is no need for either of us to take their leave. Unless of course, your desire to participate in the 'throng' downstairs has returned?"

Evelyn glanced sideways at him, simultaneously trying to determine if she did indeed wish to return to the simpering below, and to ascertain the gentleman's identity, for she was certain that he was not a gentleman formally introduced to her. It was highly inappropriate for her to be unchaperoned with a gentleman, much less a man to whom she was yet to be presented! It was not to be done. As much as Eveylyn dreaded the damp crush of bodies at the ball below, she could not in good conscience remain upstairs with a man of unknown origins. Summoning a polite smile, Evelyn blandly replied, "T'was only curiosity to see the solar that prompted me here. But nothing much of it remains, although the contents of the gallery would certainly present a temptation to me in the daylight. However, I was remiss in leaving the ball without alerting my aunt to my whereabouts. She is no doubt already assembling a search party. Good night again Sir. Perhaps I can make your acquaintance properly at some time." Without waiting for a response, she stepped swiftly through the archway and retraced her steps downstairs.

As expected, the dancing was just heating up and the orchestra was playing with enthusiasm. Evelyn made her way towards the seats arranged just before the entrance to the ballroom. Before she had a chance to seat herself, a high pitched voice hailed, "Lady Evelyn! Just the person I was looking for! I would like to introduce you to my cousin from Northumberland. I spoke of her to you several days ago?" The Countess of Wright had a firm hold on the forearm of an attractive young woman, who looked both rebellious and frightened.

"Yes of course. You must be Amanda Walton. Pleased to meet you." returned Evelyn with a wry smile. Amanda murmured a polite rejoinder as she stared nervously at Evelyn's right shoulder.

With an encouraging smile to Amanda, Evelyn turned to the Lady Wellingham, "Victoria, dear - surely you haven't had a chance for even dinner yet! You must be starving. Why don't you take a moment to get refreshed and enjoy yourself. I doubt that there will be any more late arrivals, and I daresay you have executed your duties as a hostess remarkably. And don't worry about Miss Walton, I will be happy to make the appropriate introductions for her."

The look of relief on the Countess' face was obvious. "Evelyn, dear, would you really? I would do it myself, but, you do have such excellent connexions! Amanda would truly benefit from your alliance and - "

Evelyn interupted politely, "Victoria, truly, 'tis my pleasure. There is not need for you to fret. I shall do my best."

Without further argument, the Countess relinquished her hold, and with a small, rather cold smile, dissappeared into the crowd filtering through the dinning hall.

"Now," smiled Evelyn, "why don't we find a spot to sit down at?" she said as she gently led Amanda towards a wall of girls who were not officially out yet, but would probably be presented in the next few seasons.

They found chairs close to the edge of the dancefloor. An excellent location as it allowed them to see and be seen. Amanda seemed poised for something unpleasant to occur. Evelyn wasn't certain what it was that she was dreading, but she certainly wasn't enjoying herself.

"As this is your first ton event, perhaps we can wait a while before beginning introductions. Most of the people to whom I would offer one are not available and there is no sense in making unnecessary introductions in their absence."

The gradual relaxing of Amanda's clenched hands indicated that Evelyn had guessed correctly. She continued in a conversational tone, "besides - I find it rather taxing trying to find the right m...." pretending distraction, she let her voice trail off, peering intently at Lord Rothford and his daughter Matilda as they waltzed by.

"The right what?" prompted Amanda, "Men?"

Evelyn's gaze snapped back at Amanda. "Well, I was about to say matrons - but I'm glad that you said men!" she trilled with a brilliant smile. "I was afraid you did not want to be introduced to any!"

"Well, I do - well, sort of. I ddo. I think.... well.... it's just that... I just don't know what to do... I don't know what to say - what if I don't say the right thing?" A stricken look overcame Amanda, "perhaps I should go home. I don't think I'm feeling very well."

"I think you are feeling just fine." retorted Evelyn tartly. "I will have not you making yourself sick from dreading something as silly as this. Now, as for what to say - say what you think. You have a brain. Use it. All those things you hear about saying the right things - the truth is, there is no wrong thing to say. Be polite, but there is not need to say what you think someone wants to hear. There would not be any point to conversing with you if you told me what I wanted to hear. Are you nervous about conversing with me?"

"A little - well, I mean, I was. You do have a reputation of strict propriety... I was afraid that I might do someting improper."

"Are you still nervous?"

"Not of speaking to you." admitted Amanda.

"Of course not." said Evelyn briskly, patting Amanda's hand. "You have found something to speak to me about. And that makes all the difference - the biggest part of holding a conversation is having a subject to discuss. And during introductions, that is taken care of as all you need to observe are the pleasantries - 'Delighted to meet you Mr. Randall. How are you enjoying the ball? Lost at the card table? So sorry to hear that, I applaud your good sportsmanship however. My earrings? Why thank you. They were a gift from my cousin, Lady Wellingham. Yes, she is an excellent hostess.' See - 'tis merely inane chatter really. Not all that difficult. Simply smiling and nodding can often suffice at most encounters."

"You make is sound so easy." murmured Amanda doubtfully, "I daresay that I have no talent for it."

Evelyn turned to examine Amanda. She stood at about 5'4", and had soft, sweet look to her face. She had gently rounded limbs, I small waist and beautiful, honey-hued hair. "You are beautiful Amanda, many sins are forgiven within the ton for ones less charming than you. You do not have to be perfect in conversing. You have to be engaging. And you are already that based simply upon your smile." with an impish look, she added, "so if all else fails, simply smile at him - he will forget all else!"

Amanda giggled, but a speculative look crossed her face. With a deep breath, she sat up in her chair, raised her chin and smiled brilliantly at Evelyn. "Just like that!" applauded Evelyn, echoing her laughter...

A pair of steely grey eyes observed Evelyn and Amanda from across the room. The sudden change in Amanda from even moments ago was clearly visible. And though Evelyn concealed it well, the stranger could irrefutable sense the determined character behind Evelyn's placid demeanor. This English Rose had been born with thorns, though it would seem that she had shorn herself of them a long time ago.

As though sensing the scrutiny, Evelyn glanced across across the dance-floor, locking gazes with the penetrating grey eyes. Before she could identify the person to whom they belonged, Matilda danced by with the youngest son of Lord Brannonby, and predictably, when they passed, the stranger was gone. And it was a stranger, of that much Evelyn was certain, but she also had the unsettling feeling that she ought to know something about the person... some thing that she couldn't put her finger on.

Shrugging off her sense of unease, Evelyn turned back to Amanda, who was much more relaxed and no longer digging her nails into her palms.

"So - is there anyone in particular to whom you would to be presented? Most young ladies, in my experience, unfortunately have their minds already made up about a beau - and often find out much too late that their imagination does not match to reality."

Amanda shook her head. "I was happy at Harrington. It was a small town, almost a village really, but I loved the country. I have not followed the goings-on with the gentry here in London much."

"Excellent!" smiled Evelyn, "But why come to London then? Your cousin is generous, but I doubt that the Countess initiated the idea of hosting you here."

"She didn't. But my mother - she was the belle of the season during her time. She has vested a lot in seeing me succeed in the same way. It is imperative for her that I have one London Season at least." She paused a moment, then blurted, "Sometimes I think that she regrets marrying my father, for it took her away from the glamour and intrigue of the ton. She had only had one season - perhaps if she had had a few more..."

'What would that have changed?' wondered Evelyn, but kept her silence, sensing that now was not the time to broach a subject as obviously fraught with emotion as this.

"Well, you are here - and shall have a wonderful time of it." chirped Evelyn. "'Tis really quite fun! And you'll lose your nervousness about being around the ton in no time. You shall see - they are each fraught with their own foibles - you just have to find it."

"I - well - um -" Amanda was flustered by the sudden switch. She wasn't quite as practiced as Evelyn in being able to quench her emotions.

Evelyn noted her shock, but proceeded chattering inanely, slowly but surely pulling Amanda back from whatever painful memories had begun to draw her in.

"I have to say, dear. That is a very becoming color on you! But we must get you in to see Madam Margeurritte - she has a foul temper, but is such the genius with fabric! And quite the eye for cut as well. I am certain that she would put you in quite the daring ensemble!" Evelyn looked around speculatively, "Why don't we get your feet wet with the ton today after all? I promise it shall not be difficult at all. Besides, I shall introduce to to members who are not likely to affect your chances at making a good impression!"

Charles Cranby had been out riding since before dawn. The ball last night had been tedious to the extreme and Charles could not remember why he had allowed his cousin Eloise to rope him into the deal. Of course, he had a soft spot for Eloise so more often than not, she managed to get her way, but in this particular instance, Charles was regretting it more than usual.

The one saving grace was that he had insisted on bringing Caspian, his chestnut stallion with him. The Welsh countryside should make for some relaxing riding at least! Having retired to bed at a scandalously early hour, Charles was able to enjoy the breathtaking vision of the sun-rising over the gentle hills of the lavender blanketed land. The beauty around him managed to lift him from his gloomy musings.

Being the third son of an Earl had always seemed convenient to Charles. He had none of the pressures that his eldest brother Richard did as the heir, nor did he have the scrutiny that his elder brother John did as the practical heir in waiting. Charles for the most part had escaped the lofty expectations that his father had placed upon Richard and John. As the younger son, it was almost expected of him to be a rakehell. And he had fulfilled this role admirably.

But years of endless frivolity, though enjoyable, had left him with no sense of accomplishment. Richard sat on the House of Lords and lobbied for public reform. John managed the massive Cranby estates and had made many progressive changes in its running. Both his brothers were well respected for their abilities and judgment, whilst Charles was best known for his skill at gambling. It was not a favorable comparison, but one that he found himself making more and more of late.

Not for the first time Charles wondered if he should have taken a commission. At least then he would have felt as though his life mattered. Ones actions on behalf of ones courntry was a noble thing, was it not?

Charles sighed as he glanced around, then shook his head. Today was not the day to lament. He had done enough of that in the past few months. Today at least, he would let nothing weight his mind. There would be plenty of gloomy musings in the future...