Shipwash's Soiree

The Lady Shipwash was a bird in a rattled cage. She shuffled from one end of the manor to the other, made arrangements then changing those arrangements, issued orders to the servants and promptly revised those orders only to cancel them altogether. For their part, the servants of Shipwash Manor were obliged to follow the Lady in tow, like so many leaves in the sweep of a mighty wind.

At the calm eye of the storm Valmont inspected a hangnail. His nails were in horrid shape since the Revolution. But he kept them that way. It added character, he felt. He was an adventurer now. Like that Crimson Pimpernel or whatever he was called. And a well-placed imperfection could be endearing. For example, there was an English wench at the docks with an oddly shaped beauty mark. He had to wait for the carriage to Shipwash Manor allowing plenty of time to discover the imperfection personally.

"Valmont!" the Lady was fussing with her appearance. "Tell me honestly, do I look presentable?" The Lady Shipwash had not entertained since the death of Lord Shipwash. While her husband lived, she had been stunning but now she was a wilting rose. The Vicomte took special effort to give her the male attention she so desperately needed.

Valmont frowned as he judged her hair and dress. "Turn, please." She obeyed, showing him her back. He brushed away a spot of white powder on her shoulder and tightened a pink bow at the arch of her back with such force she gasped. "There." He paused for effect and lowered his voice as if sharing a particularly scandalous secret. "Madam, you appear almost French." She giggled and hid behind a fan. To him, the comment meant nothing. It was the tone that the Lady found so delightful.

"I must finish preparing," she used the project at hand as an excuse to return to propriety. "Are you going to be able to entertain yourself until our guests arrive?"

Valmont bowed. "Do not trouble yourself, Madam. I am expecting a few visitors of my own."

"Oh, how wonderful!"

Valmont bowed again but did not comment.

Cecile's dress clung to her ankles as she ran up to her mother. "Mama�Mama. Is this suitable?"

"Yes my darling it is perfect."

Cecile smoothed her wrinkled dress. Its pale blue flowers fell in to place. "I'm so nervous."

"You will be fine. Your dress is quite the fashion here." Madame de Volanges said as she smiled lovingly at her daughter Cecile. Cecile was still pulling at her hands as she sat in the carriage. The ride felt like an eternity for her. Thoughts of her life in the French convent, her flight from the revolution and her new life here in England ran though her head. Mostly she thought of her flight to England.

The Nuns had put her on a small cargo bout bound for Dover. When she got there her mother was there to meet her. Mama had been visiting relatives in England when the revolution had broke out. It had been hard for Cecile to adjust to life out side the convent. In the convent there were just a few girls and the Nuns. Out side the convent there were lots of parties and people. It was never easy for her to find something to say, she was always afraid to say something wrong. She was much more conferrable with her harp. Cecile would love to get better at it. If only Mama would get her a teacher.

She also missed taking to her friend Sophie Carnay. She was still at the convent. Every day Cecile would write to her. However she was unable to send the letters because of the revolution. She would have a lot to write about after tonight.

Cecile stepped in to Lady Shipwash's ball room. There was already a lot of people there. Her mother beginning to point out people to her, "That's Sir Percy Blakeney, in the grey�" the rest of what her mother was saying about Sir Blakeney was lost to Cecile. She was admiring how very attractive he was in his slivery grey. He was laughing and joking on the other side of the room. Cecile briefly heard her mother mention that the man standing next to Sir Blakeney was a man by the name of Hastings.

Her attention was completely lost shortly there after as Cecile began to notices other guests at the party. Every one was having a grand time talking. All were dress in beautiful dresses and suits. Glittering jewels adorned the women's necks and hands. The men had lots of ruffles around their necks. It was then that Cecile saw the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She was talking to some ladies Cecile remembered from one of the other parties she had been to. "Mama who is that woman in the blue dress?"

"That's lady Marguerite Blakeney. She is also French. She was an actress before she married - very scandalous. But not talk to her, it might mar your reputation. You have a good time now. I'm going to talk to Marquise de Merteuil."

Cecile was captivated by Lady Blakeney. She was every thing Cecile thought an actress should be, beautiful, and fashionable. Cecile had always thought it would be great to be an actress. Performing on the stage and having people cheering for you. If only she could talk to her. She found a chair and sat down, still staring at Lady Blakeney.

The musicians droned incessantly about the Messiah. Valmont struggled to find a comfortable position in Lady Shipwash's salon chairs. The best he could manage was an cross-legged slouch. He quietly entertained himself by folding a lace handkerchief into a bird until it attracted the attention of an elderly Duchess next to him. His eyes began to wander the room. At the other end, a lovely girl no older than 16 appeared to be as bored as he. She met his eyes and turned away quickly. The girl next to her was empathetic to the disturbance and also glanced to Valmont. Twins. This party may not be a total loss after all. Simultaneously they beamed a smile, exposing rotten English teeth. Valmont slumped lower in his chair.

He scanned the room once more but found only stodgy gentlemen and matronly prudes. Lady Shipwash�s friends. He looked beyond the salon and into the hall and spied Cecile sitting demurely. Apparently, she and her mother had managed their escape. Valmont noticed that the Duchess of Something next to him had finished her drink and there was no steward present to refill it. In this, he manufactured a reason to excuse himself politely from the salon and find out where the lazy good for nothing could have gone.

Once free of the dreary Duchess, he noted that Cecile�s attention was rapt upon something. Following her gaze, his eyes narrowed.

�Sir?� The steward must have heard about Valmont�s ruse as he was pointedly offering a tray of fresh drinks. Valmont scarcely acknowledged him. "Who is the Mademoiselle in the blue dress?" He indicated the object of Cecile�s attention.

"You mean 'Madam'" the servant corrected him boldly. "That is the Lady Blakeney." The servant waited for these words to have an effect on Valmont's lecherous gaze. "Lord Blakeney�s wife.� Still no effect. �She is married, monsieur."

Valmont took two flutes of champagne from his silver tray. "I should hardly think that the Lady�s marital status is any business of yours."

The servant humbly withdrew before this Frenchie got him into any further trouble.

�Lord John Bathurst and the Marquise de Foutney.� Bathurst noticed more than a few glances in their direction, they intrigued by an unfamiliar name amongst them and much to Bathurst�s dismay there were a number of those glances that linger to take in the voluptuous curves of the little Marquis. Wolves licking their chops. If they had any designs on the little lady, he�d show them they had another thing coming!

�I�ve just considered that Lady Shipwash�s guest may be someone you know who has escaped as well, wouldn�t that be a treat,� Bathurst whispered as he steered Teresia towards Lady Shipwash to be received, however Teresia�s express was difficult to comprehend. Perhaps it served to remind her of those still in that god-forsaken country � what a thing to remind her of!

�Lord John!� Lady Shipwash cried, offering her hand coyly. �It�s been nearly a month since I�ve seen you, naughty boy!�

�Business, my dear lady� dreadfully business,� he emphasized to discourage any further questions. �But allow me to introduce you to the Marquise de Fountey�� Lady Shipwash inclined her head towards Teresia in acknowledgement. �She has recently escaped from that vile government they�ve got over there in France , she will really have to the story. It is simply amazing.�

Lady Shipwash�s eye bulged, �Were you rescued by that Scarlet Pimpernel? A little bird told me that he has he�s been making more mischief over there��

Lady Shipwash gave Bathurst a half quizzical, half contemptuous look as if to say �she is not French!� How impossibly ignorant the woman was at times. �The Marquise�s Frenchie husband fled France sometime ago� she, on the other hand, escaped just the other day� dressed as a boy.�

�Really!� Shipwash exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. �Breeches and everything? You must tell us all about it! Where is Valmont? I�m sure he would be excited to hear it too!� All it took was something scandalous to get the lady�s attention.

Valmont superficially inspected the gardens as he evaluated the Lady Blakeney through the corner of his eye. She was beautiful and married and alone at a party. There were two possibilities. One, she made herself beautiful to please her husband and he has neglected her or, two, she made herself beautiful to attract another man. In either case, she was a flower that desired the adoring rays of the sun. Lucky for her, he thought as he took two flutes of champagne from the steward's tray, the sun was about to rise. His movement caught her gaze and their eyes touched briefly...

"Valmont!"

He paused. No need to turn. The voice was quite distinctive. "Yes, Lady Shipwash."

"Valmont, you simply must hear this story. Really you must."

"Yes, Lady Shipwash."

"Oh! Champagne ! Thank you! You are such a dear."

"Yes, Lady Shipwash"

"Oh, the reality was not quite so romantic as you believe, I assure you." said Teresia modestly, whilst recalling that awful crossing, freezing cold and damp, stowed away in the darkest corner of the ship. She smiled at the newcomer and then began to tell her story from the beginning. How her husband had been forced to flee; how she had been hidden by friends; how they had been persecuted by the government, but had staunchly stood by her, declaring they had not seen her for months when in fact she was concealed in a priest-hole not three yards away; how they had been abruptly arrested; how she had disguised herself in the clothes of the eldest son and escaped before the soldiers returned to tear the house apart; how she now sought help for those who had helped her in her time of greatest need. "I pray God that I am not already too late!" she exclaimed at the end of her narrative, contriving to appear suitably distraught from re-living the nightmare.

Bathurst went through the motions of comforting Teresia while glaring at the little French who stared at Teresia a little too intently. It was only too apparent why Shipwash�s widow keep the little bugger around, Bathurst thought as he caught the glances the lady threw his way. �It is our hopes that Teresia�s story with reach the ears of that elusive Scarlet Pimpernel� after all, if he�s going to risk his life it might as well be for a good cause.�

Lady Shipwash patted Teresia�s hand comfortingly, �There, there my dear. I�m sure you will find who you are looking for� and when you do you must tell us all who he is.� Bathurst smiled at the joke indulgently, glancing around to see whether Percy was here in fact.

"Perhaps his presence is more for show," Hastings replied as his eyes settled on Desgas. "Everyone keeps watch for him while the more practiced spies mingle in. I can't imagine Chauvelin would rely entirely on your friend there." When Desgas glanced in their direction Hastings shifted his gaze to a vision in lavender to the man's right. Hastings could feel the man's hate filled eyes upon them as Hastings studied the soft curve of the lady's cheekbone. Two sparkling eyes met his, a smile, and he was hooked. Chauvelin's flunkie stalked away, while the young lady flirtatiously played peek-a-boo with her fan. He would have to become better acquainted with the lady when business was settled.

He smiled at her as he continue through clenched teeth. "We must inform the chief what we know. If it is a matter of treachery then Chauvelin would already know the chief's identity. I don't think this is the case, because it would be more useful to let Armand continue on with the league... he could easily pass messages to Chauvelin when he reached England. That means if it is not treachery then Armand is in danger, Chauvelin would know that an abrupt disappearance would be noticed... so something must have happened so that Chauvelin felt that he had to act with haste. Which means whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon... either way we must let Percy know and he can determine the next course of action." He had a hunch that the path to finding Armand lay on the other side of the Channel. He winked at the young lady causing her to blush modestly.

"We should split up and search," Hastings whispered as he turned away. "Let the chief determine the time and place of our next meeting."

Who was this man smiling with her? He was nice to look at. This might be a good time to see if she could flirt. She had seen other young women at there party flirt with many men. She has often wondered what it might be like to flirt with men and to have a good time, but her mother always had an eye on her.

Cecile smile and tried to hide the really big smiles behind her fan as he talk to some other gentleman.

As the conversation he was having was breaking up Cecile realized that he might come looking to talk to her. What would she say? At this prospect Cecile started to move over to one of the small nooks in the room. "I hope he doesn't come looking for me. " really she would love for him to come to talk to her. It might be nice to meet some one her mother didn't know and might not approve of. She slid in to the nook and sat down on the little cushion.

Oh this one was ripe for the picking! Those come-thither eyes, the smile she flashed as she flipped her... she was dripping with desire and she chose him. He gave her his most winning smile and she in turn indicated a corner with her eyes before slipping off into that private space. Dewhurst rolled his eyes and muttered some comment under his breath which Hastings chose to ignore. Who was he to turn the lady down? He would be mad to ignore so open and obvious an invitation. It had been too long for his tastes since such an opportunity presented itself, in young Miss Dunstable, and France was no place to pick up whores these days where the pox ran rampant. This, this was his reward for his tireless service. Hastings followed her at a casual pace, wondering how far they might venture in that convenient nook - if she was the noisy type it might be better to slip upstairs.

She was sitting demurely, blushing as he came upon her - hands nervously playing with her fan. "Mademoiselle, I fear we have not had the pleasure of being introduced. I am Lord Edward Hastings III..." She giggled and offered her hand, which he took gently and pressed to his lips.

"Cecile Volanges" She replied trying to hide her French accent. She was at a lost as to what she should say here, Mother had always introduced her and that was not often. She approve of very few people. Cecile often wondered if she had disproved of this many people in France or was is just England . She looked into Lord Hastings eyes, they seamed nice. Even if mother did not approve of him, Cecile did. "It is a delight to meet you. I am new here and have met few people."

The game had changed in an instant - one minute flirtatious seductress, the next a shy little butterfly. She wanted him to work for it - was Edward Timothy Hastings was never one to shy away from work. "It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle Volanges," Hastings smiled, still holding her hand. The structure of the nook she chose obscured the view of most of their activities, permitting a view mostly of his back. "I find it extremely difficult to believe that one so beautiful as yourself has met so very few people at a gathering such as this. I find it shocking that you are not surrounded by a hoard of eligible young men teeming to ingratiate themselves into your good favor. Perhaps fate has rewarded me for some good deed in my life that I am able to have you all to myself."

Cecile could not help but smile at Lord Hastings as he made small talk. He told her of horses, and she of her flight from France. As they talked Cecile begin to see that Lord Hastings was a truly nice man, and not one who just want to get in to her corset, like so many others. Yes he was a good man. Why could Mother not have found a man like him and not the boring old Colonel she was engaged to. Lord Hastings was in a word perfect.

As he spoke of horses, fashion, amusing little stories that meant nothing in the grand scheme of thing, Hastings inched by subtle degrees closer to the pretty young maid who had lured him into this quiet little nook. The closer he got the more intense the heat of her presence became. He only wished he had aided in her flight from France (as he had done for so many others) somehow so that he had some means of impressing this little angel - showing her the side of himself that for safety sake he had to keep hidden.

"It must have been terrible for you," he murmured as she explain the ordeal she had suffered in trying to flee the country. Her words began to fade until they stopped altogether and their eyes communicated for them. His eyes told her he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and hers demurred, bowing her head modestly, a lock of hair spilling down over one eye. Gently, he brushed the lock away and slid his hand down to cup her chin and bring her face closer to his. She looked up, started by the contact of flesh to flesh, but did not turn away. Emboldened Hastings lips descended to meet her.

His lips descended to meet hers. The kiss that fallowed was amazing. At less it was for Cecile. It was her first kiss. It was like the world fell a way and the stars explode in the sky. They were the only two people left in the world. But all good thing must come to an end and the world did come back to Cecile. She reluctantly pulled away from his soft lips. With a smile on her face she was unable to hide, she said in a soft voice, "what if someone sees us." She couldn't help but look in to his kind eyes. He didn't push for more, he was a true gentleman.

Madame de Volanges sat playing card and gossiping but there was a thought in the back for her mind, where was Cecile. She had seemingly dispread. She was beginning to worry that she might be doing something improbity. This would not be good see as Capt. Darcy wanted her to be innocent and untainted by society.

She could no longer take it, she had to find Cecile. Making her excuses she got up and went of to find Cecile. The room was crowded making it hard to see anyone. Lots of people were talking. A few people she had known from when she lived in France, a few she had met in England. But alas Cecile was no where to be found. The only place left to look were the little nooks that lined the salon.

After checking all but one nook Marie de Volanges stared to believe Cecile to be setting some place she might have missed. She could be sitting in a corner trying to keep out of site as she was fond of doing.

Marie de Volanges pulled back the cretin that draped the entry to the last nook still not expecting to see Cecile, but there she was, and with a man. Never had she thought that Cecile might be in a nook with a man.

"Cecile!!!" That was the last world she could say. All words left her as her anger and disbelieve grew. Cecile, her Cecile, in a nook with a man. First the revolution, now this, what was the world coming to.

It was with some reluctance that Hastings pulled away, the girl had brought his blood to a boil and want to leave him to stew - minx! But this was a flower he would not rush to pry open, despite his desire to do so, he would wait for this bud to open for him and enjoy the rewards. Though that would not help at the moment, he needed to cool his blood. He tried a different approach. "You honour me with your kiss, my dear." His voice low and husk. " I have never experienced it's like before..." She blushed, a blush that seemed to suffuse her whole body - you'd think she never recieved such complements from men. At least it was some progress.

Before he could say another word, the curtain was thrown back, and a face at first just shocked and then thoroughly livid. "Cecile!!!" From the manner in which the girl shrunk back, he guessed that this was the mother - had she never entertained the company of men in her hey day? He surmised the situation quickly, weighing the options, selecting the best course, thanking god that the woman's appearance had startled the erection out of him, so that guiltlessly he stood and elaborately bowed before her. "Madam de Volanges, I assume. Lord Edward Timothy Hastings, at your service," he drawled as he put the finishing touches on a cover story - an area he excelled in. "I'll have to commend Lady Shipwash's help, I had no idea he'd find he so quickly!" Cecile's mother blinked in surprized. "The young lady was kind enough to partner me on the dance floor, but then took faint. I brought her here to revive her and she has done nothing but ask for you since she came to. I asked the valet to summon you and was just about to go searchin' for you m'self when here you are! Demmed fortune it is!" Then turning to Cecile, he added, "I leave you in your mother's care... when you've recovered, I hope to claim the rest of that dance you promised me." He gave her a conspiratorial wink, bowed to each of the women and took his leave of them.

Once again amongst the general throng, away from the seduction of those alluring eyes, Hastings recalled that his priority was to find Sir Percy and set out to do exactly that.

Marie was shocked and what she heard. Could this be true? Was Cecile really dancing? It seemed so unlike her behavior of the last few weeks. But that could have been Cecile getting use to England. As the gentleman left Marie de Volanges begin to become aware that she know very little of her daughter.

"Is this true? Did you take faint?"

"Yes, mama."

She would for now take her daughter's word as true. "We should leave. I think you should rest."