25 March, 1895 — London Gallery

The gallery itself was a small venue; four rooms with each wall crowded with pictures and each corner stuffed with sculpture, and crowds milling through the center spaces clutching glasses of wine. Standing room only, not because it was particularly well-attended as art openings went, but because there was no room for furniture. It was fit for purpose — the work featured here was of the more evocative, experimental sort. It wasn't pornography, but it also wasn't anything a well-heeled society family would display in their entry hall. Destined for private collections after the showing had run its course, if the pieces were purchased at all. Emrys had his eye on two of them, but would only make an offer if they weren't taken by others before the gallery closed. He viewed his role as patron as partly funding the process of creation — enabling the artists to bring these works to bear in the first place — but also partly of facilitating the art education of other consumers. He bankrolled the advertising for events like this, for example, and supplied the guests with wine. If any of them were inclined to take a piece home, it was his duty as a patron to cede it to them.

For the sake of the opening a fifth room, typically used as an antechamber prior to entering (keeping the potentially-magical art shielded from the eyes of passersby on the London street) had been magically enlarged to comfortably hold the assembled guests, and it was here the artists were drifting when he arrived, basking in their momentary celebrity and answering eager questions from the guests.

Angelica had beaten him here. This was unsurprising; he knew that she'd been eager, but he had been unwilling to deviate from his usual schedule in order to preempt her arrival. If he arrived any earlier than half an hour late for an event like this, someone would have known right away that he was anxious about something. He didn't know how long she'd been here, or whether she had taken any time to look at the art on display yet or had spent all her time hovering by the door waiting to pounce when he arrived. He shot a thin smile in her direction and let the doorman take his coat. She was talking to a man who worked the admissions committee for the Magical Portrait Gallery. Emrys made his way into the room and took a glass of wine from someone who rushed to bring him one, purposefully losing sight of his wife. He had no doubt she would find him.

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Angelica Selwyn

  

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Lou made this! <3

Angelica felt his arrival like the tide, something that both crashed and pulled. He had that sort of gravity, the allure, the ocean that promised freedom, that teased you with a grand horizon. And just like the sea, once the siren had lured you deep enough, their pull would drown you in the waves. But there wasn't a price too high to see him now; she was determined to remember that. She could not have the marriage of her dreams; it was a dream that needed to die for her sanity. That didn't mean she wouldn't be satisfied. She could build a life for them but couldn't do it alone. He seemed to understand that and had chosen to deny her until now. At least he agreed to this. She could focus on the positives of this; she had already decided on that. She would take her lesson from every woman who found a way to build some happiness when their foundations proved unsteady. Angelica could do this.

When he met her eyes across the room, her smile was genuine. She was thrilled to see him, but she would keep the hurt to herself. So she played her part: the charming wife of the patron, the hostess bold enough to proudly support such avant-garde art with her husband. It was an easy role to play, the only fiction being the most essential part of her persona.

She made herself wait a full half hour before finding him. It seemed frustratingly important for him to see her as capable of basic tasks. As desperately as she wanted him, she stood on her own. She was a witch capable of independence. That had been true most of her adulthood and her independence had threatened her first husband. The results had been catastrophic. After years on her own, she falls in love with a man who seems to complain that she's too devoted. So far, devastating. She had to interrupt this cycle.

Finally approaching him, she did so with a firm grip on her expectations. She timed her approach well; the presence of a waiter rushing to replace her glass saved any real need for her husband to greet her. "The early gossip I hear is already highly favorable. You've done, beautifully tonight." It was easy to to praise when she was allowed to be honest with him. He had an eye for beautiful things. She missed when he counted her as one of them.

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   Emrys Selwyn

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MJ made this miracle!

He kept an eye on her while he made small talk, but in a way that wouldn't make it obvious he was watching. She was playing her part beautifully. If he hadn't known better, he might almost have believed that she was here because she had any interest at all in the art, or at least in the company of the others in attendance. She was only here because it afforded her a chance to talk to him, but no one else would have guessed that. It was illustrative to see her in her element this way again; for months he had only interacted with her in public when they were there together, and his experience of the evening was always colored by whatever not-quite-fight they'd had in the moments before departure. Seeing her now it was easy to remember how she had been before their marriage — a consideration that wasn't without its share of pain and guilt.

She approached at last. He demurred at her praise. "No one has a bad word to say during an opening," he said by way of deflection. It was true, though; one couldn't really judge the success of an exhibit based on the opening reception. The flow of conversation tonight was more indicative of the quality of the wine they were served than anything else. The test of the art would come in the weeks that followed, when it was open to visitors who could consider it more thoughtfully. Whether they came, how long they stayed, and whether they returned were the true earmarks of success. "How did you find it?" he asked, though he wasn't sure whether she'd even made it out of the opening reception hall yet.

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Lou made this! <3

For a moment, Angelica basked in the brief seconds she held his gaze. It had been like this once, just briefly. There had been a time when she could feel him watching her and it was electrifying. There was no heat to his eyes now, but she could pretend.

“I look forward to seeing it when no one here knows who I am. I haven’t had a moment to appreciate the display. I have been in conversation with multiple men who are gambling on me being the key to your person and patronage.” She grinned, this part of being a Society wife was at least entertaining. “I still think the Magical Portrait Gallery too straightlaced to feature any of your more daring beneficiaries yet. I think he can be worn down, but I already tolerated him for ten minutes, he doesn’t need an hour of your time.” The grin she gave him was almost an apology; it was her opinion, he could do with it what he liked.

She allowed herself to take him in for a moment, to honestly compliment “If the exhibit looks half as stunning as its patron there is nothing to worry about.” Emrys had just the right amount of vanity. It was almost frustrating to compete for the title of most attractive in the relationship, but his eye had done wonderful things for her jewelry collection. She missed this part of them, too.

”Perhaps you can show me a favorite or two? I would like to know what drew you to this artist.” Her heart ached, this was such an innocent thing and yet she’d begged to get here. What would it take to have these moments feel mundane again?

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MJ made this miracle!

He recognized what she was doing, with the compliments and the questions; she was courting him, trying to win his favor. He had been on the other side of this often enough, though it had been a decade or more since he'd tried to woo someone in a conciliatory manner. When he was younger he had sometimes had a falling-out with a partner and tried to win them back with favors and gestures and almost apologetically sweet moments, but as he'd gotten older he had more often let a relationship go if it reached any sort of breaking point. It was safer to keep one's distance than to overstay one's welcome, particularly in the kinds of relationships he tended to enjoy. Or had, before Angelica.

He was out of his depth here. He wasn't ready to forgive her and knew he would never forget what had happened in December, but if he went along with this and let her court him, he wasn't sure she wouldn't get what she wanted in the end.

"Certainly," he agreed, only a hint of stiffness in his undertone to belie his inner monologue. He offered his arm and started to steer her towards one of the gallery doors.

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Lou made this! <3