October 18th, 1894 — Seeing Double Ball, Destiny Hotel, London

Despite her hope of having returned home by now, Valencia was delighted to have remained long enough to experience her first English Halloween. Don Juan had explained Halloween to her in the days before their wedding, the parties, costumes, and general fun. It seemed thrilling to her then, even if to partake meant she'd be foregoing her family's more solemn traditions. But, back then it was something they were to experience together, a single year venture from her usual celebrations. And while Valencia would have preferred her husband not being revealed to be a treacherous, bigamist liar, she was still excited for the evening.

She'd spent hours dwelling over her costume, determined to make it something people of this rigid society would remember for years to come. The theme — a siren — was somewhat simple, but the execution was not. Valencia had grinned at her modiste when the dress was at last finished, when she took in the pearls and diamonds dripping like water droplets down her bodice and the subtle shift of colors from a light green to a deep blue at the bottom. The narrow silhouette had garnered her a nasty lecture from Ignacio about propriety, but it was Halloween! And Valencia wasn't going to be here through Christmas. If the other women thought her impure, so be it.

It was halfway through the evening when she spotted her husband's double with that all too familiar charming grin on his face. Valencia froze, eyeing him critically before looking over at the maze. He had to be speaking to someone to have that expression, she'd caught him unaware enough times throughout their marriage to know it wasn't permanently plastered on. But who? Who would he swindle with his charm and lies next?

---

To answer the question Don Juan had no way of knowing was on Valencia's mind at the moment: Serafina Bythesea. He had spotted her early, and seen through her costume easily enough; he was by now familiar enough with her that it wouldn't have been difficult even if she'd arrived masked, as some guests had. He hadn't talked with her since the country weekend; there was the rumor about her husband being annoyed, and he'd thought it best to leave the ball in her court when it came to anything more. She knew her husband better than he did, and knew the risks; she'd know whether it was best to let things lie or pick them up again, and how to go about it.

But tonight was different; tonight there were costumes, which gave them both a mask of deniability. He was dressed — in Dempsey fashion, both melodramatic and poetic — as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He had a mask (it was usually to his benefit if someone didn't recognize him immediately) worn above a naturally wolfish grin, with accents of dark fur at the cuffs of his suit and a white fleece thrown haphazardly over his chest. Although he'd spotted her early he hadn't approached immediately, instead playing the part and stalking his prey until she flitted into the maze, and he followed.

He'd booked a room at the hotel above. Maybe he'd get to use it for something other than sleeping.

But not yet. When he left the maze with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, he headed for another round of cocktails.

---

The smirk existed on his ghostly double's face for only barely a heartbeat before the ghost disappeared, leaving only a swirl of light in its absence. Valencia, however, didn't need to continue gazing at her ex-husband's ghost to remember that look. The light in his eyes danced when felt as though he had won a challenge. He stood taller, like the glee would bolster him into whatever came next. It was a look Valencia had memorized throughout the course of their marriage. It was one she adored most.

And it stung viciously to see him smiling so over somebody else.

Valencia turned from where the ghost once stood and made for the bar.

---

Don Juan got a cocktail and found a conversation to insert himself into, though it was mostly cover; his attention was on the exit of the mirror maze, trying to track Mrs. Bythesea out of it when she emerged. He flitted around the ballroom, shifting his focus superficially so that he wasn't observed to be too keen on any particular person... particularly given that there had already been some rumor to the effect that her husband wasn't keen on their playing croquet (Don Juan could hardly imagine his response had he known what else they'd gotten up to that weekend — and he had no desire to find himself on the other end of a duel challenge once again).

He drifted. He got another cocktail. Mrs. Bythesea had drifted out of his field of vision, and he hadn't been paying close enough attention to see where she had gone. Left the party early, or only lurking behind one of the pillars in the ballroom? He didn't know, which was vexing, but he wasn't going to let it spoil his evening if she had gone home early. He got another cocktail and turned his attention more fully to the party around him, searching out someone else he could flirt with.

There was a well-dressed woman — stunning, really — hovering on her own near the edge of a crowd. She looked out of place. Ripe for him to swoop in and offer her some reprieve from the pain of being the odd person out. He got another cocktail — they were easy to drink, and he'd lost track of which one this was. They went down too easy to keep count.

"Lovely dress," he purred as he sidled up next to her.

---

One drink had turned into two and by the time the (her? Valencia didn't think she could consider him hers anymore, especially seeing as he hadn't ever been hers to begin with) roguishly dressed wolf she was pleasantly buzzed. Had she been sober, she might've raised a questioning brow at his lack of recognition, or perhaps revealed herself to spare him any embarrassment. But, she wasn't sober and it'd been far too long since he had last complimented her.

"Thank you. It is not often we are allowed to dress as predators," she replied with a grin. Her accent was still mostly gone from her tone, though not entirely as it had been since arriving in London.

---

It was a bold thing to say; it had Don Juan smiling in response. There was something about her, he thought — in the haze of drinks he'd already consumed it was hard to pinpoint what it was. Was it just that she was attractive, or was there something else? Her voice had a ring to it that was pleasing on the ear.

"No, no," he said with a languid shrug, still smiling. "You all can get away with so much, if you look like that while you do it." The look he offered her was lascivious. Flattery would get you everywhere, and all that. Someone had said that; he forgot where the phrase had come from. But she did look good, with the form fitting dress, and her hair done like that. She looked like she'd worked at it. It wasn't hard to distinguish the women who were dressing up, putting on a show of themselves, from the ones who were just going through the motions.

---

"You all is an unfair generalization." Valencia replied with barely concealed amusement. After all, she had come tonight with the intention of catching someone's eye. That it was the attention of her ex was pure luck. "I would never dare to involve myself in impolite mischief."

---

"Oh, no, of course not," he agreed in a placating tone; his expression said If you say so; sure, I'll play along. She'd worn that dress and styled herself that way tonight to cause impolite mischief, he was certain of that, but he could no more accuse her if it on the ballroom floor than she could admit to it. He glanced over her appearance again and tried to decide which category of seductively dressed woman she fell in to; there were several, and he was familiar with them all. The neglected wives who didn't actually want to do anything, but wanted male attention to try and make their husbands jealous. The widows and spinsters who also didn't want to do anything, but did want to tease for the sake of disruption; seeking to get young men in trouble with their young fiancé's and wives, or to make unattached men look foolish. The wives or widows who wanted to get into real trouble didn't advertise this way — no reason to draw attention to themselves broadly when they only needed the attention of one particular person, and there were better ways to get it. Desperate debutantes did this sometimes — when they were willing to sleep with someone if it meant having leverage to force them into marriage. Don Juan considered himself safe from these kinds of schemes; even for the desperate he was not considered marriage material.

Neglected wife, he decided. She wanted his attention, nothing more. Which was fine by him; he was still holding on to a hope of finding Mrs. Bythesea later. He could afford a little attention in the meantime.

"Have you been through the mirror maze yet?" he asked.

---

Valencia had steered clear of the mirror maze after having discovered the ghostly doubles. It was an interesting concept for sure, but She felt wary of the hostess' intentions. And, once she added in the fact that he had already been in the maze with at least one other woman, she truly wasn't particularly inclined to go in. Valencia had been one of his several women once already, she didn't want a repeat performance.

She shook her head. "No, not yet. Is that where the deer are hiding?"

---

It took half a beat for him to figure out what she meant by her comment. He was tipsy, or drunk, and his own costume had slipped his mind while they'd been focusing on hers. When it clicked for him he laughed. "No, no," he assured her. "Not much hiding to be done when you're surrounded by mirrors, is there?"

He'd taken her metaphor for predators and prey without thinking; real prey could hide very well in a mirror maze, since their illusions couldn't put them in any real danger. Socially, though, an illusion was fully capable of bringing someone's reputation down for the kill. How much easier would it be if getting away with something in society meant only preventing people from actually observing you in the act of doing it? (— well, even that wouldn't have saved him in all counts, but it would benefit a good deal of other people).

"What's the matter? Frightened of your reflection?" he teased.

---

That was precisely what frightened her - there could be no illusions about who they were to One another if their every Vulnerability was exposed by the mirrors. Flirting and teasing was fun while she had anonymity to hide behind. Once that was gone though...

Valencia had half a mind to reveal herself then - drunk or not - but then he was challenging her and all thoughts of a reveal fled. "I am afraid of much and yet somehow my reflection has never made that list. A maze is simply not enjoyable by oneself." That Don Juan wasn't afraid of his reflection wasn't at all surprising, but Valencia would've been lying to herself if his ability to remain unphased didn't sting.

---

Don Juan smirked. "Well, I'd offer to chase you in," he started, tone joking but also a touch quieter; this was defensible if someone overheard their conversation, but he'd rather they didn't. "But you've already declared you're not a deer. Predators don't make for good bedfellows, do they?"

---

"I always found a Certain amount of satisfaction when my bedfellow ran as equally hot as me. Something tells me prey aren't particularly warm, they're cold, boring even." The challenge had dulled her senses and removed enough of her qualms that Valencia was no longer thinking. For if She had a single rational thought left in her brack she would've recognized the danger in her words.

---

Oh, interesting; there were a lot of clues packed into that. Bedfellow, singular; using the plural could have been bravado, trying to project more experience than she had, but the singular wouldn't have been an intentional undercut. Married, then, and unhappily. Or rather: married, and no longer happily. She seemed to consider her partner a predator, and said it was good fun; she spoke about prey speculatively. Something tells me. She was a woman who had been prey once, and wanted to consider herself the predator; she was trying it on tonight. It suited her, but it wasn't her.

"Is your husband here tonight, ma'am?" he asked. "Surely he would follow you in, to keep you company. Frighten away any grimacing reflections." He was fishing, a bit, for dirt on whoever she had worn that dress to spite. Women who came into the evening intending to commit adultery didn't peacock like this, but that didn't mean one who had started the evening with more mild expectations couldn't be persuaded. Maybe if Mrs. Bythesea had gone home already, this was a decent secondary plan. Of course, he still didn't know her name — but if he asked, he'd have to offer his own, and he was enjoying the anonymity.

---

The husband she once had would have led her into the maze solely in search of what fun they would have within. Valencia could almost picture it, almost see her once love guiding her deep into the maze, for from all others. It would have been a thrill and beyond exotic if he could have talked her out of her skirts. To see their lovemaking from all angles like that ... Valencia quickly blinked the thoughts away before her arousal became obvious.

"If he is I haven't seen him in quite some time." Valencia answered with a shrug. "We may as well be strangers."

---

This was starting to feel suspicious to him. She spoke as though she and her husband were entirely estranged, possibly not even living together, but if there was a couple in mainstream society so conspicuously on the verge of scandal, wouldn't he have already heard about it? True, he wasn't exactly the neighborhood snoop — he was too busy with his own shit to care what other people were getting up to, for the most part — but there was a certain amount of it that just seeped in effortlessly from existing in society for any length of time. He would have heard about this. It was possible, of course, that someone had these sorts of issues privately and was keeping it very tightly under wraps... but her liberal commentary on the subject tonight didn't suggest someone who was trying hard to be discreet. True, she was wearing a mask, but a disguise at a party was hardly enough security to throw caution completely to the wind.

He sipped his drink, pondering her.

She reminded him of someone.

---