13 August, 1892 — Prewett Country Ball — Elysium, Hampshire
Victor had arrived at the country estate in Hampshire already pleasantly buzzed from his weekend excursion but not, he was sure, drunk in any meaningful way. If he'd thought that he was in a position to make a fool of himself, he certainly wouldn't have come to a society party to do it in a more public venue. He might have another glass of water before he trusted himself to be properly graceful on the dance floor, but otherwise he was sure he was capable of comporting himself properly at this affair for however long he ended up being here. The ball was already in full swing when he arrived with a handful of the other gentlemen who had been to Greece with him, and the group disbanded immediately and scattered, most (Victor assumed) in search of young women to beg dances from. Victor planned to follow suit, not because he had a strong inclination to put his name on any particular dance cards but because it was the only thing one could do at a party like this. When he caught sight of one particular lady, however, his intentions for the night shifted.
"Miss Dempsey," he greeted with a wide grin. "I was hoping to see you again. Were you here for the week, or just for the ball?" I was hoping to see you again was perhaps a bit too forward, given how recent and shallow their acquaintance was, but he'd already said it and couldn't take it back now. Besides, he had been hoping to see her again. Their exchange at the party back in June had been interesting enough to stick in his brain, which was more than could be said of most of his conversations with young women. That alone had been enough for him to ask his mother's opinion on her. He'd gotten the full society dossier in return, a catalogue of her faults real or imagined. She was a halfblood. Her family was large and eccentric. Her parents were poets, which Mrs. Daphnel supposed might have given their children a tendency towards romanticism and melodrama. Most damning, she had already been through over half a dozen seasons without (at least to Mrs. Daphnel's knowledge) a singular proposal.
Still, he hadn't dismissed her. She had excited his curiosity, at least.
"Miss Dempsey," he greeted with a wide grin. "I was hoping to see you again. Were you here for the week, or just for the ball?" I was hoping to see you again was perhaps a bit too forward, given how recent and shallow their acquaintance was, but he'd already said it and couldn't take it back now. Besides, he had been hoping to see her again. Their exchange at the party back in June had been interesting enough to stick in his brain, which was more than could be said of most of his conversations with young women. That alone had been enough for him to ask his mother's opinion on her. He'd gotten the full society dossier in return, a catalogue of her faults real or imagined. She was a halfblood. Her family was large and eccentric. Her parents were poets, which Mrs. Daphnel supposed might have given their children a tendency towards romanticism and melodrama. Most damning, she had already been through over half a dozen seasons without (at least to Mrs. Daphnel's knowledge) a singular proposal.
Still, he hadn't dismissed her. She had excited his curiosity, at least.
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Fabulous set by Lady!