August 28th, 1891 — Secret Shots Event, Padmore Park

It was fashionable to drink from the golden flutes of champagne often passed around at balls and other society functions, but Grace had never been much of a drinker. It wasn't fashionable to be drunk, and knowing herself it was probably best to keep away from alcohol altogether to risk accidentally over-imbibing, but it was difficult when "liquor" was the overall theme of the event and every vendor was pushing a sample at her. She was a polite girl—or she'd always tried her best to be—so with every sample offered Grace found herself nodding with a smile and taking a sip, and even if she didn't like one particular flavor she found it difficult to refuse the next sample, which was usually offered by a gentleman who was smiling at her so brightly she couldn't imagine turning him down.

Which is precisely how she'd found herself in this scenario. She was at the point where she knew she'd had a bit too much to drink, but knew nothing of how to deal with it. She wore an easy smile and as she looked back and forth her gaze seemed to lag a bit. She couldn't snap out of it—and yet she found it too embarrassing to admit to her [brother/mother] that she'd had too much booze.

If that wasn't enough, her mind had begun to come up with things on its own. There was no better way to explain it. Another man held out a sample, and she took it, and his smile reminded her of... Mr. Echelon-Arnost. I wonder if he's here with his son, her mind conjured up on its own, never mind that she wasn't sure whether Mr. Echelon-Arnost had ever told her he had a son. Maybe she was crossing over from "buzzed" to "straight-up drunk".

Normally she would have sought a corner, somewhere to hide. Maybe a bench where she could rest and pretend to be appreciating one of the neatly-trimmed bushes or lake out in the distance, or something. But as she turned a corner around the event she spotted a familiar face standing near one of the game tables by himself.

Before she could turn away, she caught his eye, her heart thumping. She couldn't not smile at him. "Hi," she said just loud enough to be audible, stepping around another person to reach him.

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August Echelon-Arnost

  

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This party seemed to have mostly attracted the slightly-to-very drunk, and August's drinking preference was talking trash with Thom and Leon (or, occasionally, Elsbeth.) Liquor samples were therefor a little beyond him — especially because using a cane required some amount of coordination — so he was just about hovering around tipsy, and hoping to maintain it.

He was hovering near one of the game tables, but not playing — a classic August situation. August startled at the sound of someone saying hi to him — so quietly that it might not have been audible had he been engaged in conversation instead of just staring blankly at the game.

August turned, smiled on automatic; it turned more genuine when he realized who was speaking to him. "Hello, Miss Greengrass," he said, quiet but cheerful, "Are you enjoying your evening?"

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set by Bree

Her cheeks were pink, and there was no way to tell whether it was from the liquor or from the fact that she'd been thinking about him mere moments ago. It was a good thing he couldn't read her thoughts—or, no. Merlin, she hoped he couldn't! She didn't suppose he was a legilimens... No, Mr. Echelon-Arnost didn't seem the sort to pry in other people's minds.

Grace suddenly became aware that she was staring speechlessly, beaming up at him with her wide smile. "Yes," she said, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual which prompted her to giggle at her own silliness. "And I hope you are, too. Are you alone?" He'd always been alone when she'd seen him before, but with her newfound knowledge it seemed almost odd.

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It was a rather odd question, but her giggles seemed different in tone than the previous time they'd met — Miss Greengrass was drunk, or at least drunker than August was. He was not going to point this out to her, obviously, but it did explain the question. (Well — sort of. Why was Miss Greengrass interested in his being alone?)

"I am alone this evening," August admitted, with an easy smile, "And yourself?"

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set by Bree

She could feel her heart pounding, but wasn't sure whether it was from the realization that she was more alone than she should have been, the way Mr. Echelon-Arnost smiled, the fact that she was aware that his smile made her feel unusually giddy, or the drink in her hand (and she was a little too tipsy to try to figure it out).

"Well I'm not alone," she rushed out, tossing a half-glance over her shoulder. "I never really am." Though it would have been safer to remain under her [brother/mother]'s gaze, she was glad she couldn't see them: she'd managed to avoid any questions about him, which meant they hadn't managed to catch a glimpse of her talking to him. She still liked being able to use her own social awkwardness to avoid conversation with the men her mother shoved in her direction, and she just knew she wouldn't be able to use that excuse if her mother realized she could talk to men!

"It's not a very good place to bring children, is it?" In hindsight she realized that she hadn't seen many children at all, which was just another reason why Mr. Echelon-Arnost wouldn't want his child here.

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The following 1 user Likes Grace Greengrass's post:1 user Likes Grace Greengrass's post
   Fortitude Greengrass

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August glanced where she glanced, although he'd never met any of Miss Greengrass' family members and couldn't identify them sight-unseen because of it. It had been a silly question, anyways — she was a debutante with a good reputation, and that meant she always had a chaperon with her.

His eyebrows drew together in confusion at her comment. "No," August said, audibly a little baffled, "I can't say I'd bring a child here."

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set by Bree

Grace nodded, blind to his confusion. Her chest felt warm and her smile seemed glued to her face; she'd lost most of her inhibition, so she didn't cover it up like she might normally. "He probably wouldn't have liked it anyways," she continued, "I did see one child here, and she looked absolutely miserable glued to her Mama's side like she was."

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The following 1 user Likes Grace Greengrass's post:1 user Likes Grace Greengrass's post
   August Echelon-Arnost

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August's forehead wrinkled in confusion again. "I'm sorry," he said, in a tone that suggested he had missed something — except he was quite certain that he hadn't, and that Miss Greengrass was simply being unclear because she was drunk. (It was polite to pretend otherwise.) "Who wouldn't have liked it?"

Was one of her brothers much younger than he'd thought? August was certain that they were both adults, but — he couldn't think of another explanation.

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set by Bree

Without missing a beat, Grace answered, "Your son, of course." She said it as if it was a given—not a question, not a guess, not some rumor she'd heard. Because in her mind, the Mr. Echelon-Arnost she now knew was—without a doubt—a father.

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August blanched. "I'm sorry, what was that?" he said, in a carefully polite tone. How did she know? She couldn't know. No one knew, they just suspected, and usually money meant that August could coast around without being called out for it directly.

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set by Bree

Grace paused. She wasn't wrong; she knew that. In fact, this was one of the only times she was completely confident that what she spoke was fact. Mr. Echelon-Arnost did have a son. "Your... your son," she repeated. "He's small still. I can't remember his name, but I'm sure I know it." She smiled at him again, less wide this time.

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August froze.

She sounded confident, but she couldn't be — Lysander's parentage wasn't public knowledge. August knew that. "I think you're mistaken," he said.

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set by Bree

Grace closed her mouth and stared at Mr. Echelon-Arnost, except she wasn't looking at him. She was trapped in her own mind, trying to figure out why he seemed to be denying the fact that, to her, seemed unmistakable. Didn't everyone know he had a son?

"I... I don't believe so," she said, a bit softer, a bit unsure. "I swear I—well, no, I don't know any other man with a son." Her brows creased; her lips dipped into a frown. Surely she couldn't be that mistaken.

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August was trying to keep the panic off his face; he couldn't quite manage it. She seemed so sure, despite the confusion in her voice, and he didn't understand how. "Lysander is my ward," he tried, hoping he could manage to talk his way out of this. (He was a lawyer, how hard could it be?)

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set by Bree

"Ward," she murmured. It didn't sound right on her tongue; she certainly knew the difference between a son and a ward, and it was always the sort of thing a lady sought to clarify before making assumptions. Grace especially hated making assumptions—it never ended up working out in her favor. But in her head there was no Mr. Echelon-Arnost the guardian, but Mr. Echelon-Arnost the father, and those were two very different things.

"My apologies," she said finally, though her tone sounded anything but apologetic. She was frustrated and uncomfortable about how she could possibly be so wrong and confident at the same time, and knowing that she just couldn't be. "Perhaps I only thought—well, maybe you just seemed like the fatherly sort." Heat rose in her cheeks, and she immediately spoke to clarify, "I mean, for a child. You'd make... a good... father." She swallowed, and the lump went down rough. She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment and immediately began to reflect back on every other embarrassing moment in her life, coming to the quick conclusion that it would have been better if she'd been born mute.

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She looked distinctly embarrassed, and August felt — a little bad. Only a little, because protecting Lysander was his top priority — he'd made a promise — but still. Her assumption had been right, and he had had to correct her, but he wished that she didn't look so embarrassed about it.

"Thank you, I suppose," August said, trying for a smile. "Lysander's lived with me since his infancy, so — I suppose I'm like a father."

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set by Bree