22 July 1892 — Fairy Court Ball, Daphnel House, Wellingtonshire

Victor was determined to make the most of this event, which meant dancing with as many potential candidates for the future Mrs. Victor Daphnel as possible. He'd lost nearly a year and had no serious direction as of yet, which wouldn't do. He didn't want to give his mother the impression that he wasn't taking this seriously, but he also didn't want to settle for someone... sub-par. He was meant to spend the rest of his life with them, after all. He had no particular attachment to the idea of falling in love with someone, but he did hope that he would at least enjoy spending time with them on occasion. (On occasion was an operative part of this; he wouldn't have been disappointed to end up like his parents, separated by more than a continent but still quite amiable regarding their marriage and children).

The garden was starting to crowd, but the band was still just warming up. The dancing would begin properly soon, and he'd have to approach someone to ask for a dance — and then several others in short succession, if he wanted to avoid skipping any of the dances. He regarded this task with the same enthusiasm he mustered for a stack of freshly delivered paperwork on his desk at work.

"Alright, listen — what's your plan of attack?" he asked one of the men he was friendly with. "The last time we invited people over I started a conversation with Miss Selwyn and she stared at me like I had four heads just for talking to her, so I want to avoid anything like that tonight."

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Open to: a man Victor might be friendly with, and/or someone who might have overheard and be inclined to interrupt

  

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Fabulous set by Lady!

Ambrose strode through the garden, taking in the scenery. Mrs. Daphnel never disappointed as host. The garden had been transformed for the event into an enchanted grove. A forest with changing paths, as he had discovered on his way back to the main dance floor from a clearing of refreshment-topped toadstools. But it didn’t take too long to find the new correct path and rejoin those preparing for the dancing. While the decorations alone were remarkable enough to justify the walk across Wellingtonshire, the main event was yet to come. Ambrose had made the rounds already and penciled his name in on quite a few dance cards. One didn’t attend a ball if not to dance, after all.

When he spotted Victor hanging around along the edges of the grove, he was a bit surprised. Mrs. Daphnel was eager to see the healer married, or so he had heard. No doubt the ball was an excuse to find him suitable companionship. Ambrose would expect him to be among the crowds, securing dances for the evening. He came to stand not too far away and saw Victor approaching him with a look sorely lacking in confidence.

“Plan of attack? You mean you don't already have one?” he chastised, having already guessed as much. “Really Daphnel, this shouldn’t be that difficult. You approach, you politely ask if you might have the pleasure of a dance, and try not to trip over your own feet. It is a dance, not a proposal of marriage. You’re overthinking it.”

Ambrose shook his head and took a moment to adjust his top hat before continuing. “But as it happens, I might be able to help in this regard. If you’re unsure who to ask, elucidate what exactly it is you’re looking for.”

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"What I'm looking for in a dance, or in a proposal of marriage?" Victor tossed back dryly. He knew Chambers was probably joking with him, but he had felt his ego slightly bruised by the accusation that he was taking this all too seriously. On the one hand, there was a world of difference between a dance and a proposal; on the other hand, there really wasn't. This entire sequence was choreographed, and while it was possible to change partners at many of the earlier stages, the steps never really altered as far as Victor had observed. Dance with a girl a few times, pay a handful of calls, have a discussion or two with her brothers to get a sense of the sort of family one was marrying into, propose. This was the first step in a very rigid process; why should he take it any less seriously than any of the others?

What Victor actually wanted in a wife was someone like his mother, but he knew better than to admit to it — at least with such bald phrasing. "I want a wife secure enough in her own estimation of herself to not require daily affirmations of it from me, and capable of running a proper household without my input. Things which are difficult to assess on a dance floor," he said with a sardonic smile. "In a dance partner, I suppose I'm mostly looking for someone who will spare my toes and carry a conversation. Much lower standards."

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Fabulous set by Lady!

“Let’s say both. I do sincerely hope you have standards beyond that which can be determined in a dance. Unless you’re secretly a Legilimens.” Ambrose gave Victor an inquisitive stare, as if challenging him to read his mind. It was impossible to keep a small smirk from his face as he did so. Clearly his friend had thoughts of his future weighing heavily upon him. Not Ambrose, at least not that night and in the Daphnel home’s garden. He had already promised a dance to multiple women and did not intend to consider it auditions for a potential wife. Merely a pleasant evening of recreation for the high society types of Hogsmeade. Then again, that was why Victor was there, if not the reason they all were at the ball that evening.

As the healer spoke of his expectations, Ambrose’s demeanor turned much more serious. He nodded along and spent a moment in silent contemplation before replying. “If you won’t be able to judge what you’re looking for on the dance floor regardless, then I would say this is simply a matter of asking a lady to dance. Let’s see, good conversationalists…” He made a point of scanning the crowd, hoping to see any familiar faces. As he did, he remembered Victor’s original concern, not being taken for a quadra-headed ball of awkwardness.  Which might indicate a deeper issue. “And should I point someone out, have you worked out that plan of attack yet?” he asked without making eye contact.

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Victor wasn't blindly optimistic about whoever Chambers would recommend, even if they did meet the criteria he'd laid out of being decent dance partners and good conversationalists. He'd found that many people's definition of good conversationalists extended only to women who had a wide enough trove of rehearsed opinions to not repeat themselves within the span of twenty minutes. It wasn't Victor's ideal. Why couldn't women carry on conversations the same way that men did? Every interaction he had with them felt so stilted, which precluded any genuine affection from forming. He didn't doubt his abilities to create a lasting, amicable relationship with a woman, only the ability of anyone to do so within the boundaries of polite ballroom conversations and chaperoned calls.

"I don't need advice for how to ask a woman to dance," he said, making a face at Chambers' implication. "I'm perfectly capable in that respect. My failure here is a lack of familiarity with all the options," he argued. "I had no notion that to marry at thirty one ought to have started cataloging women at twenty-five."

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Fabulous set by Lady!

He grinned at Victor’s indignation and resisted the urge to suggest that he consider his wording more carefully. “Ah, the joys of finding a wife. I don’t envy you for the task you have chosen to undertake. Especially with the lack of groundwork you have set. Unfortunately, there’s no way to go back now and start keeping notes five years ago. As for suitable dance partners, the young lady in the green dress by the refreshment toadstool seemed bright enough.” He nodded subtly to the attendee in question before continuing, “Her as well. Over there on the other side of the floor. Good head on her shoulders, friendly disposition.” Of those that he had spoken to, they were the two most promising.

Ambrose sighed, not feeling particularly more qualified to be giving advice on women than Victor himself. He attended society functions primarily to maintain a reputation of respectability. But he hardly considered balls a venue for stimulating conversation. “Have you considered taking out a personal advertisement? If your weakness is uncertainty over your options, let the options write to you. Won't help you right here and right now. Maybe something to think about for the future?”, he offered. Witch Weekly was not part of his usual literary diet, but he knew of their Lonely Hearts column. Quality of the matches notwithstanding, it was one way to cast a wide net.

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Victor took note of the women Chambers pointed out, though the rest of his advice had Victor shooting him a quizzical glance. On the one hand, being able to exchange letters with a few women and get a sense of whether or not they had any sort of brain before he invested his time and energy with them in a social setting did have an appeal. On the other hand, if women were coached to be exactly the right balance of clever and vapid in a ballroom, could he really expect anything else to come across through quill and parchment? They might just repeat the same tired small talk he endured during social events, except now he would have subjected himself to a wider volume of it. And, of course, there was the most obvious problem. It was so obvious that Victor wondered he even needed to say it aloud.

"Except any woman perusing the advertisements in hopes of a match wouldn't be a fit wife." Whatever expectations he had or didn't have for his interpersonal relationship with his future bride were secondary to the two primary requirements for a society wife: she had to have children, and manage the family's social position. A woman with as much disdain for the song and dance of the season as he had may have a few witty conversations with him, but ultimately that wasn't enough to make a successful marriage. Someone who had opted for advertisements over the traditional marriage mart would have demonstrated, if nothing else, that she was unsuitable on the grounds that she would fail at one of her two main functions. Chambers might as well have suggested Victor marry a werewolf.

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Fabulous set by Lady!

Ambrose couldn’t help but chuckle at Victor’s rebuke of his suggestion. How paradoxical, bemoaning his ill-preparedness for the traditional path to marriage but steadfast in his commitment to traverse that path nonetheless. Not that he was ever too concerned with the standard courtship rituals. His only relationship had been in the shadows, a fleeting thing between himself and another young man. A connection made through Lonely Hearts would be the epitome of tradition and proper courtship in comparison. And if they never worked out, Ambrose doubted that such columns would still be alive and well.

“Of course, I forget that the Lonely Hearts column has never yielded suitable pairings. How silly of me to suggest it. It’s no wonder we’ve only had them around for… oh, about a century, if you want to count the muggle equivalents? I’m sure that fad will die out any day now when people realize it is no way to find a husband or wife.” The instruments were starting to pick up the pace of their warm-up exercises, signaling the imminent arrival of the ball proper. He lightly clapped Victor on the shoulder and moved to excuse himself. “You clearly know better on the subjects of matchmaking and marriage than I do, friend. You will have to share how your dance with the future Mrs. Victor Daphnel went when we next speak.”

He took two steps away before he turned back to give a few final words of encouragement, offering a simple “Good luck tonight, Daphnel” and a smile. Then he made his way to the floor. There was dancing to be done. Although in his case, dancing for pleasure and not for matrimony.

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Chambers seemed rather prickly at Victor's comment, so much so that Victor wondered if he might have some personal stake in the matter. He knew Chambers wasn't married or engaged, but perhaps he'd gotten himself romantically entangled with someone via letter?

He might have apologized — he didn't like to leave things on a bad note with any gentleman he reasonably suspected he would see again — but the orchestra had other plans and they were soon exchanging goodbyes.

"I'll take the luck," he said with the sort of lopsided smile that suggested he might need it, though he wouldn't come right out and admit it. "And the advice. Godspeed, then."

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Fabulous set by Lady!