April 4th, 1890 — Daphnel House; Holiday Dine-In

This event would certainly not win any prizes for most interesting or unusual of the season, but Ophelia was inclined to be forgiving; she had been to events thrown by Mrs. Daphnel before and had not known her to be an unkind host, and it wasn't as though the season had even properly started yet. Besides, after meeting the young Miss Daphnel before dinner, Ophelia was quite certain she understood the reason for the lack of splendor; anything more spectacular would have so outshone the girl she would have been forgotten in a moment. Ophelia was glad her first child had been a boy. If she had such a gawky, awkward daughter to foist upon society it would certainly have been the death of her.

The card game after dinner promised to be a diversion, at least. After having her husband explain the rules to her (not that she misunderstood them when they were explained by the hostess, but she liked to ask him questions just to ensure he realized how very necessary he was to her, even if she had to exaggerate her need in order to do so), she took a seat across from a not-entirely-unfamiliar face.

"I'm certain we've met," she said confidently. "At one of Mr. Pettigrew's events, I think — you were at a house party there ages ago, and that Vablatsky woman read the most sensational fortune for you, isn't that so?"

(this was the same house party where Mr. Devine had rescued her from the depths of Mr. Pettigrew's koi pond, but she did not particularly want to bring that little incident up; she had put her ungraceful debutante days behind her and was an Established Woman of Society now).

August Echelon-Arnost

  

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He could be awkward and he could be reclusive, but after briefly witnessing Miss Daphnel August felt like a social butterfly.

"Ah, yes," August said. He placed the woman after a few moments - Mrs. Devine, formerly Miss Dippet. She was a socialite now, and August was not sure what to expect from this conversation other than that he really ought not to accidentally say anything political or make any comments about, broadly, fashion.

"A pleasure to see you again," he continued, shuffling the cards. "I'm glad to say that Miss Vablatsky's fortune hasn't come true, either."

There had been something about fish at that party, hadn't there? August tried to recall.

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   Ophelia Devine

"That seems to be something of a trend for fortune-tellers, I think," Ophelia said with a sage nod as she arranged her cards. "They seem to be generally as reliable as those silly quizzes in Witch Weekly." Which was to say, that they were about as likely to be correct as she might be by random guess to 'divine' someone's past Hogwarts house. There were only so many possibilities, when one was speaking broadly, and so many things sounded plausible when you removed all of the context and specifics from it.

Not to say that she wasn't a bit disappointed to hear that his fortune hadn't born out. Ophelia had always had a casual interest in divination, as she assumed all young girls did, and coming to terms with the fact that it might not be all that reliable was akin to learning that ordinary girls could not become princesses and that dragons were not typically slain by standalone knights. Since what she recalled of Mr. Echelon-Arnost's fortune had been rather grim, however, she decided not to make any comments regarding her disappointment that none of it had been true. She would not want him to think she was wishing him ill just for the sake of keeping intact her girlish fantasies.

Playing two cards in succession (which she was almost certain was allowed by the rules and was equally certain made her seem very clever, particularly this early in the game), Ophelia then moved to conversation along. "I haven't heard a whisper of Miss Vablatsky in quite some time. I suppose perhaps she married and retired from... well, could you call that sort of thing a career, I wonder? She just went about to parties and gave out readings from a crystal ball, didn't she? I can't imagine it paid well," she said with a shrug. "Though Mr. Pettigrew would know more about that, I assume. Do you think fortune tellers earn more or less per event than the head chef?" she asked, with a giggle.

(Not that she disdained all fortune-tellers outright, necessarily, but she remembered Miss Vablatsky being a bit too pretty for casual entertainment so it seemed fitting to take any opportunity possible to put her back in her proper place).

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   Cassius Lestrange

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"My instinct is less," August said mildly, playing a card. "But I would have to ask Mr. Pettigrew to know for sure." August did not throw parties, and he certainly did not throw parties with hired talent, so he had no idea what one could possibly cost.

"I've never decided whether or not I believe in it," August added. "Divination, not - hiring Vablatskys." Obviously. Some things seemed like fate, predestined - but were they really? August had to believe that there was a degree of free will, a large degree of free will in everything he had done. But if someone had told him that his romance with Lyra was doomed, exactly how - would he have believed them?

What would it have changed?

But, free will regardless - the Vablatsky girl's prediction had never come true. Good, because it had been morbid as hell.

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"It's the sort of thing one would like to believe in, isn't it?" she reflected in response to his statement. "If only because it would be nice to think that someone knew the answers — but with how changeable life can be, I'm not sure that's so."

And while there was, perhaps, some comfort in the idea that someone knew how things would work out, in those rare moments of panic, there was also a danger in it. That terrible ordeal with Mr. Dawlish, for instance; it would have been comforting for some diviner to tell her it would all work out alright in the end, and that she would be happily married to Mr. Devine. If they had told her how it would happen, though — if anyone had seen that moment of sheer panic in her dressing room — that would be... problematic, to say the least.

"Oh, you've done something clever here, haven't you?" she said, taking stock of the last play Mr. Echelon-Arnost had made. "But I shall not be easily beaten. Take that," she said, playing a card with a triumphant air and drawing to refill her hand.

  

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She was right; if Divination was real, there was a comfort in it. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

August laughed as Mrs. Devine played her last card. "I'm afraid you've fully outfoxed me," he said, "Congraulations." He would have to attend more of Mrs. Devine's events, when he was invited; she was clearly rather clever, and clever people tended to surround themselves with clever people.

It seemed that it was time to switch tables. August retrieved his cane and stood up, eyeing his next game - ah, Mr. Prewett.

"Good luck with Miss Blackwood," he said on his exit.
[b]

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Ginevra Blackwood

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   Ophelia Devine

'Thank you mister Echelon-Arnost' Ginny said with a smile as she moved infront of her next opponent - Mrs Divine and took her seat. One of Mrs Blackwoods greatest disappointments in her daughter was that she hadn't thrown herself at Mister Divine with sufficient vigour, but Ginny vaguely thought they had danced once and that they had had as much in common as a rich dark chocolate and ....something boring and drab. Her mothers vague bias's showed themselves every time she complained about how it was 'such a pity' that the pureblooded Mister Divine had ended up with a half blood wife - related to Armando Dippet or not. He seemed nice enough but Ginny thought the pair an odd match. Mrs Divine, as she now was seemed like such a social butterfly, vivacious charismatic and so outgoing and her husband, well didn't seem like that.

Ginevra took her first turn, which was rather unsatisfactory as she was forced to increase the numbers of cards in her hand rather than dumping them. 'you seem to have bested your previous opponant Mrs Divine, and your husbands team bested ours last weekend, I wonder if I shall have the luck to upset your winning streak' Ginny asked with a smile, and took a sip of the champagne that appeared as her elbow thanks to an attendant footman.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

"We shall see," Ophelia said pleasantly enough. There was no obvious reason to dislike Miss Blackwood, and so while she was hardly a bosom companion like Nova or Phyri, there was no particular cause for her not to be pleasant to the woman. She wasn't even old enough for Ophelia to reasonably start making comments about her lack of suitors, at least not for a few more years.

"You'd have to have a good measure of luck to best my wit," she continued jovially. "I'm quite good at this game, as it turns out."

Either that, or Mr. Echelon-Arnost had been letting her win. Since she was married and he was not the sort of man whose reputation would imply he was looking to flirt with married women, however, she thought that was probably not the case. Besides, she had been driving too much of the conversation for that sort of thing; if he'd been trying to flirt, he'd been doing a fairly poor job of it. Though perhaps that explained why he wasn't married yet — that, of course, and the whole dead-but-undead fiancee bit.

  

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'Then you have me at an advantage Mrs. Dippet' Ginny acknowledged ruefully, as she was forced to pick up cards adding to her already rather full hand. 'I've not played this much,' she admitted, 'I was never very good at it. My brother always beat me, so I could rarely be prevailed upon to play.'. Bertram had always been so competitive, and hated losing to his little sister, so when he had seemed to find a game which did not suit Ginnys tastes he had insisted that they play it a great deal. She had never gotten any better at it and had honestly never bothered to try.

'Bertram was always insufferable when he won, so I learned to accept my losses with some measure of grace' she said with a smile

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

"Oh? Tonight is my first time playing," Ophelia commented offhandedly. This could have been a sore point in some contexts, as it highlighted the fact that Ophelia had not grown up accustomed to the sort of lifestyle she now enjoyed. She hadn't spend her childhood playing posh card games in preparation for dinner parties, but rather roaming the family's part-farm-part-zoological park and learning about the wiles of magical creatures from her eccentric father. In this case, however, Ophelia was more inclined to see it as a point of pride; she had only played a few hands and was already doing quite well, and Miss Blackwood had already admitted she was likely to lose after having had a lifetime to practice.

"Grace is, I think, the only positive attribute ever assigned to a loser," she said with a smirk, "So it's good that you've mastered it, Miss Blackwood. I shan't feel guilty about beating you, if you're so well practiced at salvaging your dignity."

  

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’Then I acknowledge your superiority Mrs. Devine,’ Ginny said, with a genuine, if slightly oblivious smile, she wasn’t picking up any of the subtext of the conversation. Although her mother might have agreed with Mrs. Devines feeling of superiority – if only on the basis that she was already married to a wealthy pureblood.

Ginny played another card, and if anything it was worse than the last. She put down 1 card and was forced to draw 4 more. She gave a huffing expression of annoyance, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. She might not mind losing but she didn’t necessarily want to lose, ’oh well blast that!’ she said, and swooped her hand into a stack and flopped it down on the table. ’Goodness I’m not sure why I bothered’ she huffed, ’Well played Mrs Divine, you’re a natural it would seem.’

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

As Miss Blackwood finished off the round, quite poorly, Ophelia felt a momentary pang of sympathy. The other girl was younger than her, and when Ophelia had been twenty-one she had been in a similarly luckless and loveless position (as Miss Blackwood had, so far as Ophelia knew, no particular romantic prospects to speak of). Where Miss Blackwood technically outmatched her within the framework of birth and breeding, Ophelia had clearly exceeded her in charm and capabilities, and she was inclined to think the benefits of the latter far outweighed the former. Any handicap she might have had from her comparatively lowlier upbringing had been refined away at Mrs. Pendergast's finishing school, after all. There was nothing to be done, on the other hand, for someone who simply wasn't an interesting person to have around.

(Well, the thing to be done was, apparently, to throw a rather contrived dinner party such as this one and force your guests to talk to them anyway. Ophelia wondered if Mrs. Blackwood would be taking a leaf from Mrs. Daphnel's book if this season produced no suitable prospects for her daughter. Twenty-one was a perfectly respectable age to be still exploring the social world and remaining relatively unattached, but twenty-two with no suitors waiting in the wings was not).

Her thoughts returned to the table as her next partner arrived, a man she knew by reputation but did not believe she had ever carried an actual conversation with. He was a bit older than her husband, and therefore a good deal older than her, so their social circles did not tend to overlap. Besides, she had always assumed (perhaps because of his expression when she did meet him or perhaps because of his occupation) that he was too stoic to be much fun. Hopefully that would not prove the case, for the sake of her sanity through the next round.

  

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