December 30th, 1890 - Random Christmas Party in London

It was perhaps slightly annoying to Begonia, the fact that her school friend was now married, with a child, and hosting a Christmas party at her home. The new Mrs Evans had clearly done well for herself, a rich husband, a lovely home, and everything that ladies were supposed to achieve. Begonia was, in a word, jealous. Incredibly so.

It was at Mrs Evans' Christmas party that Begonia found herself. It had been a nice affair - not one of those grand balls, but a lovely event nonetheless. She frowned as she looked around the room, fanning herself as studied the room. Her chaperone was speaking to another woman who had clearly attended as a chaperone (the average age of the party was definitely leaning towards the young side). Begonia just wanted to speak to someone interesting. If she spoke to one more person about the winter weather she would scream.

Then she spied her prey. Not too far from her. Close enough that she would still be within range of her chaperone. Fortitude Greengrass. They had once been quite friendly, back when they were both at Hogwarts. Yes, he would be a good person to speak to.

She made her way over. He had become quite handsome over the years. Yes. He would do nicely as some company.

"Mr Greengrass!" she called when she got close to him. She curtseyed politely. "What a pleasure to see you! It has been too long!"

Reuben Crouch Fortitude Greengrass

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Although he'd had an entire year of mourning to work up to it, the arrival of a flurry of invitations that holiday season had still caught him off guard. Before his father had died, his only consideration when receiving an invitation had been weather or not he wanted to go — and he hadn't received that many to begin with. Now, there was so much to think about. Was Verity invited as well? Did anyone really consider her a fixture of society after having more or less disappeared — ostensibly for 'finishing' — after her Coming Out Ball? Was there any chance that he could bring Grace as well, despite the fact that she hadn't formally debuted? Much as he adored his sister, would it, perhaps, be better not to bring Grace? Who would be there? Was this a formal party or an intimate dinner? Would their be dancing? Ought he to dance with Verity at the beginning of the evening, or should he leave her be in the hopes that someone else would ask her? And what if she wasn't asked?

The lengthy list of considerations attached to each invitation made them quickly overwhelming, even though there were not, after all, so many. This one had come from a coworker in his Department, who he knew reasonably well, and it had quite graciously included an invitation for Verity, so off the two of them had gone. He had decided to dance with her, first, thinking no one would fault either of them for it and a nice neutral opening to the night would be better than a poor one if she was unable to secure a partner so quickly. She had attached herself to a schoolmate shortly after, no doubt eager to secure a gentleman for a future dance. Ford was left to his own devices, feeling awkward and unsure what to do next.

Fortunately, he was not alone for long. "Miss Belby!" he greeted brightly. He remembered her from school, although they had been separated by a year and a common room (she had not been entirely forgettable, leaving school the way she had), and they had always been friendly — though it had been at least a year and perhaps longer since they had spoken, he thought. "Very long indeed. You're looking lovely tonight," he said, which was not untrue — but he would have said it even if she'd been looking like a haggard troll, because that was the thing you were supposed to say to young women at parties.

  

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At the compliment, Begonia smiled coyly. She had, as always, made sure she put on a pretty dress which complemented her complexion well. But it was still nice to be complimented. "You are too kind Mr Greengrass." she replied, "You yourself are looking rather... fetching this evening." As she returned the compliment, Begonia fanned herself and fanned her eyelashes simultaneously.

"I hear you're the gentleman of the house now," Begonia continued, not really giving her conversation partner a chance to reply to her compliment, "How is all the responsibility suiting you?"

  

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Fetching was a strange choice of word, since he looked just the same as he always did (except perhaps slightly greener around the gills) — or maybe it wasn't, and it only seemed odd in his ears because she'd paused right before it? It had been slight, but noticeable. He wondered if he ought to comment on it, but then she started fluttering her eyelashes and it made some amount of sense. She must have gotten something in her eye. She was evidentially trying to take care of it discreetly, with just those fluttering eyelashes and her fan, so he decided not to comment on it or ask if she was alright. Not that she gave him time to ask, anyway — she had quickly moved on to a much less comfortable topic. (How had she managed to find a less comfortable topic for Ford than responding to unwarranted compliments?)

The gentleman of the house; what a laughable phrase that was. He was the gentleman of a house, he supposed — one that was a bit too small for their family and rented, though no one ought to have known that except their landlord. And as for the responsibility — he really ought not to think too much on it before he'd had anything to eat that night, or he might risk worrying himself sick and losing one of these cocktails in the lavatory. But the responsibility would have been significantly more manageable if they had any money to speak of, and he was trying to present the facade that they did — so he could not look too put out by it all.

"If responsibility suited anyone, they'd call it leisure," he joked, with a smile that looked genuine but didn't fully reach his eyes. "In all seriousness, it's quite a change. I suppose I'll feel more at ease once my sisters are all established in society."

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   Begonia Belby

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Begonia too laughed at the joke. It was practically a mandatory trait of any debutante that she laugh at every joke sent her way. She was unsure if Mr Greengrass was oblivious to her signals or whether he was willfully ignoring them. He had been quite bookish and quiet at school (or at least he was compared to Begonia), so perhaps he just was genuinely not picking up her signals.

Either way, she would press on. Charming an independent man who had already received his inheritance with her stellar personality was always preferable to making small talk with married ladies about their children.

"Ah yes, your sisters," Begonia replied - she did remember there being at least one sister at Hogwarts while she was there, but she wasn't entirely sure how many sisters there were in total. "I'm with a brother as charming as you, they should be able to flourish in society."

  

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For a brief moment, Ford legitimately thought she was referring to his brother, Noble, and wondered at the abrupt shift in topic. Surprise showed on his features — he wasn't aware they were well acquainted — but then he realized from her tone that she was talking about him. He flushed slightly. This seemed like more praise than was required, from the standpoint of polite conversation. Had things changed so dramatically in the past year while he had been preoccupied with business matters? Was this degree of compliment now considered standard fare? Ford hoped he hadn't accidentally offended her by merely saying something nice about her attire and moving on with the conversation.

"You're too kind, Miss Belby," he said, desperately wracking his brain for something else to say. He didn't know her well enough to come up with any compliment that felt genuine, but at this point in the conversation he felt any generic praise would feel too stilted and obvious.

After a slight hesitation, he said experimentally, "I do worry I've been too far removed from society this past year to be of much help to them in the realm of introductions. Perhaps you can help me in that sense, getting reoriented to the people one ought to know. You've always been so..." He paused. He'd meant to compliment her, using this as both a covert apology and a means to make amends, but suddenly his mind had gone blank. He'd had a clear direction he was headed, he was sure, but now the only words on his tongue didn't sound like compliments at all. So much the center of attention. So forward in conversation. So loud.

"...charming," he eventually said, lamely. Though after this conversation, having her facilitate introductions was the last thing he wanted — he would probably have preferred to hide under the nearest sofa until everyone had gone home for the night.

  

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Begonia could not help but see the red appear in his cheeks. He was clearly so enamoured by her flirting. She had to restrain her grin as she forced it into a coy society smile. Even after drinking a few glasses of champagne, she was still effortlessly charming.

"You're too kind." She replied after his compliment. First the blushing, now compliments. This conversation was going so well. And it was so fun! Much preferable to boring conversations with boring old men who wanted to secure a young wife. While Begonia was certainly not opposed to being someone's wife, she was hoping that there would be more romance to it. And some harmless flirting with an old acquaintance never hurt anybody - especially when old acquaintance was in possession of his father's fortune.

"I would happy to help," she continued, "I'm an old hat at this by now. And perhaps there should be an emphasis on 'old'." She smirked at him and gave a small chuckle.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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She was laughing, so Ford supposed that must have been a joke. He chuckled, too, though honestly he didn't know enough about society to know how serious she was being. Prior to his father's death, he had always imagined that he would marry when the time was right, and that he would deduce when the time was right either because it would become apparent of its own accord or that someone would tell him. Then, there would be a range of women who were available on the scene of society. He had never really considered how old they would be — or how old he would be, honestly. Older than he was now, but beyond that he couldn't say. It was a topic of interest, though, certainly — because if women were considered eligible well into their twenties it would mean considerably more competition for his sisters, and they didn't have the luxury of time and money on their side.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to think of someone a year below me in school as old, even if you were already married and had a dozen children," he joked lightly. "If I thought you old, what would that make me?"

  

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Mr Greengrass had said that she was not old. Begonia smiled, charmed at his lovely compliment. She continued to fan herself, and look up at him through heavy eyelashes.

"Oh no," Begonia replied, "You are certainly not old. Twenty four is young for a man." - which was in fact, actually very unfair. Begonia had to force her mind to push away such thoughts, and kept her coy smile plastered on her face - "You are young and so agreeable - and a man of means now. I am sure you will be fighting the debutantes away. I am sure you count yourself lucky to have me shielding you from them."

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The beginning of her response seemed perfectly in line with what he would have expected, given the way these society conversations at parties always seemed to go, but then she continued with more compliments, and that smile. Was it just his imagination, or did her smile look a little... strange? Maybe it was just that she had been wearing it so long, and it had started to take on that sort of not-quite-right feeling that a word had when you said it too many times in a row without the context of a sentence. Her smile seemed not exactly friendly, at this point in the conversation, though it certainly was not unfriendly. What else could a smile be, though, besides friendly or unfriendly? What was he missing about this expression that would have made it made some sense? Where was the sentence to give context to this repeated word?

And then there were the words themselves. A man of means. She had entirely the wrong idea about him, and Ford's face lit up in surprise at her estimation of him. "I'm not —" he began, but realized he could not continue without giving up the charade. " — fighting anyone away," he finished — meaning that young ladies were hardly swarming him, nor could he imagine that they had any desire to do so (despite his sisters' teasing prior to Christmas) and failing to realize that it might come across instead as willingness to engage with said debutantes.

  

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Begonia smiled, but inside was beginning to feel like Mr Greengrass was perhaps not picking up her signals. Either that or he was not wishing to pick up her signals. No, the former option seemed like the most sensible one. He had always been quite quiet and reserved at school. Nor had he been too socially adept. Plus, he had just come out of mourning for his father, so was most likely not used to social situations. Yes, this made a lot of sense.

"You are too modest!" she replied, "You have plenty to offer any young lady. Perhaps you just do not notice when they are showing interest." Begonia paused after this, looking at him as she continued to fan herself.

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   Reuben Crouch

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It was the pause after her words that did it. If she'd just made the comment and laughed and said something else, he likely wouldn't have put all the pieces together even then and would have thought she was only teasing him about hypotheticals, the same way that his sisters sometimes did. He was used to that; he just assumed that anyone who brought up the idea of him marrying understood just as well as he did how ridiculous that was (or maybe not just as well, but had an inkling, at the very least). It would never have occurred to him that someone might talk about him being charming and eligible and the envy of ladies and be entirely, unironically serious about it.

That explained the smiling, then, and how it had started to look like she was smiling too much. And it would explain, too, all the compliments — he hadn't been so far out of society that the entire pattern of conversation had changed without him realizing it, he'd just been too oblivious to her intentions to understand what she was trying to do.

"Oh," he said. That was rather inadequate, but he had no idea what else to say — what else he could say. The room felt very hot, all of the sudden.

  

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"Oh." Begonia replied, repeating what her conversation partner had just said. It seemed he had finally picked up what she was saying - and he did not seem particularly flattered by her signals. Her face fell, and she looked at him, terribly embarrassed. She did not say anything for far too long

Once again, Begonia had to plaster a smile on her face. "I apologise, my mind just went utterly blank then! I have no idea what happened there." She forced a laugh as she looked around the room, desperate not to make eye contact with Mr Greengrass.

"But yes," she continued, looking out towards the dancing, "Obviously while I would never be such forward with anyone. Obviously. It might be prudent to keep an eye out."

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Ford wasn't even vaguely aware of what his face was doing while he'd been frantically trying to reconcile this new bit of information, but Miss Belby seemed to have caught on that he wasn't on the same page as she had been. He felt dreadfully embarrassed, and his feelings only compounded as it became obvious that she was suffering from the same affliction.

"Er, no — yes, of course —" Ford said, not even sure to what he was responding, exactly. He was just offering vague conversational noises at this point to prevent that awkward silence they had just experienced from descending again, but now he was talking over her a bit and not making any sense whatsoever. Ought he to apologize, or would that only serve to mortify her further? Ought he to explain himself and try to assure her that the fault for this uncomfortable turn of events was his, not hers? Ought he to simply excuse himself and save them both the pain of trying to figure out what to say next?

"Miss Belby —" he began, not yet sure what he was going to follow it with.

  

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Begonia pretended to be studying one couple dancing while Mr Greengrass spoke. She forced her eyes to look at them, and look at the lady's dress, however she took no information is as she did so.

She only turned to him once he said her name, her face giving a look of false obliviousness. "Yes?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. Meanwhile she was contemplating ways she could leave this conversation without seeming rude. She had a dance coming up soon. Yes, that would be a good excuse.

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A part of him was hoping that she might interrupt with something other than a simple yes, so that he could respond to whatever she said instead of coming up with something himself. She would have been better at navigating this situation than he was, he presumed — young women were trained in conversational graces in a way that Ford was not. His education had touched on it, of course, but he had never expected it to be essential to him in the way that it was integral to the life of a debutante. Why had he said anything at all, instead of letting her take the lead in salvaging or ending the conversation?

"— thank you for talking with me," he said, in a tone that was both uncertain but sincere. "It was a pleasure to have a chance to reconnect with you. I hope we don't go so long without talking again."

  

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