December 11th, 1891 — High Street

Grace was miserable, but she couldn't say anything. It had never been in her character to complain, and this situation in particular was one she didn't want to ruin with any complaints, however valid they might be.

Verity was getting married. That was decidedly a good thing. Come the new year Verity would be Mrs. Swann, and Mama and Ford's main focus would be seeing her married off. That was also decidedly a good thing, too, because Grace—for all her shortcomings and little to recommend her against other girls her age—really didn't want to be at home forever.

Though if this was any indication, she imagined he might have no choice.

Rather than buying a brand new gown for her sister's wedding, Grace had found herself agreeing to have one of her older dresses "spruced" up for the occasion. With magic and fabric the delicate blue, floral-patterned skirt had been transformed into... a mess of tulle and sleeves that she wasn't sure were intended to puff at the shoulder or sag to her elbows. It was terribly unflattering, she thought, but the old seamstress (who must have been over eighty, she thought) ensured her that it was perfectly in fashion.

Maybe she should have learned to complain. Just a smidge.

But Grace had walked out of the seamstress' shop, the dress wrapped carefully and slung over one of her arms, already feeling bothered by the weight of it. She kept her lips in a tight line and her eyes low, trying her best to keep any clear expression of her disappointment off her face, but the harder she tried the more difficult it was to maintain. By the time she'd passed the row of stores and moved into the street square, her lips had dipped into a frown. It was easy to keep that frown with the way certain shops (certainly made popular by the time of year) seemed to have crowds waiting outside their doors, effectively blocking her way on the cobble paths.

"Excuse me," she tried, speaking to the back of a gentleman she didn't examine all too closely. No response. Her frown deepened. "Excuse me, I really need to—" As she spoke, she took a step forward to tap on his shoulder, but before her fingertip could reach the spot near his shoulder blade her foot caught on something.

It was her dress—or rather the package, which was so long it dragged along the ground and somehow managed to catch under her foot. She stumbled forward a step, which wouldn't have been so catastrophic had she not been so close to the man in front of her. She gave a yelp and flew into a string of apologies, her gaze on the ground as she tried to pull the dress out from underneath her.

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August Echelon-Arnost

  

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August didn't do all of his Christmas Shopping himself — this was one of the perks of having a staff member or two attached to his law practice — but he did do some of it himself, and this was what he was working on today. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else in Hogshead had the same idea, because High Street was dreadfully crowded, and August had just about made up his mind to flee when someone caught on his cane.

He was nearly able to keep steady, but she managed to pull it out from underneath him and August found himself landing in a heap of limbs and — fabric? He kept his grip on his cane and placed his free hand underneath himself, ready to push himself back up and accept the woman's apologies — but then he recognized the woman with the tulle dress.

August pushed himself back up to his feet, trying to ignore the twinge of nerve pain radiating from his knee. "Miss Greengrass," he said, startled.

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set by Bree

The man's weight bore down on her, sending a surge of pain through her ankle and her calves. It was an awkward position to be in, even more so as he tried to collect himself and return to his feet, and with a red flush to her cheeks Grace realized, Oh Merlin, she'd just knocked down a man who already used a cane! And it was Mr. Echelon-Arnost. What a stupid, stupid, stupid girl she was. He must think so little of her, must have already reflected on the irony of her name. Even if she didn't say anything of the sort out loud, the thought must have been evident by the expression of embarrassment and shame etched so deeply into her features by the time she reached her feet. Limping. Naturally.

"I didn't mean to," she said somberly instead of the polite greeting she should have. It was a lost cause anyhow. "Are you alright?"

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He already knew she hadn't meant to, so he wasn't sure what to say to that, and nodded. "I'm alright," August said, taking stock of himself — a little rumpled, a little bit of extra pain, but not significantly worse for wear. "Are you alright?"

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set by Bree

"I'm alright," she replied. She managed a smile in his direction, but it only reached her lips; her eyes were still full of fear and her cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. She could manage being Graceless Grace at home, but every time in public she was met with the urge to fall into a pile of ashes at her feet. "Um—" She glanced up at the line, eager to redirect his attention and her mind from the incident, "Shopping for the holidays?"

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Miss Greengrass was blushing, and her smile wasn't quite right, and with a start August realized that she was cute.

He didn't know what to do with that information. He especially didn't know what to do with that information when his knee was still wracked with pain, and when their last conversation had been so awkward.

So instead, he said, "I am. I'm guessing you are too?"

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set by Bree

Grace glanced down at the crumpled gown, knowing she ought to tell him. Her sister was getting married and she really needed to get home and ensure she hadn’t torn the dress, or else Mama would be terribly stressed out. But when she looked up at him she found that she couldn’t say that. She didn’t want to.

“I—Yes. My sister’s getting married next month, so I have double the shopping to do.” A lie, a lie, a lie. She d hadn’t gone out with more coins her pursue than she’d been allotted for her dress repairs, and now she was down to mere knuts.

“High Street is very busy today,” she commented, praying and pleading for the heat to leave her cheeks, but it was only worsened by the knowledge that she was lying. “Have you been waiting very long?”

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"Congratulations to your sister," August murmured, because that was what people said when someone was getting married. They had talked a little bit about their families in the past, but other than the number of siblings and the death of her father, August did not know much about the Greengrasses.

"Not too long," he said, "But I think I might give up." He was especially going to give up if the nerve pain didn't start to lessen; he would need to heat it, or get a potion.

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set by Bree

She gave a small smile of acknowledgement at his congratulations, but didn't mention it. She didn't like talking about Verity—as it usually seemed with an older sister who was infinitely more charming than herself, taking about her tended to bring out Grace's own failings. Although she wasn't sure what they could talk about, seeing how they were in line and Mr. Echelon-Arnost seemed ready to go. She felt her heart sink in her chest, yet she wasn't sure why.

"Oh, well," she said with uncertainty, her eyes moving from the line of people to the shop, "I think there's other shops with shorter lines. Maybe you'll have luck there?" she asked, meeting his gaze again.

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He hadn't been meaning to cut things short, even though this was an — odd place to chat, especially with her holding that gown. August supposed he was still grappling with his unanticipated realization. "Are you going to keep trying this shop, or —?" he asked, still trying to figure out what he should do — in this conversation, and with Miss Greengrass, generally.

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set by Bree

Grace thought about it for a moment. If she stayed, she'd be doing so for the sole purpose of not looking silly, because she had little money and nothing specific she needed, but if she told him she was leaving it might seem like she was only here because he was. Did men think like that? She couldn't imagine Noble or Ford reading into a woman's actions like that, but Mr. Echelon-Arnost was older and presumably wiser.

In the end she chose truth, or at least a modified version of it. She glanced down at her feet and then back up at him, struggling to keep eye contact for longer than a few seconds. Her nerves always did have a way of betraying her.

"Probably not, no," she admitted, "If you've been here and see no reason to stick around, I can't imagine I'll have better luck."

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"If you're heading home, I at least ought to accompany you part of the way," August said, before he could think any better of it. Was it more gentlemanly to offer, or to not offer? He didn't know. But maybe a walk would give him enough time to get his thoughts in order — as long as he didn't fall again and send more of that burning pain shooting through his leg.

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set by Bree

This was the worst case scenario. Well, not the worst—maybe it was actually the best, but the sudden pounding in her chest sent a jolt of panic through her, and she'd never learned to associate the feeling with anything but the worst. For a long moment Grace remained quiet, processing his offer. He wanted to walk her part of the way home? Wanted to be in her company? She didn't think Mr. Echelon-Arnost disliked her, but neither did she think he thought much of her at all.

Grace finally gave a little nod, a genuine, bashful smile the uncertain one she'd forced herself to wear. "I would like that," she agreed.

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"Let's go, then," August said. He would have offered her his arm if he could, but his cane was in the way. "Are you comfortable leading the way?" August asked. When they started walking, his limp would be more noticeable than usual.

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set by Bree

Grace still wasn't sure this was really happening as she fell into step beside Mr. Echelon-Arnost. It was not the first time they'd walked together in public—there had been the day they met, and then at the art display, but this felt different and far more surreal. Maybe it because this was the first time after their awkward conversation that they were speaking, and his good opinion of her hadn't been lost like she'd expected. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd avoided talking with her entirely, much less offering to walk her home.

And it did seem that this would be an offer to walk her home, as very quickly it became apparent that Mr. Echelon-Arnost was not well. Eyes softening with worry, she instinctively reached out and touched the sleeve of his shirt, bringing them to a halt.

"Mr. Echelon-Arnost, are you well?" It startled her to see him limp like this—not just because it was worse than usual, but because it was startling to realize that she recognized what a normal amount of limping looked like on him.

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August came to a painful, grinding halt when she touched his sleeve. He had been hoping that she wouldn't notice, except that Miss Greengrass would have lost some of her appeal — as a person, not as a debutante he thought was cute — if she were oblivious, he would not have been as intrigued by her.

He leaned on his cane, just a titch more than he usually did. "Miss Greengrass," August said, "Are you at all familiar with the nervous system?"

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