“I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.” Keats
After the party, in the quiet hours before dawn
There seems to be one advantage to living in the middle of nowhere in a country even colder than the society circles of Philadelphia; it is much easier to acquire good whiskey. One of the few things that has worked well in my favour. I stop playing for a moment to take up my glass and take a deep ( Read more... )
There seems to be one advantage to living in the middle of nowhere in a country even colder than the society circles of Philadelphia; it is much easier to acquire good whiskey. One of the few things that has worked well in my favour. I stop playing for a moment to take up my glass and take a deep ( Read more... )
Comments 26
Damn. Beethoven.
I sigh as I slip from my bed and tie on my robe as I head towards the music room. I can always tell what mood Wanda's in by the music she's singing or playing, and Beethoven is a sure indication she's in a very melancholic mood despite her smiles and re-assurances to the contrary earlier at the party.
Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, the music stops, and I hold out hope she'll just go to bed and have a good cry and fall asleep, but then the music starts again.
Damn!
I continue to the music room and slip in. "Well that's positively cheery." I say lightly, thinking I'll get a equally sarcastic reply back, but then I notice the half drunk bottle of whiskey. "Damn it all Wanda... are you drunk?" I sigh, crossing the room to take the bottle away.
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"Damn it all Wanda... are you drunk?" Her hand reaches out, but before she can touch the bottle, I snatch it away and set it on the other side of the piano, but not before I take a sip right from the bottle.
"And what does it matter, Mother dear, if I am?"
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"I could care less, darling." I reply, taking her half finished glass and drinking the rest of it, so there is a little less for her. The look she gives me is full of daggers.
"Are you going to talk about it or are you just going to keep drinking and sink into a even darker mood than you're already wallowing in?"
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"Are you going to talk about it or are you just going to keep drinking and sink into a even darker mood than you're already wallowing in?"
"What would you like to talk about?" I ask in a grand fashion, rising from the bench and twirling about the room with my bottle. "The social train wreck you managed to smile and laugh your way through tonight? The fact that I forgot I should have been in mourning today? My cursed life? Your stupidly charmed one?" My voice is rising, and I know it and should have a care about it, but I cannot bring myself to calm down.
"Shall we talk about the gossip that will surely surface about the rich heiress that tried to seduce a young Lord with inappropriate gifts? Or how about Alfie? Is there something I should know about there?" I can feel my lips curled back into sneer, and my voice is sharp and I cannot stop the flow of my words. "Is that why he wants to sleep with you ( ... )
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"Not what, who. Although right now I am more inclined to call him a what." I snort, and watch as she realizes exactly what I am referring to. Wanda mutters a curse under her breath and rakes a hand through her hair.
"This is exactly why we need to talk more." I say flatly. "Why in the hell is he here if he only wants to throw over you for me, which by the way, will never happen even if he were the last man on earth---"
"Mother! Quiet!" Wanda hisses, and I realize my voice had risen considerably.
"You had better explain what had happened, or I will find my shot gun and go ask him myself." I inform her, waiting for her to try and talk this away.
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Oh damn me and my mouth. I had to mention that, didn't I? I start pacing and wondering how I can get her to let this go, but she's good and angry, and I actually have to try and shush her up.
"You had better explain what had happened, or I will find my shot gun and go ask him myself."
"Oh you wouldn't..." I breathe, but the look in her eye tells me, yes. Yes she would.
"We were at dinner a few months back, right around the anniversary of Father's passing." I explain lightly, trying to make it sound like it was just a passing spat and not worth talking about, really. "And I was explaining that you had seemed a little down, and was probably missing him moreso than normal, and might be lonely---"
"And let me guess; being the perfect gentleman that he is, he offered his services to your poor, lonely, widowed and wealthy mother. Jack-ass social climber, why I should--" Her eyes are daggers and I step in front of her, barring her for rising and finding ( ... )
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Of all the things I was expecting her to say, never in a million years would I have ever guessed---
"That is, quite possibly, the most depraved thing I have ever heard." I state, not quite knowing what else to say. "If that's a normal thing to do here in England, we should return to America, immediately." I blink several times, and look back to Wanda, still thinking I may go get my gun.
"So... please, please give me a good reason as to why that bastard is in our house."
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"So... please, please give me a good reason as to why that bastard is in our house."
"A good enough reason to pardon it without a apology thus far for impugning your good character?" I ask, and shake my head sadly. "No. I am holding out hope for one, although that seems less likely as time goes by." Shrug my shoulders and lean against the piano, still wondering if she'll go after him, and if I can stop her if she does.
"He's witty. He verbally fences with me, and it's fun. He's a good dancer." Find my lips quirking up, just a touch. "He also argues with me, and doesn't expect me to play dumb or demure when we do." I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed that, and missed it, until tonight. I trace a pattern on the top of the piano with my fingertips. "And he's very good in..." And I stop, for it's more information that Mother needs.
"He was very good at helping me drive away sad memories." Is what I finally settle on.
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