Debauchery at its finest. That certainly described everything that Pemberton did, threw, or spit on. This ball was no exception. Everything was great, grand, and marvelous, from the food and drink to the musicians to the decorations, and Westley couldn't help but wonder to himself how the Sherbournes paid for such splendor. Then again, it wouldn't be the Sherbournes for very long, would it? Duchess Sherbourne, as all now knew, needed to marry to keep her proper hold upon Pemberton. What else was there to that obligation? Would the people appoint someone to be her husband if she did not find someone suitable within a certain amount of time? He couldn't fully recall the rumor, though he supposed that he should have paid more attention to it when it fully circled around all of Adesia. At the time, he had been plotting the easiest way to conquer the throne, and, if by some chance Duchess Sherbourne had come across a weak-willed lord that she married, for whatever reason, it would have been easier to knock Pemberton out of the way. However, now that this...this king...had risen to power, there was no point in worrying about such things. Now, there was only one man to overthrow, and such things would have to be done slowly and quietly. Such horrible thoughts for a pious man leading a pious duchy, but thoughts impossible to rid his mind of all the same. No doubt he'd have to take to the chapel as soon as he returned to Harleston with his rosary in hand.


Tonight, however, was not a time to worry about that. Tonight was a time to dance. Dressed in his finest black silk attire, complete with a heavy gold chain and several rings, each holding a different meaning, and another thinner chain holding a cross beneath his doublet, he looked regal, imposing, and formal all at the same time. His eyes, always warm, somehow managed to make him look fairly approachable even when dueling with his the image that his clothing presented. He did refrain from smiling, however, much as he always did, as well as refrain from taking any glass of wine offered to him from the servants. The last time that he had succumbed to the numbness that alcohol offered him, John suffered greatly. The manservant's hand was still broken and bound, after all, though he attempted to keep that quiet by keeping to Westley's chambers as much as he could. It wouldn't do well for the Duke's violent addiction to alcohol to become public, especially when he managed to keep it quiet for so long. Tonight, however, somehow he would keep away from alcohol, even if he had to dance with every woman and every man in the room where no wine could tempt him. Yes, that was a much more feasible plan than any other that he could think of. In fact, perhaps he should start early, before he could be overly tempted. His cinnamon brown eyes instantly went to scanning the room for the first woman that he would dance with. It would be well if it was the woman that he was soon to propose to, but he couldn't quite catch a glimpse of her immediately.


However, something else quickly distracted him. There. A flash of blonde hair. He paused for a moment in his slow steps around the perimeter of the room and blinked. Said blonde head of hair turned at that moment to say something to someone nearby it, and his mind processed that it was none other than Duchess Esabell Sherbourne. He paused for only a moment before wondering what the harm would be in dancing with her and starting off across the floor to where she stood. After all, his mind was still working quickly when it came to finding out ways that he could better achieve the crown, even if another younger upstart had already wrapped his weak fingers around it. Perhaps something that the woman said would prove useful to him. Or, perhaps, he was simply fleeing from alcohol as quickly as he could, and Duchess Sherbourne's head of hair was the first to stick out to his desperate eyes. Blasphemy. Such a thought was ridiculous and completely infeasible. Shoving it to the back of his mind, as he was drawing near to the lovely woman who was perhaps the only leader of a duchy remotely near his age, he paused before her and offered a very small smile, one nearly concealed beneath his facial hair. "Duchess Sherbourne," he began, his baritone voice rumbling pleasantly and powerfull in his chest. "Lovely ball, if I may say so. Pemberton always has the finest celebrations."


At least the introduction and necessary compliment were out of the way already. He'd had very little interaction with the woman, as up until recently, it had been her brother that he had shared a table with at the Sapphire Court. However, that was of no consequence at the moment. Extending one of his large, slightly rough hands, he lifted a single eyebrow to the woman and kept his naturally intense gaze focused solely on her eyes, as was his habit with anyone that he came across. "Care to dance, your Grace? The night is young, and I can think of no better way to spend it than by dancing."

The evening was going splendidly. Everything seemed to be falling into place it seemed, as though God were smiling on the coupling of Edmund and she. She must admit, she anxiously awaited the arrival of the man in question, she still had not received word of his entrance into the hall and feared that he might back out. She was always afraid he might step down.

A dark head bobbing towards her caught her attention, the Duke Westley headed straight to her causing her to nod goodbye to the young woman she had been greeting and wait for the Duke to reach her. It had been so long since she had last seen the man last, his presence always shocking her. Smiling graciously as he spoke the obligatory greeting and compliment she couldn’t help but wonder what went on in the man’s head. He was a pios man, that she knew, though he always seemed to her to be dark, like something in the corner of a childs room at night to be feared.

”It is a pleasure to have you Duke Castyll.” She proffered, returning his solid gaze with one of her own soft looks. Taking his hand she turned to face the space where the first couples were beginning to dance. “It would be an honor.” She smiled, closing her eyes and nodding sincerely before looking forward to find a way through the bodies slowly crowding the room.

She hated the man, she could not deny it. It was not that he was catholic or that he was, as others might say, competition. It was simply his nature that frustrated her so deeply. IT was that sort of hatred one could not control nor put a name to, she simply could not stand the fellow. Looking back at him she tried to define the reason, it was not his appearance, though he was not the most handsome man. It certainly wasn’t his status, she respected her fellow nobles, personally aware of the responsibility it took to rule.

Surrendering her efforts she opted to speak again, her mask of a smile parting. “Such a long trip it must have been, to the opposite end of Adesia. I do hope your travels were smooth? And your accommodations appropriate?” She could not recall at the moment if the duke were lodging in Sutton or her own manor for some reason. Many courtiers of high standing had requested of her hospitality, staying in extra chambers so as to not be travel weary before the ball.

Ah, a pleasure to have him? Indeed it was. For a woman so recently to take control of a duchy, she was quickly growing to understand what the proper answers were to give in such situations. Unlike Duchess Rochester. Then again, the other woman was younger and had little experience with the way that her father ran Ashton. No doubt Duchess Sherbourne had received a little more exposure to the ways of ruling a duchy due to the fact that it was her brother that had led it, someone that she'd no doubt be a bit closer to. Turning his mind from this decision, he thought about what a striking contrast the two of them no doubt made at this moment in time. He was the epitome of darkness, ironically enough for a man considered to be one of the most pious of all Adesia outside of those in the church, in his entirely black ensemble and with hair of an incredibly dark shade. Duchess Sherbourne, however, presented a sort of ethereal lightness, with her pale skin tone and blonde hair. His eyes were intense, piercing, even, while hers were soft and gentle. When she took his hand, he could feel that hers were as soft as her eyes while his carried a hint of roughness that would prove, to the incredibly observant, that the Castylls did not forever reign supreme over all of Harleston. However, with those observations complete, as Duchess Sherbourne scanned for a path through the dance floor, he turned his eyes in the same direction to lead them toward an appropriate spot.


It took a moment before a clear spot was found, even though only a few couples took to the floor so early in the evening. However, Westley felt Duchess Sherbourne's eyes on his profile before he even glanced toward her through the corner of his own eye. From what he could tell, she looked fairly contemplative, and he wondered, for a moment, what was going on inside of her mind that she would be looking at him in such a way. It was as if she didn't quite understand him. Of course she doesn't. Few truly did. He didn't want for them to. The instant that someone began to understand him was the instant that his role in his father's death would no doubt be brought into light. It was something that Westley didn't anticipate with joy. Indeed, he subconsciously planned years before to never let anyone get so beneath his skin, not even his brothers. At the time, he hadn't known if he would ever marry, but now that he owned a ring to slip onto Lady Rochester's finger, he knew that he should never show a moment of his weakness to her either. The bloody handkerchief lying silently in the box on top of his chest flashed before his mind's eye for a moment, and he instantly began to weave plans together to move it to a more discreet location, where she would never find it once the two of them were actually married. Then again, John had never found it over the years, as far as Westley was aware of. Perhaps it was fine where it slept.


Focus. Now wasn't a night for thinking on such depressing things. Now was a night for covert examinations, though he was sure that God wasn't quite too pleased with such secret things planned. No matter. A confession would do away with any and all sin and guilt. It always did. Except for - no. He turned to face Duchess Sherbourne then, lightly placing one hand on her ribcage as was proper and holding her other hand in his own. He was not the grandest of dancers, perhaps, but he didn't anticipate crushing any of her toes either. She asked her question of his travels and his accomodations, though Westley recognized it quickly for the politeness that it was. One could not be duke for as long as he had been and not recognize such things. However, he gave a very small smile, a few lines around his eyes wrinkling slightly with the rare movement, and gave a little nod. "My journey went well, yes." He paused for only a moment before continuing on. "A spot of rain through Marcheford, but nothing of consequence." Good heavens, it had been a long journey, but the absense of the Duke of Harleston to such a grand ball at Pemberton would not be easily explained. Besides, it was an opportunity to view how people were adjusting to the new King of Adesia, among other things.


"My accomodations are grand as well. Roseworth Manor is absolutely splendid." Indeed, he was staying at the manor, as many of the inns in the town would no doubt be full. He'd always found the strange tint of the stones to be lovely, in the oddest way, though he much preferred the vast halls and stained glass windows of Edythen Manor. They him a great deal more.

It intrigued her to see a smile on Duke Castylls face, as though it didn’t belong there. Never before had she seen that expression on his face, the crinkles about his eyes so earnest and sincere despite the typical darkness of his features. She was suddenly fascinated by his expressions, studying each preliminary line of age to slowly forming, not quite at hand but ghostly in their presence. It gave the lord a more personal feel, as though he were, up close, not the dark slimy thing she had always pictured but instead just another lord.

She had always respected the Duke. He was the picture of what a stuffy old ruler was supposed to look like. Pious and statuesque in all his actions. It was only befitting that he be the eldest of the dukes and duchess, only a few years older than Esabell but still so her elder in character. As he took her hand for the dance she was struck by just how courteous and politically correct his actions were. True it was a game he was long familiar with but it was still a shock how carefully he chose his words, how smoothly conversational. So unlike Duchess Lucy. Looking back on her conversation with the woman they had both been so awkward, cautiously prodding each other with comments while at the same time trying to appear completely confident and at ease with one another. No, Duke Westley was a smooth criminal in his actions, so measured and practiced that he could have said anything and Esabell would likely have spoken without thinking if she were not careful.

”I am glad you have found Pemberton’s hospitality so agreeable, I would be shamed if you had found it wanting.” As the dance begin Esabell comfortably fell into step, silently relieved that the dance was simple and would not require vast amounts of concentration to control her clumsiness. She had enough to focus on already. “I must admit, I am greatly pleased that people from all of Adesia have come in such pleasant temperaments. All of the duchies have been so busy as of late, it is a nice release to be able to talk lightly amongst ourselves.” She wasn’t about to discuss it openly but she was dying to know what the duke of harleston thought of the new king. She did not fear Westley as she did certain other but she was still wary with him, unsure of how he might act should she pose her questions bluntly. Once the games of politics and courtiers had begun there was no end.

Resisting the urge to snort at Duchess Sherbourne's words, as it would be a terribly undignified action, he shook his head very slightly. Hmph. That the duchies had been busy was a vast understatement that brought a chuckle to his mind. With this new immature upstart of a king weaving his way through Adesia in an attempt to unite it, the duchies had gone through an incredibly tumultuous time. It didn't appear that it would slow down at any point either. Westley already seemed to hold some sort of odd favor with the king, perhaps because of the rumors that he held to his Catholic faith so tightly, but it didn't reassure him in the slightest. This King Ambrose had taken from Westley the thing that he wanted and lusted after the most, and it would take quite a bit of time before he could see him as anything less than a thief who had possession over the crown simply due to an odd alliance with Benthey. Westley wasn't one to pay much attention to gossip - or so he liked to tell himself - but he couldn't help but wonder if some sort of foul play had been used to wrap Duchess Launcelyn around King Ambrose's little finger. Westley couldn't pretend that he would do no such thing, especially due to the fact that he had agreed with Duchess Rochester that he would marry her younger sister in order to forge an alliance between the two duchies, but he still did not smile favorably over it.


The irony of such a hypocritical thought escaped him easily, of course, due to the way that he was now dwelling on the king. It was difficult for Westley to think on anything else when the king was in his mind, and how much he disliked him. He did not deserve the throne, not at all. He was fully aware that his thoughts were treasonous, yes, but didn't plan to voice them either. The only one who knew of his true thoughts on the king was John, his manservant. In fact, the younger man still had a bound hand from where he had discovered Westley's true thoughts first-hand. There was no way that Westley was going to reveal them so flippantly, though he refused to lie and pretend to be wholly satisfied with the man reigning over them. It was a careful balance, a dance that required much concentration lest he fall and reveal his hand. Mixing up your metaphors, Westley? He was musing too much yet again instead of focusing on the task at hand. He was curious as to what Duchess Sherbourne thought of this man suddenly taking over all of Adesia and dubbing himself the true one to rule them. He couldn't help but wonder as well what her brother might have thought about him. He had known the man a little more, so much so that he didn't mind referring to him as Duke Mathias in his thoughts like he refused to do with any of the other upper nobility, and thought that, perhaps, he would have been as uncomfortable with the thought of a man who had no claim to the throne taking over it so suddenly as Westley was.


Then again, there was no reason to wonder about that now. He would never find out. Drawing himself away from those potentially depressing thoughts, he simply nodded to Duchess Sherbourne's observation about the hurried duchies. "I agree. The duchies should always be able to unite, especially for a worthy cause." Perhaps he was saying a bit much there, but he doubted that his allusion would be so easily noted. If it could be, he hoped that quickly moving on would take Duchess Sherbourne's mind away from it. As his eyes drifted over to the king in the distance, who was already being propositioned for a dance by some young girl no doubt hoping to get into his bed, he couldn't help but let the tiny smile he held curve slightly into a smirk. "I am surprised that everyone has moved into this great change so easily. I expected a little more...resistance." That was certainly an understatement, much as her words had been. Turning his gaze back down to Duchess Sherbourne as they turned in the dance where he could no longer see King Ambrose, he lifted one of those bushy brows of his. "Wouldn't you say so, my Grace?" He was curious about her response, yes. She already knew the correct things to say when confronted with situations like this, he knew. Duke Mathias had taught her well.