Lucy was beginning to become restless again. She had enjoyed one dance already, with Duke Westley of Harleston, although it had hardly been the most comfortable situation she had ever been in. While she loved to dance, anytime, anywhere, with any [skilled] partner, Duke Westley never failed to fill her with a faint sense of apprehension, mainly for the fact that she could not for the life of her read the man! She had agreed to an alliance with him, promised her own sister in marriage to him, yet she still did not entirely trust him. Still, the music was phenomenal, the entire atmosphere one of luxury and extravagance, and Lucy was more than ready to dance again. She had sipped a little more of the excellent wine in the meantime, and hoped to prevent any unfortunate effects by dancing again soon to work it off.


So Lucy smoothed down the deep purple silk skirts of her magnificent ball gown, reaching one hand up to her hair to make sure the golden mass was still securely bound beneath the silver hair net with its tiny diamonds and amethysts; her best hair net which she only wore on special occasions such as this. Around her neck hung her fanciest necklace, silver with a beautiful pendant of amethyst and diamond; and upon the third finger of her right hand rested a silver ring set with a single amethyst. She made sure her sweetest smile was formed on her petal pink lips, in the hope that any suitable male courtiers would see that she was interested, if not in them, at least in dancing with them.


Until Duke Westley, no one had invited her to dance; she was not sure if it was because they were intimidated by her, or perhaps feared to show their preferences for her at an engagement ball for the Duchess of Pemberton, when the relationship between Pemberton and Ashton was completely undeveloped. Lucy had actually met Duchess Esabell for the first time earlier in the evening, and they had tip-toed around each other, each clearly suspicious but not wishing to appear so. Lucy was still unsure how she felt about the older woman, but she would worry about that later...she did not want to seem distracted if another dance invitation were to come.


She took another sip of wine before turning to a nearby servant and placing the not-quite-empty goblet upon her tray. She had had enough for the moment and knew she should stop before she grew lightheaded. Still smiling, she glanced around at the mass of courtiers nearby, silently willing someone to come and ask her to dance.

He was still sticky. The beverage clung to his shirt and hair and was forming tiny crystals of grit that he couldn't quite sweep off. The scent kept overwhelming him at random times and he had to work hard to reel back - what a fool he'd look! But then, he already looked so foolish tonight. Dancing with a foreigner in a disgusting voice while his betrothed stood nearby (but of course she had no reason to worry - he was Tom and so would never be scandalous) and then had a drink thrown on him.

But he retained an air of formality despite his rather crusty attire and snagged a glass of drink from a tray and sipped it absently, looking around at the guests. He tried to shut his creative mind off, suffocate it - but it was hard when everything was so vibrant. He generally didn't like balls but there were some wonderful movements here - a servant hovering next to a large group, the assortment of shoes, a lonely girl standing next to the tornado of dancers.

But then he saw something that really tested his blockade; his own Duchess Lucy, alone. He was rather surprised because she was a Duchess, after all - people should be lining up to dance with her. She looked lovely tonight, of course. The necklace around her neck spoke composedly of beauty and riches and the Ashton culture, while her dress made her seem more regal than he had seen her before.

But then he had rarely seen her - she was his Duchess, after all, and seemed to conduct her own ferocious affairs in secret. The last he'd heard was that she'd sold her own sister to the Duke of Harleston and remained unbetrothed herself. Such a lady was intriguing, to say the least, so he placed his glass on a random tray and strolled over to her as casually as he dared.

"I trust you are enjoying the celebrations, Duchess?" It was formal to say the least, but that was just Tom's style. Never in his wildest dreams would he drop a title from someone's name, and his Duchess was much too high in status for him to say her name. Besides, from all he'd heard she sounded ferocious. He bowed almost unconsciously at the thought. "It is a lovely celebration. I daresay I found it a trifle unexpected, however."

And he did. She'd never thought a Duchess would marry below her station, but there - it showed that such things could happen and happen well. From what he'd heard, Lord Edmund was a amiable man and certainly capable of ruling a Duchy. The Duchess of Pemberton also seemed to be capable, though of course not as much so as his own Duchess. Tom remained firm on that point - none could compare to the Duchess of Ashton.

After a moment, Lucy noticed a young man approaching her. His approach seemed casual, but she could see the interest in his eyes, and she braced herself for another courtier seeking her favor. As he neared her, she realized that she knew him. She could not think of his name - perhaps they had never been formally introduced, she was not sure. But he was definitely one of her own courtiers from Ashton.


She smiled as he greeted her with a bow, nodding graciously in reply. "Indeed, it is quite a lovely affair," she agreed. She had not been surprised by the news of the engagement, however. Duchess Esabell had been in a similar predicament to Lucy's own, although Lucy's advisors had not provided her with the same ultimatum regarding a marriage. Still, Lucy knew all too well that they felt she ought to marry soon, although she hated the very idea. Ashton was hers, and she would not surrender its rule to any man. But Lucy had heard the rumors about the Duchess's engagement prior to the actual announcement. She would not bring that up, however, for two reasons: she felt it was beneath the dignity of a Duchess to discuss gossip; and she did not want the similar rumors about her own duchy, the alliance with Harleston and the engagement between Duke Westley and her sister Rose, to become the topic of conversation again. "A bit unexpected, perhaps," she lied instead, "but these kinds of arrangements can be made more quickly than one might think, when there is reason for it."


Lucy offered the young man another smile. "But surely I have seen you at court in Ashton, have I not? I fear, however, that I cannot recall your name...please, forgive my lapse and do enlighten me."

Of course it was below her status to discuss such thoughts - but he still found it strange that a Duchess would marry below herself. After all, none but the most experienced of courtiers could understand how to run a Duchy, and so few were acceptable enough not to take advantage of a Duchess. He glanced towards Lord Edmund for a moment - he wasn't sure the man's intentions were wholly for the good of the Duchy of Pemberton, but then he didn't know the man. Tom wasn't a fan of gossip but he found such matters of state intriguing... after all, there was no way to determine the composition of a man without knowing his past. And from what he'd heard, Lord Edmund had had a previous marriage based on love that ended in his dead wife and child. Tom felt a fleeting stab of pity before he pushed his mind from such unreasonable thoughts and turned back to his Duchess.

"Lord Tom Finn at your service, Duchess," he said, dipping down into another half-bow. The rumours may be true of her selling her sister to the Duke of Harleston - but Tom didn't believe them. After all, his Duchess knew what she was doing. He remained entirely loyal to her and her methods of ruling because Ashton was climbing up in status while still remaining culturally active. Pemberton boasted flighty colours but with a new Duke, especially one from Benthey, it would most likely become more grounded. If the rumours were true then alliances had been made between both Pemberton and Benthey and Ashton and Harleston - if that was true, where did Marcheford reside? Such an alliance could make or break the aims of Ashton.

But the thoughts of business vanished as his Ashton thoughts resurfaced. He found that a lower, side painting would suit her best - preferably if she was not so forward in her stature. He would love to make her regal on canvas, the greatest ruler of Adesia. But he was in a public place and his charcoal was sitting lonely in his chambers, so all he could do was gather the inspiration slowly. "Would you care to dance, Duchess?" he asked, holding out his hand and inclining his head respectfully.

Lucy smiled as the young man introduced himself as Lord Tom Finn. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tom," she replied sincerely. For once she actually did mean it. This Lord Tom seemed different from most of the courtiers she had met. He did not seem as though he was only trying to gain her favor. Instead, he seemed to genuinely admire her, something which Lucy appreciated.


Her smile grew wider and more genuine at his invitation. "I would be delighted to dance with you," she said, her voice soft and sweet. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. As the music swelled, she placed her other hand on his shoulder and followed his lead into the elegant steps.


Lucy disliked remaining silent while dancing, especially now. She did not want to get wrapped up in her thoughts; they were hardly appropriate for such an occasion. "Tell me about yourself, Lord Tom," she said. A command, though not a harsh one. "What do you enjoy, when you are away from court?"

He was fair at dancing - not brilliant, of course, but he could follow the steps. He'd been taught well but just didn't have flair for such things. They seemed frivolous and flighty at best, always moving and changing partners and music... he found it a little tiresome, but then dancing with his Duchess could never be.

He was very loyal, and only to her. Other Dukes and Duchesses paled in comparison to his. Tom would continue to follow her no matter what strife became of it, simply because it was what he knew. Mistakes were tolerated simply because it was natural, but accomplishments were prided and admired wholeheartedly.

He tilted his head a little, in exchange for a shrug, which he didn't think would be very appropriate while dancing. He wasn't too sure what to say - what could one say? He was away from court a lot, usually in other Duchies studying things and people, but how could he say that? He was sure it would sound dreadfully treasonous to spend more time in Duchies other than your own, and to say such thing to your Duchess...

"Many things," he said, trying to widen the question a little, "especially art. I am an avid painter, naturally, since I am Ashton born and bred - I like to paint people mostly." He had attempted to make it sound more focused on Ashton, since he had no desire to sound like he was fond of Pemberton. He wasn't. It was much too flashy and had no focus to its art.

Lucy smiled when Lord Tom said he enjoyed art. A true Ashtonian answer. After all, what truly loyal Ashtonite did not love art in one form or another, beyond anything else? Lucy certainly did herself, as was only right for Ashton's Duchess. Her entire family had possessed both the love of and expertise in many different forms of art. Lucy's mother had been an extremely gifted singer and dancer, both of which she had passed down to Lucy and all of her sisters. Lucy knew, however, without being arrogant, that she was the most talented singer among her siblings, although ten-year-old Catherine showed some promise if she would only stop shrieking all the time. Her father had also been a gifted singer, though his true talent and passion had been in painting. Lucy's youngest sister, six-year-old Emma, was following in his footsteps already from what Lucy heard - she was unable to spend very much time with her younger sisters anymore since taking on the responsibilities of Duchess. But Emma was the only one of the four sisters who showed neither talent nor inclination for dancing. Their mother had been going to begin teaching Emma to dance herself, the very morning she and the Duke had been found dead. Emma had refused to learn from anyone else, vowing never to dance if it could not be for "Mama."


Lucy quickly pushed those memories away. Thoughts like those could only lead to weakness and her ultimate downfall. She had to remain strong, now more than ever. So Lord Tom was a painter as well, just as Lucy's father had been...no. Once again, she thrust those thoughts away, pinning them down firmly at the back of her mind. Instead she smiled at her partner as the dance led them through a fairly intricate turn. "I must confess that painting is one of the arts I never did manage to master," she said with a little laugh. "Though I have always admired those who did...my father was quite the painter too, you know."


After the next figure in the dance had been completed, Lucy turned back to her partner once more. "Tell me, Lord Tom," she said, the barest hint of coy playfulness behind her voice, "how would I do as a subject for one of your paintings?" It was very unusual for Lucy to invite compliments in such a manner, normally. But in this case, it was all for the purpose of discerning just how genuine this Lord Tom was. It would all depend on what he said...and how he said it.

She seemed preoccupied with something beyond their conversation, something that only she knew. It made him feel a little absent, as if he wasn't really in focus, just a blurry part of a ball that she had to attend. But then she was his Duchess - of course she had matters above him and other Duchies' balls. She had her own Duchy to run and no matter how long they danced that would still be her responsibility.

He found himself wondering how such a young woman could rule such a Duchy. Ashton was bubbling over with people, old and young alike, who saw and felt things more keenly than those people of other Duchies. Ashtonites had the power of scope and of beauty that led them to feel things that others did not. And because of this they would also be more outspoken in their ideals. How could a young woman rule against the loud and often judgemental voices of Ashton?

"My condolences to you and your family on the Duke's passing, Duchess," he said, as was proper. He still remembered when the Duke and Duchess had been found dead... he doubted he'd ever forget it. And then the announcement that their daughter would be ruling. Naturally, Tom had chosen to follow the Rochester family no matter what happened - it was all he'd ever known and he was sure the present Duchess would be as adept a ruler as her father.

Her next question almost made Tom stop in the middle of the steps. He would have to tread carefully, he knew - and while his conscious mind was buzzing about how to gain her favour, his artistic mind (and the mind that had asked her to dance) was more than happy to oblige. He paused for a moment, debating, and seemed to muse a little to himself as he answered her.

"Well, Duchess - I should say that you would be somewhere a little isolated. A street or court would not go well for you because of your stance... you would look too out of place. I should think that a river or garden would be the place, although said garden could not have yellow in it... more red and blue. And it would either have to be low angle or very high, in order to catch the line of your chin... your hair, too, so I think a low angle. And naturally you could not be sitting in a chair... most likely standing, Duchess, or tucked on the ground in picnic form."

He concluded, his mind naturally flashing through the images. The garden could not have yellow because that would add too much to her hair and make it seem too fake. The red would draw attention to her lips and the blue would draw out her eyes, which in turn would draw attention to her face and so her chin. She did have a very nice jawline, a fact that he had noted before they had branched off onto this subject. He wasn't sure her necklace was best for it, but it was beautiful and drew attention to her neck.

He smiled to cover up those thoughts and let his feet do the dancing, as they were so used to this type of dance they seemed to be teaching the rest of him how to perform in such a way.

Upon hearing Lord Tom's condolences, Lucy replied with a smile, though she allowed a hint of sadness to lurk behind it, as would be expected. "Thank you, Lord Tom," she said in a soft voice. "I fear my sisters have felt it far more than I, being so young and without anything to distract them from it." Her oldest sister, Rose, actually did have something to distract her now, a very large something, in her undesired engagement to the Duke of Harleston. But of course, Lucy could not mention that, as it was to be kept strictly between Rose, Duke Westley, and Lucy herself until it was formally announced. Lucy was already planning for the announcement, intending for it to take place at the ball the last night of the Midsummer Festival. She knew it would not come as a complete shock for the most part, as rumors had surrounded their two duchies ever since Lucy's first meeting with the Duke. But she hoped that making it official would at least end some of the wilder speculations. "Do you have siblings, Lord Tom?" she asked, to change the subject. Perhaps his descriptions of his family would distract Lucy from thoughts of her own.


Lucy's mood quickly changed from thoughtfulness to amusement as Lord Tom began to answer her question about how she would do for his paintings, though she allowed neither mood to show through the polite, pleasant mask she always presented in public. She had been right about him, something which always delighted her. He was nowhere near one of the flattering fools she so often was forced to deal with. Instead of showering her with compliments, he had taken her question literally and had begun to lay out exactly how he would place Lucy in order to paint her. She listened attentively as they danced, nodding politely every time he paused. She found herself more and more inclined to have just such a painting done, for his descriptions intrigued her.


"Indeed, you are a true artist," she murmured appreciatively. It was not meant as flattery, but the simple truth. She could tell from his words that painting was truly a passion for him, and one at which he clearly had a great deal of skill and experience. How often she had heard her father discussing such things as colors and angles, in reference to his latest project. "How long would such a painting generally take to complete? If I may be so bold, I should be delighted to pose for you once we have returned to Ashton."

He really did wish he had siblings. He wanted some, preferably a younger sister, so that he could watch over them and have some company when scandal was wreaking havoc. But then his mother hadn't wanted more - she hadn't even wanted him. She'd wanted children with another man, another time, another life. When she looked at him all she would have seen was his father, not the lover she had taken and the man she had cried a thousand tears over. He was a disappointment to her in every way, or maybe just took second standing next to her heart.

He felt for her as she spoke of her parents, and of her sisters too. Of course their pain would be magnified in the scandal everywhere and the change in lifestyle that came with it. Because, as a Duchess, the woman before him could no longer spend so much time with them or be so close. His Duchess had a whole other type of bravery, one that came with loss and unwanted power.

He forced a smile. "No, Duchess, I have no siblings - I wish I did, of course, but my mother died soon after having me. I never knew her, so naturally my pain wouldn't be as sharp as yours and your sisters," he said precisely, his tongue naturally marching over the words as if they were notches in a belt. This way of speaking made him sound a little harsh and very cold, but he didn't mean to be - one couldn't help the way one was raised.

"Not long," he said absently, thinking back to his previous paintings, "I usually paint by memory so it isn't so forced. If I can keep the picture clear in my mind it adds a train of thought and you can see the emotion, rather than it just being a one-dimension piece." He didn't much like to paint solitary things like flowers in a pot. He liked to paint people and sometimes nature, although landscapes were often lost on him because they had very little character other than hills and grass. Whereas people held the emotion in the world and created the emotion one saw in landscapes by their own thoughts and ideas and dreams - and that was the way everything had grown to be.

Lucy recognized the cold, emotionless tone of Lord Tom's voice when he spoke of having no siblings and never knowing his mother. It was the same tone she herself used when speaking of her own parents' deaths. Or rather, it was the tone she used when speaking of them with a person to whom she desired to appear strong rather than weak...her fellow Dukes and Duchesses, for example. But there were times when it was far more useful for her to seem innocent and sweet as she appeared; and during those times, she could feign a most convincing sadness about their passing.


Still, even though it was generally an attempt at deceit whenever she spoke so coldly herself, she did not suspect that same deceit in Lord Tom. Perhaps it was because such deceit would be contrary to everything she had already discerned about his character. But his words had sounded sincere, whatever reason he had for being so matter-of-fact about it. Well, she supposed that if he had never known his mother, it was understandable for there to be no emotion when he spoke of her.


"I am sorry," she said, in response to both his having no siblings and never knowing his mother. She could not imagine either circumstance, never remembering a time when either had applied to her; Rose had been born when Lucy was only two, so she could not remember the time before Rose's birth; and equally impossible to picture was never having known the mother who had been everything to her.


Yet in the end, was it not better that way? If Lucy had never known her mother, she would not be able to be bothered by the minute though still annoying pricks of her conscience at her lack of sorrow for her death. And if she had no siblings, she would not be equally bothered by the same source for her possibly less-than-ideal treatment of them. But then she reminded herself that if she had not had sisters, she could not have formed such a promising alliance with Harleston, as she would have had nothing to offer Duke Castyll as "proof" of her intention to follow through with the alliance. But would an alliance even have been necessary, with the ascension of the new King?


Lucy shook those thoughts off irritably, though showing no sign of her displeasure, particularly since it was not directed at her partner in any way. Instead she directed her attention to Lord Tom as he spoke of his painting. "Emotion is, certainly, very important in art of all sorts," she agreed. A light flush spread over her cheeks despite herself as she recalled the emotions brought forth the last time she had practiced her own art of singing, at the heart of the maze on the grounds of her own Lockewell Manor. She continued speaking, quickly, in the hopes that Lord Tom would not have noticed her discomfiture. "Come and see me once we have returned to Ashton, and I shall sit for you, if you wish it."