Red/Juliette | early in the evening - COMPLETE
“The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” he replied automatically. It was a reflexive response drilled into him from an early age; how utterly bored he sounded while reciting it depended on the woman he was being forced into conversation with. The girl — Lady Coulombe, wasn’t it? — was a little too young for him to properly flirt with, but there was something about her that Red found quietly endearing. He made a show of looking her over, his mouth curling at the sight of her frilly dress. Red wondered if that was her choice or Lady Demiel’s work at play.
“Are you enjoying yourself? The Duke certainly knows how to throw a party.”
“Oh yes, very much.” Not at all, in actuality, but she would enjoy herself a great deal more if she could just slip away. She was rather interested in the buffet table, if she were to be honest, the music was quite pleasant, and at least Lord Redwald, after a brief once-over, seemed content to look at her face. “The Duke is the most gracious of hosts; I have been looking forward to this event for some time.” Primarily because it would be the last of the season.
“Juliette just loves dancing, don’t you dear?” Lady Demiel trilled from beside her, a thinly veiled hint that she ought to make her way to the floor with her interlocutor; fortunately, until he took the initiative and invited her, she could play stupid. Sometimes, being a proper young lady had its benefits.
Still, she was expected to encourage him, of course. “Yes, of course,” she said, though her voice lacked enthusiasm -- Lady Demiel was correct; she was not good at being charming -- “dancing is such a pleasant pastime.”
Red glanced between Lady Demiel and Lady Coulombe, giving them both his most winsome smile. He considered himself pretty good at reading people, but it didn’t take an expert to realize the young woman had absolutely no interest in dancing. Lady Demiel and Lady Vannes were operating on the same wavelength — suitors, courtship, betrothal, marriage. Steadily approaching thirty with no engagement in sight, his mother was breathing down Redwald’s neck about it. It was exhausting — but women had it far worse, that was for certain. He’d never had to deal with this tiresome rigmarole at her age.
He didn’t need to look at his mother to feel the pointed glance she was giving him. Be polite. Don’t embarrass me. He extended a hand to the young woman and made a small gesture toward the dance floor with his head. “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Coulombe?”
Well, she supposed that had been expected. She was far too practiced to sigh. “I would be delighted.” At least, she reasoned, as she placed her hand lightly in his, she did not recall him as being one of the men she most desperately attempted to avoid at such functions. He was old enough, she could hope, to see her as a girl and not a woman. Not that that stopped some so-called ‘gentlemen’ from taking liberties, but surely not all of them were this way.
As he led her away towards the couples currently engaged in a lively polka, she noted the identically pleased smiles on the faces of the ladies left behind.