Although Juliette knew that her sister was attempting to mask the feeling, she knew her well enough by now to see when the smiles she put on weren’t genuine. It was only one of the reasons why Juliette herself was not enjoying the party, though she might have otherwise. She had danced with the groom-to-be -- as expected -- making very little conversation (this man was to be her brother; she supposed there would come a time where she might know him, as the time had come for Alys, but she felt no immediate warmth from him), then greeted several other guests, sipping on a glass of champagne and watching her sister out of the corner of her eye. The glass, which she ensured remained mostly full, was a deterrent to most dance partners. She felt safe enough lingering on the periphery, as usual.
At least, until she spotted a familiar face in the crowd and nearly dropped the glass altogether.
That was how she wound up on the balcony overlooking the gardens only moments later, bare arms clasped together against the chill of the gloomy afternoon. Her face was burning though. The last thing she needed -- the last thing Alys needed -- was a scene here, today. The longer she could hide from Rivalen Beau, the better for all parties involved.
Had Rivalen known that Juliette was so keen on avoiding him, he would’ve focused his efforts into cornering her somewhere and smirking. As it were, the Samurai had other things in mind and the party was a distraction from those little conundrums.
On the other hand, Esther had seen her dear friend disappear into the balcony and she followed suit. Juliette’s notions of marriage were odd, especially for someone as traditional as Esther who was very happily engaged to someone she loved (or thought she loved). Those topics were seldom breached but surely now that Alys was getting married, Juliette would follow?
Heels clicking to announce her intrusion, Esther cleared her throat, flute of champagne in hand. “Hey, Juliette.”
Juliette turned, glad the voice was female -- and unaccented -- and smiled when she recognized the woman who had joined her on the balcony. “Good afternoon, Esther.” Of all people to have followed her, Esther was a relief: friendly and unassuming, well-mannered, and most importantly, utterly unlikely to flirt with her. “It is good of you to come.” The thanks came easily, automatically. The countess was the host today, but as the bride’s sister, Juliette had her responsibility to the guests, too. “I would have greeted you earlier had I seen you arrive.”
She turned away from the gloomy gardens to face her friend, who was haloed by the bright light spilling from the windows. “You are looking very well today,” she complimented. Tidy and pretty and -- always -- happy. She could not help a tendril of envy (different from the envy she felt towards the countess’ flawless and effortless elegance; Esther’s happiness seemed more approachable, though she could never seem to replicate it). “Did you wish some air? It is… quite warm in the ballroom.” Her excuse for leaving -- in case, as she suspected, Esther had followed her out.