Re: Ball: Clementine, Irene & Declan
It wasn't done, not in their world. Not in English summers with poisonous, beautiful foxglove in full bloom. Although he was not educated in all the bizarre customs of the South, Declan chose to believe that it wasn't done south of the Mason Dixon either, speaking offhand or ill of blood. He knew that Clementine wasn't a malicious creature, although a bit of a gossip. Although, by the Declan made his way down the stairs, beyond the flowers wreathed and in vases, into the gallantry and the string music. He acquired fresh champagne at one point from a tray in passing.
The party was a crowd, and save for the area where couples danced, the room seemed almost divided by sex. Women tittered and shared secrets from behind fans or gloved hands. His knowledge of the time was limited, but Declan supposed that it was still considered proper and gentlemanly to ask a woman to dance. He knew something of escorts and chaperons, but he somehow doubted that those delicate kinds would be found at a party hosted by a woman such as Irene.
If asking an unattended woman to dance was improper, he supposed that he would find out soon enough. But for the moment, Declan chose a woman done up in purple and beads. Her hair was very dark and her cheeks overly rouged, she took his offered hand with no hint of coy as he led her into a slow waltz. From over the top of the woman's dark hair, he took note of his sister, very blond in the crowd. Irene was there as well, and Declan watched both of them from across the room, privileged with the height to do so.