(no subject)
Irene has in fact come very close to convincing herself that the concept of a bar, outside of time and space, that could appear anywhere is nothing more than a dream. She shakes it off like water, concentrating on the thrill and chase of a successful gambit, one which ends with a rather rich gentleman being somewhat less rich and thoroughly disgraced. And her name, of course, is nowhere to be seen. The papers pick up the story - it's not every day that a lord is discovered to not only be rather boldly defrauding several companies but also carrying on an affair behind his wife's back - but her name, her photo, are nowhere. Irene knows how to be discreet, after all.
But it's not good to hang around too long at the scene of the crime, as it were (not a crime, she thinks idly, just a game, just a game) so she books a ticket for England aboard a sleek passenger liner. By the end of the night several charming young men and some less charming older ones know her by the name of Adelaide and she has been somewhat less successful than usual in dodging the amount of liquor plied upon her.
She is not drunk, not at all - perhaps slightly intoxicated, she decides, as one of the young men (Henry? Jimmy?) guides her back to her stateroom. It is the boat, that's all, that makes her feel light-headed and just a touch unsteady on her feet. As they get to the door and (James?) helpfully unlocks it for her, she turns to smile at him, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, before sweeping in.
But ah, it's never that easy, is it? Because what meets her surprised, admittedly tipsy gaze is the crowded bar. She sinks into a nearby seat with a decidedly unladylike sigh and frown, absent-mindedly rearranging her skirts.
"Not a dream," she says, to no one in particular.
"I should like some more wine."
But it's not good to hang around too long at the scene of the crime, as it were (not a crime, she thinks idly, just a game, just a game) so she books a ticket for England aboard a sleek passenger liner. By the end of the night several charming young men and some less charming older ones know her by the name of Adelaide and she has been somewhat less successful than usual in dodging the amount of liquor plied upon her.
She is not drunk, not at all - perhaps slightly intoxicated, she decides, as one of the young men (Henry? Jimmy?) guides her back to her stateroom. It is the boat, that's all, that makes her feel light-headed and just a touch unsteady on her feet. As they get to the door and (James?) helpfully unlocks it for her, she turns to smile at him, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, before sweeping in.
But ah, it's never that easy, is it? Because what meets her surprised, admittedly tipsy gaze is the crowded bar. She sinks into a nearby seat with a decidedly unladylike sigh and frown, absent-mindedly rearranging her skirts.
"Not a dream," she says, to no one in particular.
"I should like some more wine."