A Day at the Races

[canadiansixpack]

It is a tradition harking back over two hundred years now; a tradition adhered to and continued despite the ongoing outbreaks of Plague, of smallpox, of political upheaval. Time waits for no man, or for the running of the Monarch's Stakes

Comments

[_steelmagnolia_]

The Marchioness is among those present. She loves the horse race, the people dressing in more flamboyant clothing. There are times it seems that there is a competition as to who can walk the line between style and tackiness most effectively. The woman in question, of course, is in blacks and greys, seemingly perpetually in mourning for her various husbands.

[_steelmagnolia_]

"Searching for competition then, Your Grace?"

After asking, she actually turns to look at him, bringing her fan up for the first time. Her face is hidden, except for her eyes but there is no doubt that there is a smile behind the ivory sticks and painted Chinese cloth.

"You are dangerously close to being overly friendly with a lady known to be dangerous company."

[canadiansixpack]

"I would be a poor soldier indeed if I were to flinch at the first sign of danger," comes the response, as he returns her look across the rim of his chalice. "'Tis no life to wrap oneself up in rich silks and quilting, in constant fear of what the world might bring to one's door."

[_steelmagnolia_]

"Even rich silks can provide an element of danger, Your Grace." Her fan flutters once, before she brings the glass up behind it for a sip. Her green eyes do not leave him. "I am not well aquainted with soldiers such as yourself, though my third husband was taken from me on the battlefield."

Of course, now she brings it up to see if it discomforts him.

[canadiansixpack]

"Ah, but we are an uncouth lot," he says. Mortality does not offend him, for there are many who have lost husbands to war, to disease, to famine over the years he has been alive-- and he has been alive much longer than he will care to admit. "Wallowing in the mud of trenches and lathered in the sweat of ourselves and our horses, one forgets common civility. 'Tis not a place for a woman, or any man who might wish to spare himself the sights and sounds of battle."

[touchandheal]

"This sure is a sight ta see!"

Marie strides up, skirts swishing around her legs and showing off calf-high laced boots.

"We sure don't have nothin' this fancy back home, though some a' tha boys can get awful riled up and chase each other around for a bit, shootin' their guns." In her enthusiasm Marie seems to almost dance in place, sun glinting from her braided hair.

[_steelmagnolia_]

Whatever comment was about to be made in return to His Grace is cut off by the sight of seeing.... herself. And not only herself but herself showing her legs - almost to the knee! It tickles her that this woman might be so brave and yet at the same time, this woman could be her twin if such a thing were possible.

"Your Grace?" She takes a sip of her wine, the fan sliding down, a little, revealing a bit more of her face.

[canadiansixpack]

He turns to take in the spectacle at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. His demeanor changes almost instantly. "Miss LeBeau," he says, somewhat stiffly. "I see you have returned from the border unharmed." He turns back to the Marchioness and inclines his head. "My apologies, my lady. Miss LeBeau is a stranger to these parts and to our notions of etiquette, even if her face seems to be familiar. It is an uncanny likeness, though I profess that is where your similarities end."

[touchandheal]

A wordless exclamation at the sight of the other woman, and Marie is peering at her with curiosity plain on her face, before the tone of what the Duke is saying sinks in.

A curtsey, surprisingly deep.

"Ah'm sorry, m'lady, your Grace. This is just... all of this..." A smile, and a bit of a blush across freckled cheeks.

"It's all pretty amazin'."

[_steelmagnolia_]

"LeBeau?"

The Marchioness blinks, the fan snapping shut, revealing the whole of her face, though the veil is still partially down around the sides of her face, having been pinned up onto the top of her hat.

"It is a singularly bizarre pleasure to meet you, madame."

[canadiansixpack]

"One of many ways one would care to describe it, certainly," he counters with a cautious humor.

[touchandheal]

"I think I have ta agree, ma'am."

One hand is extended for a handshake, covered up to the elbow in soft leather.

"Marie LeBeau, ma'am."

[_steelmagnolia_]

Blinking, she looks at the extended hand for a moment, uncertain how to react, as she has not often shook hands with another woman. The fan is allowed to dangle from her wrist as she accepts the shake. Inclining her head, she looks to His Grace to make proper introductions. While she can introduce herself, she won't do so in his presence.

At least not without his permission.

[canadiansixpack]

He gives the strange doppelganger a frown of reproval. "Miss LeBeau, you are being presented to the Marchioness of Nantucket, my liege lady in the holdings thereof." A pause as he considers her. "I apologize for her uncouth and wayward manners, your ladyship. It seems the notion of a curtsey or a bow is as foreign to these strangers as their clothing is to us."

[touchandheal]

"But I..." She shoots a slightly disgruntled look his direction from under lowered eyebrows, and then curtsies again.

"Ah do apologize, m'lady. My excitement got away from me, and I'm just not used ta dealing with such a place as this. Ah do hope you can forgive me my ... uncouth and wayward manners."

[_steelmagnolia_]

"I hold nothing against you, Mrs. Lebeau. You are not from here, so I can understand how you might be confused by our customs."

She smiles, inclining her head toward the other woman.