Time Travel With a Rude English Boy from the Nineteenth Century.
Chapter Eight
PAYTON’S POV
The ballroom was vast with eloquent golden wallpaper and shined marble floors. Live music played by experienced musicians set the patrons of the ball into motion. The vibrant ruffled satin skirts of rich women twirled about them as they spun to a waltz of their era. It was breathtaking; picturesque even. I made a note to paint this if I ever got home. Why was it that I felt like Dorothy of The Wizard of Oz in the Munchkin Land?
Azalea motioned for me to follow her, and I trailed behind her obediently. Men watched Azalea with lusty gazes, and I memorized their faces for later reference. As we wandered deeper into the crowd, I realized that the brilliant, aesthetic imagery of the ball was a façade. Men undressed tipsy women with their lusty stares, women’s murmurs decisively picked who they would seduce next, and it reeked of alcohol and wine. Azalea continued forward, oblivious to the impending danger of continuing into the crowd. I set my chin and trailed behind her obediently. We continued onward through the swirling silk ruffles and impish grins. The bright colors all collided as couples waltzed, and the result was kaleidoscopically epic daze. I kept a careful watch on Azalea to make certain that we did not become separated in the manic crowd.
Azalea turned towards me suddenly, her bright green eyes gleaming mischievously. “It is hours before we can get to the Duke; let’s have some fun.”
This was not part of the plan. “Azalea, I don’t think—,” I began, but I was cut off by a tall gentleman swooping in and kissing Azalea’s hand. She giggled and he bowed, flashing a dazzling smile at her. “Mind if I have this dance?” he asked her, and she nodded excitedly. They leapt onto the dance floor, leaving me stranded at the corners of the ballroom floor.
Servant girls didn’t dance. They sat like good little servants on the sideline, ready to tackle anyone who could possibly foil our plans to ‘kidnap’ the Duke. A pang of jealousy struck as I watched Azalea. Standing there watching Azalea with her light blonde wig and perfect dress sway romantically with a handsome man made me feel sick. I ached to waltz too, with Dacre muttering sweet nothings into my ear. I wanted to feel his hand in mine as we strolled across London like we owned the place. That horrid, gray, drab place that never showed the sun. It wouldn’t matter, because Dacre was a sun in and of himself.
I was getting ahead of myself. Dacre was angry with me. He asked me if I trusted him, and I shied away. I didn’t answer. Why would he ask such a thing? Of course I trusted him; I had to. He was the only person I could rely on in this surreal situation that I was somehow dragged into. Couldn’t he see how much I relied on him? I sighed and kept my gaze on Azalea as she spun and laughed with her mystery lover. Now was not the time for lover’s quarrels: it was the time for strategic action and utter concentration.
I wished that Azalea would quit her stupid waltz and get back to the task at hand. All of our lives depended on it.
DACRE’S POV
“Hey, what are you blokes doing back her—,” A musician exclaimed before my fist collided with his nose. I was not in the mood to convince him that I wasn’t here to crash the ball and steal the Duke away.
Rather, I was not in the mood to work harder to get to where the Duke awaited us. An unconscious man spread no rumor, right? Payton flashed in my memory, and there was an odd constricting feeling in my chest. I longed to see her, to find out if she felt the same pull I felt whenever I was around her. What was happening to me? I shook it off and focused on the task at hand.
“Nice hook,” Lionel commented. “Now help me drag his unconscious body out of sight before anyone notices.”
I nodded and we heaved him down a corridor and into a broom closet. I remembered his viola that fell from his grasp when I decked him and asked, “You don’t think that they needed a viola player, do you?”
“No,” Lionel panted as we closed the door. “I’m certain that there are plenty of viola players in the world to replace him. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” I quipped before we continued down the long hallway. “But I do dread for him the headache he will encounter when he awakens.”
As we plunger deeper underneath of the ballroom and into the orchestra pit, we stuck to the shadows, scaling the abandoned and empty passageways. The patrons of the ball waltzed overhead, oblivious that there we were walking straight underneath of their rich noses. Payton and Azalea were up there as well. What were they doing now? Had Azalea gone straight to the Duke, or mingled with the other aristocratic women? Had Payton found a young man to dance with to entertain herself? The thought of Payton succumbing to the charm of one of the snakes above made my blood boil. But there was no way of confirming my suspicions. Payton could still decline any man’s offer, right? “Dear Lord,” I said aloud, “Lionel, I think I’m jealous of an invisible man. We must proceed forthwith with the highest urgency.”
We reached the end of the hallway, and Lionel motioned for me to remain silent. I nodded and gripped the brass knuckles I had swiped from the unconscious viola player. Lionel acknowledged me with a curt nod and kicked the door down. His emerald eyes flashed dangerously as he prepared himself for a brawl. To our amused glee, the room was empty.
Perfection. It was time for the plan to fall into action.
The ballroom was vast with eloquent golden wallpaper and shined marble floors. Live music played by experienced musicians set the patrons of the ball into motion. The vibrant ruffled satin skirts of rich women twirled about them as they spun to a waltz of their era. It was breathtaking; picturesque even. I made a note to paint this if I ever got home. Why was it that I felt like Dorothy of The Wizard of Oz in the Munchkin Land?
Azalea motioned for me to follow her, and I trailed behind her obediently. Men watched Azalea with lusty gazes, and I memorized their faces for later reference. As we wandered deeper into the crowd, I realized that the brilliant, aesthetic imagery of the ball was a façade. Men undressed tipsy women with their lusty stares, women’s murmurs decisively picked who they would seduce next, and it reeked of alcohol and wine. Azalea continued forward, oblivious to the impending danger of continuing into the crowd. I set my chin and trailed behind her obediently. We continued onward through the swirling silk ruffles and impish grins. The bright colors all collided as couples waltzed, and the result was kaleidoscopically epic daze. I kept a careful watch on Azalea to make certain that we did not become separated in the manic crowd.
Azalea turned towards me suddenly, her bright green eyes gleaming mischievously. “It is hours before we can get to the Duke; let’s have some fun.”
This was not part of the plan. “Azalea, I don’t think—,” I began, but I was cut off by a tall gentleman swooping in and kissing Azalea’s hand. She giggled and he bowed, flashing a dazzling smile at her. “Mind if I have this dance?” he asked her, and she nodded excitedly. They leapt onto the dance floor, leaving me stranded at the corners of the ballroom floor.
Servant girls didn’t dance. They sat like good little servants on the sideline, ready to tackle anyone who could possibly foil our plans to ‘kidnap’ the Duke. A pang of jealousy struck as I watched Azalea. Standing there watching Azalea with her light blonde wig and perfect dress sway romantically with a handsome man made me feel sick. I ached to waltz too, with Dacre muttering sweet nothings into my ear. I wanted to feel his hand in mine as we strolled across London like we owned the place. That horrid, gray, drab place that never showed the sun. It wouldn’t matter, because Dacre was a sun in and of himself.
I was getting ahead of myself. Dacre was angry with me. He asked me if I trusted him, and I shied away. I didn’t answer. Why would he ask such a thing? Of course I trusted him; I had to. He was the only person I could rely on in this surreal situation that I was somehow dragged into. Couldn’t he see how much I relied on him? I sighed and kept my gaze on Azalea as she spun and laughed with her mystery lover. Now was not the time for lover’s quarrels: it was the time for strategic action and utter concentration.
I wished that Azalea would quit her stupid waltz and get back to the task at hand. All of our lives depended on it.
DACRE’S POV
“Hey, what are you blokes doing back her—,” A musician exclaimed before my fist collided with his nose. I was not in the mood to convince him that I wasn’t here to crash the ball and steal the Duke away.
Rather, I was not in the mood to work harder to get to where the Duke awaited us. An unconscious man spread no rumor, right? Payton flashed in my memory, and there was an odd constricting feeling in my chest. I longed to see her, to find out if she felt the same pull I felt whenever I was around her. What was happening to me? I shook it off and focused on the task at hand.
“Nice hook,” Lionel commented. “Now help me drag his unconscious body out of sight before anyone notices.”
I nodded and we heaved him down a corridor and into a broom closet. I remembered his viola that fell from his grasp when I decked him and asked, “You don’t think that they needed a viola player, do you?”
“No,” Lionel panted as we closed the door. “I’m certain that there are plenty of viola players in the world to replace him. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” I quipped before we continued down the long hallway. “But I do dread for him the headache he will encounter when he awakens.”
As we plunger deeper underneath of the ballroom and into the orchestra pit, we stuck to the shadows, scaling the abandoned and empty passageways. The patrons of the ball waltzed overhead, oblivious that there we were walking straight underneath of their rich noses. Payton and Azalea were up there as well. What were they doing now? Had Azalea gone straight to the Duke, or mingled with the other aristocratic women? Had Payton found a young man to dance with to entertain herself? The thought of Payton succumbing to the charm of one of the snakes above made my blood boil. But there was no way of confirming my suspicions. Payton could still decline any man’s offer, right? “Dear Lord,” I said aloud, “Lionel, I think I’m jealous of an invisible man. We must proceed forthwith with the highest urgency.”
We reached the end of the hallway, and Lionel motioned for me to remain silent. I nodded and gripped the brass knuckles I had swiped from the unconscious viola player. Lionel acknowledged me with a curt nod and kicked the door down. His emerald eyes flashed dangerously as he prepared himself for a brawl. To our amused glee, the room was empty.
Perfection. It was time for the plan to fall into action.