Chapter Text
“Tewksbury, I’ve decided this dress is out of style,” Enola told her beaux as she glared at herself in the glass. “We will have to simply not attend tonight.”
She spun away from the mirror and tried to set off back towards her room so she could change into something a bit more practical, but Tewksbury grabbed her (gently) and held her in place by her bare biceps. “Enola…” he hedge, smiling a little. “We’re going.”
Enola glowered at him and broke away, stomping back to the mirror. She tugged at her dress, trying to get the top to show just the right amount of bosom—enough that she could compliment her womanly figure but not so much that the others would label her as promiscuous.
Large, soft hands pressed warmth against the thin material of her dress. Enola leaned back into Tewksbury’s chest, still frowning in a little.
“Do you know what I want to attend this ball so badly?” Tewksbury asked in a low voice.
Enola stared at their reflections in the glass, his arms around her and their faces pressed cheek-to-cheek. “Because you enjoy some upper-class social normalcy after spending so much time in a radical mindset with yours truly?”
Tewksbury smirked. “No. Because I have been going to balls for many years, and I have never before been able to attend with someone I am deeply, deeply in love with.”
Enola swooned juuuust a little bit and fought valiantly to keep the smile off her face. “Ah.”
“On that note,” Tewksbury went on, patting her hips and pulling away, “we should probably depart. We’ll make enough of a splash without being fashionably late.”
Enola groaned, but she grabbed her clutch and Tewksbury’s arm and allowed him to drag her out the door.
Tewksbury was right: they would be making a splash. Even after courting for a good four months, the two of them had yet to make an official public appearance. For awhile, Enola hadn’t understood that claim: of course they had made a public appearance! They spent half their time outside, walking down the streets of London, exploring the park, people-watching in courtyards.
But Tewksbury claimed that a real public appearance had to be at a grand social event where they could show to the world (and by the world he meant the elegant upper class) that the two of them were indisputably an “item.” There had been rumors for days in all of the society papers (“Lord Tewksbury has a secret lover?” “Is Lord Tewksbury no longer on the market?” “Lord Tewksbury spotted with unknown woman!”), but now it was time to reveal the truth.
Enola wasn’t sure she was ready. She liked being the mystery girl, the “unknown woman.” She didn’t feel that any of these people were entitled to know that she and Tewksbury were happily in love. Besides, with the knowledge of society came the pressures of society, most prominently, “when will you be wed?”, and Enola definitely wasn’t ready for that.
Despite all of her misgivings, Enola stepped into the ball with her back straight, her chin high, and her hand in the crook of Tewksbury’s elbow. The moment they gained the main ballroom murmurs started to spread. Heads turned. Enola couldn’t help the glare that invaded her eyes just a little bit, and Tewksbury patted her hand. “All right?” he murmured, dipping his head a bit so only she’d hear.
“Mhm!” Enola replied through tight lips.
The couple made a painfully slow progression towards the side of the room, where they found a comfortably open space to stand and watch the dancing going on. Tewksbury smiled down at Enola and she couldn’t help but return the expression, however reluctantly and awkwardly. Despite the weirdness of all of this, she was here with him, at that was foremost what mattered.
“Lord Tewksbury!” a deep, bassy voice called from a few yards away. Enola and Tewksbury both turned their heads to see a large, middle aged, important looking man striding towards them. He paused at the sight of Enola and opened his mouth, then frowned a bit. “I’m afraid I don’t know your companion.”
“Enola Holmes,” Enola introduced herself. She remembered to bob a curtsy, but she forgot to let go of Tewksbury’s arm before she did so so she almost dragged him down with her.
“Egads, Holmes?” the man echoed, thick eyebrows leaping in surprise. “As in, Sherlock Holmes?”
“As in, Enola Holmes,” Enola replied sweetly. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance Mr….?”
“Sir Galligan!” the man exclaimed. He put his hand on Tewksbury’s shoulder. “Now, my young Lord, if I could just speak to you for a moment on a matter of business…”
And just like that, he’d efficiently steered Tewksbury away.
Enola blinked after him, wondering how the situation had already unravelled. What was she supposed to do now? The only thing to do at balls was dance and socialize, and her partner for both of those activities had just abandoned her in the corner.
“Nincompoop,” she insulted on her breath, glaring at his back without really blaming him. Much.
Bored, Enola gazed out over the sea of elegant dresses and suits. A group of young women outfitted with fans was a few feet away, all whispering and giggling. Enola cocked her head, wondering what it would be like to be in that sort of dynamic with another female. She missed Sarah/Cecily; she would have to write soon.
“It’s so out of season it’s almost absurd.” The sentence floated towards her ears through the hum of background noise. Enola looked over at the girls again and saw them all staring at her.
“I know,” added a woman in a soft blue dress. “Do you think she got it from her mother’s closet?”
A scoff from a woman in a burgundy gown. “If she even has one. Any mother worth her salt would teach her daughter never to wear a gown so horribly out of fashions to the social event of the year.”
Enola quirked an eyebrow, made direct eye contact, and smiled. The women all shifted. She stepped forward. They shifted again.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Enola said, inviting herself into their conversation with another wolfish smile. “See, I told Lord Tewksbury that I simply could not go to the ball with this of all dresses, but he insisted. Men, honestly.”
Another smile. The women eyed each other and then eyed her.
“You’re attending with Lord Tewksbury, then?” Burgundy Dress queried casually. “As his… betrothed?”
“Oh goodness no,” Enola squawked, loosing her decorous edge. “Stars and garters, no. We are merely courting.”
“Hmmm…” Burgundy Dress answered noncommittally, looking her up and down. “I… see.”
“I would hope so; it is not a terribly murky picture,” Enola rejoined, curtsying. “Now, I have an engagement I must attend to.”
She turned away, rolling her eyes, and added under her breath, “with a bon-bon.”
Tewksbury found her about twenty minutes later, a smear of frosting on her cheek. He hurried over, apologies written all over his face. Enola glowered at him. “Enjoy your business venture, Lord Tewksbury?”
“Enola, I am so sorry, I cannot even tell you the amount of times I tried to escape that conversation.” Tewksbury snagged a delicate cloth napkin from the table of treats and quickly wiped the frosting from Enola’s face. He tucked the cloth into his pocket but kept the other hand on her cheek. “Really. Enola. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Enola sighed, dropping her chin. “Just don’t do it again, or I’ll end up gaining twenty pounds in one evening.”
Tewksbury grinned, glancing at the treats, which did appear to have a few empty spots particularly near to where Enola was standing.
“Well, we can’t have that,” he teased. “Perhaps some movement will do you good. Shall we dance?”
“Oh, all right,” Enola agreed, though inwardly she was rather looking forward to it. After their first lesson, scandalously unsupervised in a bathroom, she’d learned that she actually enjoyed dancing, feeling the rhythm, moving in a rehearsed synchronized way… really, it was much like martial arts.
And of course, it didn’t hurt at all that she had a wildly attractive teacher with the most soothing voice known to man.
Tewksbury had timed his request well: a waltz was playing and couples were gathering quite naturally onto the floor. Enola had yet to progress much past the waltz. The quick steps of the quadrille or polka kept bewildering her, and besides, waltzes enabled to you press close to your parter in a way no other dance could. There was no way she and Tewksbury were going to pass that up.
“So, really, what did Sir Gilligan have to say?” Enola queried as Tewksbury drew her close with a hand at the waist. She fingered his collar, peering up at him.
Tewksbury’s mouth twisted and he shook his head. “Just trying to get me on his side for an upcoming vote.”
“And I take it you don’t agree with his side?”
“No.” Tewksbury spun her gently, away and then back again. His nose brushed her cheekbone, soft and a little cold. “He means well, but he is completely out of touch with what is going on under his own nose.”
“Understandably. It is a very large nose and must be quite difficult to see around,” Enola joked, dimple popping out.
Tewksbury snorted, turning his face away as he grinned. “Don’t make me laugh right now. It looks indecorous.”
“Pah, indecorous.” Enola rolled her eyes. “How about I tickle you and see what everyone does then?”
Tewksbury quickly spun her out again. “Enola Holmes, don’t you dare.”
“Kidding, kidding,” she reassured him, brushing a stray strand of hair back into his prefect coif and then resting her hand on his shoulder. “We have reputations to uphold, now.”