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Lady Baskerville’s parties are a peculiar thing. Everyone of any import in London society has attended at least one; those of particular note being regular on her guest list. Such a thing would normally have rumors abounding and yet, nary an ill word has been spoken. All those who are lucky enough to peer into her circle has only good things to say, practically raving about her ladyship’s planning and hosting abilities.
Charlotte is curious, of course she is. She’s been able to squeeze precious few details out of those she knows that have attended, vague though they may be.
When the day comes that she receives an invitation embossed with Miss Charlotte Garrett, well, she’s elated , to say the least. She excitedly babbles to everyone she knows, requesting her mother that a special gown be made just for this. Her mother declines but does allow her to make over an older one, which Charlotte accepts as close enough.
The evening of the party arrives at last. She’s never seen the Countess in person before so it’s an honor in itself to be greeted by her at the door.
Lady Baskerville is tall and gorgeous , dressed in only the finest new fashions with a cascade of pink curls descending from her updo. The woman beside her is, well, she’s certainly beautiful but Charlotte isn’t quite sure as to her identity. Still, Lady Baskerville is all politeness and kindly welcomes her with a lovely smile and a wish that she’ll enjoy her evening.
She doesn’t spot her hostess again until a short while into the party. Lady Baskerville hangs on the arm of that same woman, whispering in her ear and making her blush. It’s a queer sight but then, Lady Baskerville doesn’t seem a particularly normal sort of person. In her close group is also Lord van Zieks and his younger brother, a nervous looking man with purple hair, a lanky blonde with his limbs sprawled across one of her ladyship’s fine chairs and two Easterners she can’t place. One looks a bit out of place, standing behind the blonde man, but the other seems at ease, idly chatting with the Van Zieks brothers.
Lady Baskerville suddenly calls for the attention of everyone, tapping her glass with a spoon and clearing her throat. She exclaims that her “darling Evie”—the woman she’s been with all evening, one must assume—has been convinced to play a song for the party.
Evie, as her ladyship calls her, flushes even brighter, whispering something to Lady Baskerville before sitting at the piano. The song has a bit of a waltz like melody and is executed masterfully , to a degree unlike Charlotte has heard outside of a concert hall. Well, perhaps this woman deserves to be so close to Lady Baskerville after all.
The song finishes and Lady Baskerville leads them into a round of applause before declaring it’s time for dinner and asking everyone to follow her. Charlotte finds herself seated quite far away from the chief party—fair enough, she supposes, it is her first time at one of these—but with a rather clear view of them. Lady Baskerville sits at the head of the table, as would fit her, with the Evie woman and Lord van Zieks at either side of her. Beside them is the purple haired man and the more comfortable foreigner from earlier, respectively, then the rest of their group from there. She recognizes a cousin of a friend of a friend besides Mr. van Zieks and a few vaguely familiar faces from there.
As the courses go by, Lady Baskerville will lean to either side every now and then to whisper into the ear of one of her companions. The easterner seems to be carrying a conversation with the nervous man, his lordship joining in when Lady Baskerville’s attention—as it seems to often be—is occupied by the woman opposite him. The blonde man randomly interrupts the conversations of everyone around him, promptly startling the other foreigner and Mr. van Zieks every time. Mr. van Zieks very politely alternates his attention between his partners opposite and beside him but the foreigner seems rather fascinated by the blonde man’s odd goings on. Every so often, Charlotte can hear his exclamations even from two table lengths away.
The last course is brought out and soon finished, every dish whisked away by finely attired men. Lady Baskerville invites them all back to the drawing room for a round of games. Miss Evie takes up her seat at the piano once again as they all file in to find chairs arranged in a circle. She insists they all start with a game of Musical Chairs to invigorate them for the remainder of the evening, explaining the rules for any who may not have yet played. The ladies pull up their trains just to be cautious and Lady Baskerville slides behind the piano as well, taking up the position of page turner. Charlotte thinks she hears Miss Evie tell Lady Baskerville she does not need a page turner, to which Lady Baskerville responds that she simply hush and—oh!
Good heavens.
It’s not that she’s never seen two ladies kiss, but to do so in public?
Well, she supposes people of such status as Lady Baskerville can do what they like.
As the piano starts up, so too does the game. It seemed a bit simple, maybe too much for more than a group of children, but it ends up rather fun. Miss Evie and Lady Baskerville chatter softly throughout, careful never to stop just before the piano does. Surprisingly, Lord van Zieks finds himself sat out rather early. She’d think he’d be one of the last, as he seems always at her ladyship’s side. The nervous looking man follows, then Mr. van Zieks. The chairs dwindle on and on until there’s only five left. She somehow finds herself still in the game, alongside the blonde man from earlier—Mr. Sholmes, she thinks Lady Baskerville called him—and the cousin of someone she vaguely knows, Miss Sutherland as she’s called, as well as three others she doesn’t recognize.
The song starts up again and one of the others is out, then the next. Miss Sutherland follows, the final stranger soon after. It ends up Charlotte and Mr. Sholmes in the end, the last chair sat between them as Miss Evie begins to play. Lady Baskerville whispers to her conspiratorially, but Charlotte can hardly focus on that. The music stops and—aha! She just barely beats Mr. Sholmes to it.
Lady Baskerville makes a delighted sort of noise and claps. “How lovely!” she exclaims, smiling brightly. “Miss Garrett, is it? Miss Charlotte Garrett?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Oh, there’s no need for all that. You call me Flora and I’ll call you…” Her gaze trails aside, softly humming as she thinks. “What do you say to Charlie?”
“Anything you like, Lady Flora.”
She opens her mouth to answer, but Miss Evie nudges her with an elbow. “Very well done, Miss Garrett,” Evie says. “Hardly anyone can beat Mr. Sholmes like that!” She exchanges a glance with Lady Baskerville. “Would you like to pick the next game? A bit of a reward, you could say.”
“Oh!” Charlotte blinks rapidly, wracking her brain for a game a woman like Lady Baskerville wouldn’t know but would find enjoyable. “Have you ever played Cupid’s Box by chance?”
“No, I’ve never heard of it.” Lady Baskerville smiles brightly, the slightest tilt of her head. “How do you play?”
“It’s quite simple, really. You needn’t even use a real box, just some sort of object. One person starts with it and says to a neighbor ‘I sell you my Cupid’s Box, which contains three phrases; to love, to kiss and to dismiss.’ Their neighbor asks in turn whom do they love, kiss and dismiss and they name persons in the party. The loved person doesn’t have a particular role but the kissed is kissed and the dismissed must pay a forfeit. One can, once per game, name every person in the party, but doing so ends the game.”
“It sounds very lively! I should love to play.” Lady Baskerville looks around, a small frown tugging at her lips. “We’ll first need to clear all these chair, but it shouldn’t be too long with all of us together.”
The chairs are carried out without much fuss—save for Mr. Sholmes toppling over the stack that Lord van Zieks had insisted on carrying—and the furniture is returned to its rightful place. The party settles across the sofas and parlor chairs and the game is on!
Lady Baskerville starts, as is only right for the hostess. She holds the box—vase, as it is in reality—out to Miss Evie and recites her lines. Miss Evie replies in turn and Lady Baskerville makes a show of consideration, humming and putting a hand to her chin. “I must, of course, kiss my dear Evie. I do so love Klint and I think—” She looks between Miss Evie and Mr. Sholmes, a mischievous glint to her expression. “—I must dismiss Herlock.”
Mr. Sholmes doesn’t appear truly startled, but does exclaim in faux offense. Lady Baskerville only laughs.
The laughter dies out and she turns to Miss Evie. “Now, my dearest,” she says softly, taking Evie’s hand in hers. She lifts it to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it before trailing pecks all the way up her forearm. Miss Evie is beyond red as Lady Baskerville pulls away. “Your turn, perhaps?”
“Yes, of course,” Evie responds quietly, but steadily as she takes the vase in her hands. She stands, daintily smoothing out her skirts with her free hands. Holding the vase out to Mr. van Zieks, she repeats the lines. He looks at her warily, but answers as the game dictates. Miss Evie doesn’t make a show of it, simply handing the vase to him and standing up straight with her head high. “I shall kiss Mr. Vigil,” she announces, looking to the purple haired man. “I always love my Flora and I have only to dismiss…” Evie lets her sentence trail off, glancing between different members of the party. “Lord van Zieks.”
The man in question bows in his seat, one hand over his heart. “I am deserving, of course, Miss Oakley. I shall accept my punishment.”
Lady Baskerville giggles but Miss Oakley—as her name must be—only rolls her eyes as she walks over to Mr. Vigil. “Daley,” she whispers, leaning closer. “If you please?”
Mr. Vigil nods, but Charlotte can see a flush on his cheeks. Miss Oakley lifts a hand to his cheek and presses her lips to his for a brief moment; just barely short enough to still be proper.
“Your turn, Barok,” Miss Oakley says casually as she returns to her seat.
And so the game goes, on and on. By the end, everyone has at least one forfeit—though Mr. Sholmes has racked up the most by far and Lady Baskerville has only two; Miss Oakley and Lord van Zieks the only two brave enough to lay a forfeit on her head.
It comes time to pay the forfeits. Lady Baskerville directs each, laughing by far the most of any as they are performed. All that remains after a quarter an hour spent in this way is for her ladyship to pay her own forfeits. The book containing all the different varieties is given to Lord van Zieks to pick the first. The choice is one Charlotte had never seen before, something they call brokerage of kisses. The name itself is unsurprising, many a forfeit involves kissing in one form or another.
What certainly is surprising is the sight that follows. She watches as Lady Baskerville kisses Lord van Zieks then returns to her seat and kisses Miss Oakley, lingering an almost indecent amount of time. She stands again, this time going to Mr. Vigil before again returning to Miss Oakley. Then again with Mr. Sholmes and yet again with every remaining gentleman in the party, each time returning to kiss Miss Oakley for far longer than she likely should do.
Through all this, Miss Oakley is perfectly unperturbed—as if they’ve done this dozens of times before. When Lady Baskerville sits beside her, finally having run out of gentlemen to kiss, she takes the book of forfeits with full composure and simply directs her ladyship to perform a mimicry of Mr. van Zieks.
Charlotte still hasn’t quite processed the sight after three more games and subsequent rounds of forfeits—of which Lady Baskerville incurs none.
As the party slowly trickles out, Lady Baskerville takes her aside. “Lovely to have you, Charlie,” she beams, her enthusiasm hardly diminished despite the late hour. “I shall be very happy to have you back again soon.”
Charlotte barely gets the chance to reply before Lady Baskerville is pulling her into a hug. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” she says, determinedly ignoring the slight waver of her voice.
“Flora, I insist.” Lady Baskerville pats her shoulder. “Now, your carriage is outside. Sleep well, dear.”
“You as well.” Charlotte inclines her head politely before turning to leave. She faintly hears Lady Baskerville and Miss Oakley talking as she steps out the doors, cold already beginning to bite at her cheeks.
What an odd evening.
A good evening, to be certain, but more peculiar than any other she can remember.
Perhaps that is why Lady Baskerville’s parties are so renowned and yet so little discussed.
Well, she supposes she’ll soon find out—if Lady Baskerville’s remarks to her are any indication.