Chapter Text
Arthur hated these events, they were nothing but talking to boring people he already knew about subjects he'd had enough about, and if he didn't know enough about them he would have to spend his time learning about them, all the while smiling and politely conversing, which could be a lot worse depending on the company and the amount of wine available.
But he had to attend them, they were in his own home after all, and being as close to being a royal as there possibly could in Britain without being part of the royal family, he and his sister Alice were the star attractions of London.
Apparently this time it would be “different”, as his tutor Harold told him. He had said that before, usually when a very successful business deal was sealed, but they had always remained boring soirées.
“And why might that be, Harold?” he had asked, impatiently.
“Just you wait, sir!” Harold had replied, almost showing emotion.
Arthur had sighed and dropped himself dramatically on one of his sofas.
“If you please, sir, this one will really be special, I promise!” Harold said, fully aware of the hate the young man felt for these events, when all he wanted to do was write the millionth draft of that crime novel or play his violin.
Arthur had looked at his tutor, fully aware now that it needed to be done. Detective Johnson will just have to wait, I suppose, he thought, a little sadly, trying to scrap all of the ideas that he'd been getting for another novel about his fictional detective, since he would never be able to write them all down in time.
That night, Arthur dressed in one of his tutor's most recent purchases from town for him, actually liking this one for a change. The jacket and trousers were a distinctly dark blue, with a bright white shirt and a black cravat he had been wearing all season. He was wearing the same shoes as the last soirée's too, but he was sure no one would notice.
He stepped out of his room without looking twice in the mirror, since he was sure everything was alright. He instantly met eyes with his sister.
She always looked forward to these events, because it gave her a chance to dress up and be the centre of attention as the hostess. And God, was she dressed up.
She had a dress similar to many he had seen in the past weeks on many women about town, off the shoulders with a massive skirt, in a colour his sister would have described as “Prussian blue”. She had so much jewellery on that she was probably wearing an entire mines work.
She had probably tightened her corset much too tightly, as usual, but he couldn't say anything to her, or she'd go wild.
“Wow, Alice, you look absolutely stunning! Who's the lucky man?” Arthur complimented her, while walking her down the hall close to the stairs.
Alice laughed “Thank you! Francis is back, remember? He could not attend the last few evenings- Arthur stop laughing!” she playfully pushed him. “You haven't even met him, stop laughing!”
“I don't need to meet him, I already know what he will be like!” he pulled his hair back and assumed an air of flamboyant satirical elegance “Oui oui, mon ami, bonsoir, I am Francois, je am an idiote, as every Francais in ze 'hole world! I eat frogs and I am just as slimy as zem! Je- BLOODY HELL, ALICE”
Alice had punched him in the stomach and was now gleaming at her victory.
“Stop being so against the French! You could learn a thing or two from any of them, you know!”
“Learn what? How to be as slimy as the frogs they eat?” Arthur wheezed, still hurt from the massive punch.
“Oh for heaven's sake, one bad experience with one French man does not equate to all French people being bad people.”
“Mm, well, we'll see about that. Shall we?” he said, offering her his arm. She accepted it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the hosts of tonight's event, Lord and Lady Kirkland!” Harold announced.
There was a moment of reverend silence as the brother and sister walked down the marble staircase to reach the room full of guests. As they came near the end of the stairs Arthur recited his now memorised “thank you for being here” speech.
Then the party started again and Alice disappeared into the crowd where, Arthur supposed, she had found that French frog of hers, that fiancé he'd heard so much about but had never met. He had started to think he was as real as Detective Johnson.