As I opened the envelope in my hand, I couldn't help but wonder if Lord Wessex's invitation was merely a beau geste. After all, I was the penseroso of his cousins and this could just be a kind attempt to inveigle me into the affections of his more garrulous relatives. Still, the palpitations of my heart told me that I hoped for more and I would continue hoping...even if he made it clear that I was just an ersatz companion to fill the void of heart. Replacing the card in the envelope, I hid it under my pillow and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately, all I could think about was the scene in the sitting room where Lady Elizabeth had ridiculed me as "old-fashioned." Despite my anger, I had responded with a smile and a polite observation on how Lord Wessex favored her. Reculer pour mieux sauter is often the best action in war, and love IS war.
Typically, I enjoy most cabbalistic festivities, but this party lacked the oneiric quality that I was longing for. I broodingly sat on the sofa, holding my bottle of lager and gazed about at the abderian nitwits John seemed to always invite to his parties. Taking off the bottle cap, I flipped it over to solve the rebus stamped inside. Most of these garish jezebels wouldn't be able to figure out the first symbol, I muttered to myself.... a bee, representing the letter B. A B and an image of an icicle. Bicycle. I stretched out my legs and took a large gulp of my beer. Bicycle built for two. So many perfumed and sweaty dancers gyrating in front of me... The miasma of eau-de-floozy wafted about me. I got up, festina lente, and in a final beau geste, gave my still cold and unfinished beer to a passing party-goer, then made my way out the front door and into the fresh autumn night air.
As she waited anxiously on the huge velvet chair, she still couldn’t believe it. A personal invitation from the Count had arrived to her earlier in the morning, while she was happily singing over a large tin pan, containing a sort of olla podrida that had appeared on the table for the past three days. She was poor, she had nothing to offer to this noble man, what did he want from her? While she was lost in her deepest thoughts, they curled her hair, polished her neck with some fragrant powder, and they would have added a soupcon of rouge if she had not rebelled. She was then taken to a large hall, filled with large chandeliers and delicious wine, and while she stood rooted on the spot, she could easily feel all eyes on her. A music program developed under the aegis of a short chubby man opened the big dances and suddenly everyone was following an amazing waltz pattern. She looked away, through the large windows instead, and even in the darkness she could easily recognize the Count’s handsome figure walking rapidly through the fecundity of his enchanting garden while hailing at his youngest daughter with a sort of avuncular jocularity. If it wasn’t for the lad who insisted to dance with her, she would have have stayed there, staring outside the windows...all night.