Em-Bell-ishing The Truth

[Bellamy Talbot]

[nospaces]

rags
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to riches

living
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a lie

TEXT

laurence

Bellamy felt like he was suffocating. It was not the cravat tied so neatly around his neck. No -- he was rather getting used to it if he was to be quite honest. It gave him a rather refined look. A very . . . uncharacteristic of him look. It was not the fabric though that made him feel tight in the throat. If only, for that would be quite the simple solution. It was quite literally everything else around him. He had finally managed to relieve himself of any company. Lydia and Gerard were busy conversing with others, so they had charged him with chaperoning his 'sister'. But as a gentleman asked her to dance, Bellamy was certainly not going to give any objections.
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It was hardly his place to and it allowed him a moment alone. He was making his way through the crowd, not too far but only close enough to take a glass of lemonade. What a luxury indeed! The taste was beyond anything he had ever drank. It was incredible; the flavour, the richness of it. As he was bringing it to his lips for another sip, distracted by his surroundings as well as the glorious taste of this addictive beverage, he turned to make his way back to his previous position but being the fool that he was, did not check behind him first.
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He ended up colliding with another woman, causing his drink to spill . . . over her shoes! "Oh dear!" He exclaimed, eyes widened in near horror at what he had done. "I am so, very, incredibly sorry!" He looked around him, seeing a sever passing by and grabbed the napkin off his arm. Without a second thought, Bellamy dropped to his knees and proceeded to wipe the lemonade off her shoes and socks. "My apologies!" He said again, not even sure who he bumped into . . . only that it was a woman and he may have ruined her shoes and socks!
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tag: Emily Davenport --- notes: hope this is ok!

MEL @ ADOX

[googlefont="Dancing+Script"]

[Emily Davenport]

The prospect of attending a ball should've filled her with excitement, and it had before she'd actually arrived at the venue. It had all started going downhill from there, firstly her step-mother had been quick to pass her off to the first man brave enough to request a dance and then Emily had stepped on his toes no less than three times. Apparently in all of the excitement of the day, she'd conveniently forgotten that she did not excel on the dance floor. She felt certain that would be the last time she'd see that particular Gentleman, but that was no great loss, considering that he had not been at all on her radar before that moment anyway.

The lingering embarrassment was what truly concerned her, because of all the areas that she might struggle in dancing was perhaps the least desirable. That was how she now found herself sticking to the edge of the dance floor, idly trying to tune out her step-mother's attempts at conversation whilst still appearing to be engaged. That was a true talent, who needed to know how to dance anyway? If she was to meet her soulmate, she wanted them to be impressed with her delightful personality, not by her ability to dance without breaking anyone's toes.

Rolling her eyes at Helen's attempt to point out another young Gentleman in the crowd, Emily turned away in the hopes that this would aid in her attempts to tune the woman out. As she turned however, she collided with another young man and the drink that he'd been holding, was knocked from his hand and she grimaced at finding its contents saturating her shoes. Pursing her lips, she began counting to ten in her head- the way she had been told to as a child, should she ever be at risk of losing her temper.

Then as if things couldn't get any worse, the man thought the next reasonable step would be to to drop to his knees and begin to clean up her shoes himself. "For goodness sake, get up" she hissed, aware of the unwanted attention this spectacle was sure to attract. "It's okay, honestly..." she tapped him on the shoulder, in hopes that might prompt him to get to his feet. Obviously this was mortifying for the both of them, for seemingly different reasons- at least she would now have an excuse to leave the ball before her step-mother forced her to dance with anybody else.

"Please Sir, don't trouble yourself" she said, attempting to regain her composure in such a public setting "It's about time I bought some new shoes, anyway" wasn't the idea of wearing the same outfit twice a form of self-sabotage in the most notable social circles? Hopefully that would convince him to get to his feet and spare the both of them from further embarrassment.

[Bellamy Talbot]

[nospaces]

rags
[break]

to riches

living
[break]

a lie

TEXT

laurence

It was a good thing indeed that Bellamy was not the type to redden with embarrassment. His cheeks did not colour in moments of . . . humiliation, or even rage. Though he could not recall the last time -- any time -- that he had been so consumed with rage. Even with Gerard and Lydia's attempts to pale his skin, surely colour on his cheeks would not show. Though, he felt it. His body heating up in sheer embarrassment for what he had done. He was far too fixated on the task of trying to salvage her shoes to even bother looking around to see if eyes were upon them.
[break][break]With his luck, it would be Lydia's. Though he imagined that if that were the case, she would have already rushed to his side and dragged him on his feet. No. Instead, he was trying to wipe her shoes. Her very . . . expensive shoes. These shoes were probably the cost of one years wages in the previous work he did! . . . Perhaps that was an exaggeration. But they were rather fancy looking shoes, which only increased his guilt.
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When she told him to get up -- even feeling her tap his shoulder -- Bellamy instinctively and immediately complied, rising to his feet. He was rather accustomed to taking orders. Whether it was during his work as a servant, or now from his biological father and the man's wife. So he just stood stiffly in front of her, preparing for some form of punishment. But then . . . it was not as if she could fire him. Which, tended to be one of the worst consequences when not fulfilling a task diligently.
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He stared at her, swallowing as he clutched the slightly dampened napkin in his hand. The poor napkin receiving all of his nervous and embarrassed energy. Bracing himself to take her wrath over what he had done. After all, he had already clearly upset her. One thing he had learned quickly in this elite society was that people angered easily. His gaze was downcast as appropriate for anyone of lower rank and inferiority and -- but alas! He was not a peasant here! -- Certainly not in this clothing! So he quickly and rather awkwardly raised his gaze to meet hers, but was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact as if he was confused on where to look.
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"Please, I humbly ask for your forgiveness." Was that a gentlemanly thing to do?! He could not remember all these rules and forms of etiquette! "They were nice shoes." Yes, he had been looking at them not only to wipe them but in awe that the expense. "I mean, they are nice shoes." Why speak in past tense? He corrected himself but then knew that he had ruined them. "And I have ruined them." Oh this was not good at all. "I hope they will not be difficult to replace?" What if their value was in sentiment and not cost?! Oh well that would just make this entire ordeal so much worse.
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tag: Emily Davenport --- notes: the shoes!

MEL @ ADOX

[googlefont="Dancing+Script"]

[Emily Davenport]

Source Tagged Bellamy Talbot Words 346 Notes N/A

She wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. As was the depths of her humiliation, it convinced Emily that she would be the talk of the ton for all the wrong reasons after tonight. She only hoped that tomorrow some other young noble might find themselves deep in the throngs of scandal. A selfish thought she might chastise herself for entertaining later. But at the moment, the idea of someone else taking her place was an appealing one. Emily allowed herself a moment of relief, when the Gentleman got to his feet upon her request. Though then he refused to look at her, which wasn’t at all reassuring- though from his flustered appearance, she felt it safe to assume he felt himself in the wrong and not the other way around. Emily could hardly conceal her confusion at the man’s behaviour. The way he avoided her gaze and seemed genuinely anxious about the entire situation. Perhaps he’d been in similar situations more than a few times previously. He seemed to move with all the elegance and grace of a newborn lamb, if her ruined shoes were anything to go by. “Please. It is I that should apologize” she was quick to return his apology. It was the only polite, and might allow the man to feel more at ease knowing that he had not caused her any offense. “I should have been looking where I was going” they were likely equally to blame for the unfortunate circumstances. Then he began rambling on about her shoes. Was that the reason for his upset? That he may have ruined her shoes? “I have a dozen pairs similar at home” she hoped it would put the thought far from his mind, to know that the value of the shoes did not concern her. “I do not believe we’ve met, Lady Emily Davenport,” introducing herself formally. She paused, allowing him the same courtesy. It would be dishonest to say she wasn’t somewhat curious of this nobleman, who seemed to be just as clumsy as she was.

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[Bellamy Talbot]

[nospaces]

rags
[break]

to riches

living
[break]

a lie

TEXT

laurence

She was apologizing to him? She -- a noblewoman -- was apologizing to him -- a lower classman -- . . . but no. He was not a lower class citizen here. And yet, the feeling of receiving an apology from a noblewoman was both riveting and unsettling. Bellamy was entirely unaccustomed to such apologies. Often when a situation would call for it -- particularly in one that involved anyone of higher rank -- it would be Bellamy who assumed responsibility and blame. And no one would argue with that. Even if he was not at fault. But now, here he was . . . in the presence of a woman far above his rank. And she was apologizing to him!
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Bellamy did not know how to process this.
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He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to find the words to stay as he attempted to break from this state of utter shock. And yet, if he corrected her to assume responsibility, then would that not make him impolite? Would it not be deemed as rude if he argued with her? Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear! It seemed he was caught in a battle of etiquette, afraid of making the wrong choice and the consequences that would follow it.
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"As you are the greater victim of the lemonade spillage--" He began to say, purposely making it sound over dramatic to help lighten the mood -- and hopefully his tension -- "Please, allow me to assume the responsibility. Next time, I will grant you the favour of blame." His words a bit playful, making it sound as if she was doing him a favour by letting him take the blame.
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This felt more like him. More like the Bellamy he was before Gerard reclaimed him. And he could only hope, that his teasing words would not cause her offense. That by deciding to act on what was most natural for him -- the real him to do -- that he did not compromise any etiquette or rules of society. That, he did not make the wrong choice.
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"Though I would hope next time, I do not spoil any more of your belongings," he quickly added on, not wanting another accident to bring them to each other's company. With so many people in the ton, he wondered if they would even ever cross paths again! But he did not dwell on such thoughts for she was then assuring him that she had many more shoes at home. Of course it would make sense. She was a noblewoman! Such things would not phase them when it came to affordability. But Bellamy did have to admit that he was relieved to know that the shoes did not have any sentimental value.
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She then introduced herself and Bellamy knew her name sounded familiar. Davenport . . . Davenport . . . Davenport . . . Bellamy's eyes slightly widened when recognition hit him. Gerard had forced him to study all the names of the notable families in the ton. And he remembered the Davenports indeed. "You are the daughter of a marquess!" He said in absolute awe. He was meeting the daughter of a marquess! Had he truly thought this through to keep up this pretense, he knew it would have sounded absurd for the son and heir to dukedom, to be so . . . in awe of meeting the daughter of a marquess. But Bellamy just could not help himself. What an exciting thing of it! To be in the presence of such high ranking nobility. And she was speaking to him as if . . . as if . . . as if he was a person! Just a casual, person who she happened to cross paths with! This was more exciting!
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Realizing she had asked him a question, Bellamy quickly regained himself -- as best as he could anyway. "Bellamy Talbot," he introduced, lowering his head in a nod and slight bow. He refused to say his fake name that Lydia and Gerard had given him. Refused to acknowledge it. Whenever they introduced him as Laurence, he immediately corrected them, saying that he preferred his first name, Bellamy. It was followed by fake chuckles and sounds of amusement.
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Despite their embarrassment though, they never seemed to stop trying to call and have others call him Laurence. "It is truly an honor and privilege to meet you," he told her honestly. The reason that they had not met . . . of course one that his family had practically told the entire ton and when the situation called for it, he too had to also vocalize this lie. He feared that this may be one such situation should she ask it. He was already mentally prepared for encouraging this horrid lie.
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tag: Emily Davenport --- notes: have an internally freaking out Bell!

MEL @ ADOX

[googlefont="Dancing+Script"]

[Emily Davenport]

Source tagged Bellamy Talbot words 527 notes N/A

It was high on her list of priorities, to avoid further acts of humiliation during the season. She was already battling with her own clumsiness. She did not need other factors outside of that to hinder her ability to do so. Emily felt it was in both of their best interests to move on from this incident as quickly as possible. And without feeding the gossips that might be lurking nearby. People talked, and that was how reputations got ruined. His words brought a smile to her face, that she attempted to hide behind her hand. “You assume there will be a next time?” she assumed he meant the next time that they encountered each other, but she interpreted it to mean the next time he spilled a beverage over her, in the same teasing tone that he’d now adopted. “Do you make a habit of this?” she continued, anticipating that this might cause him to become more flustered if he thought she was being serious. “Most women would answer to a simple ‘hello’, there’s no need to stage such an elaborate plan to attract their attention” though she would probably find herself apologizing shortly, if he didn’t find her joke particularly amusing, the temptation was too much to resist. “We can hope not, but I feel like that’s being optimistic” that was not just a dig at him, she also had her own clumsiness to blame. Chances were that she would cause a similar mishap if they were fortunate to cross paths in the future.  Wouldn’t that be fantastic? Not. Emily waited for the Gentleman to introduce himself, but was faced with him being apparently surprised at the mention of her own name. “I am...?” she confirmed, it coming out sounding more like a question than intended. “I mean... Yes, that’s right” it was not the reaction she was used to receiving upon introducing herself.  Her own confusion continued to climb after he stated his own name. It was no secret, the story of the Duke’s mysterious son, who’d been so gravely ill as a child that he could not leave the estate. Nobody knew of his existence until recently. It had been all anyone could talk about for a while. “And you, the son of a Duke,” she countered, realizing too late that this added further insult to injury. Not only was she in an embarrassing situation, but it was with a future Duke.  She hurried to curtsy, hoping that she could win back any lost favour by displaying an adequate level of respect. Though Bellamy seemed to be as clumsy as she was herself, a man’s ability to fumble was often forgivable, more so than a woman’s. “And it is an honour to finally meet you my Lord, I have heard a great deal about you” she wanted to specify that it was nothing bad, but somehow she figured he would already make his own assumptions about what she’d heard. “I apologize for any offense I may have caused earlier” her step-mother would kill her if she got wind of this embarrassment. She was probably watching the whole thing if she was unlucky enough.

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