Chapter 2 The Society's Rebel

A moon passed, however, Duke Landon's atonement punishment to his only daughter persisted. Young Lady Francesca was still barred to attend any social gatherings of any sort. She was kept inside the duke's manor as an ultimatum for all the scandals she'd stirred; and was only allowed to wander on the nearby cotton farm.

Bearable at first, it was, not until the birthday night of Prince Regent George IV of England arrived. It was noted to be the most highly awaited and anticipated event year round, and it would be a great loss to not attend.

"Father, you can't be serious of leaving your princess here in our castle when I could be at the palace dancing on my feet and having good time with my friends," Lady Francesca reasoned out but to no avail. The duke's heart already hardened with the repeated petty scandals she got herself into, and with the additional convincing from his new wife.

Just last month, she ditched the dance in the middle of the musical piece with the renowned gentleman Earl of Yorkshire just to catch a glimpse of the beautiful northern skies outside. Ridiculous excuse of all reason to spout, but with the lady's infamous reputation, she sure managed to convinced the man. Then recently, the badmouthing scandal on the widow Countess Margaret added more fuel to the fire.

Duke Landon was nowhere near persuaded on Lady Francesca's word. The rest of the population knew how prestigious tonight's ball is, for it was to honor the day the kingdom's ruler- in-charge first got a glimpse of the earthly light.

He couldn't afford to put at risk the peacefulness of the event on the unpredictable bold stunts of her daughter, no matter how much disheartened he was in doing so. She was not just carrying herself with her, but also the multitude of the Feladencia Dukedom. Better to take precautions, than regret the aftermath later.

***

Meanwhile, the Earl of Verindale was currently riding his way to the St. James's Palace, where the year's greatest celebration will be held, as usual. Atop his head was a black beaver hat, made of matted fabric which was repeatedly pummeled and boiled to achieve the thickened felt. He wore a white muslin shirt with ruffles on the frontal view and have high collar on its neck, reaching the chin when starched and standing up.

The valet then topped it with a dark tailcoat having a waist-length cut in the front but continued up to the back of the knee. His lower body was adorned with a personally tailored pantaloon. Finally to complete the gentlemanly rugged look, he paired it with a polished tall boots extending mid calf, presenting him both as a noble and as a rake all together, with a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

He rarely comes to the palace at least once and twice a year if necessary as he was far cry not the best amongst his fellow lordships with his indifferent principalities, ideas, and beliefs in life, let alone hang out with them.

Nevertheless, as infamously he was painted a hypocritical bold, distinct villain on aristocracy as he, himself, was one, he remained unwavered, unshook, and unbothered.

The coachman halted as the carriage reached the designated unloading vicinity just in front the St. James's Palace's high and rigid cold metal gate, deprive of any sign of corroding rust due to excellent maintenance.

The Earl of Verindale withdrew the curtain and looked outside, as to confirm his intuition of having reach the destination. Realizing they were, he quietly stepped outside. The rich, lively, and playful melody and rhythm of the orchestral band inside was within the hearing reach.

It was sure very alive and joyful, and everything would be near as perfect, if not with the disdaining presence of social gaps between the fortunates and the unfortunates; the elites and the commoners. Only people part of the peerage were allowed inside, leaving the ordinary English celebrate on the market streets situated on their respective home area.

As the hypocritical aristocrat he is, Lord Dynirho Syford brought a simpleton tenant's daughter, but of great wit and bearable poise after a proper training. Offering his right hand, the lucky commoner girl accepts as taught. Then, she unmounted from the luxurious coach, adorned with expensive, high-class curtains having golden tussles on its hem.

Smiling lightly, a shade of light pinch of pink appears on both her cheeks. She is nervous. Definitely. Emily couldn't think much of being chosen to be the most honourable earl's muse on a great show, like this, instead of the lovely Catherine, who has a beauty that can be matched on noble-born ladies of their time, despite her lowly birth. Perhaps, it was her wit that appears most desirable and suitable on a critical situation of proving a point to society.

"A lady's chin should, at all times, be raise up high to declare her finesse and confidence," Lord Syford reminded his muse as he lightly lifted her jaw to awaken her suppressed brave spirit, the outspoken woman she is, when she advertises their locally produced cottons during the market. Finally, the slight tremble, feeling of unease and uncertainty leaves her be.

"Trap, not, yourself under their arrogant noses and act as you are. Fine and outspoken," he added as he kissed the back of her palms, before releasing it to hold her on the crook of her elbow.

They proceeded inside and as expected, the spotlight shifted on them like an unwritten law that should be observed and practiced. Who would dare not look at the rumored hypocritical aristocrat when he pulled another bold act worthy of intrigue?

Their eyes pierced like silent daggers as if wishing trying to unveil the identity of the Earl of Verindale's muse for tonight. T'was been a hobby to check on her date every now and then, whether or not he had tried to bend the natural way of the peerage or did he decided to do it his way. As for today's occasion, he chose the later.

"Welcome to the dance, Lord Syford! What a great pleasure having us be graced by your aromatic wonderful presence?" A random lady in her mid forty's approached and greeted, wearing big hat adorned with ostrich feathers and rose flowers.

Emily, as being taught, curtsy to the older woman and give off her best smile. Smiling all night long was definitely the easiest way to survive such critical society so new to a commoner like her, who never had had a good recollection regarding such.

"How could that be possible, when all I could feel was the intoxicating allure of your ageless beauty?" Dynirho retorted back before gently kissing the back of the hand of the random lady, he knew not her name. And he would definitely not ask him directly as it will be deemed disrespectful for the woman knew hers already.

The woman didn't try to hide her ecstatic feeling as her cheeks bluntly reveals it all to everyone present. "What a good tongue you have there, that an aged flower like mine was able to bloom in no particular reason," she complimented. Well, of course, it was one of the qualities of the Earl of Verindale.

With no further ado, Dynirho moved on having the woman puts cure on his trouble of not knowing her name. "By the way, I would like to introduced to you my lovely muse, Lady Emily Emmerson of Verindale," Lord Syford composedly introduced, laying the foundation of his tricks. Now, it was by default that random lady would have to introduced herself too to Emily and to him as well, who doesn't actually know nor remember her at all.

"Oh! Emily, what a lovely name. My name is Carlotta August-Chandler, the duchess of Feladencia. It was nice meeting you." Finally, his thirst for her name was satisfied. Now, they have to find themselves comfortable seats.

As Lord Syford and Emily was about to walk pass her after bidding temporary goodbyes, the duchess halted them with an interesting question. "I am no blind nor deaf about your rogue reputation. Now, would you mind sharing me the 'who about' of this ill-favored lady you brought along with you, wouldn't you?" she asked them with a grin.

It was after all her motives in the first place in approaching them, aiming to had the first hand info in order to be the first one to start gossip. It's not like Dynirho wasn't in for it.

Curling his luscious naturally velvety lips, he smirked, revealing his seductive allure. Even the duchess had to look elsewhere to avoid the hypnotizing power. He leaned to her ears and whispered the things she yearned the most.

"Emily Emmerson, a Cotton Farmer's daughter..." he honestly admitted. Shock and dismay were evident on Duchess Carlotta's eyes but the earl made sure she doesn't end knowing that enough for it wasn't the real measurement of a person, as he believes. "... but Emily can speak and dance well too as the nobles do."

He released the duchess and then he started disappearing in the waves of people, with his commoner muse in his side. Perhaps, t'was enough to spread the word of his indifferent might for tonight, he thought.