The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

twenty-one

Harry stares at the bottle of bootleg whiskey in his hand, and looks past the rim to see multiple footmen and chambermaids laughing softly and enjoying their time. The sculptor is the only one brewing in his drunken state, and not one person approaches him to offer him more alcohol or a dance. He's sober enough to know what's going on as the night breeze slips through the crowd and lightly flips the bottom of the ladies' skirts to show their feet. Some of the men near Harry whisper about one girl's ankles, but he ignores their conversation. A woman with her ankles out is lewd to them, but here Harry is having slept with their master's son at this very spot.

His mind is buzzing, though. With his eyes half-closed, he lulls his head to the side and takes a large gulp of the whiskey. Rushed, and sloppy footsteps approach him and he looks up to see Elizabeth giggling and smiling at him. Since he's nice, he smiles back but that encourages her to grab his wrist and pull on it.

"Dance with me, Mr. Styles." Harry knows some people are watching to see what he says to her, being that he never interacts with anyone but Elizabeth these days, but the folk music being played doesn't stop. The wind blows her skirt, and the fly-away hairs that show just how curly her hair is. The alcohol she's consumed has caused her cheeks to turn pink, and her eyes are slightly unfocused but brimming with excitement. Not wanting to damper her mood or embarrass her, Harry stands and follows her into the crowd of dancers. Couples make space for them, and the noise that seemed so distant to Harry is now all he can focus on as Elizabeth places his hands where they're supposed to go. "Have you ever danced, Mr. Styles?"

"No, I have not." The artist admits, holding her side gently while stiffly holding her hand with the other. Elizabeth places her hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly.

"Relax. If you're bad, you can just say that you were drunk." She mumbles with a laugh, and Harry laughs with her. He attempts to take the lead like men are supposed to do, but he stumbles over his feet too much and bumps shoulders with a fee other couples. No one treats him bad, they just laugh at his awkwardness and continue singing the song being played.

The two must have danced for an hour at least, laughing and giggling to each other as Elizabeth taught him how to dance. Whether Harry will remember it or not is another matter. As the crowd gets smaller with people deciding to retiring to sleep, Elizabeth turns with Harry's hand in hers to lead him away from everyone. They don't go far into the night, but the high weeds sprouting at the end of the property not too far from Harry's shed hides them.

"You should be careful." Harry warns her. "Doing this will give you a lewd reputation."

Elizabeth looks up at him as she lets his hand go so she can sit on the grass. Harry sloppily follows her lead, and sits next to her. She laughs when he sways into her shoulder, and lays down on the ground. She leans over him with a teasing grin. "What would you do if such a reputation were true?"

"I would tell you to treat yourself with more respect." Harry closes his eyes, and relaxes as the whiskey in his body tempts him with sleep. "You don't need to expose yourself for a man's affection."

"Then how do I get your affection?" He opens an eye to see her watching the sky. The stars are bright tonight, and the moon highlights her skin beautifully. Even if Harry loves another, he can't deny Elizabeth's prettiness and soft features. "It's no secret that I like you so why do you spend time with me?"

Harry nibbles on his lip, and slowly sits up. "I always told you the truth."

"Your kindness is not something most men would give to women they're rejecting." The maid looks at him, and Harry sighs. "Am I not attractive?"

"You are." Harry admits, and she leans in slightly. Their shoulders bump, and she holds his arm to keep from falling onto him.

"Am I not your ideal woman?" She presses him further, digging for any reason as to why he can't be hers.