Between Wolves & Doves

Chapter 47 Soireé Part I

Anticipation for the lavish soirée lay heavily on all four counterparts of the dark coach; but never more so than when it pitched to the side, turning a corner, and passing under the finery of the baroque swirled iron arch of a huge gateway, arriving at their destination.

Iris twists her head to peer out the window.  A few more carriages roll along the drive ahead of them. Forming a long slow line of elegant and different coloured wooden coaches that crawled steadily up to the house, awaiting entry for this sumptuous party.

Château Chaumont was exactly as she remembered it in its impressively elegant glory. Standing proudly out the neat and manicured green gardens Céline was so fond of. Cleared out of the woodland surrounding it. The biscuit-creamy colour of the stone walls is so handsome caught in the early afternoon light. It looks so jovial and alive. A merry house with picturesque surroundings and gleaming white wood terrace windows.

Just coming up the long pea shingle beige ribbon of the drive and already the prettiness of the surroundings becomes awfully apparent. Blossom trees shudder full, brimming with white petals, Lacy and white like something prettily feminine and utterly bridal. The very blunt shaped trees line the twin rectangles of blue ponds that flank either side of the road carving inbetween the middle. A family of serene swans gliding across the water. Where the pond ends, there are several shaped tulip beds hemmed in by small box hedges that are spilling over with blush pink and strawberry red petals.

Even from here she can see the life blooming across the gardens and the woodlands abutting the estate. She can't wait to get out and explore them if they've a chance too. A few men and ladies she can already see, finely dressed and promenading across the lawn. Pastel lace parasols perched on ladies shoulders to shelter them from the severity of the blazing sun.

A familiar knot of excitement mingled with nerves balls itself into twisting patterns in her stomach. Causing Draegans fingers to flex and tighten around her own. She knows that's him bolstering her against her nerves. She didn't need to be wary of such things.

They share a look. His believing smile gives her a jolt of courage.

He knows she's falling back on old instincts. When her life in England preceding marriage seemed to remind her how she was never enough; he hopes she feels his encouragement now, and he hopes it comes across how he feels that she has never been inadequate. Not ever to him, so long as she drew breath.

Poe whistles lowly when he sees the size of the house. Batting the curtain out the way and leaning to better acquaint his eyes with the sheer size of the house, that took up a lot of room. Far as the eye could see. "You're sure our host isn't some sort of royalty?" He asks.

Iris smiles. "She is not royalty herself but I believe she dallies frequently with a fair few members of it."

"Russian Princes. Spanish Kings. Counts. Dauphins. Archdukes. French Vicomtes. You name a title- and there's some poor heartsick fool bearing it still yearning after her." Kylo enlightens.

"If my memory serves, I recall the Spanish King named an entire Province in Seville after her." Draegan added.

"I like a woman used to the finer things. Fashionable friends in high places and all that. Thats a guarantee there'll be great champagne." Poe winked. Catching Iris' eye.

"Watch yourself. She's very unstinting with it." Kylo warns.

"I challenge I can capably handle. Believe me." Poe grins.

Kylo smirks. He wasn't lying. Poe was a man who used to drink three bottles of wine to himself before a party- proceeding a wild night out on the town. It took a lot of strong drink to take him down. Ale. Brandy. Absinthe. Wine. He drank of his vices liberally.