Dracula and her Bride |GxG||18+|

14 | you will never see this random side character again

Lady Mackinlay's house is just down the road, but Mother insists on taking the carriage and they arrive there an hour later. Marianne feels ever more exhausted when she finally gets down, but it wouldn't do to walk to a ball. Granted, it would have been much faster, but oh how people would talk if they were to be seen walking in. The road is packed with carriages, and they inch their way there bit by bit.

Their names are announced as they enter. The whole ballroom sparkles. Crystal flutes of champagne and crystal chandeliers. Jewels of every colour glittering on ladies' necks and nestle within the folds of lords' cravats. The ladies of the tonne are dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, with full skirts and tiny waists cinched to nearly non-existent. The men are in breeches of the finest silk, hair meticulously styled to look careless. The lords and ladies promenade the ballroom arm in arm, showing off their evening finery.

Marienne spies her friends gathered around the balcony and starts making her across the room.

"Oh, Lady Marienne!" trills Lady Clarissa, her most bosom friend, as she catches sight of her. "You look lovely this evening."

Marianne smiles, inclining her head. "So do you, Lady Clarissa. That gown is simply marvellous." She pauses before she adds. "Have you seen Lord Kenworthy yet? I was supposed to meet him here...but he's nowhere to be found."

"Oh dear... I hardly think he would be in a fit state to attend tonight."

"Why ever not? Has he taken ill?"

"Oh, worry not, dear Marianne," Clarissa hurries. She lowers her voice. "It is simply that he has spent all day at the gentleman's pub. I know, for my brother was with him, and he came home reeking of whisky."

Marianne's eyes fly open. "You mustn't speak of such things, Clarissa; it is most unladylike!"

"Oh, I know." Clarissa pouts. "I was only trying to be of use. You did seem ever so worried about him, Marianne."

"Well...I am glad you told me." Marianne sighs. "I came tonight to see him before the wedding. Now I wish I'd stayed home. I am utterly exhausted."

A suitor approaches and Clarissa turns brightly to talk to him, leaving Marienne alone with her thoughts. She is tired and sick and wants nothing more than to go home and lay in her own bed. One last time.

Stifling a yawn, she goes in search of the older Lady Cleremont. "Mother, I am not feeling well, and Charles has not made an appearance. May I leave early?"

"Lord Kenworthy is not here? Now who will you dance with?" Lady Cleremont sounds more devastated by this news than by Marienne's ill health.

"Well, he has decided to go drinking," Marienne snaps. "And I'm sick and I want to go home."

Mother raps her sharply with her fan and hisses, "Marienne! How have I raised you? Don't talk like that." She harrumphs. "At least you will get plenty of rest before the wedding. You may take the carriage home and send it back for me."

"It's not as if anyone's going to see me leave on foot now!" Marienne gestures at the ball in full swing.

"Don't be silly, girl!"

Marienne bites her tongue and stomps off. With the roads blocked, it would take at least another hour to get home. If James were here she could've had him walk her back—the manor is only a block away.

Marienne walks out into the street, reasoning to herself that it would take but the duration of a shooting star to get home. And with her wedding looming ahead, Marienne is feeling reckless.

She sets off at a brisk pace keeping her head down, her shawl wrapped around her tightly. Above her, the largest of the three moons turns an ominous shade of hunter green. Light flashes for an instant before it dissipates into a deep indigo mist that matches the night sky.

As the foul smell of London envelops her, it dawns on Marienne that she has never walked alone before, especially not at night. Any sense of freedom that she thought she could enjoy before the wedding is short-lived. Marienne turns the corner and sees a group of men swaying drunkenly.

Raucous laughter fills the air. She takes a step back, ready to flee back to the ball. But it is too late. She has caught their attention. A feeling of dread chills her to the bone as they stagger towards her, calling out indecencies.

Marienne's final thought is wishing she had listened to her mother.