𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓, jim moriarty

𝗙𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗜 𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘁𝘀

2012

♱ ♱

A T H E N A' S  P O V

As the warmth from the fireplace crackled and spread a soft glow throughout the room, I noticed a tall figure standing near the hearth, his drink swirling lazily in one hand as he watched the flames dance. His strong profile and sharp features marked him as the elusive Lord Alexander Wycliffe.

I broke the silence first, offering a smile as I stepped into his line of sight.

"A beautiful fire," I said, keeping my voice casual. "It's rare to see one so well-maintained in these old estates."

Wycliffe turned fully toward me, his lips curving into a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. He looked at me as if I were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"Pembroke House is known for its traditions, Miss... Sterling, was it?" he asked, his voice smooth but carrying a faint edge of arrogance.

I nodded. "Yes, that's correct. And you must be Lord Wycliffe. I've heard a great deal about you."

His chuckle was soft, almost mocking. "I'm sure you have. Most of it, I suspect, is exaggerated nonsense. Rumors tend to embellish reality."

He turned his gaze back to the fire, his expression darkening slightly. I could tell he preferred to keep control over how much others knew about him. He thrived on perception, on the stories others told about him, but I sensed that he carefully curated those stories, revealing only what served his purpose.

"I suppose that's the nature of society," I replied, watching him closely. "Stories change in the telling. But from what I've heard, you're a man who prefers precision... truth, if you will."

Wycliffe's eyes flicked back to me, his interest piqued. "Truth is often subjective, Miss Sterling. It all depends on who's telling it."

I let the pause stretch out between us, sensing that he was testing me, seeing how far I would push. He wasn't one to reveal anything unless it benefited him. But I had my own ways of getting what I needed.

"Well," I said with a small smile, "I suppose in a room full of storytellers, we must all find our own truths."

Wycliffe raised his glass to me in a mock toast. "To that, I can agree."

He sipped his drink, his attention already drifting back to the fire, signaling that our conversation was over—for now. I nodded and stepped away, already turning my focus to the next guest.

♱ ♱

Across the room, I caught sight of Lady Arabella Fitzroy. Draped in a flowing emerald gown, she was hard to miss, her diamonds sparkling almost as brightly as her laugh. She had a small group of servants wrapped around her finger, their eyes following her every gesture. Arabella was captivating, but I could see through the charm. There was something sharp in her gaze, something that hinted at a deeper intelligence beneath the polished surface.

I waited for the right moment, watching as her crowd slowly dispersed, leaving her momentarily alone. Timing was everything with someone like her.

When I approached, I offered a polite smile. "Lady Arabella, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you."

Her dazzling smile was immediate, but her eyes were calculating, measuring me. "Oh, darling, you flatter me," she said, her tone light and airy. "I'm sure most of it is exaggeration. But I suppose I shouldn't mind too much. A bit of gossip keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

I kept my smile warm. "Perhaps, but from what I can see, your reputation is well-deserved."

Arabella leaned in slightly, her voice lowering in a conspiratorial tone. "Oh, you're far too kind. But tell me, Miss Sterling, how are you finding the party? I always find these gatherings so... enlightening."

Her words were laced with subtext. Arabella wasn't just making idle conversation—she was digging, probing for information, just as I was. She collected secrets like others collected fine art.

"Enlightening, indeed," I said, matching her tone. "With so many intriguing guests under one roof, there's plenty to learn tonight."

Arabella's eyes sparkled with a sly smile. "Oh, Miss Sterling, you have no idea. The more you look, the more you see... if you know where to look, of course."

I met her gaze evenly, understanding her implication. She wasn't just a socialite; she was a player in a larger game, someone who knew how to navigate the dangerous waters of high society.

"The trick," I said softly, "is to keep your eyes open, isn't it?"

Arabella's smile widened, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Always, darling. Always."

We exchanged a brief, knowing glance before I excused myself, sensing that I had learned as much as I could for the moment. Arabella would be someone to watch closely.

♱ ♱

The further I moved from the main rooms, the quieter the house became. It was near the study where I found Lord Reginald Ashcroft, standing alone with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked lost in thought, his posture slouched, the weight of his troubles visible on his face. His once-handsome features were marred by stress, the lines of a man who had gambled too much, both figuratively and literally.

I approached him slowly, my voice soft. "Lord Ashcroft, I hope I'm not interrupting. You seem... deep in thought."

Ashcroft blinked and looked at me, his eyes bleary but focused enough to recognize me as one of the guests. He forced a smile, but it was tired, worn down by whatever burdens he carried.

"Ah, Miss Sterling," he said gruffly. "No, you're not interrupting at all. Just... taking a moment to think."

His voice was rough, the tone of a man who had seen better days. I could see the cracks in his armor, the desperation lurking beneath the surface. Ashcroft was a man on the edge, and it wouldn't take much to push him over.

"I imagine a party like this can feel overwhelming at times," I said gently. "All the expectations, the... appearances."

He let out a bitter chuckle, his gaze turning dark. "You've no idea. Or maybe you do. But yes, you're right. Appearances can be... deceptive."

He drained the rest of his whiskey and glanced toward the study's door as if considering whether to escape into its solitude. I couldn't afford to let sympathy cloud my judgment, but I couldn't ignore the vulnerability in his eyes either. Boring. I shook away the thought. It wasn't mine.

"Deceptive, indeed," I replied, watching him closely. "But sometimes that's what makes nights like these so interesting, don't you think? You never know what secrets might come to light."

Ashcroft's expression shifted, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he masked it with another forced grin. "Secrets, Miss Sterling? I think this house has enough of those to last a lifetime."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. There was something deeper here, something Ashcroft was hiding, and I intended to find out what it was before the night was over.