The Nine Children of Lawrence Swift

Chapter One

Author's note - a trial chapter of a historical fiction dealing with the effects of a man's rakish behaviour. If you want more, please comment! It both lets me know what readers think AND it makes me feel nice! Also: I have attempted to make this as historically accurate as possible, but if any of you are history buffs and see errors, please let me know, since I hate inaccurate historical fiction! I research extensively, but that doesn't mean I'm never going to make a mistake.

Light and laughter pours out onto the darkened street from the upper rooms of Lady Stilwell's house. From the street, one can only hear the sounds of merriment and conversation, but if one passes through the door, up the stairs, and creeps along the hall, one can peek through the half-open door of the drawing room and observe the merry assembly of guests.

Lady Stilwell, a widow of considerable fortune, is that night hosting one of her small suppers - and by that, she means she has invited only fifteen people to a fine dinner, followed by a charming evening spent at cards or in the company of any number of elegant people. Wine flows freely from sparkling glasses, and conversation flows faster. This gathering has the air of a warm intimacy, which has been painstakingly reared and nurtured by Lady Stiwell. This gathering, like all those upon which her ladyship prides herself, is made up of only the most interesting and accomplished people Lady Stilwell could pride herself on calling friends. And, of course, that meas that she has invited merely one or two persons with whom she shares a true and close friendship; the rest has been extended an invitation since they would have been offended had it not been given.

By the fire sits the youngest at the gathering, Miss Emilia Darlington. She is of the latter class of guest, though Lady Stilwell can still admit to admiring the elegant little lady's neat poise. A charming little creature of eighteen, Miss Emilia is doing nothing but playing with a stray curl of her golden hair and watching with her vivid blue eyes a man reclining at the exact centre of the room. This man, a young man but hardly so young as Miss Emilia given that he could have been no more than twenty-five, is not watching Miss Emilia. There is another young lady by the fire upon whom his eyes are resting.

The lady receiving his attentions is the elder sister of Miss Emilia, the esteemed Miss Maria Darlington. This young lady, a well-bred woman of twenty-two, looks very much like Miss Emilia. They share fair curls, pale eyes (though Miss Darlington's are amber to her sister's azure), and an easy smile. It is widely known that Maria is the fairer of the two, but it is her carriage and her winsome charm that is the source of the distinction, not any difference in the fineness of their features.

But Miss Darlington is not looking at the man who is staring very pointedly at her. She is not blind to the the glimmering eyes fixed upon her, however. Under her powder, her face is flushed with the attention. Her eyes are lowered and her fan, which she has clasped in her right hand, flutters frantically.

Sir William Richter, who is seated across from the two young ladies, is speaking at length with Miss Darlington. Her lips move in response to his queries but she is distracted. It is fortunate for him that he does not notice how perturbed she is; should he recognize the symptoms of a fluttering heart and bated breath in this charming young woman he should surely be angry, given that for some time he has been engaged to Miss Darlington.

The man watching Miss Darlington is a very handsome man. He has fine features, to be sure, but his certain beauty is lent to him by a shadowy sort of attractiveness more than the pleasing composition of his face. His thick, waving black hair, invisible to any viewer but mimicked by his equally dark wig, stands at stark odds with the ivory of his complexion. Low, inky brows, that arch and rise with his capricious moods, do not hide the dark eyes glittering in the candlelight.

His bearing, however, is the source of Miss Darlington's blush and quick-beating heart. He reclines on the chaise longue was an easy indolence. He has a half-smile on his face, one of a crooked charm and a sly allure. He moves with a magnificent grace and his finely-drawn features convey a sharpness of wit and a poise of character that comes only from an innate charisma.