Snippet #1452255

Duncan, for his part, managed to keep his mouth firmly closed as Lady Mayfair led the way to the ballroom, a servant relieving him of his bag along the way. He had of course noticed how she'd initially stiffened at the sight of him, having been conditioned to notice small details, but took no offense to it; he'd recieved similar reactions from many women before, and he'd recieve it from many more still before he met his end. He'd been expecting to be welcomed by some fat old Englishwoman with an ungodly amount of money and some funny ideas about the army, so when he was greeted by the young, extremely very very not ugly Genevieve, who spoke to him in a happy, almost amused voice, the Captain was caught a bit off-guard.

...Nevermind the great deal of effort it took not to let his jaw strike the floor at the after looking at her.

As she left the guests to their own devices, Duncan found himself making small-talk with Lord Mayfair for a few moments before the man went to greet a noble woman as she entered, he himself quietly heading over to the drink table. As he reached for a glass, a few hushed murmers and whispers from the other guests caught his attention and his eyes flicked upwards again, curious as to the commotion.

Now, Duncan was hardly a gentleman. In fact, on some days, he felt that the only thing seperating him from the savages he fought was that he had a uniform, but he was fairly certain that whereever Lord Byron's hand just went, it was not in the adhereance to any code of gentlemanly conduct. His eyes flicked back to Lady Mayfair as she called a toast to, of all things, Love. Seemingly undisturbed as she watched her husband dancing with another woman.

But Duncan, as previously mentioned, was conditioned to notice small details.

Like how Genevieve had slammed her eyes shut during the toast, how she shivered slightly when she thought no one was looking and how her smile didn't fully reach the edges of her mouth. He shook his head sadly, realizing she was putting on a brave face to keep up appearances around her guests and he ruefully mused that had the hostess been anything like his mother, she'd have knocked her husband's pretty white teeth out by now with her bare hands. As he plucked up a glass of champagne and made his way through the party to find somewhere quiet he could stand unassumingly and not make an arse of himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips, remembering the fiery redhead that had raised him.

He'd honestly considered giving the entire party a miss. To go back to Glasgow instead to look for his family; but honestly what would happen if he found them? He'd left without a word thirteen years ago, they probably, and quite reasonably, assumed he was dead, it didn't seem right to just stroll into their lives again after all these years- and he didn't dare bring that pain upon them.

It was one of those times that the Scotsman truly understood the hilarity of his existence.

That the only thing he had left was the Army, and that in time, he would lose that too.

Pushing that dark thought to the back of his mind, Duncan found a suitable position where he would not be accosted by many highborn party-goers or make a fool of himself and his hosts with his inexperience in dealing with said party-goers. Stopping and leaning against the wall comfortably, he raised the glass of champagne to his lips.

"Aye, Miss Mayfair, tae love." The Captain mused to himself, raising his glass slightly and unenthusiastically before emptying the entirity of it's contents down his throat "...And may God save us all from the lunacy of it."