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Winter Lights; Tag: The Duke of Suffolk
Topic Started: Dec 1 2010, 06:29 PM (121 Views)
Anne Parr
Unregistered

There was no denying that Anne had become so accustomed to the incessant music that drifted past her ears, mere zephyrs of memories past, frolicking. The same melodies moved throughout the room as if they coasted aimlessly now upon a cloud, causing some to sway with it, others to raise themselves from their seats or to move away from their positions by the cascade of windows surrounding the room. Members of Court danced, the floors echoing their foot falls loudly, their faces filled with indulgent glee, vines and flowers of the holidays entwining among the ceiling beams above their satisfied eccentricity. Amidst the Christmastide decorations and dimmed lighting, Anne sat wordlessly, though perfectly content. Her deep crimson and gold gown emulated the festivities surrounding her very person. Her deep chocolate curls were piled upon her head, partly held up within the confines of a French hood, the remainder swimming down her back. She found she could sit perfectly still for hours, watching as the nobles became more and more intoxicated by the wine, drunk with their own contentment. It had become conventional these past festive weeks, if not entirely routine without the season having any part to play in their behavior.

A playful smirk fell upon Anne's lips at the thought. Indulging appeared to be the preferred flavor of those at Court. Wealth, gratification, pleasure of any kind, it did not matter. It was nearly absurd the abuse she had been a witness to. However, it was what many there deemed perfectly rational. Rational simply because it was allowed and endorsed by all. That was not to say that Anne herself was a saint or a martyr. She was as flawed as anyone, but gave alms to the poor whenever she could, be it only monthly. Though, she was also comfortable with what life she lived and did not understand any different. She also arguably had a great deal going for her in respects to her ambitions, but in the back of her mind, even that remained somewhat clouded due to her most recent ventures. Was she tiptoeing over shards of glass, risking the fall and formidable pain? No doubt it was a possibility, but she was ever cautious.

The goblet of wine she carried rested upon her lap with her swirling the liquid within it, a petite tempest brewing within its walls. She was most certainly paying little attention to it, her dark eyes scattered aimlessly around the room, focused upon the moving bodies like they were a theatrical display. Little by little, the faces before her changed as the highborn moved in and out of the room, between couples, and out from sight. Anne resisted any movement as of yet, easing the storm within her cup as it came to her crimson lips again. Over its rim, her scrutiny gravitated towards a man she knew intimately. His familiar face drifted into her line of sight as if he had materialized from the very air she breathed, its rosemary scent filling her with a crescent awareness of the holiday season.

Her first true friend at Court, the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, was most certainly a dashing man who deserved a great deal of Anne's loyalty and affection. She thought him most certainly one of her betters, if not a genuine soul, radiant amongst the other more nebulous spirits that inhibited Hampton Court's walls. She had known his reputation as being that of a breaker of hearts, but paid no mind to it for it was never his love that she was after, but his companionship. Anne was meticulous in her culling of the opposite sex, particularly when passion was concerned, refusing to fall for just any virile gentleman who made her acquaintance. Hence the reason she had so conscripted Arthur Chamerlyn, the Marquess of Powis, and no other. The Duke before her now, ensnared in conversation and allured within its grasp, was someone Anne believed intuitive and just, who seemed to take her with a sense of sobriety. Never did he belittle her, making her feel as if she were a child amongst men.

Thus, she waited, her eyes cast upon him, unmoving. No doubt, the intuition that mankind carried would allow him to feel as if he were being studied. It was only a matter of time before she would catch the Duke glancing about nervously. Nervously? Perhaps not with her unassuming gaze. She would not dare interrupt him in his conversation, knowing full well that her entreaties mattered very little, if not at all. Nay, she had all evening to approach him, if not her boundless patience to accompany her until then.
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