by Monica Fairview
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Mr. William Darcy VIII is the hero of Steampunk Darcy. He is here to indulge in one of his favourite treats.
“Mr. William Darcy VIII,” intoned the automaton Butler.
From her place at the helm, Lady Kitty Crumpledoodle suppressed an unladylike whoop of triumph. Mr. Darcy had actually deigned to come. The clatter of cups and scraping of forks against china in the gondola ceased as everyone turned towards the entrance.
“Could you take over, please?” she said to her lieutenant and craned her neck to catch her first glimpse of the famous personage.
He strode into the Filigree as though he owned it, his silver gaze sliding over the room to locate his hostess.
She hurried across the gondola, which was no easy task, given the scattering of white-covered covered tables scattered around. It would not do to keep Mr. Darcy waiting. Why, he might even decide to leave, which would be such a disappointment.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Lady Crumpledoodle. “So pleased you decided to honor our gathering with your presence.”
“Delighted to be here,” he said.
Pretending to be gazing over the edge of the Gondola down to the spires of the houses of Parliament just beneath them, Lady Crumpledoodle examined him surreptitiously.
The newscasts didn’t do him justice at all. They didn’t capture that sense of energy and they didn’t capture the particular glimmer of those silver grey eyes. Raven black hair with a green swirl slouched down over the top of his left eye and slid just behind his ear to touch his neck. A tailored green frockcoat skimmed the top of his knees. He had clearly chosen his silver cravat to match his eyes. A silver earpiece with jade stones complemented his outfit.
Everything looked deliberate, except that it was ever so slightly skewed. His earpiece and cravat were crooked, his hair rumpled, and his shirt not quite as starched as it ought to be. On anyone else, this might have diminished his appearance, but in his case, it added to his sense of purpose. He looked like a Victorian gentleman, but he gave the impression of something else completely; something with hazardous potential like a steam engine, full of driving energy.
He raised a monocle to his eye.
“So what entertainment do you have prepared for us, Lady Crumpledoodle?”
“You,” said Lady Crumpledoodle. “You shall be our entertainment.”
She waited tensely for his reaction. Would he turn and return to his own dirigible?
He took it in his stride. Slanting his left brow upwards, he gave her a quick smile. “I see. So I am to be your buffoon? How exactly do you propose that I entertain you?”
“You are to answer questions from our guests.”
He wasn’t happy about it. Still, he was too much of a gentleman to raise a fuss.
“I am at your service, madam. Meanwhile, rumor has it that you are serving your famous mince pies. I wonder if you would indulge me with one, along with a cup of white tea.”
As you can see, Mr. Darcy would be happy to answer questions. He will choose a selected few and give them his best shot.
~end
Guest post created by Monica Fairview, author of Steampunk Darcy
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* image source mince pie
