James had timed his arrival to correspond with the first hints of evening in the afternoon sky. His lack of formal status enabled him to bypass the more boring parts of the debutante ball and arrive just in time for the mingling that was his true stock and trade. The path to the door was now lined on both sides by rose bushes, and the cobblestone steps he noticed had been replaced since he last came to the Eddlestor Manor.
He waved off the door man, some dignified old manservant, as he needed no directions to find the garden. Many times throughout the decades he had traversed the great hall, home to the great art collection of the Eddlestor Household which frequently featured new works of genius produced with ducal fortunes, turned left down a hallway, where he would stop to ensure that his dark bangs properly framed his youthful figures, then taken two rights to emerge on one of the house’s three patios which overlooked the garden and was flanked on three sides by the great manor.
The patios had been decorated with paper lamps in the style imported from the homeland of James’ people. Were he to climb to the roof of the manor- something he had done before- he would have seen these decorations trace an outline of the patios and the garden paths between them like a clumsy constellation. Such exotic décor had become more and more popular among the aristocracy and James wondered if one day they wouldn’t begin to import more than mere ornamentation.
The current fashion at that time was to wear bright, but softly-colored dresses that matched the Rococo paintings James had passed in the great hall, broken up with the dark colors of the men’s clothing and the vivid red jackets of the ducal gaurd. A few heads turned as he entered, a few sets of those eyes rested on his pointed ears, which he was happy to wiggle for their mild amusement and a few tastefully concealed giggles. When the Duke saw his arrival, he summoned his son, a boy near entering manhood and sent him away on some task.
No one went to talk to him; it would have been rude to break off a conversation with such people as would attend a Debutante Party to speak to a mere actor. This gave him time to snatch a drink from a roving server, down it, and set the empty champagne glass gracefully on a table before following the lines of lanterns to the main patio. He waited in line to give his regards to the Debutante, young Clairette-Savyocenna Eddlestor, and, after titillating and mildly scandalizing (in good taste) a few of the other party goers, approached his patron.The Duke seemed an embodiment of largeness, and largess. His statue rivaled James’ own, and the width of his shoulders contrasted the Duke’s might against James’ slender frame. He had a long beard and a great smile that seemed to float in the black hair that surrounded it as the two approached each other.
“Mister Chapel.” The Duke spoke first, as was proper.
“Your Grace,” James grinned as he made the bow only technically required of him. “What a lovely evening you have selected. You must have tamed the weather just as you have tethered these stars.” He here motioned toward the paper lanterns.
The Duke laughed. “My grandfather tamed you, and my father tamed the Plevians. How else am I to prove worthy of their legacy?”
“I assure you, your Grace, I know nothing of legacies.”
“Please, James, call me Dotmer.” The Duke insisted. This and similar orders were of a kind that James scrupulously ignored. “Come with me, I have a surprise.”
The Duke led James down from the Patio and into the gardens where the strings of lights did not reach. A guard followed behind and a respectful distance. The garden was the part of the estate that had changed the most frequently since James had first been a guest there all those years ago, but the fountain, installed when Dotmer’s father had recently taken over, was difficult to move and stayed in place. The Duke’s son and a young woman in a dated navy-blue dress sat on a marble bench facing the fixture. As the Duke approached, the two of them rose, and the young woman gaped at James. "Miss Marielle Stelliour, James Chapel. James-" The Duke's introduction trailed off.
"And who is this?" Jame motioned to the lanky young man. "Surely this isn't Torwyn Eddlestor, who captured the hearts of hundreds with his soulful performance of Little Jan in Pots and Princes?" Here he turned to the Duke, putting his palms up. "They grow up so fast. I hope he has continued to pursue acting?"
Torwyn forced a smile to hide embarrassment. "It hasn't come up in my studies.""Pah, so much great talent has gone to waste in Statecraft, that dismal industry." He turned to Marielle. "Anyhow- may I presume you to be one of the Eddlestor's new projects?"
The Duke answered for her. "Miss Stelliour is a playwright, and we have very high hopes for her career. You will oblige us to star in her performance, of course."
"Of course, it would be my pleasure. I dare say I've built a measure of trust in your family's taste over the years. Does she want to tell us about the play, or shall it be a surprise?"
She took a moment to collect herself and respond. There was a time James might have said something to put her at ease, but now it was his custom to take the long-term strategy and remain aloof.
"It's called Leonard's Life, Abridged. It's a tragedy, but less tragic and more generally Melancholic. It's about a cobbler who's trying to sell his shop and move to the countryside, but various circumstances work together to prevent him from doing so. I'd be honored to give you a role."
"And I will be honored to do whatever he tells me." He quirked his head to the Duke. "I don't think I've done a slice of life piece since… Oh, Setting for Five. It sounds like an excellent concept, and of course, if it's good enough for the Eddlestor's, it can't be bad."