In the Still of the Night (Slow Updates)

I. The Peddler

  
August 20, 1872
French Riviera

•••

   When Lena first saw him, he was selling postcards on the side of the road. In the middle of August no less. What first captured her was his hands, stained with oil paints and fiercely tanned. He hand-painted those cards, she thought to herself in complete awe.

It was so arbitrary to be fascinated by something as trivial as a man's paintings, but there was something so sincere like he poured everything he had into those cards. Vulnerability. That's something men don't often like to display.

His delicate paintings were of the stunning Mediterranean landscape, the ever-changing sunset, and the sunrise over the vast sea with gentle brushstrokes. Some featured the wealthy vacationers lounging on their idle yachts or simply sunbathing on the fiery sand, depicting them as equals to the less financially inclined.

When he smiled at the curious customers it didn't quite reach his tragically empty green eyes. Something about him drew flocks of people to his humble stand or perhaps it was just the prodigious little cards.

The huckster suddenly looked up and locked his eyes with her eyes. The abrupt exchange booted her from her daydreaming and back down to the worn book in her hands. Curious, about what something so simple can do to one's nervous system.

•••

"How are things fairing in Frandlyn Village, My Lord?" Lord Roth inquired. "Quite satisfactorily, Wilhelm" Viscount Friedrich Adler curtly answered his closet comrade. Even with people that he considered close, he was very brusk.

The silence fell heavy once again. No one dared speak in the Viscount's presence, Lord Roth's simple query was indeed bold. Only God knows why most of society fears the stout pompous man. There are many tales as to why Viscount Adler is so terrifying, some true, some not. Perhaps it's because he had his wife beheaded for having an affair with a French man and becoming with child, which is undoubtedly true, as Lena is proof of that tale. Another rumor is that he burned twelve men alive for the petty crime of simply drinking the last of his bourbon. Some Lords, however, feel no need to stay silent.

Lena always feared speaking up in the presence of the Viscount for it was ingrained, or rather beaten, in her that she was to be seen and not heard. Her thoughts are inconsequential to the men sitting around her, she is a mere decoration.

Her dark brown hair, meticulously braided, fine powders bringing out her natural coloring more comely, and her body framed in a dark blue low-necked evening gown. The corset tightened enough to drive any poorly trained commoner into insanity. Lena has been disciplined her whole life for bearing such a cruel form of torture.

Though the dress may be excruciating to the wearer, to the men it was beautiful. The corset made her thin in the right places and swell in the places the male eyes could undoubtedly see.

After dinner concluded, the party properly began. Lords and Ladies alike mingled gayly as the music entranced the night air and Viscount Adler shuffled to his study. Everyone seemed to breathe for the first time that night.

Lena sat off to the side of the ballroom floor perfectly content to watch the crowd dance rather than join. Lena, twenty years old, a couple of years past being a debutante, even still, she had no names filled out on her dance card for fear of the Viscount of course. Though, she didn't mind it.

The corner of her eye snagged a familiar face. She stole a glance to be certain of who he was and he was indeed the humble postcard painter. Albeit now he did not appear so humble. In a crisp dark gray suit, he looked as lordly as the gentlemen chattering animatedly around him. Although his attention was not on the conversation at hand but on her.

Her skin flushed and a chill ran down the length of her spine. She focused on the waltz before her and attempted the ignore the hole he was burning in her profile. Soon he made his way over.

"Lady Adler," He bowed keeping his eyes locked on hers. "such a rare oddity it is for a German Lady to be seen unchaperoned on the French Riviera." He paused, a frown appearing when her face gave nothing away. "I'm Samuel Moulin.  May I inquire what it was that you were reading while you were spying on me, madam?" The peddler's frown deepened when his comment warranted no response from her. "Lady Adler, please come with me." A footman emerged from the shadows saving her from having to speak.

He watched as she passed him, silky dark hair meshing finely with the dark blue of her dress. The way the fabric swayed as she excused herself and followed the footman. Her impossibly small waist was beckoning him to touch. Though she is German her facial features are from fine French breeding, the soft plump lips, her delicate swooping nose, and those eyes. Deep. Longing to take the plunge into the alluring depths. The rumors must be true.

•••

She rapped lightly on the Viscount's study door and a grunt greeted her. "You asked for me?" She squeaked out. "Yes." The Viscount circled to the front of the large mahogany desk. "I want you to go upstairs to your chambers. You've been amongst society long enough." He challenged her to talk back, and she unwittingly took the bait. "Viscount, I hadn't uttered a syllable to anyone. I was only watching the dancing. I-" A large hand hurled against her cheek causing her to lose her balance. She quickly grabbed ahold of the chair to the left of her. "Go." His voice was calm as always.

She passed through the populous congregating in the sitting area opposite the grand ballroom towards the stairs. Lord Preston stepped in her way. "Lady Adler, you are as desirable as ever." He bowed and kissed her gloved hand. She managed a smile and snaked around Everett Preston not evading his groping hands as he clasped her waist and yanked her back towards him. "Please malady. Join me for a dance." He pleaded.

She pushed hard out of his grip stating that as a firm no. Protocol said he had to willingly take rejection without causing a scene, but something in his eyes was carnal. This wasn't over.

She risked a peek over the ballroom to find the mysterious painter and found the room devoid of his presence.

When she arrived in her chambers she hastily rang the bell for a maid. When Mrs. Lambert arrived she began helping Lena out of the silk gown and rapidly loosened the corset strings. Once out of the heinous contraption, she took deep breaths to refresh her aching lungs. "I almost forgot Madam. A gentleman asked me to deliver this letter to you." "Thank you, Mrs. Lambert. You may take leave now." The maid curtsied and left her on her own. The way she likes it.

The outside of the letter gave away nothing but careful loopy handwriting greeted her once she unfolded the secrets within.

Dear Lovely Lady Adler,

   If I frighten you I am deeply sorry. That was not my intent. I was informed after that you are restricted to whom you may converse with and forgive me for speaking out of turn but I find the whole matter rather unsettling.
However, my questions still stand if you find it pleasing to indulge me.
Why were you unaccompanied on a side street and what were you supposedly reading when you were unabashedly spying on a poor merchant?

Yours, Meddling,

S.

•••

*A/N Frandlyn Village is a fictional town in Germany along the Rhine River.