Golden light reflects around the momentous ball room from the extravagant chandelier that almost dwarfs the room. Each individual crystal that hangs precariously from the light fixture has been hand crafted to perfection by the best glass-worker in England; rays covering the whole spectrum are pouring out bathing the hundreds of people in techni-color lights. The candles inside it are burning brightly, making the room glow with light and the gossip that is surely being spread by the vicious members of the ton.
Ladies and Gentlemen alike walk through the large, cramped crowds of people spreading the gossip of what happened during the winter break from social festivities. Mothers practically attack any young eligible bachelor in the name of their marriageable aged daughters.  Said daughters do their very best to seem appealing while speaking, but only of female appropriate topics while the male half of the population do their best to not look completely bored. This is the second big event of the season but I’m sure there is still more trivial information to spread. Alot can happen in the three months the titled and rich spend in their country homes: a title could be passed on, an inheritance could be lost, an engagement could be broken, and the most scandalous, a girl could be ruined.
I walk through the cramped space but no one even spares me a glance except to reach for the champagne on my tray. I keep my eyes down cast and avoid touching anyone. Even a simple brush against the wrong person could lose me my job. As I walk I watch my long skirts swish between my ankles. It i has been ironed meticulously and my black boots have the perfect sheen that only years of experience can cause. Suddenly a different pair of brown boots step in my path and I stop dead. I bring my eyes up to decide whether or not they need or a drink or are just careless. The man that has nearly knocked into me isn’t looking in my direction at all. I contain a sigh at the ‘Gentleman’s’ carelessness and attempt to go around. He plants himself firmly in my path and crosses his arms. “Excuse me, my Lord.” I say as I hold up the tray. The only reason the patrons ever speak to me is if they need another drink so they can enjoy the night or if they have a fallen hem and need a seamstress called.  While I wait for him to grab a drink I take a hurried glance around the room to make sure I’m not causing a scene. I need this job to help my family and I can’t afford any mistakes. Even though  I’ve been working here for almost two years the owners would drop me in a second if they thought I wasn’t doing my job to the satisfaction of the patrons.
The man still hasn’t moved out of my way so I take a chance and give him a look over. Barely taller than me, portly, and angry looking is my first assessment. My second assessment brings back the same conclusion except that he’s at least twenty years my senior.  The strange man then says in a tone, “Will you show me the way to the courtyard garden, I understand the roses are lovely this time of year.” With a curt nod of my head I walk towards the gardens. We walk through several winding hallways until I point out a set of double doors. I try to back away as quickly as possible but once again he puts his pear-shaped body in my path. “My dear, you work too hard. Set down the tray and grace me with your company me for awhile.” I gasp as I realise what the man is proposing
“Oh dear.” I frantically think. “Forgive me, Sir” I say aloud, “I must return to work.”
I start slowly inching around him while he thinks over my refusal with a confused look.  He’s probably never been told no before, he’s obviously is either titled or has a considerable amount of money. He decides that I must be mentally adled to turn him down and tries again. “You’re much too pretty to have to work. Come, just for a moment.”
“I really cannot. Forg-” His hand whips out faster than I thought the heavy man could move, blocking my path once again.  I look around for an escape but find none.  If I scream I will lose my job and being able to help my family pay our dues. But I can’t just stand here like a fool with my mouth gaping open, it’s unladylike. I’d just made up my mind to forsake being ladylike and physically reprimand him when I hear “I believe the Lady said no.” from a deep voice across the hallway. Me and the portly man both snap our heads around simultaneously.
The man is broad shouldered with clothes that are surely the most popular style of this season. His waistcoat and breeches fit his tall, lean body perfectly. His face is in the shadows, but from what I see of him and his clothing I deduce that he would be quite a catch for any young lady out there husband hunting. The man currently holding me against the wall interrupts my ogling with a sneer of “Are you talking about the wench? She’s no lady.”
I turn a slow glare on him and snarl “I am a Lady. You Sir, are no gentleman. Now move your hand before it’s detached from your unfortunate body.”
HIs only response is to raise his eyebrows as though he would enjoy seeing a female try to challenge him. The younger, strapping man steps out of the shadows slightly and growls “The lady said to unhand her.” His tone of voice makes me turn from the fool so close to me to see a face I know I recognise. The older, heavier man moves faster than I would have expected and swings at the lean man across from him. I step back as the brawling continues but it isn’t long before the pear-shaped man is running with his tail between his legs. I turn to my savior to thank him but pause when I see that his once beautiful face is marred slightly by a red bruise currently blooming on his left cheek.  He steps forward into the light and I look downcast and mutter “My Lord I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
“That’s enough, trust me I’ve had worse.”
I look up into warm brown eyes with a glint of humor that perfectly compliment his sandy colored hair that has fallen forward onto his forehead;He’s dashingly handsome. He kneels and I lean forward to observe his cheek. On closer inspection I see the only imperfection on this man, a small scar under his eye. With a gasp I quickly back up.
The scar sparked a memory I had forgotten. Lord William Birmington. He was sent to Eton years ago for schooling, but it was rumored that he was sent away to avoid any more tarnishes to his reputation. He was a notorious scoundrel and me being in a hallway alone with such a cad was a scandal in and of itself. I back out of the hallway with a hurried “Thank you, my Lord.” unceremoniously leaving him kneeling on the floor with a bemused look. I step back into the buzzing great room and straighten my skirts and take a deep breath.
Nothing happened  is my mantra as I continue working the room. But when Birmingham reenters the room his face is glowing with humor while mine is hot with embarrassment. Our eyes meet and his face breaks into a grin upon seeing me and I know, something happened. He starts making his way across the crowded room towards me and I something, I don’t know what, but something definitely happened when the painfully handsome notorious scoundrel saved me from the pear-shaped man.  Something good.