An Interview, Not a Date, tag - Monty

[Charlotte E. Hearst]

It was silly, really, that she was in Argentina at all. That she had flown thousands of miles for an interview that very well could have taken place in Manhattan. Professionally, she had come up with many reasons as to why such a long trek was valid. Her editor had thought her angle on the proposed article was absolutely brilliant and he hadn’t batted an eye over the fact that she was asking to go to some far off place, when quite literally they could have met at Les Halles for lunch and accomplished the same task. As far as the article went, it made sense she knew. And she had sold it to her boss impeccably. She wanted to have the chance to interview a man like Torquil Montagu-Scott in unassuming surroundings. Casual, even. What was more casual than a holiday-like setting? He was here for sport, but something told her that wasn’t the only thing the polo team from New York would be doing so very far from home. Truth of it was, none of this was really her idea and honestly she wasn’t quite she wanted to take credit for it at all. No, this was the handiwork of one Henrike Fallon. The only woman in the world who could convince Charlotte that this was actually a good idea. In the weeks before, it was easy to just laugh at the whole thing. It didn’t quite feel real. Well, it didn’t quite feel real until that moment where it absolutely did.

That moment had occurred shortly after she had checked into her hotel room and after she had unpacked. Charlotte had just sat there, completely and utterly aware of how silly and desperate this was. A folder sat on the desk against the wall, filled with all the information she could get her hands on about the Viscount Hinchingbrooke. Research for her article, she had told herself…which wouldn’t have been so pathetic if she hadn’t seen him that day at the polo match. And if she hadn’t found him to be completely and utterly handsome. It was nearly like a school girl crush—one that Henri had all but encouraged enthusiastically and unrelentingly. It was like they were teenagers again and they had seen some cute boy at one of the co-ed social events. Oh god, when she put it that way in her head it did sound so awfully pitiable didn’t it? In a way, it was good to feel this way again… but only insomuch as it was good to know that she could feel this way. It had been a long, long while since someone had caught her eye like the copper haired polo player. It was good to feel that stirring once again simply because it had been so very long since she had. Too long – that’s what everyone else would say.

For a very long while, her life had been all about being in love. Everything went according to plan. She met a guy, she fell head over heels, they got engaged and then they were to be married. Right up until that plan had come to a screeching and pathetically grinding halt. Then her heart shattered into tiny shards and only now was she able to put together the last pieces and move on. It had taken years, but she had done it. And now… now she was in Argentina standing in front of a closet filled with clothes. Well, she supposed that now she was here she couldn’t do anything but make the most of it. What did she have to lose after all? Only her dignity, she though drolly to herself as her fingers moved from hanger to hanger, trying to make the crucial decision. Henri had taken her shopping for a dress for the interview and they had settled on a beautiful, but slightly risqué dress. One that she couldn’t help but wonder if it would do more harm than good. She didn’t want to seem as desperate as she felt, after all. What she hadn’t told Henri was that she had also brought with her a nice, conservative sort of dress. Nothing daring about it at all. So that when she realized that she didn’t have the nerve to wear the other dress, she’d have a backup. Charlotte was always so very good at thinking through everything. Too good, really. Perhaps if she hadn’t, she’d just be forced to wear the other dress.

Unsure of what to wear, she pulled both of them out of the closet and laid them out on the bed. Her chin sat in the palm of her hand, her fingertips running idly across her lips in heavy thought. She knew what Henri would say if she were here…but that was the problem. Her backbone was miles and miles away in New York. If she was going to be daring today, she’d have to do it herself. Charlotte’s phone began to ring, jolting her from her inward debate. She lifted it to her ear, noting that it was her editor and cleared her throat a bit.

“Hello?”
“Char, it’s Forrest. You all settled in and ready for that interview?”
“Of course. Meeting with him in a bit, actually. Hopefully just the few of a couple actually. Was hoping to get behind the scenes at one of the polo games if he was up to it.”
“Perfect. And Charlotte? Pull out your charm on this one. Use everything you got. I want this story to really have an edge that people aren’t expecting…”

Charlotte’s eyes moved from Henri’s pick, to the conservative choice and then back to the first again.

“Right. Got it,” she replied, smiling a little bit as she picked up the blue and orange dress with a nod. “Edge it is.”
“Good. Send me an update in a couple days. And Charlotte? Stay down there a few extra days. You need a vacation more than anyone else I know.”
“….I… Really… I’m fine…”
“Do it, or I’ll fire you…” Forrest joked, his smooth and easy chuckle making it plenty clear that he wasn’t the slightest bit serious.
“Alright then,” replied Charlotte with a chuckle. “If you insist.”
“I do. And enjoy yourself down there. Deadline’s in two weeks, so there’s no rush on this one…” She heard something in the background on Forrest’s side of the phone. ”Gotta go. ”

Charlotte suddenly felt rejuvenated again with the new dress in her hand. Ditching her clothes, she slipped in to it then made her way to the bathroom, combing through her hair with her hands and parting her long bangs down the middle. She glanced to the clock on wall, noting she had about twenty minutes until she was supposed to meet Torquil at a cabana that she set aside for them on the beach. Did it get more casual than that, she wondered? Remembering what Henri had said about the champagne, she decided to go broke or go home. Picking up the hotel room’s phone, she ordered a bottle to be waiting for them when they got there. This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself… but an interview. Business, she thought to herself with a nod as she picked up her purse, tossed her phone into it and then grabbed the wide brimmed straw hat that was sitting on a chair. Then she was off.

It was a short walk to the beach and she had made sure to get there a little bit earlier than the appointed time. The champagne was there like she had asked and she reached into her bag and pulled out her digital recorder, setting it on the small table and then settling into a seat. It was a beautiful spot, really. The crashing waves nearly the only sound that could be heard. In an hour or so, the sun would be setting but for now it still hung in the sky basking everyone underneath its rays in warmth. Charlotte sighed, not even realizing that she had done it. A warm wind blew by and kicked up the skirt of her dress, a not so gentle reminder that the slit indeed went nearly to her waist. But she could only laugh at herself now. It was about that time that she saw him out of the corner of her eye. Charlotte couldn’t help the way her features lit up, partly to play the part of the charmer… but mostly because she actually was rather happy for this all to finally get underway. Because she truly did want to get to know him.

”Hello,” said Charlotte with a smile after she stood up to great him and then extended her hand to him for a nice professional handshake. “It looks like we’ve lucked out with a beautiful day and even more beautiful scenery.” She smiled again, not needing to force it but finding it completely natural in his presence. “It’s nice to finally meet you…. I’m Charlotte Hearst.” She absently tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled up at him again. This an interview, not a date... she felt the need to remind herself again as she was reminded yet again of just how handsome he was.

••
The cabana
(Lottie in Argentina)

[Torquil D. Montagu-Scott]

Sun, sea, sand and eight guys galloping around a field hitting a small ball with sticks. It was, Monty kept telling himself, over and over again, exactly what he needed. He needed to be a long way from New York. Needed to be a long way from Vivianne bloody Warrington and the newest glittering addition to her left hand. And, as much as he'd enjoyed and appreciated Andrew's company over the past few weeks, now that he was here without him, the English lord reaslised that he needed to be a long way away from him too. He needed this time to sort through the fog of thoughts that clogged his mind. He needed to work through his feelings - both those that were clear for everyone to see, and those that he'd kept so well buried that they had become hard for even him to sort through. To do that, he most definitely needed to be alone.

Though he hadn't actually spoken to the rest of his teammates or the grooms that had made the journey with him about what had happened back in the city [hell, he had barely managed to speak to Gracie about it, he wasn't about to offload his woes onto people he barely knew], they all seemed to understand that their Number 1 shirt had his mind in places well away from the polo field, and thus his being on his own rather than out sampling the local nightlife didn't concern them. For that, Monty was more than grateful. Sure, he'd been out a couple of times with them to socialise, but more often than not he found himself retiring to a shaded area on the beach with a good book in the time he had to himself. There was something that would always be incredibly relaxing and comforting about literature - the written word providing hi m with far more than peoples attempts to 'cheer him up' could ever do.

Today, however, was going to have to be a little different. There wouldn't be drinks after training with the rest of the Meadowbrook stables. There wouldn't be Keats or Waugh and a glass of wine. No. Today he was going to have to perform a duty of an entirely different kind. The kind of duty he really hadn't been expecting to encounter while he was away. The kind of duty he'd been hoping to avoid by moving to New York in the first place. But, he had to reason with himself, it wasn't the sort of thing that happened very often, and seeing as this Charlie bloke had come to Argentina to conduct the interview, chances were it would be linked more to his polo playing than anything else. Anything else and he'd have to start thinking about all the things he was hoping to avoid while being here. Polo…polo was a safe area. It was why he'd agreed to the interview after giving the matter quite some serious thought.

With the rest of his teammates disappearing off down the road to the little bar they'd found close to the stables, Monty had made his way alone back to the hotel, spending quite some time beneath the cool water of the shower. The sort of heat that he was being subjected to here was something that the Englishman wasn't used to dealing with in the slightest, and it was something he didn't think he was ever going to get used to. Then there was the simple fact that the exposure to the sun was only causing him to gain more freckles, the spaces in between starting to turn a rather impressive shade of lobster. Gracie would have a field day if she could see him like this. Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, Monty ran one hand through still damp hair before he reached to pull out some clothes.

Anyone that knew Monty - even if they'd only met him very briefly - would know that dressing casually wasn't exactly a forte of his. Polo being the exception, it was very rare indeed to see him in anything less than a button down shirt and a smart pair of trousers. Today was going to be no different, though he conceded that the sleeves of his shirt could be rolled up somewhat, and the trousers were those that belonged to a linen suit. He may well bake in the setting sun, but at least his reputation would be upheld.

Finally deeming himself to be ready, the Englishman ran another hand through his hair before stepping out of his suite and moving down to the cabana on the beach where the meting had been scheduled to take place. All Monty had to do was work out who it was he was supposed to be meeting. He had a name, yes. But no face to put to it. He could, therefore, be forgiven at his surprise when a stunning blonde in the most beautiful of dresses looked at him as though she knew exactly who he was and stood to great him as such. Not wanting to be rude, he shook the proffered hand, smiling politely at her comments about the setting. Perhaps this was the assistan- no. Charlotte. Charlie. It all made sense now.

Smiling, Monty gestured to the seats behind her before moving to take a seat himself. "Forgive my tardiness, our training ran a little later than expected." Dear lord she was beautiful. Eyes a man could easily get lost in. 'Snap out of it Monty…' Picking up one of the glasses of water that had been placed on the low table, the redhead took a long sip before finally looking back to Charlotte. "It's a pleasure to meet you too. I expect you've been given my Christened name but please, call me Monty. Torquil sounds far too pretentious." With a soft chuckle, he sat back against the cushions of the sofa.

"I must admit, this will be the first interview I've given in a very long time. I hope you'll be gentle with me."

[Charlotte E. Hearst]

More than anything, Charlotte needed to focus on the task at hand. She had an interview to conduct, after all. Something that would reflect on her professional career. Something that thousands of people would read. She very well couldn’t be fawning over the man with whom she was to interview now could she? Oh, but she was. From the very moment her eyes had spotted him she felt that familiar sort of attraction that she had felt the day of the polo match. The day that had set into motion this very interview. For whatever reason, Henri had seemed very keen on playing the behind the scenes matchmaker. And, for whatever reason, Charlotte had gone along with her plotting-- just as she always had. In fact, she had done so perfectly up until this point, even down to the billowy dress Henri had selected for her. Most of the time, Henri knew exactly what she was doing...but sometimes, Charlotte had to wonder. This was most assuredly one of those times. Or was it? Right now the line was so completely blurred by her desire to be a consummate professional, along with her personal interest of him that it was so very hard to tell.

"I suppose I can forgive you," Charlotte said, smoothing the back of her dress before sitting down. But that smile of his. It was just so...so charming that felt herself having to press forward even though she was quite sure she'd just be happy to sit there with him in silence, enjoying the scenery around them. But there was an interview to be done and so she would. "Monty it is, then." She paused briefly, offering a sincere smile. "It suits you, I think." Of course she had known it to be his nickname from her research, but she had no intention of using it. Doing the research on someone she was going to interview was always a double edged sword. In a way, she felt interviews were a very organic sort of thing. Knowing too much almost put her in a box as far as questioning went. It made it harder to pick up on particular things, when she already had a preconcieved notion in her head. Which is why she tried not to do too much, but just enough. Doing research on Torquil Montagu-Scott, however, was a bit more complex than normal...simply because it felt as if she was digging into someone's life she was actually interested in. Someone she knew she was genuinely attracted to and that attraction was only growing the more she learned about him. Of course, it was all for the sake of this silly interview. She briefly wondered why she hadn't been brave enough to just walk up to him that day and see where things had gone from there. That would have made this all a lot easier. Now? Now she just felt so silly.

"I... really don't know how to be anything but gentle," said Charlotte with a light chuckle, though it was mostly a true enough confession. She knew how to be passionate about something as well, but everything about the blonde in front of him had a softness about her. Even her passion-- not that she had felt that sort of thing in a very long time. At least, not about another human being. As for not being one to interview often, she had something to say about that as well. "Which makes me even more pleased that you agreed to this one because of it. Hopefully you won't find it too awful. I'll do my best not to bore you completely," she commented a bit teasingly, reaching over to flip on the recorder on the table. "Hope you don't mind." And then she smoothed over the moment as if it never happened. She didn't want him to dwell on the idea of being recorded. "My mother is British," she finally started off, trying a journalistic attempt at connecting with him. "But I'm afraid she's become far more American than anything else. And much to her own displeasure, I'm afraid..." Charlotte chuckled again, casually brushing her bangs from her eyes before making eye contact with him again. It was the technique of any good interviewer, but she wasn't so sure it had ever been so hard to do so before. Because when she did, she just wanted to smile and she had to hold back the urge. Ignore it, even. "Are you finding it easy to settle in stateside? Anything in particular you miss already?"

Charlotte smiled over to him a bit as she reached to the table and pulled a rasberry off a plate, then leaned back in her chair and popped it into her mouth. There was something still a bit proper in her stance but it was still fluid enough to lend a sort of casualness about the situation. She was beginning to finally settle into the moment, even if she was having troubles pushing her attraction aside. She noted his sleeves, the way they were rolled up. The linen trousers and the red tint to his skin. A far cry from the man she had seen pictures of, but still somehow that sense of sophistication was very much there.And it suited him, much like his nickname did. What had she expected, after all? To see him walk out on the beach in a three piece suit? The journalist in her almost wished he had, simply because it would be so amusing to write about... But the woman in her was actually rather pleased with his choice. He could dress down, should the situation call for it. And that said something entirely about him. Still, she had a feeling this wasn't his most comfortable situation. As if an interview wasn't enough, she'd dragged him out here and in Argentina. And honestly, she was quite happy-- both professionally and personally-- that he'd said yes despite all of these things.

••
The cabana
(Lottie in Argentina)

[Torquil D. Montagu-Scott]

Truth be told, Monty hadn't really had all that much choice in the matter about giving this interview. Not that he'd had his arm twisted up his back, it was nothing like that, but there had definitely been a lot of gentle persuasion on the part of the Earl and Countess. Mainly the Countess. Though they hadn't explicitly disproved of his coming to America to pursue his polo playing, they perhaps hadn't been quite as supportive as you would imagine parents to be. In his mother's eyes, he should be preparing himself to get married, should be taking more of an interest in his eventual role of 13th Earl of Sandwich, not 'gallivanting around'. The way she saw it, the clock was ticking dangerously close to his thirtieth birthday, and still she hadn't been made a grandmother. The way Monty saw it, he was almost thirty, and now was the time to do exactly what he wanted before settling down to the role and responsibilities awaiting him. Lady Isabelle, however, was beginning to worry somewhat that her eldest child wasn't going to be in the limelight as much as she felt he deserved to be. Which was why, when he mentioned the request he'd had for this particular interview to her, she'd been very quick to jump on the bandwagon, encouraging, telling him that it was a wonderful opportunity. Lord Timothy hadn't quite voiced his opinion in the same way as his wife had done, but it had been quite clear that he shared a similar view. And thus Monty had acquiesced.

But sitting here now, the promise of a beautiful sunset on the horizon, crisp white sand at his feet, a bottle of very good champagne on the table between them [Monty wasn't a snob about everything as some of his peers might be, but he knew and appreciated a good bottle of alcohol when he saw one] it would be hard for him to complain. Sitting here, gaze travelling to the young woman that would be conducting the interview - surreptitiously from behind his sunglasses, he hoped - Monty couldn't help but smile to himself. Very hard for him to complain. As they started talking, Monty reached to take one of the strawberries from the platter before settling back, running one hand through his hair. With regards to his nickname, the redhead simply gave a soft chuckle. "Most people seem to think it suits me - I think my mother is the only one that wouldn't agree." But this was a woman that had decided, in her infinite wisdom, to call her daughter Grace-Catherine, and thus her suitability when it came to deciding upon nicknames wasn't exactly to be relied upon. "And how about you, Miss Hearst? What should I be calling you?" If Charlie was the answer she gave, then Charlie would be what he would call her, though there was something that really didn't sit right with him about that. She didn't look like a Charlie. Was far too feminine for such a moniker. Lottie, would mayhap suit…

Despite the fact that he'd only spent a few brief moments with the woman, at her comment about hoping she wouldn't bore him, Monty had to shake his head. He was already more than a little convinced that such a thing was an impossibility for the blonde, and that was only slightly in part to the way she looked. Monty was a man. He wasn't even going to try and deny the fact that she was beautiful. Any man that wasn't visually impaired would be able to see that much. but he could sense that there was something more than that to the woman sat across from him. There was something about the way she held herself, something about the way she spoke. It was almost….captivating. "I don't think you're capable of boring anyone." At that he grinning, leaning to pick up his glass of water once more, giving a small shrug as she turned on the recorder. It was an interview after all - he hadn't expected anything less - and it was far better than to have her writing everything down. This way, the conversation could flow.

As she spoke of her mother, Monty couldn't help but quirk a brow slightly. It seemed that everyone he'd met since coming to New York had a connection to England. As she told of how Mrs Hearst had become very Americanised, Monty couldn't help but give a soft chuckle [something he'd been doing far too infrequently as of late]. "I think my becoming Americanised is something my mother is becoming far too worried about. It's probably why she phones me as often as she does - make sure I'm not slipping into bad habits." Or to check on Gracie, which was the main reason he spoke to the Countess as often as he did, but that wasn't something that Charlotte needed to know about. "Where about is your mother from originally?" He knew that she was supposed to be the one asking the questions, but the topic had been brought up, and it seemed impolite to simply let it be brushed to the side,

The first question to be asked wasn't something that Monty needed to think about for very long at all before answering. "My move here has been made rather easy actually - a lot of my friends seem to have made similar moves themselves. There's quite the British invasion going on." Another chuckle, and he leant towards the table once more, picking up another strawberry. "I miss English strawberries with scones and cream." With a wink, he popped the strawberry into his mouth, chewing contemplatively for a moment. "Strangely enough, I quite miss the weather too. I'm not exactly designed to be out in sun, as you can probably tell." Was he missing anything else about home? At that moment in time, he could truthfully say that he wasn't. The positive things about being given the space that he so craved far outweighed any pangs of homesickness that he might be experiencing.

[Charlotte E. Hearst]

When Charlotte had went about planning this interview through the polo team’s public relations team, it had been a bit clear that Torquil Montagu-Scott had been a bit hesitant about accepting. Well, perhaps not hesitant, but he did not immediately accept. Charlotte understood, though. She understood not wanting to be dragged through the intrusive, banal conversations that journalists now called interviews these days. Did she want him to turn it down? No, no of course not. In fact, she wanted him very much to accept. Henri had always been quite sure he would, but she was always the confident one between the two of them. Of course, she had been right. But now that it was actually happening, she felt that internal struggle start back up. The one that said that she could hardly be unbiased. And that she wished this wasn’t some silly, contrived attempt at meeting him.

But it was all done and happened now. Well, done and happening. There was nothing to do except make the very best of it that she could—which meant going into full journalist mode didn’t it? She had set the recorder down, but the trick to the recorder was to make the interviewee feel as if it didn’t exist at all. Charlotte wanted a sincere, real conversation from the viscount. Not some boring, line fed sort of back and forth. To get this, she had decided that charm was going to be her best chance at getting what she wanted. But the truth was? She wasn’t having to try to be anything except herself. It came very naturally to her now that she was with him. So instead of making some silly attempt at being someone else, she eased into the lull of the conversation as if she was talking to a friend.

The comment about his mother, the Countess, made her chuckle a bit and she nodded with a smile. “I feel like our mothers might know each other,” she said, brushing her bangs from her eyes. “Just by the fact that they like to be contrary,” Charlotte chuckled, then leaned back a bit, her hand sliding under her chin when he asked her what he should call her. “To start…I think we can do a bit better than Ms. Hearst…” She said playfully. “Well, my colleagues call me Charlie… But I think we can both agree that doesn’t suit me?” She smiled. “Charlotte works well enough, I find. But with you having such a fantastic nickname, Charlotte feels rather formal doesn’t it?” This time her eyes smiled more than her lips, but it was plain that she was being a bit playful. And who could blame her?

But their conversation didn’t stop there. No, they were back on the topic of their mothers. A funny, curious topic really. Though earlier she had only been joking about the similarities, she was quite sure that if the Countess and Evelyn Hearst met, they would get along famously. Or hate each other. One of the two. “Mm. I find mothers, or at least mine, like to pretend they are still running our lives.” She crossed her legs. “The trick is to let them think they are.” Charlotte winked. Wait, was she flirting? No. Was it even possible to be flirting over the topic of mothers? She tried not to listen to the burgeoning questions in her head. That would only make her freeze up. No, she had to press forward as if everything was just fine. And really, it was. She couldn’t let her mind make something out of nothing. It was just a wink, after all.

“Bristol,” Charlotte finally answered. Though now that she had said it, she was actually a bit surprised they were talking about her instead of him. How very tricky of him! “I’ve always wanted to go, but I haven’t yet made it over. Well, besides London of course.” Which she absolutely adored. “Now the question was… were you asking because you were truly interested? Or because you were just trying to distract me from asking things about you?” Charlotte turned her head a bit, looking at him teasingly from the corner of her eyes. ”I’m on to you, Monty.” She broke her seriousness to smile. She just couldn’t help but smile.

The answer to the next question was actually far more thorough than she had expected. She was starting off easy, but maybe she didn’t need to with him. Maybe he was actually rather prepared to talk about himself—a topic she had a feeling that he wasn’t used to discussing. She could empathize. Usually, she talked about others. She was to be the forgettable one and her job was to make others unforgettable. But already, to her, Monty was unforgettable. The trick was now to make everyone who read her article about him believe it. She already pictured how she’d start off the article, which were much her own thoughts when she first saw him. The attempt at dressing down, when she was quite sure he was the sort to be more comfortable with some sort of blazer or coat on. The red flush of his English, freckled skin. The way he carried himself with such distinguished elegance. And the sunglasses. She couldn’t forget the sunglasses. Yes, Torquil Montagu-Scott was unforgettable.

“That sounds heavenly,” she said, almost blistfully. “Well, I’m afraid fruit and champagne will have to do for now.” Charlotte leaned over a bit, picking up the chilled sparkling wine and poured them both a glass. Handing one over to him, she smiled. “It makes the interviewing process go a lot smoother.” The crash of the waves distracted her for a moment and she glanced over her shoulder and over to the ocean. An idea clicked and she turned back to him slowly. ”I don’t suppose you’d… want to walk along the shore?” Wasn’t she supposed to be asking questions? Oh, she’d get to them. Maybe… she thought jokingly to herself. Charlotte was going with what felt right now and nothing was going to stop her. Henri would be quite proud.

[Torquil D. Montagu-Scott]

Little Lottie thought am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes…. It perhaps wasn’t the most poetic of thoughts to spring to mind, and nor was it one that Monty felt he would freely admit to, but the line from the musical stuck with him anyway. The Charlotte sitting across from him looked like the sort that would have had such dilemmas as a child. The sort of little girl that loves to play dress up and dance and clomp around in her mother’s shoes. The sort of little girl that will stay up long past her bedtime reading books about goblins and ghouls beneath her bedcovers. It was a thought that made him smile against the rim of his glass as he brought it to his lips once more. Resting the cool bottom against his knee, Monty smiled properly. Yes. She wasn’t a Charlotte or a Charlie…”You’re a Lottie.” And though she was perfectly at liberty to refute that, it was a name that Monty felt would always stick in his mind when he thought of the blonde that conducted his first [and hopefully, only] interview since moving to the States.

For all that this was technically a formal interview, for all he knew that eventually all that was talked about and discussed here would become fodder for those that have too much time on their hands and far too much interest in the lives of the vaguely famous, Monty was genuinely feeling completely relaxed and at ease with the situation, something he couldn’t even begin to claim with his previous experiences. He was very quickly able to forget about the recording device on the table, lurking slightly behind the fruit platter. He was able to put it out of his mind that Lottie was going to be going back to her room in the hotel and turning his words into an article of some sort. Sitting back against the seat, he could imagine this to be nothing more than a conversation between two people in the beginning stages of getting to know one another. As such, the young Lord didn’t feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable with asking his own questions in return. If anything, he felt it would be somewhat rude not to do so. It was bad manners to talk about yourself without engaging your conversation partner too.

Or was Lottie right? Was he trying to deflect the conversation away from himself and back onto her? Deep down, the redhead knew that such a thing was the case. With all that had been going on in recent times, talking about himself was quite possibly the last thing that he wanted to do. Mainly because there were things that Lottie could bring up that would bring bubbling back everything to the surface that he’d been trying to avoid. Something as simple as a mention of his ‘good friend Vivienne’s’ recent engagement would have him back to moping as soon as the interview was over. He couldn’t even be sure that it wasn’t something that Lottie wouldn’t pick up on when talking to him, bringing about a whole new level of awkwardness that the young lord quite simply wouldn’t want to deal with. It was bad enough feeling the way he did, without the whole world knowing about it too. ”Mayhap it’s a combination of both, hmmmm? Using my genuine interest to deflect the questions?” With the sincere hope that that would suffice, Monty leant back on the seat, lifting one ankle to cross across his opposite knee, the hand holding the glass moving to rest atop them both.

As the champagne was handed over, Monty couldn’t help but quirk an amused eyebrow. For all that his interview experience was really rather limited, he was quite sure that being served champagne wasn’t generally the done thing. Most places likely wouldn’t fork out on expenses for a start. And then there was the whole….getting people drunk thing. Then again, perhaps that was Lottie’s plan….perhaps she really had done her research, and knew that Monty and champagne could ultimately be a very entertaining combination. ”Or maybe you’re just trying to get me drunk. I’m onto you, Lottie” With a grin, Monty took a sip of the sparkling wine, turning his head towards the ocean at her suggestion. Oh why the hell not? He really did have nothing to lose anymore. ”I think that sounds lovely.”

Glass still in one hand, Monty stood, moving around to the other side of the low table, his free hand being held out to Lottie to help her up. Manners were far too well ingrained for him ever to give them up. ”Have you ever been to Argentina before?”

[Charlotte E. Hearst]

A Lottie. Lottie. Once the name passed through his lips, it felt so incredibly right. Charlotte had never felt like a Charlie. It was simply a nick name at her college newspaper that had stuck and she hadn't minded it so much. She wondered, albeit briefly, why he saw fit to fashion a name for her after so short of time of knowing each other. But then the thought occurred to her that he had known her for nearly ten minutes and he had bestowed on her a name with which she felt defined her very being. How had he done that? And did he even know that he had done it? Charlotte leaned back into the chair, wondering such things and trying to ignore the fact that he had touched her inner most thoughts so profoundly. She also tried to forget that his smile was simply the most charming thing she had ever seen. So sincere, bright and comforting. A sign that he was falling into the comfort with which she very much wanted him to feel in her presence. But it was more than that. It felt as though they had known each other much longer. Or perhaps that was just the silly thoughts of little Lottie.

The journalist smiled, simply because she could not help but smile. "Lottie..." She said, not in a questioning tone but one that suggested she was saying it for the first time, just to see how it felt. "It's perfect." She could have said more, but she had to leave it there simply because she was actually concerned with what it is she might confess. Surely her thoughts on the matter were entirely ridiculous. Who thought such things after knowing someone for so short a time? Only the hopelessly romantic Charlotte Hearst, of course. But he was going to be an earl one day and she was just some random magazine writer whom he'd probably forget the moment he left her presence. That is, until he inevitably picked up Harper's Bazaar to see what it was she had written.

The conversation turned, as it always did, back to him. It had to turn back to him, simply so she'd have enough material to write about. She couldn't just write about his smile, as absolutely perfect as it was. It was his reply though that caught her slightly off guard. His general interest? Was he generally interested in her? And if he was, was it just in the polite sort of way? And why, oh why was she over thinking this. Surely, if he could hear what she was thinking he'd think he absolutely crazy. But the point was simple. She wanted him to be interested in her. It was silly and perhaps a little bit... well... unprofessional... But. Well, Charlotte was starting to let go of that thought. "Perhaps..." She replied simply, with a smile. "But I'll take your genuine interest as a compliment..." She tucked her hair behind her ear and pressed onward, because she couldn't let that linger there for too long. Champagne and a walk along the beach seemed the perfect diversion.

"I would never!" Charlotte laughed lightly at his suggestion. "What an ungentlemanly accusation!" It was her eyes that teased him more than anything else, but her voice was full of it too. But in no time, he had decided that a walk was perhaps a good thing -- or maybe he just didn't want to say no to her? Either way, they were both standing up and beginning to start towards the beach. But before Charlotte got a few steps in, her sandal caught in the side, her foot twisted and before she could even realize what was happening, she was suddenly crashing into Monty and into the bench like seat he had been sitting on. Quite literally, she was in his lap. She froze, buried her head in her hands -- mostly out of sheer embarrassment, but also to hide the massive flush of her cheeks. "Oh god, I am so so sorry..." She should have gotten up but, she was far, far too flustered to even move. And the dat-- interview had been going so well...

[Torquil D. Montagu-Scott]

  Watching Lottie's reaction as she took in the name that he's bestowed upon her, Monty couldn't help but smile a little wider. It really had been the perfect nickname to bestow upon her. Perhaps some people would find it strange that he'd been so keen to find a better name to give her after only a few minutes of knowing her, but to the young English lord, it felt like the most logical thing in the world to be doing. It felt right to be doing it. If she was going to be calling him Monty [a name by which he'd been going for as long as he could remember. A name even his own sister called him.] then he wanted to call her something that felt equally fitting. It was a similar feeling that had had him giving Vivienne the nickname of Belle after a relatively short time of knowing her. It was a name that just…worked. Trouble was, his Belle hadn't kept to the script. She'd fallen for Gaston, and left the Beast up in his castle, all alone. Monty. Stop it. Perhaps it was time to start reading from a different book…

A Lottie for a Lottie, a viscount for a viscount. Musical geniuses with murderous intent aside, perhaps he was more suited to The Phantom of the Opera after all. At least the viscount got the girl - there was no added heartache involved. But sat there in the Argentinian sun, sipping champagne and gazing across at the beautiful blonde sitting opposite him, Monty had to bring himself back to reality. This was an interview. It wasn't a date. Sure, his 'Little Lottie' had to be out there somewhere [as much as he wanted to hold onto the hope that Vivienne would come back to him, he had to concede eventually that such a thing was never going to be the case], but just as Christine was Raoul's, someone with an entirely different name may well be his. One day. When the fates stopped conspiring against him. 

So many times. Too many times, Monty had been accused of being an old stick in the mud.  Had been told that his manners were quaint and outdated. Told that while he might have fitted in perfectly in the time of Jayne Eyre and the Bronte sisters, it was a way of life that didn't correspond to modern times. It was with a certain sense of satisfaction that the young redhead watched Lottie's reaction to his words. It was indeed genuine interest. "I think considering it to be a compliment is exactly what you should be doing." With a small smile, the young lord took another sip of his drink before settling back against the seat. Every girl as beautiful as she was deserved to be complimented. Part of him wondered if there was someone waiting back at home to do that job - a sly glance to her ring finger showed that if there was it wasn't a fiancé or husband. Perhaps it was the champagne speaking, but Monty found himself hoping that there wouldn't be anyone of any classification. 

As he agreed to the walk on the beach, there was the thought passing through Monty's mind that this had to be the most pleasant interview ever to be conducted. It also left him thinking that she wasn't going to be getting very much useful material from him with the recorder left on the table as it had been. Were they going to have to repeat the process another day? Would it be such a bad thing if they did? No.....no, it wouldn't. The redhead was just running a hand through his hair,  his other still linked with Lottie's when she tripped sending them both falling back onto the chair. Though he could sense her embarrassment at finding herself in such a situation, Monty couldn't help but give a soft chuckle before looking to her. "Are you alright?" It was only then that he realised just how close their faces were to one another. Just how close their lips were....

Closing the distance, Monty lightly bushed his lips against hers. Perhaps it was the champagne, perhaps it was something else. It certainly felt right...though wholly inappropriate...."I....I'm sorry." A blush to match his hair spread over his cheeks.  

 

[Charlotte E. Hearst]

The past year for Charlotte had been difficult and yet, no one had been the wiser. Sometimes, not even her. But there were moments. Difficult, heart-wrenching ones where she wondered just what exactly she was doing. Moments that made her question just how delusional she was being. The truth of it was... well.. she had inserted herself so intricately into her brothers' life to beat back the encroaching feeling that she was alone. She relished picking up Will from school, taking him to the park, laughing as they tried to play duck duck goose, with only two people. And, of course, there were few moments that held as much joy for her than when she spent time with Aubrey--just the two of them. Truly, she did not know what she would do without them. In so many ways, her family gave her a purpose which she had not found anywhere else. Not even the job, which she quite liked. And yet, still, this gaping emptiness sat in her.

Many times she wondered just why this was the way of things. Why fate had doled out such a difficult hand of cards for her. Why, despite how she was a beacon of light to most in her life, it still felt as if something was missing. As a girl, Charlotte had loved fairy tales. Now, at twenty-six, she was realizing that they were just fiction. A false sense of happiness. In her head, she lived in her own world-- somehow dismissing the fact her parents never seemed to get along. That her brothers were constantly fighting. That the only person anyone ever seemed to get along with was her. But as much of a blessing that was, it was also a curse. As much as it came naturally, it was also a difficult burden to bare. The constant repairing of Dolphy and Aubrey's relationship. The constant feeling as if she was a stand in mother for Will. The feeling that, perhaps, the only reason she had the job she did was to placate her parents-- because they were just so very hard to please. And all Charlotte ever wanted to do to anyone was please them. To bring smiles, happiness, pride and peace.

Since touching down in South America, that's all she'd felt. It was impossible to let the weight of loneliness bare down on her with the Argentinian sun beaming down on her. She was smiling more than ever. Somehow, Charlotte let the warmth envelop all of her. A vacation was exactly what she had needed. Oh, more accurately, a work trip to a beautiful place. When she stood up, she glanced over the beach and was again reminded just how lovely this place was. And when her gaze moved back to the English Lord she had the pleasure of interview, she felt a sort of underlying happiness bubble in her. It felt so entirely silly. It seemed completely out of the blue and without little more reason than she liked his smile, the way he spoke to her and the way he had so accurately pinpointed a nickname for her. But the feeling was there all the same. Silly, yes. But also completely fantastic. And in that moment, she didn't really need an explanation for it. It simply was.

Or was, until she found herself falling into the lap of a man she barely knew. It was mortifying. Literally the most mortifying, least professional moment of her career. Easily. There was really no contest. None. Her cheeks flushed, the tingling running down her neck as she buried her face into her hands. What does one even say. An apology, possibly the truest and most sincere one of her life, was all she could muster. Like the true gentleman he was, he asked if her was alright. Finally, she turned to look at him, her hands settling in her lap. Charlotte was suddenly at a loss for words, now that she was so acutely aware of just how very close they were. And not just the way she was situated in his lap, but the way their lips were so very close it ached. She was about to bite down on her lip, when he leaned forward and kissed her. Charlotte felt her whole self lean into the simple, effortless kiss. She also felt her entire self sigh from within. It had been so long. So long. And suddenly, that horrible, tortorous road had been worth it.

Charlotte, Lottie, leaned pulled out of the kiss and now found that he was the one apologizing. Oh wait a pair they made. She was smiling now and she looked down to see that at some point, her hand had laid on his chest. She hadn't even known she had done it. What happened next, she never in a million years could have imagined herself doing-- but something (perhaps it was him or the Argentinian sunset) brought out a braveness in her. Charlotte leaned forward and kissed him a second time, this time longer. This time lacking the hesitancy of the first. When she pulled away slightly, she finally spoke. "You asked," she stopped, momentarily to laugh lightly. "Well you asked if I was alright. And my answer to that is... well I'm not sure if I've ever been more 'alright.' Her voice was soft, quiet and hushed. Charlotte was still smiling and in that moment, she wasn't quite sure she'd ever be able to stop. Nor would she ever want to.