BASICS

[Aaron Ashwell]

Mr. Ashwell had taken into consideration the sanity of his daughter in approaching this day and decided to put forward his best behaviour. It had come much more quickly than he had anticipated and as each day crept nearer he felt more agitated about the whole occasion and rathered he never had decided upon it in the first place. Nonetheless, Mary's best interests had to be looked after, although he sincerely hoped that he was not planting any seeds this evening-- so to speak. The last thing he desired was for a romance to blossom between his daughter and some Tory, pretenses or no; if times and politics became more dire than they were now, things could get exceedingly messy what with his secret alliances and whatnot.

Hefting a sigh and eying his weary complexion in the mirror, Mr. Ashwell adjusted the cuffs of his waist coat and tugged at his cravat. He knew he ought to act and appear pleasant, not so much for the guests but for his children's sakes. Half-heartedly he tested a smile and a few mock greetings out on the mirror, but soon gave up and allowed the solemn lines of his usual frown return to the corners of his mouth and between his brows. Turning his head from side to side, his frown deepened as he took in the hollows of his cheeks and the dark patches of his eyes-- he looked horribly sickly, but he wasn't about to powder himself to conceal it. Perhaps he had gotten away with more foppish pursuits as a young man, but nowadays he would only make a fool of himself. Otherwise satisfied with his appearance, he fetched a wig and donned it, giving it a few tweaks and nudges here and there so that it did not lie askew.

Mr. Ashwell then left the comfortable solitude of his room and strode down the hallway to where it opened up into a long staircase and a higher room. Mary and the servants had done the whole of the house, at least the parts the guests would be expected to wander through, up nicely and it was a wonder that they had managed to make the place look lively again. He slipped down the staircase and looked in to the small parlor near the door and spied Mary and her brother within. Hovering a moment, he considered joining them, but dreadful habit seemed to draw him towards his study instead. Allowing his feet to lead him there, he entered his study and ambled slowly towards his favourite armchair. There he stood, staring down at its welcoming and familiar comfort, but a thought occurred to him. What if someone were to enter the study? or if the gentlemen expected him to entertain them aside from the women?

Frowning grimly at this prospect, he briskly returned to the door and firmly shut it. Once that was done, he hastily moved to his desk to secure anything that could possibly link him to rebel or otherwise suspicious activities away into locked drawers. Generally he kept such things safely locked away, but he could not risk a few stray notes here or there-- especially with Miss Tanner and young Lawrence to take into consideration. Mr. Ashwell came so absorbed with the task of tidying his things that he jumped and nearly yelled in surprise at the deep chime of the grandfather clock in the hall. Leaning back, one hand gripping his desk chair and the other pressing to his chest, he waited out the painful flutters of his heartbeat. Several long moments and many deep breaths later, he turned the lock to the final drawer of his desk.

Once his composure was regained, Mr. Ashwell filtered out into the hallway and made his way back towards the parlor where his children were eagerly anticipating the arrival of their guests. Peeking out the window into the lane, he remarked flatly as if he were unsurprised, "Not a carriage yet?"


-All Tories and their families have been invited! Please make an appearance, if not on the Ashwells' behalf, then on the Buckinghams'!-

[Mary Ashwell]

Mary circled the room for the thousandth time, each step slow and careful. If she had been unfamiliar with the parlor, she now knew it better than her own face in the mirror. Nearly every detail fell under her eye, small items adjusted here and there; and she carried a small cloth to wipe any offending, lingering dust she found, reminders of how long it had been since the Ashwells had held a party.

"Well, this isn't a sight you see every day, if I may say so, Miss Ashwell." Polly, one of the Ashwells' maids, bustled in, carrying a replacement candle for one that had broken earlier. She dipped the tip into the flame of another and wedged the now-lit candle into a candelabrum, then stood aside Mary with another hum of approval.

"No, Polly, I agree," Mary breathed. "It isn't. But I think perhaps we should see it more often." Indeed, pride fluttered in her heart as she surveyed the room, basking in the gentle glow of the candles, the shining wood of the chairs, and gleaming fine china that had been mysteriously unearthed. Mary had never seen it before.

Her brother had even helped in the preparations -- something he was too busy to do quite often. She beamed at him, though surely he didn't know why. Well, it was a job well done, that was why. Only the guests were the final part of the painting not yet filled in. Their grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour. They should be arriving... and soon, I hope.

Approaching footfalls made Mary glance towards the door. Father -- how good that he was not shielding himself in the citadel known as his study! She sighed with relief. If he had chosen to stay locked up in there... what impression would that have given their guests? Doubtless this would be a difficult evening for Father, but Mary instead preferred to view it as a much-needed step in the right direction.

Crossing the room, she joined her father at the window, smoothing what few wrinkles had already creased on her pale blue taffeta. Her gown was well worn, no doubt about that, but with patience Mary's deft hand had repaired the tiny holes and ripped seams. She added a new lace fichu and a thin black ribbon for a choker, attempting to emulate a style she had seen in town. The new gown had not materialized-- she hadn't the courage to ask-- but, somehow, she felt even more content with the blue silk that now looked, to her eyes, as though it had just been collected from the dressmaker's yesterday.

Father's wry comment caused her smile to flicker, but she still had hope. The clock had not rung but only minutes ago, and even if no one else attended, the Buckinghams must surely come to a party held in their honor. Hesitatingly, she gently placed a small hand on his arm, hoping he would not be discouraged. Mary leaned to peek out the window, but then focused on her father's profile. "They'll be here soon, Father. Would you like some tea?"

[Isaac Buckingham]

The little party organised by the Ashwells on their behalf had somehow turned into something more similar to a military operation. Everything had been planned and perfected down to the minute buttons on his little sister's dress. Being a soldier's wife suited his mother, allowing her talent for co-ordination and multi tasking to blossom enough to arrange her three children, her husband and a multitude of tasks that just had to be completed before they step foot out of the Buckingham house.

Isaac had long since given up on trying to oppose his mother as far as social occasions went. His father had no authority in that realm and would promptly lock himself away in some corner of the still unfamiliar house until he was bid to do his part. Who else could he rally to his side? His little sister was far too entertained by the drama and the prospect of a new dress. His brother cared not what greivances Isaac had, unless something similar had cropped up in a book at some point. The staff were still just faces to him, as were the townsfolk of Trenton. Isaac was considerably outnumbered.

He spent the day as far away from the house as he could without going out of his depth. The last thing even he wanted was to stray into unknown territory and never be able to find his way back. In politically uncertain times such as these, having a strong British accent in Patriot territory was not a risk he fancied running. So far, he could navigate himself down to the shops and back with some difficulty, the rest of Trenton was unfathomed. Therefore, Isaac stuck to what he knew- namely the grounds they had been given with the house.

After a fairly profitable afternoon was spent in the paddocks with the horses, the prospect of the party was looming. How unkind it was for his parents to force him to attend, throwing him into the deep end of American society with only a few day's warning! Isaac knew no-one in the town, not enough to feel comfortable in their company anyway. Did they not know him at all? He had thought recent...events might have given him a little breathing room, society speaking, and they might have left his introduction to Trenton a little later. But no. Apparently it was of "the highest importance" for him to attend if they had the slightest chance of "fitting in" with their colonial neighbours.

As the clocks struck closer to the designated departure time, Isaac's hope of escaping from the planned festivities dwindled. In due course, he was pushed upstairs by his mother into his room where a set of freshly pressed clothes awaited him, a dark green jacket amongst others. Green? He never wore green. This was ridiculous. He had definately come off worse. His brother was in dark blue and his sister got to wear one of her favourite dresses, bought only a day before they left for America, though he predicted she'd grow out of it within six months. Even he had to admit, however, they did look rather presentable as they left the house and piled into the carriage. Apparently he wasn't allowed to ride to the Ashwells' tonight. It was just not proper.

It was only a short trip to the venue, so much so that he wondered why they bothered with the carriage at all. His mother was quick to counter his argument, when voiced. She'd heard that every family was travelling by carriage, so they would as well. It may be very well for Isaac to walk but she had their reputation and her dress to think about. With a resigned sigh, he followed his family out of the carriage on arrival at the Ashwells and obediently waited behind them as they knocked on the front door.