Constance Harlowe was a well known spinster and she wore the title unapologetically. She did not care what the people said to her or to others. That’s why she was able to host her lavish parties, small that they were, to a select few of society. She knew that some were fascinated by her and she was sometimes a spectacle. But she threw parties they would talk about for the next years to come, too.
 
She wanted laughter and companionship without the hassle of being married. Who cared that she was going on 40 and didn’t bother to look for a husband when she was younger? It kept her youthful, damn it. She happily sat there at the head of the table, chatting with a peculiar fellow with a curled mustache and monocle, lauding her choice of turbot for supper. The hum of conversation filled the air as the party was in full swing.

To say that Quentin was displeased to be at this party would have been an accurate assessment of his current mood. While he had nothing against Constance Harlowe parties were not his cup of tea, even though he was often forced to attend them. In this case, it was because the guest list was spectacularly small and his lack of attendance would have been quite obviously noted. While he was many things, rude was not one of them so to avoid hurting the older woman's feelings here he was.

The big man was sitting idly near the end of the table absently sipping on a glass of wine. He was new to the town and barely knew anyone at the party. Though more than a few seemed to recognize him. Not entirely unsurprising he supposed. He was in the paper from time to time and his friend Mathias Quis had a habit of publishing the stories Quentin told him in those penny dreadfuls. 

In short, he had some measure of notoriety he supposed.

But it was not something he flaunted, indeed, he was doing his best to avoid drawing attention to himself. Mostly just sipping his wine, eating his food, and answering questions with polite formality as they made their way through the evening courses. He was quite eager to get back to work, he'd heard all kinds of fascinating things about this town and he was eager to get started.

Amelia Mason was shy. She sat to the right of her employer, Constance, and was quiet as she listened to the conversation at hand. Amelia would peer about then until her eyes made contact with each guest, stopping at nobody at first until she caught sight of a bear of a man and tilted her head in curiosity. Constance certainly seemed to like all different types of people, but none were so noteworthy as the blonde man with the broad shoulders. The dark-haired lass finished her fish and her hands moved to her lap for the time being. She would not stare.

The evening passed at a crawl as everyone enjoyed their meal. Once it was over there was an after dinner apartife that everyone was supposed to attend. However, they were given a few minutes to freshen up as they chose. Quentin pushes to his feet and heads out to the garden. Most might assume that he was out there to enjoy a smokable of some kind. But really, he just wanted to enjoy the fresh evening air without having to worry about attracting too much attention. Pulling his pocketwatch out he checks the time and lets out a low sigh before tucking it back into his vest.

It was not her intention to follow Quentin out to the garden. In fact, she had not seen the bear of a man going outside into the impressive garden. Amelia did follow the man unintentionally, however, and found herself staring at his broad back when she did make her way out. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't know anyone was out here," she said in some surprise. She was prepared to turn around and go back inside, sure that the hostess would start to wonder soon where her companion had gone off to.

The sound of someone gasping got his attention and he turns to listen as the woman talks. When she finishes he makes an absent gesture. "That is quite alright my dear. I would rather think a garden is a public place open to all guests. No need to trouble yourself just because you weren't the first to think to escape out here." He chuckles softly gives her a warm smile and then turns his attention back to the garden.

She gave a little bit of a smile, "Oh, but I am not a guest. Therefore I shouldn't disturb you." She was still of the firm mind that she should be seen and not heard. This was something that had been instilled within her from a young age. She started to turn to leave the garden.

"If you aren't a guest, wouldn't that make you a host? Which would mean you should be checking up on your guests." Quentin says with a slight quirking at his lips at the odd girl who clearly didn't know what she was doing with herself. "And if that means standing outside and enjoying the cool night air for a moment, I don't think anyone could fault you for it." He didn't want to be the reason she didn't get to enjoy the garden unless she was dead set against it.

"I am not the host either," she laughed an easy sounding laugh. "I am Miss Harlowe's paid companion." She turned back to the man, not leaving the garden now but rather liking the point he made. Would Constance begrudge her enjoyment of the garden? She needed a breath of fresh air, not used to being around so many people. "I will stay, though, as you like." She afforded a smile toward him and crossed her arms over her bosom to ward off the chill in the winter air. There was a fountain not too far from where they stood, and she moved over to it to have a seat on the ledge.

"I was unaware that Miss Harlowe was so difficult to get along with." Quentin responds with a slight snort. Paid companion could mean all kinds of things but it did rather amuse him that their host had felt the need to pay someone to be around her. He doesn't move from his spot which put him out of sight of the door letting him enjoy the view to the fullest as he lets out a long low sigh. "As for what I like, it would be for the party to be over but as it stands I suffer on as social obligation demands."