Christine rose a brow as she took his words and looked over, "Indeed. The Carringtons are a lot of luggage, though. Have you known any of them?" The way she said 'known' seemed to be heavy in connotation. "But besides, she does seem ... busy." She couldn't tell what to make of the two but wasn't sure about slipping into their conversation to see how easily flattered the woman was by another woman.

Her eyes moved immediately to some fiery red hair that had come into the room and walked over to the others. Didn't even pass her a look, she leaned to the wall and folded her arms as she sipped her drink. "I think it shall be a dry evening.'

Unfortunately for Christine, it seemed the Ward woman was indeed distracted by chasing to-be-married couples for now.

“Not in the biblical sense,” Zechariah deadpanned. “Though by other books …”

He tossed his drink back at that one.

“I came here to support charity,” Zechariah shrugged.

Which charity was that? The one that got his name featured, never mind on what.

“My heart is with my two boys,” he admitted, leaning back into the plush seat. “Twins – can you believe it?”

He had already blown through three photographers trying to get the perfect shots. Zechariah pulled out what looked to be a pocket watch chain … but when he brandished the pendulum at the end, it was instead a locket. Opening it up showed two near-newborns, one of them blurrier than the other. Here Christine was trying to find a wave to ride, and instead her ship had run aground upon an overly enthusiastic new father.

Christine still looked after the other woman and nodded to him as he spoke, she glanced momentarily at her own name at the wall. Then his tone changed.

It was hard to look away, it seemed rude even too rude for her when he was so passionate. She sipped her drink and looked at the man as he pulled something out. When be showed the picture, she leaned down to look at them. Her eyes went back to study him then back to the picture.

"They look nothing like you. Must take after their mother. What are their names?"

Athanasia watched the dancers as she sipped her wine.  There was one couple who was practically snogging on the dance floor.  Eeeuwww, she thought.  Get a room.  One young woman looked ecstatic while her partner seemed to find her distasteful.  Why was he even dancing with her?  She felt sorry for the poor girl, obviously in love with a man who couldn’t stand her.  Another couple made her laugh.  They were drunk and kept bumping into the other dancers.  At least they seemed to be having a good …

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard slurred words coming from right beside her.  As her racing heart slowly returned to normal, Athanasia turned toward the voice.  It belonged to an attractive young man.  Was he drunk too?  What had he said?

He held out his arm and after looking down at it, she lifted her dark eyes to his face.  “Are you asking me to dance?” she asked.  She needed to make sure before she took his arm.  For all she knew, he wanted her to accompany him to an empty broom closet for a tryst.

“You could be right. Or perhaps he was one of the sponsors and his painting was included out of gratitude for his contribution. I guess we’ll never know unless we meet him.” Emilios wondered if the artist was at the ball tonight. If he was from a rich family and had used their influence to have his work displayed, it was likely. If he lived on his earnings as a painter, he had probably gone to the party on the pier. A starving artist might be able to coerce the food sellers to give him some free of charge.

“What is it you do?” he asked Albert as he moved to the next painting on the wall. This one was much better, but still not good enough to add to his personal collection.

Albert nodded with an exasperated sigh. "Of course, what one can not succeed with in talent, they shall with money." He laughed slightly as he enjoyed his drink and did not waste a moment to find the name of the painter.

Happy to keep up the conversation with the fellow art lover, he moved to the next painting alongside him and stared at it for a moment. He looked to the side and wanted to look pleased but kept himself humble. "Ah, I am a glazier. I make stained windows. Perhaps you've seen one. I've got a few pieces in churches around the country and put up a rather impressive piece in an arcade I'm rather proud of. What about yourself?"

He looked back towards the painting, it was a lot more skilled but he liked ones that evoked something in him.

Roderick leaned on the railing of the balcony and sipped his sixth glass of wine as he stared wistfully the noisy party further down the harbour. Ugh. Poor people. But at least stuff was happening there and the attractive ones were not as stuck up if you tossed some money at them. He turned around and stared into the ballroom through the open doors.

Darm, even Roderick was talking to a girl. He had been about to ask his brother to go slumming with him. Fuck this.

Instead, he downed the wine, dropped the glass over the railing, and made his way inside.

There was a redhead by herself. She would do. If she was unchaperoned, as she seemed to be, she wouldn't think it indecent if he spoke to her without introductions. And so he tossed himself in her way. "What stunning red hair. You look as though you've come walking straight out of a Waterhouse painting. Care to dance?" He held out his arm, feeling himself the grandmaster of charm. Two of the front buttons of his trousers had been left undone.

“A sad fact of life, unfortunately. Which is why I sponsor struggling artists who have talent but not the means to devote themselves to it.” Emilos doubted that any of the painters here were exceptional enough to merit his patronage, but he had not yet studied them all. Maybe there was a gem among the stones just waiting to be discovered.

One dark eyebrow quirked upward when the other man stated his occupation. Wheels began turning in his mind. “You are an artist then. I have seen many excellent examples of stained glass on my travels around the country and beyond. It seems to take a great deal of creativity and skill.

“I’m a lawyer with a practice in London, though I have taken some time off after … a death in the family.” Emilios saw no reason to reveal that he had lost his beloved wife. He wasn’t after sympathy or pity unless somehow they could bring her back. And nothing could do that.

“I’m currently planning some renovations on my house here. Stained glass windows would be an interesting touch. Would you consider a private commission?”