Madeline, her lady's maid, put the last pin into Amelia's coiffure. Tendrils of the dark mass hung down on each side of her face, curled against her skin. A lovely young miss stared back at her. She was holding her breath, then forced it out nervously. Mister Appleton would be there soon and she wasn't sure if he would think ill of her for the color of her gown. It was a rich blue, neither too dark, nor too light against the olive skin tone. The blue set off the brown in her eyes, the pearls at her throat felt heavy and foreign. She looked like a lady, a rich one. The dress was at the height of fashion... it was beautiful and fit her perfectly, as it had been tailored to her body. 

"There now... You look stunning, miss!" The maid said in obvious satisfaction. Her eyes swept over her new mistress with approval. "If this doesn't secure your future with Mister Appleton, I'll be quite surprised. You're absolutely beautiful now that you have real clothing. The gray garb you wear doesn't suit you at all, you need blues and magentas, golds and bold, darker colors. The gray was too drab to compliment you, not that you looked bad... Just... Not as bright as you should be. You should be seen, Miss." She said kindly.

Amelia gave a wan smile, placing her hand over her belly and willing herself to breathe. "It's only a marriage of convenience..." she murmured... but it couldn't be denied that she was thrilled to see the handsome lawyer again. He was rather attractive. She only hoped it was the right choice. "But I may as well do something lady like, perhaps... A grand appearance at the top of the stairs?" She was clearly jesting, but the maid nodded emphatically.

"Yes, you should. Nobody could fault you for standing at the top of the stairs."

When the knocker was rapping on the door, heard faintly but it was loud enough that the butler would be alerted and was quite probably heading to retrieve a visitor or passerby. Amelia looked to the maid, then nodded with a smile. She would be a woman to behold for once.

Amelia stood from the dressing table and walked at a leisurely pace. By the time she reached the top of the grand staircase, whoever had knocked would have had time enough to get into the large foyer that also served as a ballroom. She looked down and rested a gloved hand upon the banister. Then, her eyes moved about to lock with the gaze of whoever had come to see her. Hopefully, they'd lock into his, and she would give a slight nod before descending in a graceful manner.

Nate Appleton was admitted to the house after a fashion. His own fashion was a navy blue three piece suit, the cut and colour befitting the gravity of his profession. The local predilection to the colour brown reminded him too much of his nearby rustic origins. Yet, he was not so stuffy that his hair was shorn to the conformist style currently in vogue with the guards at Buckingham Palace. Rather, it hugged his collar loosely. Similarly his Lincoln's Inn tie, that visible badge d'honeur, pass into hallowed halls was fastened hastily about his neck at an angle. The whole image crafted to with care to suggest that he actually did not. With routine, he deposited his hat and gloves as indictated.

There was no need for him to ask to see Miss Mason. She had already begun her descent. His eyes widened as he recognised "I say!" All trace of Yorkshire-isms obliterated from his voice, just the polish of the home counties remained. That drab little creature who had convinced him of this bizarre union had been transformed into a stunning vision now coming down from on high. Not entirely unrelated, his trousers chose that moment to tighten.

She saw the way he looked at her, heard the epitaph, words she'd definitely remember for the rest of her days, where he lost his composure for a slip of a girl like her. Her blush crept up her cheeks as she neared him. By the time she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, he might be able to detect the subtle aroma of orange blossom and honey, and the barest hint of something spicily aromatic... perhaps a touch of clove or cinnamon. She closed some of the space between them until she was almost within arm's reach of him, lowered those stormy eyes of hers, and dipped into a refined looking curtsy. She couldn't help herself; it was something she felt compelled to do.

"Hello, Mister Appleton," she murmured almost shyly. Then she straightened up and stood to slightly above her full heigh since she was now appointed with slippers that had heels instead of those ugly boots of hers.

When this angel finally descended to earth, she was all woman. She dropped into a dignified curtsy, nearly deep enough for court. Wisps of the aroma of fruit, like fresh confection, reached his nose. Charming. She stood inches away, poised, polished, perfection. His trousers stretched even more. Was she the woman of his most fervered dreams? Right now, yes. At that moment, it dawned on him that was staring for far longer than was polite. Cough. Shift.

"At your service, Miss Mason." Nate bowed slightly, trying to match her etiquette. Now, he regretted not putting just a bit more effort into caring for his own appearance. "Forgive me, but you look splendid."

"Thank you," she said as her cheeks reddened slightly more for a moment. Even the normally scowling butler had a bit of a smile on his face at her transformation. The footman too, seemed slackjawed. From somewhere came a whisper, "Oi, lookit her, she's a right beauty ain't she, Freddie?" and then another, "Blimey." Genuine laughter came forth, hers... It was the laughter of delight, for she had never earned such whispers before and she turned to gaze at each man and say, "I have Madeline to thank for those whispers, thank you." The men all sucked in their guts. Amelia could not help herself, she gave another peal of laugher that seemed to charm the pants off of all of these servants, figuratively, of course. And then she turned her eyes toward Nate and she moved forward, "I've dinner prepared for the two of us... They insisted it should be fancy."

And then she moved to his side and her arm looped through his. It was a bold move, but the way she dressed gave her such confidence that she wanted to show it. Assuming he came willingly, she began to move into the informal dining room. It was more of a nook and it was fairly new compared to the rest of the house, perhaps, but probably the most elegantly appointed table set for two. Candles stood tall in a candelabra in the center of the table, and it was decorated simply with some hot house roses in a magenta color, rather than red. The plates were the finest bone China, surprisingly pretty for the gauche woman who owned the house prior. They were neither feminine, nor masculine, but rather, white with real gold rims. The table cloth was a soft taupe, perhaps, neutral instead of the frosty white enamel over the porcelain. It was simple but beautiful, yet not enough to detract from Amelia. It seemed the servants were trying to facilitate things.

His vision was still utterly dominated by her. This woman seemed otherworldly in how she appeared to hold herself. She appeared to be drawing all the stares in house towards her. This was exactly the sort of woman he needed on his arm to annoy his brother. Such a beauty would surely make dear Toby regret wallowing in his own rural crapulance. This version of her was just the right degree of sophistication to aid his readmittance into politier society.

He moved as she moved to the well appointed table. His London years meant that the prospect of a meal with delicate plates and many forks did not phase him in the slightest. He held her chair before taking his own seat.

"Did you go to all this trouble on my account, Miss Mason?" he asked, placing his napkin across his lap.

"I had nothing to do with planning this at all," she said honestly. "Somehow they learned of my brother and his desire to come to town, and I accidentally told my maid who was once just my friend that he was... strict, to put it mildly. They know of the conditions under which I must marry, and he would only thwart it. And that is why they all decided I must make the best impression and hopefully you would... well... keep your word I suppose." She smoothed her skirts and looked down. Just then, the first course, a potato soup with carrots and cream. Cured pork floated in the milky white depths. It was paired with a white wine of excellent quality.

"They went through so much trouble," she murmured.

"I see." Nate took a sip of his white soup as he considered her words. It was a most bizarre arrangement, but the servants had a vested interest in seeing it succeed.

"They certainly made a fine impression on your behalf. I can only hope to make a similarly good impression."

"Well..." she said with her cheeks brightening a slightly pinker shade of pink, if that were possible, she dropped her gaze. "I feel as if I am in a different world. I wasn't born into squallor, but never did I think I would find myself inheriting someone else's fortune. This soup only tastes better because somebody else made it." She chuckled with little humor. This wasn't anything she was used to. Her callouses were still hidden beneath the gloves that covered her tapered fingers. Her eyes lifted and she tilted her head toward him.

"I was taught that this," she paused and indicated her gown with the plucking of fabric with her free hand, the soft drape of it emphasized as the fabric practically glided back into place with nary a wrinkle, "Is vain. I've never gotten to wear vibrant colors before that make me look different." She gave a chuckle, "Part of me wishes to enjoy it, and part of me is frightened that my brother will walk in uninvited and call me a trollop."

Nate nodded with slow understanding. "I am from humble beginnings myself also, so I too remember feeling like an absolute fraud in London when exposed to finer things."