(1310-07-30) White Rose Fête
Summary: A fête is held at La Rose Sauvage, to introduce the newest addition to the White Roses of the salon, Aimeric nó Rose Sauvage.
RL Date: Mon Jul 30, 2018
Related: None
olivia aimeric jehan-pascal isabelle antoine 

Gardens — La Rose Sauvage

The gardens of La Rose Sauvage offer a different ambience and atmosphere than that of the more oppressive and richly ornate salon. Tall casement windows spill out onto a paved area which gives way to neatly arranged flowerbeds, where a predominance of roses pay homage to the canons encompassed by this salon. The paths are of a dark granite grey which have softened over the years by the enroachment of mosses and lichens, with smaller paths winding off through the beds. It's here along these secluded paths that arborial areas and private nooks might be found, and where privacy is granted to those that seek it through flowering hedges and curtained awnings.

A fountain plays at the centre of the garden, the copper figures of two nude women, long since mellowed to a soft verdigris, spill water from shells into a pool at its base. The main pathway through the garden leads to a terracotta tiled courtyard that sits towards the farthest end, the walls here flanked by creeping ivys which cloak the walls in scarlet and orange during the autumn months. An oiled silk awning hangs over the courtyard to give shelter from both sun and rain, and oil lamps light the area when evening falls.


The weather is balmy and clement tonight, and could not be more agreeable for the fête that's being held at the salon of Rose Sauvage. The gardens have been transformed into something from the pages of a fairytale book, with candles flickering and dancing overhead where they're hung in glass jars from ribbons amongst the branches of the trees. Oil lamps on garlanded poles mark paths that lead deeper into the gardens, inviting further exploration, and additional awnings of white silk have been erected beneath which tables await, laden with a variety of appetizers and light snacks. Figs and dates dipped in honey vie for space with sliced peaches that are filled with the softest of cheeses. Bowls of cherries and almonds, warm pastries that peek from linen wraps, bread rolls and varying strengths of cheeses that are designed to tempt the fussiest of palates. Cakes drizzled with syrups of oranges and lemons, fragrant teas, chilled ales and white wine, and the softest of Namarrese reds, all arranged around a glorious centrepiece of locally caught shellfish that's displayed on a sculpted platter of ice. White Rose novices and a number of the Salon's servants stand at the ready, to offer drinks and refills when necessary.

Music drifts from the courtyard at the far end of the gardens, where lit by similar candles in jars that flicker in the trees, and with additional oil lamps upon each of the tables, a bard pulls tunes from a lute to entertain the guests of the fête. Walking down the path that leads to the courtyard takes a person past the elegant stone fountain, where tonight the figures that rise above it have been adorned with garlands of white flowers that trail down to the water where candles now float.

It's a backdrop of magical charm and innocence that's been created within the gardens for the evening, and it's the most perfect of ones for the presentation of the newest acquisition of Jacques Verreuil nó Rose Sauvage. The Dowayne has left the planning of the event to the Second of the White Roses, and Olivia can be spotted here now, standing beneath an awning near one of the tables. The gown she wears is one of simple elegance as befits the occasion, and is of an a-line design that drapes the subtleties of her figure from her neck to the floor. It's skimmed by a chiffon overlay that's studded with tiny flakes of mica that catch the light, and it matches the veiling that covers her head and conceals all but the eyes of her face. With a glass of wine in one hand, she's flanked to her right by a fully-marqued White Rose courtesan, and to the left by the reason for the gathering tonight; Aimeric nó Rose Sauvage. Her's is the duty to greet those invited for the evening, and to make quiet introductions to the shy young man at her side.

The youth standing beside her differs in his attire, of course. Firstly, there is no veil that attempts to hide his features, a face of classical d'Angeline beauty, with finely chiselled cheekbones and pale skin that is only marred by the faintest of blushes. Hazel-brown eyes are for now downcast, shielded by lowered lashes and a fringe of dark brown hair that seems to stubbornly fall across his forehead and beyond. Lips are slightly parted to allow his breath to flow, maybe a subtle hint at his nervousness. Another detail that differs is Aimeric's attire. He is clad in wide trousers and sandals of leather, the shirt of a cut that covers all of his arms and his torso all the way up to the collar.

Jehan-Pascal is no doubt known enough to the whole garland of White Roses by now, excepting the newest addition. He's developed quite the habit of contracting Marielle to decorate his arm at the more elegant city functions, as well as the occasional stay in her chamber of an evening, not to mention going out with her to luncheon or to tea. So it's hardly a surprise to see him here to celebrate Aimeric's arrival. For dress, he wears a refined white doublet with pale grey accents, a short pair of pale grey leather breeches buckled with silver low on his thigh, leaving his long legs to display a pair of remarkably fine silk stockings in a greyish green, that little pop of color drawing attention to what might arguably be his finest feature, the cut of his grey leather dancing-heels cutting low below the ankle in order to lengthen the eyeline of his leg the further. He strolls into the gardens, looking first for Marielle, whom he meets with a quick clasp of her hand in his, then saying hello to a few others of the White Roses whom he marks on his way to where Olivia stands with the man of the hour. "Olivia," he greets her with a respectful, courteous bow, not daring to take the woman's hand unless it is offered, but holding his forearm low across his chest. "First felicitations to you and to your new Rose. May I beg an introduction?" he asks, letting the boy to his shyness without addressing him directly.

In her own homeland, she is a rarely seen face and rarer, still, in the confines of this particular salon; most of her patronage of the Night Court is largely monopolized by another group after all, but Isabelle de Valais' sense of curiosity tends to overtake her at the best of times and it is reason enough to find herself here, surrounded by the sumptuous decadence that her people are known for, where it is clear that no expense was spared for the debut of Marsilikos' most recent transplant from the City of Elua.

She cuts a tall, svelte figure among the roses and while her features are unmistakably D'angeline - fine to the point of fragility - whatever her potential for pale beauty has been scorched away by the sanguine demands of the royal house of Aragonia. She is dark of hair and eye, skin lightly kissed by the sun, its shattered beams leaving glittering, gold motes around each of her pupils. She is swathed in a confection of wine-red silk, so light it is almost translucent that shimmers under the right light, and fashioned in overlapping layers to provide some degree of modesty, opting for elegance always. There is no bared cleavage, no unnecessary exposure of flawless skin, her lack of a collar compensated by a beautiful cage painstakingly fashioned into interlocking irises wrought from gold and dripping with tiny, luminous pearls. An armlet of like design is on her left bicep, her right limb bare save for a slave ring that brackets her forearm, ending with a setting inlaid with a larger pearl.

She isn't alone; Guillermo, her Aragonian valet and the holder of her accounts, lingers behind and to the side of her, an ever present shadow - a distinguished fellow with salt-and-pepper hair and pushing towards his late fifties, sharp in his impeccably tailored black-and-whites. He hands his mistress a ledger, which she plucks from his gloved hands with manicured fingers, flipping it open and taking a look. Lips take on a contemplative tilt, tapping a single page absently before closing it back up and offering it back to the man, who tucks it away and gives a bow from the waist before slipping away.

Stepping into the gardens rather slowly, Antoine takes a few moments to look around at the people present. There's a brief pause, before he steps further inside the gardens, pausing once more to look around, before he comes to a stop for now.

Olivia sketches a curtsey to Jehan-Pascal, her eyes downcast and shadowed by her lashes as she offers him her greeting. "How happy we are that you were able to accept the invitation to attend tonight, my lord." He man knows her well, for her hands remain her own, and once her fingers have brushed the drift of her skirts loosely back into place, her head inclines towards Aimeric where he stands at her side. "This is Aimeric nó Rose Sauvage, arrived a day or so ago from Elua, where he recently debuted. A lovely addition to our Salon, wouldn't you say?" Eyes cut to the white clad adept at her side. "Aimeric, I would like to introduce you to Lord Jehan-Pascal Aumande de Baphinol, Heir to the Comté d'Avignon." She pauses, takes a sip from her wine and casts a look past Jehan-Pascal to others that arrive on his heels. "How lovely," she adds quietly, her words meant only for Jehan-Pascal in that moment. "It appears that we have some new faces to the fete. Do you recognise them, my lord?"

Even with his gaze lowered as it is, the new White Rose seems to be well aware of his surroundings. A faint smile curves Aimeric's lips even before a pair of perfectly stockinged calves come into view. It may be enough to encourage his eyes to lift slowly, when young features are cast into an expression of light surprise, when Jehan-Pascal's choice of garments seems to be so very in tune with Alyssum canon. At least in regards to the colors. Managing the feat of evading the lord's gaze just so, while getting a fleeting impression of his looks, Aimeric looks to Olivia then, the Second now in charge of him that he is to serve Naamah in Marsilikos. Lashes veil his gaze, even as he stands just a little straighter, whilst still keeping in the sheltering vicinity of Olivia. And yet. Even from this position, the young White Rose is not oblivious to yet another arrival. Even if Isabelle does not seem as of yet to have joined the small group of Jehan-Pascal, Olivia and himself, there is a lift of his gaze, a brief moment of daring in the glance he gives the lady, a shy smile flickering over Aimeric's features, before he averts his gaze. Brown eyes shifting perhaps by accident to where Antoine had entered.

Olivia's words of introduction appear to draw the young adept out of his thoughts, and looking up, Aimeric actually meets Jehan-Pascal's gaze briefly with his own, before he offers a bow to the heir of the Comté d'Avignon. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord," the young White Rose says, in a voice that is low and yet forming the words quite distinctly. It seems adequate to fall silent after this remark, and so he does.

<FS3> Jehan-Pascal rolls Politics: Great Success. (8 6 1 5 3 8 7 8 1)

Only when granted permission down Jehan-Pascal turn to face the new adept and extend the same courtesy to him as he had offered to his Second, even if perhaps not quite as deep a bow, enchanted, somewhat, by the way the youth's hair works so well to hide his eyes, making the sudden glimpse of their reveal the more honey-sweet, to match the warm hazel hue. Jehan-Pascal's own hair is kept shorter than is the fashion, something near to a buzz, and his shapely head tips to one side with a smile of delighted surprise to see the young man's eyes, if ever so briefly. "A true beauty," he can attest, "Whose eyes remind me of the warmth of amber and the bucolic draught of nectar." He's a bit of a poet, and the moment's brought it out in him. "An honor, Aimeric. Welcome to Marsilikos." Then he's being asked his opinion about the new arrival and her escort, and, after a moment's analyzing her garb and features, he takes in a short little gasp of air. "Oh, it must be Isabelle de Valais. She's just back to Eisande from aborad, and has opened the most tremendous shop in the promenade. I've only been able to pop in the once, and, sadly, I missed being able to pay my respects, but I purchased these absolutely delicious stockings thence."

She misses nothing; the smile that the debutant levies in her direction is caught, that brief lift of hazel irises locked and held by eyes that burn like embers. Isabelle answers with her own, briefly, but it is a smile that cuts like a knife, and liable to blind the unwary.

Antoine's stops-and-starts through the gardens unfailingly catch her attention, not one to miss blatant stutters in the flow of the room. Long, dark lashes lift, a slight incline of her impeccably-coiffured head towards the lurking Vicomte de Marcoux. That early contemplative bent to her mouth eases into a faint smile, a subtle hooking of the corner of her mouth upwards. Turning to the refreshments table, Isabelle plucks a glass of wine from the offerings, inhaling lightly of its bouquet before proceeding to intercept him. She doesn't so much as step as she does stalk, moving with an edged sort of grace.

"If you intend to make the young man's acquaintance, you won't get very far if you insist on camouflaging yourself with the plants," she tells him upon her approach, sudden, swift and disconcertingly silent. "Unless you require your ever-obliging cousin Isabelle to chase you out of the brush again." The mischievous color of her expression fades into subtle mirth. "How long has it been, Antoine? Two years, at least? I believe the last time I spoke to you was at Louis and Fleur's wedding. Regrettable, that it had to end so soon. It was rare to see Louis genuinely in love."

There's a brief pause, as he looks around again, before he comes to a stop at the approach of Isabelle. "Truth to be told, I only came here to look for…" He trails off, blinking a few times. "Isabelle? When did you get back here?" He takes a few moments of pause to compose himself, before he offers a smile. "It's been far too long. And yes, it's quite sad that it ended so soon. They both seemed so happy." He looks around once more, then back to Isabelle.

It is hard to tell whether it is that sudden eye contact or the compliment Aimeric can hear Jehan-Pascal utter towards Olivia. There is a soft intake of breath as the adept lowers his gaze, as if evading the looks would remove him from the company of those around him, and thus hide the blush from their view; the rosiness creeping up his cheeks as he feels himself becoming more and more the center of attention. It seems to be only a momentary lapse in composure, when Aimeric returns to the here and now, pulled back by Jehan-Pascal addressing him directly. "Thank you, my lord. I am glad to be here." Said with a shy flicker of a smile. Of course, when he overhears the Baphinol lord's response towards Olivia, about Isabelle's identity, his attention must return to the lady. Catching that sharpness of her smile, Aimeric blinks. Perhaps this was not an expression he expected to see. When the Second spots some new arrivals and leaves his side, the adept is now left on his own. Fingers fidgeting a bit nervously where his hands are loosely joined before him. "You are acquainted with some of the White Roses?", Aimeric nó Rose Sauvage asks of Jehan-Pascal. "I saw you greet some of them when you arrived." Tone somewhere between bold and apologetic at the same time, for that boldness.

Jehan-Pascal misses the smile-daggers, so caught up is he in marvelling at Isabelle's gown. He straightens his doublet with a gentle tug, drawing his shoulders square to wear it with all due elegance and propriety. He takes Olivia's place at Aimeric's sice, quite by accident of default, once Olivia takes his leave and the both of them are watching those from Valais, one of them more openly than the other. "I am, yes. Marielle is a dear, dear friend of mine. I come over rather frequently to visit her while I'm in town. So it may well be that you and I will spend time together, as well," he adds, smiling easily to the youth. If Isabelle's smile is a knife, his own is an ivory-handled teaspoon, stirring some honey into a nice warm brew on a cool autumn evening. A comfort and kindness. "I seldom come empty-handed, either. If you tell me your predilection for gifts, I will be sure to bring you something the next time I come over," he offers easily, no hint of scandal or expectation of favors for the present lurking in his tone while he converses with the new White Rose, hanging out with him while the Valais posse makes its way in its own conversation.

"Recently. Not more than a week," Isabelle says, looping an elegant arm around Antoine's own and tugs him towards the middle of the garden. "But as you may have heard, I've been busy expanding my business interests here. If you intend to seek someone out, permit me to assist you with the search for…who is it that you are looking for? I see a pair of learned eyes turned in this direction and accompanied by the hostess, besides. They will probably know more than you or I." Her gaze lowers towards Jehan-Pascal's stockings, recognition glittering within it. "This gathering is interesting already."

She keeps an easy, but deceptively secure grip over her wine glass as she attempts to tow her cousin towards the gathering at the heart of the fete. "My return appears to have coincided with the best and final weeks of the summer, however - serendipitous, that. Terre D'ange is always most beautiful in this time of year, and while you know full well how I would rather be out there, it's a novel experience in and of itself to be a stranger to your own homeland. Even the scent of the air has changed from my memories. And you, cousin? Have you been well?"

It is by then that they are close enough to the cluster that Olivia, Jehan-Pascal and Aimeric make that she turns her smiles towards all three in particular. "A lovely gathering, is it not?" she wonders of them. "Perfect for the mid-summer, but I have sorely missed D'angeline decadence - there's something to be said about this fearless lack of aesthetic restraint. I am Isabelle de Valais, niece of the Comte de Digne. And while I'm not certain whether you've met his acquaintance, may I present my cousin, Antoine de Valais, the Vicomte de Marcoux." Something softer touches the dewy line of her mouth. "The Second of the White Roses and the future Comte d'Avignon need no introduction, of course. Though were I informed that you are clearly a man of most discerning and impeccable taste, my lord de Baphinol…" The devil's own mischief curls back up onto her mouth, referring to the stockings he wears. "…I would have returned home sooner."

To Aimeric, she tilts her head, the gesture leaving an errant curl to catch against her right cheek. "You are the man of the hour, I presume? How do you find it, compared to the capital?"

"Marielle. Ah. Yes." Aimeric's brows knit briefly as he tries to put a face to the name, Jehan-Pascal gives him. There is that remark about spending time together that makes the adept turn his gaze towards the lord beside him, and a smile appears on his features, a warm, still somewhat shy but also slightly oblivious expression. "I would like that," he states. Perhaps the teaspoon stirring gently in a tea cup has managed to work wonders in gaining the young man's trust? But there the wielder of that sharp smile comes with Antoine in tow, and Aimeric's eyelids move in a slow blink, a breath of air huffed leaving him without an immediate conversational counter to Isabelle's smalltalk. He bows to both her and her cousin in greeting, a glance shot in the direction, where Olivia half-turns to offer a smile and a nod to the lady. Until Isabelle addresses Aimeric directly, it had looked as if he had drawn confidence and ease from standing beside Jehan-Pascal. This changes now, however as he straightens and in tipping his chin down a little, replies, "Marsilikos has a certain charm I have yet to fully get to know, my lady. I have just arrived two days ago, and as you may understand, I have not yet had time and leisure to explore the city. Even in the City of Elua, my impressions have been limited to the Night Court." There is a certain modesty to his manner as he explains this.

Antoine pauses as he hears what's said, offering a brief smile. "It's not that urgent. It's just that I hoped someone in particular would be here." He nods a bit as he hears her words, offering her a grin. "Well, it's good that you get to experience home again, isn't it?" Then, there's a brief sigh. "It's been a few interesting years, getting adjusted to running things back home." And then they arrive with the others, and he offers them a nod and a smile. "A pleasure to meet you all," he offers, with a quiet smile.

Oh, gosh. She's coming over. And she definitely marked the stockings, Jehan-Pascal could note as much, suddenly all the much more conscious of the manner in which his comely stems are displayed. it was on purpose, of course, and those fine stockings take to their task of making him look fabulous with a regular zeal, but to be faced with their designer on the occasion of his debuting their loveliness— it's all enough to make a fellow's heart pitter a little bit, to call up a rosy hue into his own cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. Maybe he has spent too much time among the White Roses; see, he blushes like one, his smile goes all wibbly and nervous-flustered, despite an underlying resonance of profound joy in the moment of the meeting. "Oh— please, my Lady de Valais, be free to call me Jehan-Pascal," he invites her the liberty without taking it in turn, waiting to be allowed it, first. "Your shop is every fresh delight, and your stockings… unspeakably fine. I was sad to have missed paying my respects to you when I had a moment to step in earlier this week. But I have no doubt but that I will return very soon," he offers her the compliments and promises, overcoming his momentary fluster. "And my Lord de Valais," he inclines his shoulders to the gentleman, as well, before rising, "Is it true what I hear, that you intend to steal our beloved Marielle from us?" He presumably uses 'us' as to indicate the house as a general unit, as well as he himself who often visits her. But he doesn't seem out of sorts about it, he questions Antoine with the warmest of smiles. "Well, I would hardly blame you, if it were true. Mari is a treasure, and a good friend of mine. I will warn you ahead of time that if you mean to take her away I will have to come visit her by you nigh as often as I come to visit her here," he adds, a jestful note to the admonition.

"Homecomings can't help but be affairs of delicate complications for me," Isabelle tells Antoine quietly, the tone of her voice somewhat absent when she utters the words. "Equal parts bitter and sweet, but I suppose it wouldn't be me if I didn't thrive in such an environment." She flashes her cousin a wink. "It's not in me to balk from a challenge. Regardless, I'm glad to hear it, of your efforts back home. You've grown quite well, cousin, though I hope not /too/ quickly, or completely." Elegant fingers squeeze his forearm, the rare note of warm affection present in the gesture.

Cloistered now, within this collective of lovely contemporaries, Aimeric's quiet words have her assessing him thoughtfully, lashes halfway pulled over eyes of night and gold. The weight of that gleaming stare falls on the fair-haired youth; discerning, as fitting for one who bets on her creative reputation for having a tremenduous eye for detail, but it is not critical by any means, however bladed her smiles could be. "I hope you'll have more of an opportunity to," she replies. "Marsilikos is lovely and as I was just telling my cousin, this is the best time of year in which to enjoy its charms." There's a playful incline of her head, unable to help but tease: "Though to spend all that training in the city of the Blessed Elua, to be so limited within the Night Court there, I wonder if your minders kept you so confined out of fear of blinding passers-by with your radiance should they see you. You have the look of a pure-blooded celestial, monsieur."

The future comte's blush pulls her smiles up, a touch higher than her usual wont, and his following remarks parts her lips with a laugh. It is nothing girlish, a far cry from the crystalline notes characteristic of her angelic brethren; the sound is low and rich, audibly reminiscent of dark chocolate and rooms inundated with low candlelight. "Isabelle, then, if it please you, Jehan-Pascal," she tells him, subtly warmed by his obliging manner. "Managing the storefront would be more difficult indeed were it not for my staff, but I'm thankful you found both the wares and service to your liking even in the midst of busy renovations. I've grand plans for it, to function both as a business headquarters as well as a gallery for my work - most of my international reputation has been built in the sitting rooms of the elite, as my specialization remains highly customized clothing of any stripe…" Her mischief returns, visible and implacable. "Including lingerie and various underthings, but I would be doing my own country a disservice if I didn't do the same for my fellow D'angelines. If I have secured your patronage even before we met, I can only thank the angels for my good fortune."

The man's words regarding this mysterious Marielle though has her pausing, and giving her cousin an angled look sideways, inquiring brow arching towards her hairline. But there are wisps of good humor there, like spectres dancing behind that half-gilded gaze. "If that is the case, it seems I /have/ been gone for quite a while. Are you courting, cousin?"

Antoine pauses briefly as he hears Jehan-Pascal's words, studying the man for a few moments, before he offers a brief smile. "She is indeed a rare treasure, yes." There's a brief pause, before he adds, "And of course you will be welcome to visit if things come to pass," he replies. He then looks over to his cousin, offering her a brief smile.

"I was born on Mont Nuit, my lady," Aimeric informs Isabelle in a quiet manner, even if her tease brought a fresh rush of blood into his cheeks. "My parents were both in Service of Naamah." With that said, noble blood flowing in his veins somewhere is highly likely. "As for being confined… that was mostly due to me being a novice. I did see some of the city on a few brief ventures shortly before my debut. And there are many of House Alyssum who have never left Mont Nuit." A shy smile appears on his features, "But now… I am an adept, and as such will enjoy more freedom. I expect to visit the city and its many sights. Perhaps this wonderful fashion shop of yours?" As for Jehan-Pascal and the conversation about that White Rose courtesan, there is little for Aimeric to do there, but to listen and draw his own conclusions. That is, of a mind as innocent as his is able to draw those.

"Oh, good, I'll have a room appointed," Jehan-Pascal jokes back to Antoine, reaching out to clap the man in a friendly fashion at the shoulder along with a laugh. To the worldly and fashion-cunning cousin, he dips his chin in lieu of a bow, repeating her name, "Isabelle," in gracious recognition of her allowing him to use it. "That sounds a good and sensible path ahead for the place, although given how recently the space was assumed, you've already made such great strides. My patronage you shall certainly expect. My finery is wearing terribly short as there have been so very many debut and fetes this season. Even mixing and matching pieces, I feel on the verge of repeating myself in front of people," he twists his lips in an expression of regret. "And perhaps, if it is more to your style, I might throw a little gathering of my own where you might mingle with prospective patrons and discuss what their needs are and how you might best fill them." He turns attention back to Aimeric, perhaps annoyed at himself to have taken any of the focus away from the beautiful youth being feted. "I could contract Mari and Aimeric to come model designs at the gathering," he draws the conversation back around, and rather satisfactorily, to his mind.

Antoine's smile earns him a look, before she laughs again. "Ah, well. It seems I have plenty to catch up on."

Aimeric's additional notes on his history, as well as his last remark, has her turning the remains of her mirth his way. "I would be pleased to have you visit," Isabelle tells him with a smile, visibly pleased to have culled blushes from both gentlemen. "And should it be soon, I hope you'll forgive the mess as I trust construction will be occurring well through the month. Perfection is forever an elusive star, after all, but one which I endlessly strive for in my craft and anything in relation to it. Still, I hope you find your welcome to Marsilikos warm and persistent, and I wish you good fortune with your current endeavors."

Jehan-Pascal's regret earns him a nod, easing her arm away from Antoine's so she could cross her arm thoughtfully across her body, her other hand holding her wine glass aloft. Her expression takes on a more contemplative cast. "Whatever you do have, Jehan-Pascal, I trust you wear them spectacularly well, but it does sound as if you could benefit from a fresh new set if you start to feel that way. I'll do what I can to rejuvenate your enthusiasm there - let's set an appointment soon, yes? I would like to get to know your preferences better before I suggest anything." His generous offer, however, has her grinning broadly - enough to glimpse moonlight upon her smile and chasing out a dimple on her left cheek. "I'm blessed indeed to have such an offer placed before me. It just so happens that the future Comte d'Amiens has offered to raise funds for whatever food and entertainment such an event would need, if I ever decided to put up a 'fashion show' of a sort. If it please you, we could all collaborate, that way not one party will have to be burdened with the whole cost. And if my cousin's future intended and the beautiful Aimeric would agree to be models, it would be a privilege to have my vision exhibited upon such comely individuals."

"This sounds… like quite the adventure," Aimeric remarks with a glint of excitement in his dark eyes. "To wear the couture as designed…" He searches for adequate words, gaze flicking towards Isabelle, "by such a genius as you, my lady." The smiles fades however, when he considers the matter for a moment longer. "The Second won't allow it probably. At least not for me. For fully marqued courtesans, it will be a different matter." Modesty returns and hides whatever glimpses there had been of what lays beneath an Alyssum's facade. Even the smile regains its slightly shy quality.

Again, his brows lift in a slightly apologetic expression, when Isabelle seems to be intrigued with the idea to have Aimeric help in showing her designs to an audience. "I am not sure whether the customs of this salon would allow me, my lady. Even if the prospect would be thrilling indeed. You should speak to Monsieur Edouard (the leader of the salon) and ask him whether such is possible." The fact that the adept is flattered is evident from the way his cheeks bloom in rosy hues. And 'flattered' in an Alyssum way his expression becomes, when it is joined by a slightly sheepish and even flustered look in his eyes.

This will be the moment that Olivia returns to Aimeric's side, and if one can tell from the intrigued expression of her expressive eyes, she is about to snatch Aimeric away from his current charming company. "Please… excuse us. I have to take Aimeric away from you for a moment… There is someone I need him to meet." Aimeric looks surprised but does not fight the insistent gentle pull of her hand, following along where she leads him - towards more patrons and introductions. Even if the glance he shoots back over his shoulder, at the small group of Jehan-Pascal, Isabelle and Antoine, suggests that the new White Rose adept may return to them soon.

"Oh, you're very kind," Jehan-Pascal defers, but with the deference of one who knows the compliment is merited, accompanied with a somewhat lofty smile. "Yes, I will send a missive to your offices with free spaces in my diary for the next few weeks, and you can select the time which best suits you. You must be very busy, still, in these early days," he adds, completely understanding that she might be booked. "If you'd like, yes, we can make arrangement to collaborate on a larger affair. I had thought merely a few friends at a cozy dinner— but there is always room for both sorts of gatherings," he waves off the difference airily enough. when Aimeric takes his leave, he inclines into a short bow once more. "Really a lovely young man," he smiles. "I'll speak to Olivia about contracting him; he may just be too shy to accept."

"You flatter me, my dear," Isabelle tells Aimeric lightly. "I am but an artist that is terribly enthusiastic with my work, and with such encouraging company, it only makes me all the more relentless." Her head dips when the adept takes his leave by the side of the Second, dark eyes following the wake of his departure.

/Making plans already/, Antoine says, to which his cousin responds with a smile, her attention drawn upon him once more. "You've seen what happens if I am forced to be idle for too long, and besides, you are the last person to tease me about such things when you're the one looking to be /married/. Dios mio, Antoine, you'll have to regale me with the details at a later time as I am curious about your future intended."

Jehan-Pascal's words earn him another one of those warmer smiles. "If that is what my lord prefers - an intimate gathering such as that, then who am I to refuse? I'll take on Lord Thaddeus' offer another time for a bigger affair. If anything, I'm grateful that you've thought of me and my endeavors in the first place." Fingers tipped with black lacquer, save for an elaborate design upon the nails of her ring fingers, both wrought in gold - detailed even at that level - press against her heart and she gives the future comte a deeper bow of her head. "I will leave the White Roses to you, as most of my patronage is with Salon Coquelicot, your relationship with them is much more established than my own."

It is then that her valet takes a quiet step towards her, falling upon her shadow. He gives her cousin and the future comte a deep bow from the waist, before handing Isabelle a sealed note, which she takes. Eyes lid when she recognizes the seal upon it, though she doesn't open it in the presence of others - this, she tucks into the folds of her gown; it vanishes as if by magic.

"Alas, time flies when the company is pleasant," she says with a sigh. "I'll have to extend my compliments to the hostess before departing. Antoine, dinner soon, yes? And I eagerly wait for your messenger, Jehan-Pascal. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening." Kissing her fingertips lightly, she wiggles her digits towards both lords before she turns to head for Olivia's direction, Guillermo in tow.

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