NOVPUB
Chapter 43 - The First Date?
Part 1
Two mornings after that beautiful afternoon when he devised the deficit‑reduction plan for his media business, Philip sat in his study examining an elaborate envelope that had arrived with the morning post. The cream‑colored parchment bore the official seal of the Provincial Governor, its wax impression depicting the Avalondian eagle clutching Upper Yor's maple branch—a not‑too‑subtle reminder of imperial dominion over local identity.
"Another afternoon‑tea invitation?" Natalia asked from her perch on the window seat, where she'd been absorbed in a treatise on human social customs that Lydia had provided. Sunlight streaming through the glass created a halo effect around her, accentuating the curves her morning dress failed to conceal entirely. Her eyes, however, betrayed a restlessness—like a caged bird that had memorized every feather's description of flight but had never spread its own wings.
"No, this is... different," Philip replied, breaking the seal with his letter opener. As he unfolded the heavy parchment, his eyebrows rose incrementally. "It's an invitation to the Provincial Spring Gala."
Natalia's entire demeanor transformed. She leapt from the window seat with such enthusiasm that her book tumbled to the floor, forgotten. "A gala? With actual people outside the estate?" Her voice carried the breathless excitement of a child brimming with curiosity.
Philip nodded, then read the invitation aloud for Natalia's benefit. "The Governor of the Province of Upper Yor, on behalf of Her Imperial Majesty, cordially invites Master Philip Redwood and his esteemed companion, Miss Natalia, to attend the Annual Provincial Spring Gala..."
He paused, rereading the phrase. "His esteemed companion."
"Well, that's one way to put it," the System's voice chimed in. "Though after declaring herself your mistress to every recruiter who called, I suppose 'esteemed companion' is as good as it gets."
"Esteemed companion!" Natalia exclaimed, pressing her hands together in delight and staring at Philip with hopeful eyes. "Does that mean what I think it means?"
Natalia practically floated across the room to read over his shoulder, her excitement overriding proper distance. Her proximity brought with it that subtle floral scent that always clouded his judgment. "Will there be dancing? Conversation with individuals from varied backgrounds? Observation of their reactions to my actions?" Her body pressed completely against him, the intoxicating closeness igniting a flush across Philip's cheeks.
"It's a gala, not an experiment," Philip said gently, though her enthusiasm was infectious.
"But it is!" she insisted, her eyes shining with feverish brightness. "I've read forty‑seven books on social interaction, memorized six hundred and thirty‑two acceptable conversation topics, and studied the blueprints of twelve different ballroom configurations. Yet I've never had a chance to put any of it into practice! It's like knowing the chemical composition of chocolate without ever tasting it!"
Lydia entered, carrying the morning tea service, taking in Natalia's animated state with maternal amusement. "The Provincial Gala is the social event of the season," she explained. "The most exclusive gathering of power brokers, aristocrats, wealthy merchants, and government officials in all of Upper Yor."
"Real wealthy merchants?" Natalia breathed. "Not just photos in the self‑improvement books, but actual living specimens exhibiting capitalistic behavioral patterns in real time?"
Philip rubbed his temples. "We'll need to work on your phrasing before the gala."
"Forty days," Natalia calculated instantly. "Almost one and a half months to transform theoretical knowledge into practical application."
"Perhaps," Lydia interrupted, already foreseeing the potential disaster of Natalia treating the gala like an academic examination, "we should start smaller. A practice run."
Natalia's face brightened. "You mean... one of those outings that Master Philip hasn't yet taken me on?"
Lydia nodded. "There's a gallery opening this afternoon. A smaller, more controlled environment. We can assess your... readiness."
The transformation was instantaneous. Natalia clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "A preliminary field test! Oh, Miss Lydia, that's brilliant! I can calibrate my responses based on real‑world feedback loops!"
The System snorted. "Ah yes, nothing says 'romantic afternoon' quite like conducting behavioral experiments on the local gentry."
Three hours later, Philip found himself pacing the entrance hall while Lydia worked her magic upstairs. He'd chosen his second‑best afternoon suit—elegant enough for the gallery but not so formal as to appear pretentious. Albert watched with barely concealed amusement as Philip adjusted his cravat for the fifth time.
And then, as if on cue, Natalia appeared at the top of the stairs. 𝔫𝖔𝖛𝖕𝔲𝔟.𝔠𝖔𝖒
She was a vision that could make poets weep and painters abandon their brushes. Her golden curls cascaded in artful waves, framing a face sculpted by the gods on an inspired day. Each step she took was a masterclass in grace, her dress shimmering with every movement.
The gown, a masterpiece of Avalondian aristocratic fashion, was deep sapphire silk that clung to her figure like a lover's embrace. Intricate beadwork traced the daring neckline and the elegant sweep of her back, offering tantalizing glimpses of flawless skin. The short, fluttering sleeves barely touched her upper arms, adding a touch of whimsy to her regal bearing.
Philip's breath caught, his collar suddenly feeling two sizes too tight. She embodied innocence and seduction—a paradox that left him utterly spellbound.
"Is this acceptable?" Natalia inquired, executing a slow turn that made her skirts flare like a blooming flower. "Lydia insisted on fourteen separate adjustments to achieve what she termed 'effortless elegance.' A paradox, considering the effort involved, but the visual impact appears to correlate with—"
"You look perfect," Philip interrupted, his voice betraying more emotion than he intended.
Natalia's analytical expression softened into wonder. "Perfect? Statistically improbable, given human variation and subjective beauty standards..." She trailed off, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks. "Though your dilated pupils and elevated respiratory rate suggest genuine appreciation rather than mere social platitude."
At that moment, the System materialized—visible only to Philip—perched provocatively on the banister. She wore a form‑fitting white lace gown adorned with black velvet ribbons and bows, reminiscent of Edwardian high society fashion. An enormous black‑and‑white hat, festooned with cascading ostrich feathers and delicate silk flowers, crowned her ensemble, casting a playful shadow over her mischievous eyes.
With a sly smile, the System exclaimed, "By George, I think she's got it!"
The carriage ride that followed proved its own challenge. Natalia pressed her face to the window like a child, providing running commentary on everything they passed. Philip hadn't realized when Natalia had become so talkative.
"Look, Philip! Street vendors executing commerce in real time! And those children playing—is that the game called 'hopscotch' I read about? The probability mechanics are fascinating! Oh, and that woman's hat—the feather arrangement defies at least three principles of aerodynamics!"
"Natalia," Philip said gently, unable to suppress his smile, "perhaps save some wonderment for the gallery itself?"
She turned to him, eyes bright with pure joy. "But this is amazing! It's... overwhelming in the most wonderful way."
Her genuine excitement was disarming. Philip saw the familiar streets anew—not as mundane thoroughfares but as stages of human drama, each passerby a story in motion.
The Yortinto Municipal Gallery occupied a converted mansion in the cultural district, its neoclassical façade a testament to imperial grandeur. As their carriage joined the queue of vehicles discharging elegantly dressed patrons, Natalia gripped Philip's arm.
"My heart rate has increased by thirty‑seven percent," she reported. "I think I am... nervous. Is that normal?"
"Perfectly normal," Philip assured her. "We all get nervous on our first time."
"Yes, you were especially nervous on your first time." The System's sarcastic voice chimed in.
Philip's face flushed bright red as he realized the System's insinuation.
"First time...," Natalia repeated, testing the phrase. "Is it supposed to be so... exhilarating?"
As they alighted, Philip noticed the ripple effect Natalia's presence created. Conversations stuttered to a halt. Men turned with expressions of stunned appreciation. Women's eyes narrowed with calculating assessment or outright envy.
"Is something wrong?" Natalia whispered, noticing the attention. "Have I committed a social error already?"
"No," Philip said, guiding her toward the entrance. "They're just... appreciating the... beautiful scenery before their eyes."
Inside, the gallery hummed with genteel conversation, which notably decreased as they passed. Philip overheard fragments of whispered speculation:
—"That's her! The mysterious blonde from the newspapers—"
—"Even more stunning in person—"
—"What's she doing with Philip Redwood? He's rather gone to seed—"
—"Heard she was foreign nobility—"
—"Surely just a mistress; look how sensually dressed she is—"
Natalia's head swiveled, trying to catch each comment. "They're discussing us! Is this normal? Should I correct their factual errors?"
"Definitely not," Philip said firmly. "Just smile and nod."
She attempted what she believed was a casual smile. The effect on a passing young scion was immediate—he walked directly into a marble pillar.
"Oh dear!" Natalia exclaimed, moving toward the dazed man. "Are you injured? The angle of impact suggests a mild concussion. Should I examine your pupils for dilation?"
The young man, scarlet with embarrassment and infatuation, stammered, "N-no, I'm... you're... that is..."
"Natalia," Philip intervened, drawing her away. "He's fine."
"But he seems to have lost linguistic functionality," she protested.
As they ventured deeper into the gallery, Philip couldn't help but notice that Natalia had become the gravitational center of the room, drawing male admirers like bees to a flower. These gentlemen approached under the flimsiest of pretenses—ostensibly to greet Philip, though their conversational offerings were as sparse as a desert oasis.
Their true intentions were transparent: to bask in Natalia's presence under the guise of polite society. They posed superfluous questions about her opinions on the artwork, lavished compliments on her attire, and made trite observations about the weather—all while their eyes, under the cloak of decorum, took the scenic route over her figure, and their ears pretended to listen.
Philip observed this parade with amusement and resignation, recognizing that in this grand exhibition, Natalia was the masterpiece that outshone most of the art.
"Your companion has excellent taste," one silver‑haired gentleman said to Philip, though his eyes never left Natalia's bosom. "Such a discerning eye for... beauty."
"The interplay of light and shadow creates dimensional depth," Natalia replied earnestly, gesturing at the nearest painting. "Though the artist's understanding of optical physics seems limited."
The gentleman blinked. "Ah... yes. Physics. Quite."
After he retreated, Natalia turned to Philip with concern. "Did I say something wrong? He seemed to lose interest when I mentioned science."
"You were perfect," Philip assured her, fighting an unexpected surge of possessiveness as another admirer approached.
This one was younger, with classical features and an athletic build Philip once possessed. "Forgive the intrusion, Master Redwood," he said smoothly, "but I couldn't help noticing your lovely companion's interest in art. Perhaps she'd enjoy viewing the sculpture garden? I'd be honored to escort—"
"How kind!" Natalia exclaimed before Philip could object. "I've read that three‑dimensional art provides tactile learning opportunities unavailable in paintings. Will there be examples of different chisel techniques?"
The young man's confident smile faltered. "I... chisel techniques?"
"Based on your suggestion, I assumed you had expertise to share," Natalia continued. "The books say gallery escorts should provide educational value."
Philip nearly choked suppressing his laugh as the young man retreated under the guise of suddenly remembering something urgent.
"Was I too direct?" Natalia asked. "He seemed quite eager initially."
Before Philip could explain, a familiar voice cut through the ambient conversation like a razor through silk. "Philip Redwood," the voice said. "How fascinating to find you here."
Philip's stomach dropped. Cordelia Ashworth, daughter of Baron Ashworth and one of Rosetta's former circle, stood before them in a gown that probably cost more than most families' annual income. Her smile was all predatory calculation.
"Miss Ashworth," Philip managed. "I didn't expect to see you at a provincial exhibition."
"Oh, I make a point of supporting local artists," she replied, her tone suggesting she'd rather be anywhere else. Her gaze fixed on Natalia with laser intensity. "And you must be the famous Miss Natalia. We've all been simply dying to meet you."
"No need for dying; I am quite accessible to the living too," Natalia replied with a polite smile.
"Right... Though I must say," Cordelia continued, circling them like a well‑dressed shark, "you're not quite what we expected. Rosetta always said Philip preferred classical ladies with hair as dark as the night sky and manners permeated with a certain... sophistication."
Philip felt Natalia tense beside him. Before he could intervene, she coolly replied, "People's preferences can evolve. After all, Master Philip once preferred someone who abandoned him for political advantage. Perhaps his tastes have simply... improved."
The System let out a low whistle. "Whoa, she learns fast! I think your Familiar just passed the Turing Test! Though you might want to intercede before this turns into an actual bloodbath."
Cordelia's eyes flashed dangerously. "How charmingly... direct. Though I suppose we can't expect a mere commoner to understand aristocratic choices."
"Indeed," Natalia agreed pleasantly. "Just as one cannot expect an aristocrat to understand the value of common sense."
Philip decided intervention was needed. "Perhaps we should view the rest of the exhibition. If you'll excuse us, Miss Ashworth."
He guided Natalia away, feeling Cordelia's glare burn their backs. Once in another room, he exhaled slowly. "That was..."
"Inappropriate?" Natalia asked, concern flickering across her features. "I apologize if I violated social protocols. But her implications about your former relationship seemed designed to cause distress, and I felt compelled to—"
"Defend me?" Philip finished, surprised by the warmth spreading through his chest. "No, it was... rather magnificent, actually. It made you feel more like a genuinely jealous mistress. But there's a degree of control we must maintain, which is why I intervened."
Natalia blinked, a delightful pink tinge coloring her cheeks. "Oh. Then I'm glad I chose the correct response. And thank you for preventing me from going astray."
They continued through the gallery, and Philip found himself genuinely enjoying Natalia's perspective. She approached each painting like a puzzle and each person like a fascinating specimen. Her joy was infectious, transforming a tedious obligation into an adventure.
Whispers continued in their wake:
—"Clearly besotted with her—"
—"Shame about Redwood; used to cut quite a figure—"
—"Money trumps looks, always has—"
—"Still, she could do better—"
At that moment, a man Philip didn't recognize approached—tall, sharp‑featured, exuding the aggressive confidence of new wealth or foreign aristocracy. His accent soon clarified the mystery: he was among the capitalist elites of the Continental Republic.
"Lord Redwood," the man greeted with perfunctory courtesy that felt like an insult wrapped in velvet. He immediately shifted his gaze to Natalia, his predatory intensity resembling a hawk eyeing a particularly appealing field mouse. "And the radiant Miss Natalia. Senator Richard Toosexy, trade attaché from the Continental Republic. You may call me Dick or Toosexy—whichever pleases you. I'm just casual like that."
With theatrical flourish, he raised Natalia's gloved hand, pressing his lips to it with lingering enthusiasm—like a connoisseur savoring fine wine, or perhaps testing the limits of diplomatic immunity regarding social propriety. "The media hardly does you justice. Your beauty truly transcends borders."
"Senator Too... Toosexy," Philip managed, the name awkward on his tongue. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your attendance at our humble gathering?" Representatives of the Continental Republic rarely visited Yorgorian social events.
"Tell me, my dear enchantress," Toosexy continued, disregarding Philip like inconvenient furniture, "what earthly power confines such an extraordinary being to this charming yet decidedly backward province? Surely someone with your talents must have considered the limitless opportunities in more—shall we say—progressive societies?"
"Define 'progressive,'" Natalia requested, her tone bearing genuine scholarly curiosity—clearly not the reaction Toosexy expected.
His smile widened, predatory satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, as if she'd stepped into a carefully orchestrated trap. "A society where merit and beauty are rewarded without the stifling constraints of inherited privilege. A place where someone with your gifts could achieve anything her heart desires, free from antiquated social strictures."
Philip's jaw tightened at the insult thinly veiled as a generous offer, but before he could reply, Toosexy pivoted toward him with exaggerated sympathy.
"No personal offense, Lord Redwood—none whatsoever—but we both understand that only tragically obsolete groups require the invisible wall of inherited privilege to shield them from natural selection's forces."
The insult, breathtaking in its audacity and diplomatic veneer, caused conversations to falter, the room stilled in collective shock. Such brazen effrontery toward a Duke's grandson would typically be unthinkable—tantamount to declaring one's intention to burn down a sacred institution. Yet Senator Toosexy, protected by diplomatic immunity, reveled in disregarding formalities.
Natalia became dangerously still, her sapphire eyes alight with genuine anger, porcelain cheeks flushed with indignation. However, Toosexy, more skilled at financial reports than female emotions, mistook her fury for admiration.
With unshakable self‑assurance, he produced an embossed business card lavishly bordered with gold leaf worthy of a royal treasury. "My personal card," he intoned solemnly, as if bestowing a sacred relic. "Should you ever desire liberation from classism's chains, present yourself at the Yortinto consulate. Mention you carry a personal referral from Senator Toosexy himself."
He pressed the token into Natalia's rigid fingers, executed a dramatic turn befitting a seasoned actor, and began to depart as security guards flanked him—men accustomed to shielding their employer from repercussions.
Then, with calculated theatricality, he paused mid‑stride, glancing back at Natalia to offer what he believed was a devastatingly seductive smirk, running his fingers through his hair with practiced vanity.
"Remember, my radiant beauty," he declared, voice echoing like a preacher's final exhortation, "the light of the Creator is always open to those bold enough to seek Him."
As Senator Richard Toosexy left the hall, his demeanor shifted from flamboyant charisma to cold efficiency. Outside, beyond prying eyes, he pulled out his mirror phone and tapped out a brief, cryptic message to a contact listed only as "Josh."
Mission accomplished. First contact made. Seed of freedom successfully planted.
