Ch.III Lone Wolf

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Brown hair. Brown eyes. Average height. He is wearing an Eastern robe instead of a proper suit for a gentleman. His hat is a turban.

(He is wearing something like this to Almack)

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(He is wearing something like this to Almack)

Nathaniel takes a sip of the lemonade and hisses a bit. Too sour for him. He puts the glass into a tray, which carried by a passerby waiter.

Almack is a man's worst nightmare. Sour lemonade. No alcohol drink. Pale, fragile debutantes. Boring birdbrains.

(Grandmama insisted me to marry. Find the perfect English woman in Almack. Made a promise to come here tonight. Still I went in with my own style).

Nathaniel chuckles. Indian robe and a turban. Borrowed it earlier from Bandhu, his servant.

The chaperones stare him as if he's the cause of black plague. The debutantes are staring him with widened eyes.

Marquee Bourne, Nathaniel Vento, 32 years old. Dressed like a poor Rajah from India. Never been sane since his father died.

Nathaniel yawns.

(Mission accomplished. Time to head home. Prepare another journey to the East. Maybe China or Egypt? Always go where the wind blows...)

Three ladies just got into the ballroom. One of Almack's patroness hisses and quickly charges them.

"No illegitimate daughters here," warns her loudly so everyone in the room could hear her voice.

One of them, the blond haired lady look scared. Her face turns as white as paper. The red haired lady looks calm. She says nothing while staring her.

The brown lady in the middle of them mocks, "Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said we don't welcome you here," says the patron angrily.

"Oh, really? Well, I wouldn't want to come here even if you begged me, Lady. Poor decorations. Awful music. Smelly room. And is that lemonade? Even worst than a ballroom in countryside," mocks the Brownies.

"Why you?"

"Don't frown, Lady. At your age, more wrinkles would appear instantly," mocks the Brownies again.

"State your name, Miss. Your name shall be banned in the Almack history forever!" yells the patroness.

"Jane Appleton at your service, old lady. Just give me a call if you needed my help. I could give you a hint or two about decorations," mocks her.

She grabs her sisters by arms and leads them away. Out of the front door.

The patroness yells, "Doorkeeper, never let them in again!"

Nathaniel whistles.

(Now that's a real lady. Not a fragile weak flower in conservatory. She's a wild flower bloom in Savannah).

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