Chapter Text
Steven alighted from the carriage nimbly, feet hitting the gravelled driveway with a soft crunch. Surveying the imposing, immaculately kept prospect of Brooklyn House, the rolling grandeur of the associated estate and the steady flow of finely dressed people sauntering in to the tastefully lit entrance hall, Steven couldn’t help but feel a little cowed. As a man of moderate status, he was accustomed to the occasional soirée, but without the need to chaperone any female relatives and reluctant to seek female companionship himself, Steven had rarely had occasion to attend any balls or dances. Still, his mother’s dying wish had been for him to take the remains of his father’s inheritance and settle down, so when the invitation from Lord Barnes Senior had arrived by post, Steven took it as a sign.
The steady rumble of the carriage’s wheels as the driver pulled away signalled that it was time for Steven to enter the house, or risk injury from the arrival of another party. As Steven ascended the left set of dual steps to the front door, he couldn’t help but admire the soft, sweet scent of the roses growing along the wall. Perhaps they had been planted at the behest of Lady Barnes Senior, or the Lady’s daughter. At the door, a footman took Steven’s name and his overcoat, then- with a bow- gestured towards the ballroom. It wasn’t hard to miss. Not only had the corridor leading towards it become a veritable thoroughfare, but from it drifted the jolly strains of expertly performed music and the bubbling sound of jovial conversation.
Upon entering the ballroom, Steven came immediately to appreciate the taste of the design- from the finely moulded ceiling hung glittering chandeliers, which threw soft light on panel after panel of friezes and illustrations that Steven itched to examine. At the far end of the ballroom a long table was stationed, laden with fine foods and a plentiful supply of wines. Resolving to fetch himself a glass of port before taking a turn around the room to admire the art, Steven started towards it. Soon, he found himself smiling as he dodged around muslin skirts and velvet coattails, gesticulating arms and coquettishly positioned elbows. At one point, Steven found himself forestalled by a fierce looking woman in her latter years, whom he thought he might have exchanged pleasantries with at one point. The lady wished to introduce her daughter to him, extolling the young woman’s virtues while tactfully avoiding mentioning anything personal about Steven himself. While the young woman seemed adequately personable, Steven really had no interest in her, and if the tightness around her lips was any indication she had no interest in him. The lady was, Steven suspected, trying to introduce her daughter to every eligible bachelor she saw while her daughter would much rather join the dancing.
Eventually, Steven managed to extract himself from the conversation and continue his progress towards the table. Once there, he didn’t hesitate to pour himself a generous serving of the fine port, and even indulged in prettily presented desert. Tumbler secured in hand, Steven began to amble along the wall, a slight spring in his step from the infectious vitality of the strings. The art, he discovered, was indeed fine. Likely commissioned specifically for the Brooklyn House ballroom, the friezes charted the stages of a party amongst the Greek gods. Every individual painting was put together in exquisite detail, the characters consistent throughout and brought to life by neat brush-strokes and a sympathetic eye for colour that Steven envied.
He was admiring the particularly lifelike folds of a gown depicted in the sixth frieze when someone cleared their throat behind him. Startled, Steven turned to see a man of about six and twenty, a year older than him, watching Steven with quietly amused blue eyes. Very comely blue eyes, Steven admitted in the safe confines of his own head, set in to a very comely pale face framed by artful chestnut locks. Steven couldn’t think why, but the man seemed oddly familiar to him, though he was sure they hadn’t been introduced before.
“Good evening.” the man smiled, bobbing his head in imitation of a bow “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I see that you are admiring my father’s paintings.”
Steven put two and two together quickly, but thought it best to clarify in order to avoid any awkwardness “Sergeant James Barnes, am I correct?”
Sergeant Barnes smiled beautifully, offering Steven his hand to shake “Retired. I found the life of a soldier was not the life for me.”
Steven took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly as he introduced himself “Captain Steven Rogers, also retired. Taking up my father’s position was not to my tastes.”
Sergeant Barnes hummed in acknowledgement. For a moment, his gaze drifted out over the hopping dancers and laughing conversationalists. Steven was ready to consider the conversation over, when Sergeant Barnes turned to Steven once more and asked “Have you found your evening satisfactory as of yet?”
“Well,” Steven laughed, gesturing with his tumbler “I’ve been able to drink some of the finest port I have ever drunk and inspect the finest pieces of art I’ve set my eyes on for some while, so I would say yes.”
Sergeant Barnes looked pleased by his response, eyes warming as he brought his own glass to his lips “Not one for dancing, I suppose?” he enquired, then added “I shouldn’t think that a gentleman such as yourself would be for want of a partner, if you should seek one.”
Steven flushed under the compliment, internally cursing himself for such a childish response even while a warm feeling uncurled inside him “I am rather indifferent to dancing, I’m afraid, and I make an unsatisfactory partner. Painting is my preferred way to spend an evening; much less risk of injury that way. However, forgive my intrusion,” Steve continued, suddenly realising that a thin line of perspiration sat on Sergeant Barnes’ forhead “you seem to have been putting yourself under some exertion, Sergeant, so I will naturally conclude that you have been dancing with some vigour. Please don’t allow me to detain you any further, should you wish to continue doing so.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Sergeant Barnes protested “Not with such interesting new company. In fact, come, sit.” he pulled out two chairs at one of the tables set all along the perimeter of the ballroom, seating himself in one and nodding to the other with a wide smile.
Steven, by this point thoroughly charmed, indulged Sergeant Barnes, settling down on the plush seat with an absent smile. Barnes beamed at him, angling his body so that he faced Steven directly.
“Pray tell me, Captain Rogers, what exactly is your occupation? How came you know my father?”
“I earn my keep in part by selling my paintings and in part by letting some modest farmland in my ownership. Of course, I allow the farmers to use the old equipment but we have an agreement that in return for a low rent they maintain the tools.” Steven stopped himself, realising that he had begun to talk of business matters that were irrelevant to the conversation at hand, but Barnes was listening intently anyhow “I met your father at a meeting another of the local landowners had arranged, and he was interested in my paintings for the newest wing. Of course, I told him that he would be better off advertising for a professional, but he was persistent. Eventually I showed him a few pieces and I was hired.”
Barnes seemed delighted by this news, enthusiastically decrying that he and Steven would soon become fast friends and that there was no-one in the whole of England better suited to the job. The warmth of Barnes’ words and the very existence of his belief in Steven set Steven’s heart flying. Unfortunately, for a man who had been in Steven’s company for little more than a half hour, it was rather suspiciously unfounded.
“Sergeant, are you quite sober?”
“Of course!” Barnes responded immediately “Why, I’m as sober as a judge.”
“And we all know father,” a new voice added “So we all know that judges really can hold their port.”
The woman who’d spoken was finely dressed, her chestnut hair and blue eyes almost interchangeable with Barnes’ save for her round, feminine features.
Barnes bestowed the woman with a contemptuous look that would have been intimidating had it not been for its insincerity. He turned back to Steven and begrudgingly introduced her “My sister, Miss Rebecca Barnes. Becca, Captain Steven Rogers.”
Steven rose, bowing politely to Miss Rebecca “Madam.”
Smiling, she curtseyed elegantly in return “Sir.” turning to her brother, Miss Rebecca added “Bucky, I’ve found some new friends I’d like to introduce you to, come along and say hello!”
Steven raised an eyebrow at Barnes “Bucky?”
Barnes ran a hand through his well coiffed hair, explaining bashfully “A childhood name that my dearest sister refuses to let go off.”
“Considering my dearest brother will insist on calling me Becca, I should think it quite excusable.” Miss Rebecca responded primly.
Considering the stiff manner in which their father conducted himself and the landed history of the family, Steven had been thoroughly dreading any possible encounter with a Barnes. However, Steven decided then that he was rather fond of the siblings, due almost entirely to their easy joviality and horrifyingly familiar manner.
“Come!” Miss Rebecca exclaimed, holding out a hand for Barnes to take “I will take you to my new friends. You too, Captain Rogers. Hurry along.”
As he was dragged away, Barnes glanced anxiously behind him. Steven shook his head in indication that his sensibilities were not at all offended by Miss Rebecca’s upfront instruction, and hastened to catch up. In a flurry of ‘good evenings’ and ‘excuse me’s, Steven found himself standing on the other side of the ballroom being introduced to two fine young ladies. The first, a woman clothed in deep blue and gold with coils of vibrant fiery hair, was Countess Natalia Aliona Romanova, a Russian noble who was residing in London for the duration of the summer. The second, a strikingly beautiful brunette whose clothing and body held a simple elegance, was the widowed Lady Margaret Carter of St Martin’s Place. It was on her that Steven’s eyes lingered.
“Pleased to meet you.” Lady Carter smiled, taking Steven’s hand in hers “I often find these events a bore, but here I have found entertaining company.”
“Glad to oblige.” Barnes said. All of a sudden his merriness had dropped away to leave Barnes tense and uncomfortable. Lady Carter barely glanced at Barnes in acknowledgement before her gaze returned to Steven. Barnes, for his part, appeared to be restraining himself from glaring intently at Lady Carter. Steven wondered if their animosity was the product of an unfortunate love affair.
Lady Carter spoke again, asking Steven to dance. In light of his initial refusal, she placed a hand demurely on his arm and persisted “Pray do, I have been refusing offers from the most ghastly of men all the night! Should they see me engaged with a fine man such as yourself they will come to the inevitable conclusion and everyone involved shall be spared from a multitude of disappointments.”
Steven glanced at the grandfather clock visible through the throngs of people. According to the dial, it was very nearly eleven o’clock, so the night would soon be drawing to a close and Lady Carter was indeed a lovely woman.
“Very well, as your logic is so infallible.” Steven ceded, offering Lady Carter his hand “I am afraid I only know the simplest of the dances, so I may show you up.”
“No matter, Captain Rogers,” Lady Carter assured him warmly “you will soon learn to dance excellently.”
***
“Take cheer, brother dearest.” Becca said, patting Bucky’s back as he slumped “Captain Rogers will not abandon your friendship for romance so soon.”
“I am aware.” he replied tiredly, watching as Rogers and Carter skipped down through the partners “But I was enjoying our conversation.”
“Well,” Countess Romanova injected “I have danced enough for one night. Tell me, what do you experience as an English Lord?”