Title: Feast
Dedication: aella_irene
Characters: Lord Allendale, Lady Allendale, Laurence, assorted other people
Summary: Lord and Lady Allendale host a Christmas party. Laurence, as usual, does not enjoy himself.
Word Count: 660
Notes: Written for aella_irene, who wanted Chistmas and Lord and Lady Allendale. In case you couldn’t tell, this fic takes place at some point in the past, when Laurence was still in the navy. Happy reading. ♥


“It seems,” said Lord Allendale, esteemed holder of Wollaton Hall and a man with eyes for the fine, “that he is quite late.” He swirled his wine lightly, taking an absent sip and grimacing less from its taste than from his own displeasure.

“He will be along shortly, my dear,” said his wife, the Lady Allendale, dressed in her richest gown, strings of the finest pearls settled around her neck and bosom. “Pray do not worry about him; look, there are the Cranleys! I do not believe we have properly greeted them this evening.”

“The boy will most likely fail to even show up,” he grumbled half-heartedly in reply, scanning the room as if expecting his youngest son be hiding in some shadowy corner. “Such a thing would not surprise me at all.”

“Come now,” she chided gently, “we shall greet our guests foremost, and then worry about him if it comes to it.” He stood and allowed her to take his arm, still obviously displeased, and the two of them glided across the room to engage in light talk.

Wollaton Hall seemed especially gaudy at this time; great shining crucifixes had been brought out for the occasion and were on prominent display, and great bouquets of poinsettias were painstakingly arranged in the spirit of the season. The guests had, for the most part, already gathered, and in a much greater number than nearly any other time of the year. Lord and Lady Allendale were known to host a large dinner shortly after Christmas every winter, and this current year seemed to be exceptionally good, judging from the aromas drifting surreptitiously from the kitchens.

They maintained a polite conversation with the Cranleys for quite some time (Lord Allendale had formerly hunted with Joseph Cranley; there was not a want of a subject), until it was apparently that the guests were growing restless, and it would be only decent to dine soon. The lord of the house was obviously still a bit disgruntled, but when he stood, he called the guests to dinner with only the faintest trace of impatience. His initial toast was brisk, yet managed to rouse a hearty appetite from the company, and they collectively dug into the first course (rich creamy soup, with a side of baked oysters) with relish.

He glanced only a few times towards the empty seat--where his youngest son ought to have been sitting--before successfully conversing with his neighbor, the young Lady Herline. The table’s chatter was lively and pleasant, with the meal itself being more than adequate. Lady Allendale strove valiantly to keep the atmosphere merry, talking animatedly with anyone in range, and occasionally giving her husband a nervous look. He ate with vigor. The next course was brought out: roast pork, still steaming and flavored with a sauce of vegetables. The company indulged themselves just as eagerly. By the time the dishes had been cleared and plum pudding had been set upon the table, the guests had considerably mellowed.

As the click of dining-ware was finally subsided, a young man tentatively entered the hall, looking sunburnt and wind-blown for all his nice clothing. He hung back politely at the threshold, but upon sight Lady Allendale quite nearly leapt to her feet, rushing to her youngest son and embracing him fiercely. “Oh, Will!” she cried happily, and the party stirred among themselves, sneaking glances without seeming too obtrusive. “You must eat, we have plenty of food left! Come now, dearest.” He followed gratefully, taking her eager lead to a place at the table; the guests reinitiated a few shaky conversations so as not to seem too rude. The young man met his father’s gaze, and halted, inclining his head slightly.

Lord Allendale did not break the gaze, but rather, stared imperiously back. Will Laurence hung his head abashedly, taking a seat beside his mother. He feasted to the idle chatter of his father’s acquaintances, and to the silence of his father.