As Yet Untitled - Part One, Chapter Four.

Chapter Five. 
The three girls and Lady Woodcount were visiting some friends who had stayed on in London despite the Season having finished. Her aunt had warned Ida that her friends had a son who was an eccentric who might well be there, on no account should Lady Beechwood find out if he were. Ida had frankly been disappointed when she met the Count and Countess of Buckley who seemed very nice but very normal. In fact Ida had let her mind wonder to what her brother and his friends must be doing. It was as she looked over her shoulder at the world rushing past the window that the door to the Drawing Room was flung open by a young man with flushed cheeks and a serious face. 
 “This is my son Marcus, Lady Woodcount you know already, and these are her charming nieces the ladies Beechwood, their friend Lady carraway, sit down and have some tea with us.”
 “Good afternoon ladies, how do you do, delighted to meet you”
After the introductions were made by the Countess polite conversation once more ensued. However, Ida found herself once more distracted. Lord Marcus Buckley never let his gaze leave her face, she found it very disconcerting and yet there was something exciting in his relentless observation. 
 When the Countess rang the bell for their carriage to be brought to the door, Ida stole another glance at the unusual man and found he still watched her, there was something darkly melancholic about his face and his cheeks still held their almost feverish blush. As they rose and made their goodbyes, Ida expected some sort of acknowledgement from him but none came and they left the house to step into her aunt’s carriage having only shared a simple nod. 
 When they reached home near Hyde Park (???) Lady Woodcount was greatly looking forward to supper in the company of the young ladies and her step was eager as they entered her house and gave up their hats to the waiting footmen. There were two notes waiting for them on the silver platter held by the Butler, Lady Woodcount instinctively took both but a surprised Ida was handed one addressed to her in an extravagant hand she did not recognise, it simply said;
“Lady Beechwood would you sit for a painting? It would be a great honour for me.
Your faithful servant M.Buckley.”
 “Who writes to you?”
Mary asked but Ida simply told her that a friend would like to meet if they had time, as she turned to her aunt she tucked the note away. 
 “It seems the gentlemen have joined up and are having a small gathering to celebrate at your house across the park. They would like your company.”
Mary noticed straight away that their aunt seemed disappointed at their going out, while Mary delighted in dancing she was not sure this was the sort of gathering of which her mother would approve, she assured her aunt that they would stay with her instead. She ignored Ida’s disappointed expression. 
 The time between their arriving home and the appropriate time to change for dinner seemed to pass more slowly than anything else on earth ever had. Ida frequently looked out across the park and imagined that she could see Henry and his companions becoming steadily more jolly and red-faced as they drank to their success. She had always loved it when Henry’s school friends had come to stay at Beechwood in the summer holidays or when they had gone to the Scottish estate for the shooting. They were a gregarious lot who were great fun. As Ida had never experienced school they terrified her with stories of beatings and told her that they had lessons with princes. She was never sure of what she could really believe but loved their tales all the same. As she sat in the ornate Drawing Room of her aunt whom Ida had always thought of as rather a free spirit compared to Lady Beechwood, she felt with resentment that perhaps the sisters were more similar than she had thought. Lady Beechwood often accused her sister of having the most odd people in her inner circles, artists, suffragettes and even the odd criminal but now Ida saw that this must just have been more of her mother’s fears than the actual reality. By thinking this she had reminded herself of the note she had received from the very odd young man, the artist she supposed she should call him. There, in the hushed femine room, she decided she would sit for him. He must be drawn to the unusual rather than the beautiful she thought, or else he would have asked one of the others. How terribly wrong she was to think so. Ida made two decisions as she sat there staring unseeing at a book, the first was the painting and the second was to ask her friend how one trained to be a nurse. The day before she had read an article in the newspaper, it had been cramped in a corner of the page and stated that a small number of artistoricric young ladies had begun to train as nurses. The article seemed to tell this with fear causing it’s voice to quake rather than with pride and this angered Ida to her surprise. She felt a small rebellion was needed in response to her missing Henry’s party, however childlike it may seem.