Lazy Weekends

Jude scoffed. "I think you presume to know more than you actually do. Yes, pureblood men may seem keen to take on mistresses, but it is not a fault of blood, but of the downfalls of men. We men overestimate the power of beauty, but no more than women overestimate the power of emotion. Women want raw passion, with simultaneous devotion. I guarantee, one and the other are simply not compatible."

He scoffed. "Men would marry their mistresses if they could keep their wives. Marriage, though a financial drain, is a guarantee of more of what they like. Perhaps your qualms should be better placed on the institution of marriage, then, rather than those who commit the heinous act of ever attempting to remain in one." He smirked.

He sighed, as she seemed intent on both the independence of travel, with the excuses she held for not doing so now, and continued to speak of martyring herself in an unloving marriage. "Alright then. What happens if you have the unfortunate circumstance of finding yourself with a husband who dearly loves you - one so protective as to want to keep you close and all to himself? If you find yourself so unlucky as to be love, then what do you plan?"

It was an odd discussion to be having, certainly, and Cerelia Avery was well aware of this. What amused her most though was the fact that as she was quick to offend, Jude was quick to defend and though he seemed to stand by his opinion on the mistresses being wedded to their lovers, Cerelia could not help but feel as though everything they said was in an ideal world. Events did not always play out and just as not all Pureblood women gained awful husbands, not all mistresses married their lovers. It all rested upon a mixture of luck and a well, goodness only knows what.

Cerelia smiled placidly and raised her eyebrows in an airy reluctance to accept his point of view, the stubborn wretch.

“I speak from what I see.” She murmured with ease. “And I have seen many a marriage in my time, a dozen or more betrothals and the whispers of scandal. Haven’t we all?” She set her teacup down. “But I implore with you to forgive me my cynicism regardless. When allowed to speak upon the subject, I find I have tasteless opinions that would leave even my father with a queasy look on his face.” She smiled despite herself and even managed to laugh. “Perhaps I shall die a spinster instead and busy myself with cats so I do not have to place the blame in either basket, hmm?”

The girl’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, a steady smirk blooming upon her lips at Jude’s words. “Then I shall simply have to take him with me, won’t I?” She shook her head, knowing herself that her words were farcical. She had her place. Merlin knew she had her place and that wasn’t gallivanting around the world. She belonged in whatever manor house her future amour inherited from his decrepit father and there she would open her legs and pray a son would come of her trials.

“I don’t know. They’re all wearying dreams after all said and done. Surely reality will be much more interesting.” She winced, not quite even believing herself before looking up at Jude. “What about you? Surely you have your own set of meddling parents and half a dozen young women desperate to breed products of your virility?”

Jude could see he had worn her down a bit, though her expression showed that no actual convincing had been done. Jude imagined she had been too close to a marriage such as she was describing. Jude had never had to see, up close, the effects of a loveless marriage, having never seen the dynamic in his own home. He had been raised visiting the homes of other families, and the adults had always put on a show of orthodox love to convince Jude that the pureblood marriage system was superior.

"All is forgiven," Jude said. "Your eyes are fresh and have yet to see the full scope of the world. But I'm sure some could say the same to me." He smiled, and then winced at the idea of her ending up without a husband and surrounded by cats. "Don't pain me with that image! I swear, I'll beat you myself if you allow such a thing!" He smirked, to show his jest.

He smiled as she asserted she would drag a loving husband with her across the world, truly amused and warmed by the thought. He wouldn't put it past her to try.

"Reality has a way of reconciling itself to even the loftiest of dreams," Jude mused. Reality had worked out pretty well for him. At her question, he smiled and stretched out, always pleased to speak on his favorite subject - himself. "No, I was raised by a mother and grandmother who thought me too good for any woman to come along, so the only pressure to settle down is the pressing issue of desiring livelong commitment to a single woman." His final words dripped with sarcasm, for the man was certain settling would not suit him.

Often, Cerelia was given heady reminders that she was a child and it tested her steady patience to its limits more often than she would have liked. Jude had every right to question her opinions for he had years on her. What had always irked Cerelia was the way her bruisingly wild cousins would chide her for being too restrained and took careful with her affections while they were loose and free to love who they may.

They felt themselves grown men and women alike as they danced and jibed and drank and laughed and sang with abandon Cerelia could not imagine. They cackled and sniffed at the sight of their little cousin who was a near constant girl in their eyes, never changing her stance and always remaining the dreamy wretch that knew little of the world. Perhaps they were right but Cerelia did not shy at their administrations and remained benevolent; if only to confuse them.

Her embarrassment had returned full force as she realised her aimless prattle; talking about that which would befall her would not ease it. She dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap and exhaled shakily before snapping her eyes back to Jude’s, a faint flash of fear darting through them. She relaxed minutely at the seeing his smirk but couldn’t quite bring back the easy smile she’d worn previously.

A slight quirk of her lips was all she managed as she reached forward, hoping to busy herself with her tea, saddened instead to find that she had let it go cold. Regardless of the opposing temperature, Cerelia pulled her hands away as though she’d been burnt and buried them back in her lap, as if somehow the material of the dress would consume them and hopefully the rest of her and prevent her from saying anything more foolish.

“Your home is lovely,” Cerelia mumbled, looking up again as she tried, albeit hesitantly, to change the subject matter. “These arm chairs are very comfortable.” Cerelia cursed herself mentally. She could be as eloquent as she liked when she had buoyant confidence; feeling foolish had gone little to soften her tongue.

There had been a shift in their conversation from comfortable ease, to a sudden painful awareness of self that prevented feelings of comfortable companionship or familiarity. Now, Jude knew the fact of life that he was perfect and was never at fault when fault could be given. But, somehow, strangely, he found himself wondering whether blame ought to be assigned to him for this sudden change of atmosphere. He was, after all, the host, and a good host did not let a guest feel a chill.

The look Cerelia gave him unsettled him; which was not something Jude was used to feeling. Here was a man that could look confidently into the eyes of powerful men as he lied through his teeth to them. But when this young girl looked at him he suddenly felt... like the bad guy. Though, rationally, he had been in this position before, he had never considered himself a bad guy. So why the sudden insecurity.

She reached for tea, but pulled away. He searched her face, his own expression slowly slipping from smirk to puzzlement. She spoke, though all the spirit seemed drained from her words. She could have spoken about the weather with more passion, he was sure.

"I'm sorry," he said, deciding not to comment on her arbitrary small talk, "Have I said something to upset you? I assure you, I did not think little of you during our discussion. It is not often I meet young women that like to discuss the state of society, so I may have spoken with more self-assuredness than I meant to burden you with."

Oftentimes, at home, Adolphus would treat Cerelia with one of his delightfully triumphant smirks upon seeing her cowed and retiring. He would then take a generous slug of whisky or whatever it was he was drinking that evening, take a draw on the fat slugs he called cigars and blow the smoke in her direction. His smirk would only widen at the wrinkle of Cerelia’s nose and the cough she exhaled from her lungs as the smoke tried to infiltrate her body. He would dismiss her after that, more often than not pouring Erica a glass of wine; a testament to the favouritism, even though she was not his biological daughter. That was what left Cerelia the most riled but of course she was in no position to complain. She merely took her leave, ordered some wine, bread and cheese from one of the servants and retreated to her room, content to stay there, away from the facade of family and intelligence.

From Jude, Cerelia could not as easily withdraw and so she sat, the feelings of awkwardness leaving her feeling headachy and weary. She could leave, she supposed. The deal was done and there was little more to negotiate upon if their conversation was anything to go by. Cerelia blinked and looked up at Jude at his words, feigning a look of ignorance before averting her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders minutely, a gesture she quashed before it had even fully formed upon her person. She looked up again after a moment and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, the admittance dancing upon her tongue and in there air before she could even so much as think about stifling herself.

“No, I’m sorry I ...” Cerelia nibbled on her lip again before continuing. “I ... I just feel a bit silly is all.” She managed a somewhat breathless smile before dropping her gaze again. Her fingers twitched in her lap, desperate to pull or tug at her hair, but for the sake of the up-do she’d spent hours that morning trying to do, she instead linked her hands together. “I forgot my place and now I’m regretting it.” Cerelia managed another small smile before diverting her eyes towards the door. “I had better leave you, had I not? I’m sure you’re busy...” Yet, she did not make to move. She didn’t know why but she felt as though she needed to stay, that she should stay, even if it was only to make better a situation she had felt she had not been entirely ... ladylike in.

Jude took great pleasure in watching people squirm with discomfort - usually. He especially liked to be the cause of said comfort. His fellow higher officials in the Ministry were not big supporters nor practicers of discipline and, when discipline was absolutely necessary, they often left the job to him. This, of course, warranted no complaints from Jude. He loved placing people in his oversized chairs in his office, staring them down, and then asking them, very quietly, if they knew why he had called them in. He loved asking the double-edged questions, like "Do you feel you've been doing the best work you could be doing?" He loved watching them avert their eyes, writhe, swallow, sweat, and squeak as they attempted to cope with the stress.

He saw some of these symptoms in Cerelia, though they were much more fine and subtle in her, but he found that he exacted no pleasure from watching it unfold - and he had the gnawing suspicion that he had somehow contributed to he present state. Perhaps because she was so young, he could not feel happy to see her ill at ease. Or perhaps because it was so different from the attitude that had initially charmed her.

She may be finding her place, but Jude was learning to forget it.

"Your place? But, Miss Avery, surely you recall what we have been speaking of. You, as a woman, have no rightful place." He smiled, leaning forward in an attempt to catch her eye and convince her that he enjoyed this playful sort of interaction. "But, really, is it not comforting to have the freedom by being in between the negative connotations of childhood and all of the responsibilities of adulthood?" He knew she may have been hinting at a desire to escape his presence, but now, he wanted her presence, and would not lose it easily. "You are no burden. I still have far too many scones than I will be able to finish on my own."

An underlying twinge of anger sparked in Cerelia’s eyes at Jude’s words but she sucked back, determined not to snap a retort at him; no rightful place, indeed. While that might have been quite true, Cerelia was not prepared to merely lie down and accept it. She was an Avery woman, she reminded herself, beginning to regain her stubborn pride. She had a rightful place in the Vale, in her home. She had every right to what it was that she was owed. She was an Avery. She was a Pureblood. She... she... she didn’t have land or money of her own and certainly no financial backing. She had no loyal wands or disinterestedly kind family. She was owed nothing and indeed, held no rightful place to her name.

Yet Jude did not mean it maliciously, she realised with a start. He did not speak with a forked tongue but instead one that was bracingly honest. She managed a shy smile and sat back a little, avoiding his eyes as a warmth invaded her cheeks and swirled her cheeks pink. She cleared her throat as her mouth came to a point, a soft pout, and she moved her eyes back to Jude as he mentioned the scones. Cerelia raked her eyes down over the table and her stomach grumbled beneath her dress in response, seemingly agreeing with Jude. Her hands found her stomach on reflex and her colour deepened, skirting down her neck and beneath the material of her dress; reaching, she was sure, even to the tips of her toes.

“Pardon me,” She murmured, dropping her eyes. “I...” Cerelia bit her lip and turned her eyes away, diverting them to one of the windows as she tried to form a suitable response. She was feeling herself coming undone around Jude and she wasn’t entirely sure how to claw herself back.

“I feel as though I’ve completely lost my countenance,” she confided in him after a moment, moving her gaze back to his. “Perhaps you could find it for me? It might be on the floor somewhere, dead, under a stray pair of shoes.”

She smiled, though her joke was not funny, and reached forward for a scone which she broke in half with nimble fingers and set it down on the saucer, moving her teacup to the side. She reached for the pot of jam set down with the rest of the tea items and twisted the lid off before fishing into the jar with a knife in order to get a sizable amount to put on her scone. She was neutral on the jam front but her favourite had to be strawberry and was infinitely glad that Jude kept it. After slathering on the jam, she set down her knife and looked at him once more, her smile far more playful this time, matching his.

“If you wish to have me as company then, Jude Shaw,” Cerelia began, a flirtatious glint appearing in her eye as she regained more of her boldness. “Then how may I entertain you further?”

It had been a long time since Jude had interacted with a teenaged girl, not since his early years in the Ministry where he had young interns following him about every which way he went, and he could not remember if the continually changing, fleeting expressions in their eyes was something found across the board, of if Cerelia was different in that she seemed to constantly be fighting back some new emotion that was attempting to present itself through her eyes.

Jude had not intended on having such a trying conversation this morning. He had wanted to fiddle around in the garden, go for a stroll, perhaps call on Elijak Krum or his Rookwood family, and enjoy a day that was reserved for himself. Yes, business had been enough to tempt him away, and a pretty face had erased any regret, but now he wondered whether or not his relaxation was worth giving up.

One look into the girl's quietly spirited eyes convinced him otherwise.

She began and quit a sentence twice, before finally piecing together a clever little remark that urged a smile onto his lips. "Aha! She lives! I was afraid some stuffy pureblood woman without a personality had killed you and taken your body."

She indulged herself in a scone and he reached for one himself, diving right in and taking a bite from it as she prepared one for herself. A flirty smile, batted eyes, and a proposal he could not refuse. Ah, his kind of woman - girl. She's a girl, he reminded himself sternly.

Still, he could not help but have his fun.

"Hmm... What would keep me occupied?" He looked up thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. His eyes lowered onto her and he leaned forward, grinning maliciously. "Tell me a secret, Miss Avery. I swear my secrecy, and I shall never breathe a word. But tell me a good secret. A rivalry with a supposed family friend. A sinful night Daddy must never hear about. Or perhaps a man that you know you're not supposed to like and yet..." He grinned. "Tell me a secret."

Truly, Cerelia was overjoyed to still find Jude so jovial. She had feared that he would grow weary and irritated with her opinions as so many before him but Cerelia was now finding that it was better to judge on the person and not on past experiences; certainly, it hadn’t served her to do so in the past. She flashed a smile at Jude before bringing the jam-laden scone to her mouth and she finished it quickly, aware of the messiness that was eating, before reaching to pour herself some more tea, moving with expert ease to top up Jude’s cup first before her own.

The girl looked up at his words and felt the flush of blood against her cheeks once more. She didn’t want to end up like a stuffy old house with too many antiques, far too many fur pelts and a great lack of anything in the way of personality. No, she wanted to be a house with more than too many antiques but spirited with modern pieces and faux fur if she had to have any at all and more personality than the walls could contain. Obviously it would be a trial but she didn’t want to be bland. Only those content and wise enough to preserve themselves were content in blandness and Cerelia certainly wasn’t.

“Ah! Only for a moment,” Cerelia responded with quick wit. “You see, I was tricking you.” She grinned and winked before sitting back, bringing her teacup with her to rest against the base of her throat.

Cerelia laughed a little as Jude thought most dramatically but her eyebrows shot to her hairline and she wriggled a little in her seat when he demanded a secret from her. She averted her eyes, her lips coming together in a playful pout as she too thought but laughed as some of his words registered.

“A sinful night?!” Cerelia snorted. She was a good girl, so she told herself. “Alright, well, only if you tell me one!” She squared it first before putting down her teacup and reaching for the other half of her scone. She hummed thoughtfully for a moment as she chewed it and swallowed before speaking. “The Avery residence is made of stone...it’s a, uh, castle really, I suppose. In the nights when I am overheated I sit in the window without smallclothes and cool myself on the stone. Though, that is far more practical than secretive. The secret would be that I enjoy the humiliation upon the faces of my father’s household staff when they done the same nakedness and jitter in the chills of the castle.” Cerelia’s mouth morphed into a smirk and she shook her head. “There, Welsh stone is the best way to cool overheated skin. Now give me a secret of yours.”