Characters: Blouse, Emmeline
Pairing: Blouse/Emmeline
Rating: A

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.

Thank You, Lord de Wincy
by Amazon Syren

     The hall was decked with garlands of paper flowers in a ‘riot' of colours, red and pink and gold, and cris-crossed with streamers in the school's blue and white colours. The place fairly buzzed with conversation and excitement. It was the night of the annual school ball.
     This year, the ‘gels' from Miss Amelia's Academy for Young Ladies of Quality were joining us for the event, and there had been talk of nothing else — well, almost nothing else (the school production of Hwel's ‘Octnight' was a topic of much conversation, even if I do say so myself) — for nearly a fortnight.

     And now the great night was here. The other ‘chaps' discussing their prospects of winning a dance (in some cases more than just a dance, but I've never associated with those sorts of fellows) with one of the Ladies of Quality.
     I confess that I, myself, was holding some such hopes in reserve, although I admit that they were not very strong hopes. I've never been very much of a ‘Casanunda', I'm afraid.

     Yet, perhaps fate was smiling on me that night, after all.

     Master Flautvik's Chamber Orchestra had only just ‘struck up' a gavotte, when I spotted her. She was sitting alone (and how could such a beautiful maiden be sitting alone on a night such as this?), and dressed in forget-me-not blue, a gown with a fetching but modest neckline (after three years as wardrobe-master for our school's theater troupe, a knew about these sorts of things) edged in lace. She had dark hair, the exact colour of a polished chestnut, that fell in soft curls about her face.

     I ventured closer.

     I do declare that my heart ‘skipped a beat' when I saw that she was reading the works of George Camden, Lord de Wincy!

     I had to speak to her. But how could I?
     How could I not?
     Comes the time, comes the man, is that not so? I asked myself, ‘plucking up' my courage as best I could.

     "I— I say," I ventured, carefully.
     She looked up, and I was struck dumb by the beauty of her gaze.
     "Truly," I managed, when I have found my voice, "all that's best of dark and light meet in the aspect of your eyes."
     She laughed, delightedly. Delightfully.
     "You've read Lord de Wincy!" she exclaimed.
     "Of— of course," I said, daring to sit beside her. "He's one of my favourites. I couldn't help but notice that you favour him as well."
     "I do," she replied, "and I am particularly fond of that verse!"
     "As am I," I told her, "and it suits you better than you know."
     She blushed so becomingly.
     "I— forgive me, I seem to have ‘gotten ahead' of myself. I am Rupert Blouse. I'm to become an ensign upon graduation. May I have the honour of your acquaintance?"
     "Well then you will surely be a hero, ensign Blouse," she said to me. Oh, how I hoped I would not fail her! "Emmeline Forsythe," she said, offering me her hand. I bowed low over her delicate fingers, though I dared not kiss them. Not yet.
     But there are some things that one must dare to do.
     "I— I must say, Miss Emmeline... I have fairly ‘lost my heart' to a glance of your eyes," and then I met those luminous eyes and confessed my hope to her. "Would— would you consent to dance with me?"
     "Why, ensign Blouse," she said, beaming, "it would be my pleasure!"