GROUP OPEN Wellington Beauty Hour

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Frederick Wellington
Male | 23 | mr.


Perhaps there is a scandal in the knowledge that Frederick dabbled himself in business. It was, after all an occupation, and the only thing a man from the peerage should occupy himself with was how he was esteemed in society. An esteem that, for the Wellingtons, would be impossible to keep if they insisted on the old ways of procuring their fortune. Not with two sons and four daughters all at marriageable age, and the scars of the past generation still fresh. Scandal was part of their fame anyway, what with the baron and baroness having done their part already, so there wasn't much Frederick could ruin more, other than potentially failing and falling into debt, which wasn’t even uncommon amongst the peers.

"As popularised by Marie Antoinette herself," the second son had started, pointing at a giant generator in the room attached to a bath. The crackle of electricity coursing through it, foreign and alien, promised the start of a new era and another trend to jump on as Frederick led his family around in the exhibition that centred around this particular device amongst many others. Months of organisation, years of travel and of funds, filled with nights of sleeplessness as Frederick worried himself and his partners, before finally throwing open the doors, had resulted in the exhibition today, in London, where he was now at the privilege to lead his parents and siblings around for free. For anyone else who wanted to see the exotic collection of the newest beauty fads about to be introduced to fashionable society, entry cost a pretty penny, if only to earn back the costs of organisation.

If the Wellingtons were known to lack courage they were in luck that there was already a lady standing on the platform, hairs pointing into all directions as the charged energy coursed through her, eliciting giggles and squeals from her while she zapped and sparkled and crackled. For the crowd she was just another visitor, like them, but Frederick knew that the missus standing there was specifically paid to draw in attention and more investors, and to put down a convincing act that there was absolutely no danger, other than turning dangerously beautiful.

“A natural rouge, as you can see,” Frederick exclaimed, pointing at the flush in the cheeks of the woman standing, accentuating her cheekbones, while her hair remained a bird’s nest of a mess. There seemed to be even something static and mechanical about the way she moved when she stepped off the platform, as the operator of the machinery rushed along to quickly fix the bun in her hair. The ‘rouge’ remained, blushing cheeks on fair skin and a little crackle in her hair and clothes remaining, one could say that she was sparking.

“Who wants to try? There is also a bath version, but I fancy that mother won’t approve getting drenched in public,” the male offered, not adding in the mental line that the electrically charged bathwater version hadn’t received either his funding or his approval after seeing it in action once.

Seeing his youngest sister jump up and down Frederick was quick to add in another remark, smiling at the siblings that generally were harder to control, “it would be a shame to miss out on the dinner special I brought with me,” the mystery rang, another one of the Wellington son’s little surprises brought back from his long voyages.

@Diana, @firejay1, @PavellumPendulum @whoeverwantstocrashthispartywithanacceptedcharacter
 
Emilie handed over the entry fee with serious misgivings. For one thing, it was not cheap. While Professor Dalrymple was more than comfortable in matters of finance, he was no modern Solomon.

For another, in all likelihood this 'Exhibition' consisted of some mountebank with a rickety friction machine and some Leyden jars. In her travels with the Professor, she had encountered more than one such scoundrel offering electrical jolts to people with more money than sense, promising cures for everything from infertility to baldness.

If that was not enough, this particular showman was offering it as a method of beauty enhancement.

Nonetheless, Emilie let go of the bills and allowed herself to be shown inside. Her primary purpose in coming here was to determine if this Mr. Wellington's exhibition might represent competition for Professor Dalrymple's Cabinet of Curiosities, or worse, the sort of spectacle that might cast all natural philosophy demonstrations in a bad light.

But...if he is a true inventor, perhaps he could become a colleague? she thought, not exactly clinging to that faint hope, but keeping it close at hand. Aside from the Professor and his wife Maergarethe (and the Professor less and less as his mental acuity faded), Emilie had no one she could truly talk to...

Even if that were possible, it would be far from easy. Mr. Wellington would want to be a colleague to the Professor, not his assistant, and a mere girl besides. So any actual conversations would have to be mediated through the Professor, and that would be considerably more difficult to manage than lectures and scripted demonstrations.

"As popularized by Marie Antoinette herself," the young presenter said, gesturing to a woman crackling with electricity so that her hair stood out like a dandelion at seed. Emilie gave a subtle smirk. This display was at least impressive in scale, if not in philosophical rigor.

I'm not so sure that is the best pitch, she thought.

The electrical device was not the only thing on offer. There was an array of covered displays awaiting unveiling; creams, unguents, and tonics, perhaps. Or other sorts of dubious contraptions--

"There is also a bath version, but I fancy that mother won't approve getting drenched in public," he said. That caught Emilie's full attention. There was more than one way that electrical charges combined with water could be dangerous.

Emilie wore a simple dark work dress, so she remained beneath the notice of the society ladies as she strode past them to inspect the bath apparatus. Clasping her hands behind her back, she bent at the waist, carefully examining the device, eyes lit with sharp focus.

Natural philosophy is not an amusement for the learned, but a mighty power that can liberate humankind from the chains of toil!
EMILIE RIEBAU
House of the Inventor

Emilie handed over the entry fee with serious misgivings. For one thing, it was not cheap. While Professor Dalrymple was more than comfortable in matters of finance, he was no modern Solomon.

For another, in all likelihood this 'Exhibition' consisted of some mountebank with a rickety friction machine and some Leyden jars. In her travels with the Professor, she had encountered more than one such scoundrel offering electrical jolts to people with more money than sense, promising cures for everything from infertility to baldness.

If that was not enough, this particular showman was offering it as a method of beauty enhancement.

Nonetheless, Emilie let go of the bills and allowed herself to be shown inside. Her primary purpose in coming here was to determine if this Mr. Wellington's exhibition might represent competition for Professor Dalrymple's Cabinet of Curiosities, or worse, the sort of spectacle that might cast all natural philosophy demonstrations in a bad light.

But...if he is a true inventor, perhaps he could become a colleague? she thought, not exactly clinging to that faint hope, but keeping it close at hand. Aside from the Professor and his wife Maergarethe (and the Professor less and less as his mental acuity faded), Emilie had no one she could truly talk to...

Even if that were possible, it would be far from easy. Mr. Wellington would want to be a colleague to the Professor, not his assistant, and a mere girl besides. So any actual conversations would have to be mediated through the Professor, and that would be considerably more difficult to manage than lectures and scripted demonstrations.

"As popularized by Marie Antoinette herself," the young presenter said, gesturing to a woman crackling with electricity so that her hair stood out like a dandelion at seed. Emilie gave a subtle smirk. This display was at least impressive in scale, if not in philosophical rigor.

I'm not so sure that is the best pitch, she thought.

The electrical device was not the only thing on offer. There was an array of covered displays awaiting unveiling; creams, unguents, and tonics, perhaps. Or other sorts of dubious contraptions--

"There is also a bath version, but I fancy that mother won't approve getting drenched in public," he said. That caught Emilie's full attention. There was more than one way that electrical charges combined with water could be dangerous.

Emilie wore a simple dark work dress, so she remained beneath the notice of the society ladies as she strode past them to inspect the bath apparatus. Clasping her hands behind her back, she bent at the waist, carefully examining the device, eyes lit with sharp focus.

code by wren.
 
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Maergarethe gave a subtle smile, eyes twinkling. Emilie was being flawlessly polite, but she could tell the girl was straining to hold herself back from heading for Mr. Wellington's presentation with swift, purposeful strides.

"Why don't you go on ahead, dear?" she said. Emilie's eyes went wide with apology. "It's perfectly alright," she said, giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "The show is bound to begin at any moment, and it certainly won't wait for an old woman whose need for beauty products is long past."

Emilie bit her lip. "But..."

"Go on. I'll be along in my own time," Maergarethe said, her cane tapping on cobblestones.

"Thank you," Emilie said softly, then headed out with--sure enough--swift, purposeful strides. Whenever it came to her work, the girl was all focus. The mission, always the mission, to be executed with maximum efficiency.

She has a clock running on her life, Maergarethe thought. Well, so do I, but mine is an hourglass, and I'm in no hurry to make the sand flow... She looked up into the branches of a big, old twisting oak planted next to the path, and smiled. Hello there, she thought, placing her hand on its rough bark, and taking a moment to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and commune with its spirit. You were here before me, Grandfather, and you will be here long after I am gone...

As promised, Maergarethe did make her way to the presentation. She ignored the odd look from the doorman as she handed over her entry fee, and drifted into the crowded hall. It took her a few minutes to spot Emilie, bent over critically examining a bathtub that seemed to be connected to the larger assemblage of gadgetry Mr. Wellington was operating.

Setting out in her direction, Maergarethe turned to the stage, gave the young man a look-over, and arched an eyebrow. "Ah, there you are," she said to Emilie as she reached her side. "I'm sure you can suss out all this jiggery-pokery without any help from me," she said, then leaned closer for discretion. "But what do you think of Mr. Wellington? He does cut a fine figure..."

Emilie snapped out of her inventress trance and gave Maergarethe a look of confusion, followed by shock. "He's a charlatan!" she hissed under her breath.

"Is that so? You've falsified...whatever claims he's making about electrical charges as a beauty enhancer then?"

"Well...no, but there's no evidence--"

"That you know of. Perhaps you ought to engage him in a debate..." Maergarethe's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Emilie paled. "You don't think-- You can't be--" she stammered.

"He might be a charlatan, I suppose. Or he could honestly believe this contraption works. It's not even impossible that it does, is it? He is, at least, interested in matters of natural philosophy and invention. Perhaps all he needs is a guiding hand, a muse. With any luck, he might even become much more than merely a replacement for dear William: a true partner for you, someone who shares your passion for discovery and invention. Someone who can love you for who you are."

Emilie stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the floor. "I can't...just expect something like that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Of course not. Discovery is the opposite of expectation, is it not? You know as well as I do that discovery only happens when you face the unknown and set out for the horizon with no expectations, no assurances that you know what awaits you. Don't look so frightened dear. I'm not going to drive the pair of you to the altar at sword-point tomorrow. I do not know if he is right for you any more than you do.

"But if you would allow me to present you to him, we could at least begin the journey toward finding out. There is no hurry. You will get where you're going in your own time. It's not even necessary to think of him as a potential husband. Perhaps he could become a patron, or simply a friend you can talk about electrical..." Maergarethe gave a gesture toward the device, "...things with."

Maergarethe
Maergarethe gave a subtle smile, eyes twinkling. Emilie was being flawlessly polite, but she could tell the girl was straining to hold herself back from heading for Mr. Wellington's presentation with swift, purposeful strides.

"Why don't you go on ahead, dear?" she said. Emilie's eyes went wide with apology. "It's perfectly alright," she said, giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "The show is bound to begin at any moment, and it certainly won't wait for an old woman whose need for beauty products is long past."

Emilie bit her lip. "But..."

"Go on. I'll be along in my own time," Maergarethe said, her cane tapping on cobblestones.

"Thank you," Emilie said softly, then headed out with--sure enough--swift, purposeful strides. Whenever it came to her work, the girl was all focus. The mission, always the mission, to be executed with maximum efficiency.

She has a clock running on her life, Maergarethe thought. Well, so do I, but mine is an hourglass, and I'm in no hurry to make the sand flow... She looked up into the branches of a big, old twisting oak planted next to the path, and smiled. Hello there, she thought, placing her hand on its rough bark, and taking a moment to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and commune with its spirit. You were here before me, Grandfather, and you will be here long after I am gone...

As promised, Maergarethe did make her way to the presentation. She ignored the odd look from the doorman as she handed over her entry fee, and drifted into the crowded hall. It took her a few minutes to spot Emilie, bent over critically examining a bathtub that seemed to be connected to the larger assemblage of gadgetry Mr. Wellington was operating.

Setting out in her direction, Maergarethe turned to the stage, gave the young man a look-over, and arched an eyebrow. "Ah, there you are," she said to Emilie as she reached her side. "I'm sure you can suss out all this jiggery-pokery without any help from me," she said, then leaned closer for discretion. "But what do you think of Mr. Wellington? He does cut a fine figure..."

Emilie snapped out of her inventress trance and gave Maergarethe a look of confusion, followed by shock. "He's a charlatan!" she hissed under her breath.

"Is that so? You've falsified...whatever claims he's making about electrical charges as a beauty enhancer then?"

"Well...no, but there's no evidence--"

"That you know of. Perhaps you ought to engage him in a debate..." Maergarethe's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Emilie paled. "You don't think-- You can't be--" she stammered.

"He might be a charlatan, I suppose. Or he could honestly believe this contraption works. It's not even impossible that it does, is it? He is, at least, interested in matters of natural philosophy and invention. Perhaps all he needs is a guiding hand, a muse. With any luck, he might even become much more than merely a replacement for dear William: a true partner for you, someone who shares your passion for discovery and invention. Someone who can love you for who you are."

Emilie stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the floor. "I can't...just expect something like that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Of course not. Discovery is the opposite of expectation, is it not? You know as well as I do that discovery only happens when you face the unknown and set out for the horizon with no expectations, no assurances that you know what awaits you. Don't look so frightened dear. I'm not going to drive the pair of you to the altar at sword-point tomorrow. I do not know if he is right for you any more than you do.

"But if you would allow me to present you to him, we could at least begin the journey toward finding out. There is no hurry. You will get where you're going in your own time. It's not even necessary to think of him as a potential husband. Perhaps he could become a patron, or simply a friend you can talk about electrical..." Maergarethe gave a gesture toward the device, "...things with."


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The Wellingtons
Frederick | 2nd son | Male | 23 | mr.
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss


Between the long absences of her second brother Frederick always returned with the wildest stories and most outrageous contraptions, the machine now facing them being, to date, the most ridiculous one.

“Please don’t,” Melinda hissed at Eloise who had so eagerly raised her hand to try out some of the more suspicious contraptions, to which the youngest had rolled her eyes and mimicked Melinda’s words right back at her.

“Freddy only brings these back because of you and Euphy, you know that, right?” came the quip from the youngest, reminding Melinda forever of what had started this all. A lamentation, truly, for if Melinda had known that jokingly putting snails on the face of her sister would have resulted in this she would have never agreed.

“As if he believes in any of it himself,” came her sputtered response, which wasn’t a lie either. None truly did, but they tried anyway, for the thought of ageing was perhaps more daunting of a prospect than anything.

To this her brother had caught air of the whispers between the sisters, his smile never-fading, as expected from the investor who had to work hard to charm his way around. “All scientific approaches start with observation, dear sister. My eternal pursuit is borne out of love for you,” he teases, unable to help himself as he places his arm on top of Melinda’s head. An action that earns him a good kick in the back of his knee that nearly buckles the tall man over if he wasn’t so used to the abuses of his sister.

“Now, we already observed that and all it gives is an awful lot of pain,” Frederick teases before Melinda is about to follow up with a punch before jutting her chin towards the bath that her brother had discouraged them from earlier.

“Maybe you should get to work,” the short female exclaims in disdain, as Frederick straightens himself, watching the pair of grandmother and granddaughter discuss matters with each other.

“If you so wish I can ask an assistant to demonstrate the bath? I wouldn’t want to spoil that lovely dress,” Frederick was quick to offer, at ease as ever and adamant to hide his own suspicion over the bath that had not been his choice of technological wonder to be introduced. Alas, liability was unlikely, so the barrister consulted had convinced him, though it still didn’t sit well to think of it.
 
Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

Maergarethe smiled subtly as she observed the interaction of Mr. Wellington with the young ladies who joined him. The ease and familiarity they shared indicated that they were sisters or close relations. "He's coming," she whispered as they began to approach.

That gave Emilie time to gather herself.

Maergarethe gave a little laugh in response to Frederick's offer. "I am no doubt well beyond the reach of whatever efficacy your device may have," she said. "I am Baronetess Maergarethe Dalrymple. May I present Miss Emilie Riebau? She has been assistant to my husband, Professor William Dalrymple, Fellow of the Royal Society for some years now, and has become quite capable as a natural philosopher and inventress in her own right."

Emilie shot her a "Don't tell him!" look, but Maergarethe ignored it. "I suspect that she is more interested in the technical workings of your device than in its application as a substitute for cosmetics," she said, then turned to Emilie. "Would you like to see a demonstration, dear?"

Emilie stood stiffly, chin up, facing the Wellingtons as one might resolutely face a firing squad. "Thank you sir, but...that will not be necessary," she said after some hesitation. "Respectfully sir, I am concerned about its safety. Are...are you familiar with the work of Sir Humphrey Davy?"
 
Euphemia Wellington
24 | Miss | A solitary flower

Euphemia rarely strayed from her goals. Perhaps persistent was not the type of word most would assign to her, since most were quicker to toss around the comment of beautiful, but... The beat was never missed, a condition to their compliment. Beautiful, but avoidant. Beautiful, but lost in her own world. Beautiful, but far too strange. The gossip had never bothered her much, since her main desire at all times was not to worry about the unimportant thoughts of a faceless crowd, but to pursue beauty, in herself, in others and in the world around her. That was, in fact, why she'd decided to attend the London exhibition with her siblings and parents, as she did every year that it was open to the public.

Frederick always returned from his travels with such wonderful things to share, from new and fragrant warming creams made of crushed bee stingers to hair oils made from pressed roses, coating her fingers until they were slick and pink. She watched with interest as the woman on the platform giggled, magic being worked upon her, Frederick quick to explain the effects of the machine and what it could provide people like her... A natural rouge? A subtle glow to already radiant skin?

"How wonderful..." Euphy sighed almost dreamily, eyes following the woman who was being chatted up by other admirers at the exhibition, her hair still waving as though it had a mind of her own. That side effect was perhaps less beautiful, but truthfully, she had always been of the mindset that beauty was not always naturally acquired. It could be cultivated, it could be earned, but rarely was it ever effortless or easy. Frederick's investments abroad and locally were testaments to this. She eventually looked back to her siblings, seeing Melinda deliver a sturdy kick to their brother's knee. "Very interesting contraptions, as usual, Frederick." she was nodding as if agreeing with herself, pleased with his findings as per usual, "Though you might not need it. A punch from Melinda might be enough to give you enough natural rouge to last through the rest of the day."

A faint smile graced her lips, though it soon dissipated when strangers approached them, an older woman and someone else, perhaps her daughter. They soon introduced themselves, a baronetess and her husband's assistant. The girl brought up some Sir Humphrey Davey, whoever that was. Euphemia found herself sending a glance in Melinda's direction, as if to silently ask if she knew who they were or even found them familiar. They had done much people watching over the years together, though Melinda tended to remember far better than she did, since most uninteresting faces were nearly instantly forgotten on her end.
 

The Wellingtons
Frederick | 2nd son | Male | 23 | mr.
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss


The Wellington siblings were as colourful in personality as they were in appearance. Pretty Euphemia, enhancing her ethereal looks with the way her mind drifted off into another world, only present for a little while. Short Melinda whose personality tried to make up for what she lacked in height. Silly Eloise who so ardently wished she had been born a male instead and tall and clumsy Frederick who flashed the sisters a sympathetic smile before reeling himself in from any more teasing, a feeling of admiration settling in at the mention of the identities of the newcomers.

“An honour, dame, and to you as well miss Riebau,” Frederick slips right back into the carefully taught manners of the governess, a curious glint thrown into the direction of the little miss that turned out to be the assistant, and even further thrown at the audacity in her manners as miss Riebau spent no time waiting for their introductions as she inquired after others. A lack of manners that relieved the Wellingtons, for none seemed accustomed to behaving in public despite all lessons they had. It was just never in their nature, given the threats exchanged.

“I am familiar, just as I know the name of professor Dalrymple,” Frederick continued, his attention flitting from miss Riebau over to the Baronetess before turning his shoulders ever so subtly to make a gesture into the direction of his sisters. “Frederick Wellington, and these are my sisters, Miss Euphemia, Miss Melinda and Miss Eloise.” The gestures were pointed, making sure to go from oldest to youngest while making clear who was who. Frederick wasn’t actually wishing to be punched by Melinda, after all, not if he could help it before turning back to the pair, curiosity returning as he eyed Miss Riebau in particular.

“Sci-en-ti-st,” Eloise had mouthed behind Frederick’s back at Euphemia, not missing out on the questioning look on her oldest sister’s face, nor the cluelessness on Melinda’s face who immediately frowned at the word, glancing over at the brother’s back ahead of them who seemed entirely in his element for once.

“Of what?” Melinda had whispered back, craning her neck to get to the height of both her sisters, while Eloise bend down through her knees to reach to the older miss before they both snapped back into position as Frederick introduced them, his voice carrying on in confidence as the answer to her question soon followed;

“Having studied the field of electrochemistry and as an assistant of the professor, I won’t be able to hide the voids in its design to you, miss,” Frederick readily admitted, stepping closer to the bath before bending down in the same manner as miss Riebau had done earlier, “but as these conventions are oft meant to be, this bath as well is a prototype of a dear friend who asked me to present,” he continued, rising up straight once more without ever getting near the water.

“So, if Miss Riebau has any ideas, whether for improvements, or her own, I welcome it all with open arms,” he concluded, unconcerned about being challenged at his own convention. None presented were of his invention after all, he was merely a medium to all.

“Electrochemistry?” Melinda repeats in a low voice, wondering what that even means before eyeing Eloise with another look, “and how did you know?” came her rather flabbergasted question, to which the youngest shrugs at both her sisters.

“I read.”
 
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Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

Too late, Emilie realized that she had forgotten to wait for Mr. Wellington to introduce his sisters and go through the expected exchanges of banal pleasantries before bringing up the device. Maergarethe had done her best to teach her...Emilie didn't really think of it as 'etiquette' or 'manners,' so much as an elaborate game of posturing and pretending in order to impress others who were doing the same things in order to impress oneself. Well, if 'oneself' happened to be a member of the aristocracy in good standing.

At once rigid and ambiguous, the Game would have been difficult enough for her to learn if it didn't also make her angry. The high-born were ohhhhhhh so polite to one another, to an almost absurd degree. But the briefest glance at how they treated anyone they considered to be inferior--which amounted to the vast, vast majority of the human race--turned their vaunted 'manners' into an exercise in applying cosmetics to the skeleton of a brutalized slave. Or perhaps jolting it with electricity.

And yet...Mr. Wellington did not seem to take the opportunity to be affronted. Miss Euphemia, Miss Melinda, Miss Eloise, Emilie thought, matching names to faces in her mind. Each was beautiful (and therefore rather intimidating) in her own way, but there was no firing squad of haughty gazes. Instead, the girls were whispering to each other.

Emilie did not try to pick out what they were saying; if they were critiquing her dress or her hair or exchanging nasty quips, she preferred not to know. Unable to see any cruelty in their expressions, she could push those worries aside for the moment.

"It is a pleasure to meet you all," Emilie replied, giving a nervous curtsy, with Maergarethe doing likewise at her side, minus the nervousness. "I am sure the Professor would be delighted that you know of his work."

Then Mr. Wellington went on, and Emilie blinked in surprise. On occasions when she slipped up and revealed that she knew more about matters of science than a woman 'ought' to know, the reaction she usually got was akin to 'Well, isn't that cute, a kitten trying to play the piano.'

Emilie could not detect sarcasm in Mr. Wellington's voice, but then she was not the best at such things. She looked to Maergarethe, who gave her a subtle nod and a hint of twirling index finger; go on.

"Uh...well, not knowing exactly what effects the device is meant to produce, I would not know how to go about enhancing its efficacy... I am more concerned with its safety..." She took a deep breath, then continued. "The science of electrochemistry is still in its infancy, so...I can smell that there are bath salts in the water, but not knowing their precise composition or any test results the inventor might have recorded, I cannot rule out the possibility that the application of electrical charges to the water could produce dangerous chemicals by electrolysis.

"Even with distilled water, hydrogen gas can be produced by electrolysis, and it is highly combustible. That might not be a serious hazard in a large open space like this, but if you mean to manufacture these devices and offer them for sale, people install them in bathrooms, where hydrogen or other gases might be able to accumulate. Or if the charges are powerful enough to produce hydrogen in quantity, any spark could set it off.

"If the woman using it is wearing perfumes, oils, or hair products of some sort, they would add unexpected chemical variables, and may themselves be flammable or subject to unanticipated electrochemical reactions. You have many such products here, and your competitors have their own panoplies.

"It seems unlikely to me that the inventor of this device would have been able to systematically test its action upon so many different substances and possible combinations thereof.

"Then there is the matter of the effects of the electricity itself upon the body. Water increases electrical conductivity through the skin, so it is possible that levels of charge that are harmless to the lady on stage could be more dangerous to someone using the bath, especially if the user has a weak heart or some other condition. Body mass could also be a factor. There are so many unknowns..."

What if he doesn't care if someone gets hurt by it?

"If someone were to be injured or worse by some unpredictable effect, I fear you might find yourself being brought up on charges or challenged to a duel."

"Oh my," Maergarethe said. "Can you think of any other ways electrical energies might be beneficial to health and good looks?" Emilie looked up at her. The twinkle in her eye said she was up to something.

But...If I'm going to rubbish the centerpiece of his presentation, I suppose the least I can do is try to offer some more beneficial avenue of research...but what do
I know about enhancing beauty? Emilie thought. Nothing, really... Alright, what do I know that might help? What does anyone know? We know so little about how life even works... Her face took on a look of fierce concentration, and she started to pace back and forth.

Electrical energy is the animating force of life, so...

"...Maybe galvanism..." she muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"...Galvanism. Luigi Galvani performed experiments showing that electricity could stimulate contractions of the muscles of a frog's legs even if the animal was dead. If one could construct an apparatus with electrodes arranged to evenly stimulate the muscles of the face, small charges could be applied to make them twitch.

"This could result in a firming of the facial musculature, in the same way that an athlete who wishes to look like a Greek statue hefts weights to exercise his muscles. If the skin itself responds in a similar way, it might also tighten, and thus reduce the appearance of wrinkles, but that is an untested hypothesis."

Her mind started to conjure images; a set of copper wires or tubes with small electrophorous plates at the ends, spreading out from a center that led to the electrical source. The wires (or tubes) being bent to adjust to suit a face, arranged to touch the ends of each set of facial muscles (a study of facial anatomy would need to be done...), and at the other end...

"Since the charges required would be much smaller than this device uses," she said, gesturing at the platform the lady had been standing on, "it could be powered by a much smaller influence machine, using something like a Sterling Air Engine as a prime-mover. I suspect the whole apparatus could fit on a tabletop, or within a cabinet the size of a small chest of drawers, depending on what sort of controlling mechanisms would need to be included."

Would the current levels need to be precise? Probably...so it might be better to include a voltaic pile and charge that from the influence machine so that variations in its outputs wouldn't reach the user...

"A smaller device would be easier to manufacture and market at scale...perhaps charges could be applied differentially, so that musculature could be enhanced in some areas and not in others, allowing for a subtle shaping of the face..." Emilie was thinking aloud now, hands becoming fidgety as she would normally be reaching for her sketchbook and pencil.

Suddenly, she snapped back to reality, where she faced a young nobleman and his three sisters. Words caught in her throat. Emilie froze, waiting on their reactions, mental wheels spinning for some way to extricate herself if she'd dug her way into a hole.


Maergarethe looked at her with a raised eyebrow and an impish grin. She'd hoped, a little more than expected, that Emilie might be able to come up with something; enhancing physical beauty was not the sort of thing Emilie gave thought to, beyond the conventional means. The girl seemed almost afraid of her own. She could wield it well enough for a demonstration, drawing men's eyes away from dear William's foibles, deftly dodging overtures from the men and ignoring any catcalls. But Maergarethe had seen her 'come down' after a demonstration, all stiff upper lip and a little trembling of the hands.

She had no idea whether Emilie's device would work or not. Almost certainly, Emilie herself didn't know either. Yet, the idea sounded plausible, at least to her ears. She put a hand on Emilie's shoulder to reassure her. The poor dear had stopped as suddenly as a clock with a broken mainspring. Maergarethe followed Emilie's gaze to the Wellingtons, keenly interested in their responses.
 

The Wellingtons
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss



Melinda tended to zone out at the in-depth discussions some tried to engage her brother in, not particularly interested in the many dumb ways one could die in pursuit of youth and beauty. She knew at least that she was never the prettiest of the flock, and with that acceptance and the lack of engagement on their side the second mistress of the Wellington household allowed her mind to wander, taking in the many other contraptions that had something of the appearance of a medieval torture device.

“Euphy, look there,” Melinda pointed at a set-up of flasks connected to each other, creating an economy of condensation and gas trapped within the glass objects where at the very end a slimy product was left. Next to it there was a poster explaining what they were looking at, leaving Melinda to grimace at the drawing of snails being pulled from their homes to be cooked and turned into a cream that promised the rejuvenation of youth. A more sophisticated contraption from the raw snail slime they used to put on each other’s faces, it seemed.

“Fred has always been the sentimental one,” Eloise sighed, as if swooning away at the heartfelt dedication of their brother’s work, though Melinda knew that Eloise rather intended to make fun of every one of her older siblings as the youngest was twisting the faucet at the end to watch the product come out thickly, slow like molasses, before finally dripping onto her finger like a mucus-like substance that Eloise immediately turned to show her two sisters.

“Want some?” Eloise asks with a smile so bright Melinda instinctively steps back, taking Euphy with her, as she watches Eloise rub her fingers together as thick strings start to form when she parts them, the slimy substance sticky and thick before her blue eyes lit up further, taking a step into the direction of the retreating sisters.


Frederick Wellington
Male | 23 | mr.



Being tied to the university for as long as Frederick had been the man had learnt one thing about scholars, which was that most rather liked to talk over action. The constant deliberation of what-ifs and what-do instead of the trial by fire of which Frederick was more fond of, as proven as he had set up this convention in which he had introduced these impossible contraptions others would have named a quack without scientific backing. Miss Riebau didn’t strike him as any different, her contemplations and worries valid, but at this point mere words that he had heard before, earning a chuckle from him when a duel was mentioned.

The turning point came when Mrs. Dalrymple issued a challenge to Miss Riebau. The suddenness of it at first silenced the little miss, to which Frederick wanted to interfere and make himself heard, he hadn’t spoken all this while after all to listen in attention, before Miss Riebau smoothly picked right up before pausing with a start as large blue eyes were turned up towards him, as if he needed to deem it with any approval to confirm the hypothesis.

“There are rollers in use, made of stone, which ladies use to smoothen their face and encourage a blush,” Frederick started carefully, his hand going to his cards pocketed in the inside of his coat and pulled out two, “perhaps that is the smaller device miss Riebau means?” he encourages, before handing both Mrs. Dalrymple and Miss Riebau his card, all information needed compacted on the small rectangular.

“The introduction of the bathtub isn’t with mass production in mind. You are right that this is far from a finished product, but the trust of investors are needed to make that happen,” Frederick waved at the bath, the water within it a milky white instead of clear, for the builder was convinced that milk was better than water, even if the make-up of milk was mostly water to begin with. It was a fanciful product, like the man behind the idea, more engaged with the idea of greatness than actual market. Not like the idea that he had been just presented with as Frederick turned back to both ladies, his smile widening.

“If Miss Riebau is up for the task,” the male started slowly, “I wouldn’t mind being the first to invest in the idea presented. Hypothesis or not, I believe that we are ready to scale down,” the Wellington’s second son declared, glad to hear of a more marketable idea.
 
Euphemia Wellington
24 | Miss | A solitary flower
Electricity, wires and water... Well, truth be told, all of it was nonsense to Euphemia. She'd certainly studied before, at the request of her parents, but she'd never paid all that much attention to anything that did not assist her with her art. It'd been a bore, anyway, to try and absorb every printed word through her eyeballs, reciting lines and rules until they stuck. Perhaps there were interesting tidbits, here and there, but she had long since decided that she would leave the sciences to the scientists. She would simply enjoy the perks of being a customer in the meantime, indulging in whatever they came up with next.

She stared, between the two women and her brother, watching them babble strange words back and forth. As if understanding that an outsider had little to gain from listening to this conversation, lest they decide that they wanted to try their hand at such things as well, she felt Melinda shift beside her, pointing at one of the attractions nearby, a bit further down the aisle. Euphie followed her finger, watching silently as the flasks fed each other in a continuous cycle, the very end flask holding the drip drops of some sort of oozing cream. Seeing the poster and Melinda's obvious frown, a faint smirk pulled at her lips. "Some things never change."

Euphemia did not bother excusing the three of them, seeing as the others were still deep in conversation. Between Eloise's sweet, entertained smile and Melinda's attempt to retreat, her arm linked around her own, Euphy let out an exhale that was subtly reminiscent of a laugh. She tugged Melinda forward, towards Eloise and her slimy fingers, wicked curiosity in her own eyes. "Now, now. Apply some to your own face, dearest Eloise. I can handle a cream on my own." she tutted in amusement, still inching forward regardless of whether Melinda protested or not, "Though Melinda might require some assistance."
 
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Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

To Emilie's great relief, Mr. Wellington responded with consideration, rather than anger or contempt. Could a handheld copper roller be used to apply charge more smoothly and evenly? Would that be more efficacious, or less? In her mind's eye, she could see a copper roller with a wooden handle to insulate the user's hand from electrical charges, with a brush to connect it to the electrical supply, as in some of the experimental electric prime movers that Faraday and others were working on.

For a moment, she was distracted by the antics of the sisters. One of them had gone to a distillation apparatus, and produced a substance that reminded Emilie of nothing more than the result of pouring salt on a slug. Intended...as some sort of unguent for the skin? Whatever it was, Emilie would go to considerable lengths to avoid having any direct contact with it! Nonetheless, the girls reminded her a bit of the way her brothers would tease and prank one another--

Mr. Wellington continued, so she brought her attention back to him. "If Miss Riebau is up for the task, I wouldn't mind being the first to invest in the idea presented," he said. Emilie blinked in surprise. She opened her mouth to offer a response, but her mind erupted in civil war.

It would take years to produce a working device, or at least to determine that it does work without harm! All so a handful of rich women can look a little prettier, while children die in coal mines?

But he wants
me to build it--not the Professor, me! It would be an invention I could truly call my own!

We don't even know
how to test if a therapy works! Medicine has hardly advanced from the ancient Greeks! Doctors resort to grave-robbery to study the human body, and a cadaver is far from a living person!

But if I could
develop a way, it could be the greatest boon to medical science since Galen! And the mechanisms for precision measurement and control of electrical currents could surely be used for other things...

Maergarethe smiled beneficently toward the Wellington girls as they made sport with their facial 'cream.' It had felt like a bit of a long shot to consider Mr. Wellington as a potential match for Emilie, but the girls offered a hopeful sign. Then the young man offered a more hopeful sign still.

Of course he was not perfect. No young man would be. There was more than a little of the Trickster in him, so Maergarethe knew she would need to be vigilant to insure that he would not attempt to cheat Emilie, use her mind for his benefit and leave her with nothing. Yet, he was willing to accept Emilie as an inventress and treat her as such, even to the point of offering funding for her research. Even Emilie would have to acknowledge that counted for a lot.

"Thank you, Mr. Wellington," she said, exchanging one of her cards for his. With her hand still on Emilie's shoulder, she gave her a gentle squeeze. "I have little doubt that Miss Riebau is up to the task. She gets like this when her mind is sizzling with ideas." She had seen it plenty of times since William brought her home as a girl.

Emilie always had more than one book open or with ribbons in its pages, journals filled with notes and sketches of various contraptions, flitting from one to another with manic intensity. It was as if she was a conduit that sought to intake learning at one end and output inventions and discoveries at the other, but she could never learn or invent fast enough.


"Uh, uh yes, I do have some ideas," Emilie stammered as she fumbled through her pockets and handbag until she could produce a calling card to offer Frederick in return for his. "But I would not ask for your money until I can provide you a viable program of research, and some idea of the amount of funding required.

"I--I think that some of the elements of a working device could also find profitable employment in other applications--" she said, trying to cut herself off before she could start wandering off on tangents. "--Such as more precise and convenient ways of measuring current, which would be needed because the Voltameter is too complicated for an untrained person to use effectively."

Emilie was pacing again, talking fast.

"Faraday has shown that electrical currents produce magnetic fields, so perhaps a magnet attached to something like a clock hand and a spring could be calibrated to reflect the strength of a current in a wire, which could be useful for any device that requires controlled levels of electricity.

"There might be other medical uses: could a version of the device be worn like a rucksack, with wires going to the legs of a paralyzed person, with some sort of timing mechanism to twitch the muscles in sequence and allow them to walk? Or could something like that restore the natural function? We don't yet know how electricity is generated in and transmitted through the body though.

"The protocols for testing the medical efficacy of a device alone would--"

"Uh, yes, thank you, Mr. Wellington, I will do my best to provide you with a program of research and some preliminary design sketches so that you can see your funds would be used wisely." Am I doing the right thing? she wondered.
 
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The Wellingtons
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss



The substance, thick and slimy, was a fun substance to play with, but it hardly absorbed into the skin other than leaving a tacky film over the skin it did pass. Eloise couldn’t imagine this to be of any benefit to their skin, let alone their youth, and neither could Melinda who was increasingly growing louder in her protest.

“Don’t you dare, Elly, I will cut up all of your ribbons,” the threat came, one that earned a laugh from the taller youngest sibling who already tauntingly hovered her fingers close to the cheeks of both her sisters.

“I’m taller anyway, soon it will be you wearing the hand-me-downs,” Eloise cheerfully announced, which was an actual threat their mother had employed when she found Eloise growing so rapidly that she had nearly outgrown all of her sisters. “Euphy at least is bold enough to try, right Euphy? Out with your hand, I will give you some, as part of my grace.”

Yet, no streak went on Eloise’s own face, as the temptation rose to wipe the mucus-like substance onto her own dress. Now that was something mama would not be happy with. “I wonder if this can be used as glue,” Eloise mused out loud before her eyes landed at the pacing Miss Riebau behind.

“Do you think I could put some on her? As an initiation?” Eloise followed up in a muse, a suggestion more appreciated by Melinda, for it meant that it wasn’t her sacrifice, though decorum had her reply otherwise.

“No, Elly. Fred will lose that duel,” she announced, not even doubting a possible courtship (it was always hard to tell with Frederick), but doubting her brother’s ability to come out of any sort of physical activity unscathed.


Frederick Wellington
Male | 23 | mr.



Something was whirring within her mind, Frederick could see it, and it delighted him. Had he stopped to think about the fact that Miss Riebau was female and would have a hard time garnering investors other than him? Not really, Frederick saw potential first before considering gender, for being the brother of a sister eager to challenge him to a duel, and most likely winning said duel, meant that Frederick had grown up quite accustomed to being overruled by women all his life. Miss Riebau’s hesitance, however, brough this reminder back to him and caused the man to waver as well, his eyes at first shimmering dropping into a slight frown that made him both pensive and older in appearance.

It was Mrs. Dalrymple that shook him out of his doubts, her card pressed into his hand as his card was taken out of hand. A proper exchange between adults as the young Miss Riebau stayed quiet for a while longer, her eyes set faraway before ideas started to flow and a steady stream of words followed out of her, talking of ideas that had been thought of but never tried, or not yet, for to try meant money and meant mean and guts. A great passion rose within her that Frederick sometimes saw in his sisters when they spoke of their passions, and that had incited him onto the path which he followed now, using their vanity as his inspiration.

The halt she made, as if realising that there were also such things as manners, the pause in the middle of Miss Riebau’s sentence before swerving off back to human decorum earned a chuckle from Frederick, a short cough that he hid behind a fist as he watched her anxiety so similar to the more anxious sides of his own sisters that were causing mischief in the background.

“I hardly have the wealth to support this all alone,” Frederick honestly admitted, knowing that it was no secret that the Wellingtons are an impoverished baron family, and with no true claim to title or land Frederick was expected to carve his own path, somehow, which his personal talents already limited to such a degree that there was no hope for glory within the family. It was no use hiding the financial state of the Wellingtons.

Which brought Frederick back to his first worry. “Do you have any contraptions ready to share?” Frederick asked, his mind whirring as he tried to plan for his next steps, the endeavour not easy nor simple. “It helps a great deal in the persuasion of more investors,” the man explained, thinking and wondering if it was to be so easy.
 
Euphemia Wellington
24 | Miss | A solitary flower

With a roll of her eyes, the eldest Wellington daughter easily swiped her index finger against Eloise's palm, taking some of the cream with the movement shamelessly. Beauty was not simply handed to the world. There was potential, yes, but to truly become as beautiful as one could be, one had to suffer. Adversity polished stone and cut diamonds into their clear, smooth facets. If a slimy, unpleasant cream softened her face and halted her aging, it would be a small price to pay. Euphemia played with the substance between her pointer finger and thumb, an iron grip still around Melinda's arm with her other arm to keep her close by, though she made no move to force her complaining sister to try the slime out. That would perhaps come in time.

"I'm known for my bravery, I'm sure you're both aware." she deadpanned, only faint amusement in her tone, "But I don't believe you are quite yet, Eloise. As soon as you apply some yourself, I will follow suit. I will even ask the Riebau girl if she wouldn't mind sampling some as well." There was mischief in her eyes, even if her tone didn't follow as strongly, her gaze flitting over to the blonde, still talking to their brother.

They could make a game of anything, including trying to convince everyone around them to make their faces slick and sticky with snail goo.
 
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Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

The sound of her surname being spoken drew Emilie's attention back to the Wellington girls. They still seemed to be teasing one another with their unguent. One of them apparently said something about her, but not to her; Emilie hadn't caught the rest of her words. She felt a twinge at the thought of becoming the focus of their attention. Somehow, it was just easier to talk to Mr. Wellington about inventions.

"Uh...yes...completed devices?" she said, scrambling to get her thoughts back on track. Which ones can I share? And how? All of her completed projects were of necessity patented under Professor Dalrymple's name. I can't tell him the truth. Either he would disbelieve me and think me a thief, or believe me, and the Professor's good name would be ruined!

And if I credit them to the Professor and play my role, why would Mr. Wellington take me seriously anymore? What if he wants to talk to the Professor alone?
Emilie suppressed a shudder. Even if Mr. Wellington wasn't quite a charlatan, it seemed likely that there was enough of that spirit in him that he would see through her scheme with the Professor in fairly short order if she could not be there to help him through any conversations with the younger man. Or maybe even if she was. Think...think...


"Well, Miss Riebau normally works in collaboration with my husband," Maergarethe said, "so we would need to speak with him about patented works," she said, then turned to Emilie, "but I'm sure he would be happy to see you move forward with one of the more recent projects, like the velocipede, or that windmill design. Or your patent washing mill," she said, turning back to Frederick. "When Emilie was a child, she had made some preliminary drawings for a washing mill. She showed them to William, and that was how he came to take her as his assistant. They improved and completed the design together, but I do not think William would begrudge her the opportunity to promote the work with you, seeing as it was her idea in the first place."

Emilie flashed Maergarethe a look of gratitude--at least it seemed like she'd managed to navigate between Scylla and Charybdis. "Uh, uh yes," Emilie said, as an idea dawned. "The washing mill would be most closely related to your work. It is a machine for washing clothes, operated using a foot treadle. While its primary purpose is to ease the laundress' burden of toil, it could be said to be a beauty product, in that it spares her from callusing her hands at the washboard, or wrinkling her skin from soaking in the water. In operation, it leaves her hands free, so she may cultivate her mind by reading a book, practicing with certain musical instruments, or doing embroidery."
 

Frederick Wellington
Male | 23 | mr.


Could he hear his sisters merry mischief making behind his back? Certainly, and he would be almost disappointed if they weren’t cooking anything up, fully aware of the contraption that was located there. Despite his many travels Frederick was, himself, extremely familiar with his sister’s personality, able to distinguish between their giggles.

“In that case I must write to your husband and make my call,” Frederick responded, eager and excited as he was for the new potential at business before glancing at the ever-changing Miss Riebau who seemed to go between flights of passion to retreating awareness of her own gender and position. “My family is fortunate enough that none of my sisters have to subject themselves to such harshness, but I’m sure our madame would appreciate it if it can spare her back as well!” The male continued on the sound of the washing mill, barely able to summon an image of it himself if its likeness hadn’t been mentioned, little as he involved himself in household chores.

“Speaking of my sisters,” Frederick announced, turning around on his heels as he caught sight of a struggling Mel that tried to escape Euphy’s grip and Elly’s mischief. A common sight, truly and the brother laughed before sweeping his attention back to Miss Riebau, leaning in to match her height without a second thought to it all, “I fear you shall be next,” he tells her in an amused whisper.


The Wellingtons
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss



Had they not been her beloved sisters Melinda would have kicked up her frocks and given the both of them a good show of violence, but they were her beloved sisters and while Melinda had a reputation of violence she wasn’t actually such a ball of anger or eager to get herself in a fight.

In the same way Eloise had gained herself the reputation of a troublemaker, though that one divorced itself very little from her actual personality at home. Eloise was a troublemaker and she delighted herself in it as Euphemia challenged her.

“Oh, dear Euphy, of course!” Eloise had said, wiping the goo on her cheek without a second thought before diving into an affectionate hug and rubbing it right off onto Melinda’s cheek who in turn shrieked and hit Eloise on the back as if that ever encouraged the youngest Wellington.

“Off, off, Elly!” Melinda cried, before realising that she was making a spectacle out of herself and of her family and quickly silenced herself before wiping her cheek so furiously that the slime spread out further over her face in a thin film.

“Oh, grow up, Mel,” came Eloise’s remark before she ran up towards the odd pairing further ahead, “brother, you must share Miss Riebau with the rest of us or else I will be jealous and spread rumours!”

An outrageous statement that no one doubted Eloise to be capable of.
 
Euphemia Wellington
24 | Miss | A solitary flower

A glint of mischief in her eyes, Euphy watched as Eloise smeared the slime on her cheek, unceremoniously making her skin slick and shiny under the exhibition lights. Satisfied, she held up her end of the bargain, pleased that her siblings would be sharing the experience with her. The scent was odd, but not one that she was unused to, having sampled many products with such ingredients before. Pressing her fingers into it to spread it was less pleasant than desired, though, the film that it left behind almost oily to the touch. Euphemia hummed quietly, seeming to consider the cream with no small amount of thought, wishing that she had a mirror nearby.

Meanwhile, Eloise and Melinda made a ruckus, garnering the attention of the part of the group that they'd split off from. Euphy blinked at the mention of Miss Riebau. "Ah yes." she noted aloud, stepping back over to the strange machine to procure some more of the goo in order to fulfill the other end of her deal, not being one to go back on her word. Plus, she was quite curious to see how this lady would react...

After all, if she were looking to work more closely with members of the Wellington family, Euphemia could only hope that she was interesting outside of all that science knowledge. "I agree. I am absolutely seething with jealousy, dear brother," she nodded very seriously along with Eloise's words, uncaring that some others nearby were eyeing them for kicking up a fuss, her tone almost flat to show that she was absolutely not being serious, "Miss Riebau, in order to remedy this, please accept my peace offering of this luxurious facial cream. You are plenty beautiful as is, but I fear that Frederick’s monopolization of your attentions has made it necessary that we share this experience together."

She was making excuses, of course, but her face remained pleasant, her eyes prompting and hand outstretched with the slime coating her fingers. One of her cheeks was still dewy from the cream.
 
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Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

"...I'm sure our madame would appreciate it if it can spare her back as well!" Mr. Wellington said enthusiastically, giving Emilie a surge of hope. The washing mill had turned out to be a source of frustration. It had been her first proper invention in collaboration with Professor Dalrymple, so she had been eager to share it with the world. They had set up a workshop for small-scale production in order to demonstrate that the device was viable and marketable, and attract investors to fund the construction of a proper factory on Maergarethe's lands as an additional source of income.

They produced enough machines to put them to use on the Dalrymple Estate and Maergarethe's lands. However, to Emilie's dismay, heads of Estates and potential investors found the notion of easing the toil of the working classes rather laughable. What was the point of calling them the working classes if they were not meant to work? There would be quips--from people who did not themselves work--about the folly of trying to lift the curse of Adam, or concerns expressed over crystal snifters of fine brandy, that the lower orders needed to be kept busy with work, lest they fall into debauchery, or start getting ideas like the Americans, or worse, the French.

For once, Emilie would not have to struggle to listen with a polite smile and try to subtly make the argument that making the lives of workers better could be the only way to prevent some new Reign of Terror, then keep smiling in the face of the genteel mockery that came back. Another point then, in Mr. Wellington's favor, Emilie reluctantly acknowledged.

Behind him, the Wellington girls continued to make sport of one another with the horrid-looking substance, reaching a level of public roughhousing that made Emilie blink in surprise. "Speaking of my sisters," Frederick said, "I fear you shall be next." No sooner was the ominous prophecy made than it was fulfilled.

"Brother, you must share Miss Riebau with the rest of us or else I will be jealous and spread rumours!" the youngest said, eyes sparkling with mischief. Emilie's veins turned to ice. It was difficult enough dealing with the male half of the human race without the constant threat of rumors being spread by the other half! How much time had she been forced to waste playing the role of the 'out' young lady at utterly pointless balls and soirees--expenditures of wealth that made her wonder if perhaps the French revolutionaries had the right idea--to fend off rumors that she was some sort of mistress to the Professor? And now any dealings she might hope to have with Mr. Wellington were to be plagued by that constant threat, from his own sisters no less!

Now they were advancing on her, the eldest armed with a fresh supply of their unguent. Fighting an impulse to hide behind Maergarethe, Emilie did a quick look around. Yes, some of the debutantes in attendance had noticed the girls' antics and were already tittering behind their fans and casting haughty glances. Make the wrong move, and Emilie was sure she would offend the Wellingtons, find herself featured in the next edition of In Confidence, or both.

Maergarethe gave a little chuckle and said, "When in Rome..." in a whisper.

What--roughhouse with them? Emilie thought, grasping for the meaning of the elder lady's hint. Problem was, Emilie didn't know how, not really. While she'd grown up in a house with older brothers whose playfulness could be dangerous to breakable objects in their proximity, 'Boys will be boys' had never applied to her or her sisters.

"W-what is it?" she stammered, taking a reflexive step backward.

 

The Wellingtons
Frederick | 2nd son | Male | 23 | mr.
Melinda | 2nd daughter | Female | 21 | miss
Eloise | 4th daughter | Female | 16 | miss


If there was a day that went by without mischief amongst his sisters, the day simply hasn’t passed yet. So the statement lauded true today as well, with no parents in sight, or even the presence of his older brother Frederick was the only ‘sane’ Wellington around, however ‘sane’ he was for actually agreeing with the employ of a female scientist.

“I fear that will be a greater loss for Miss Riebau, should such a rumour spread,” Frederick retorted good naturedly, to which his second sister, Melinda, actually hit him with the napkin she had snatched from his offering hand after wiping her face.

“Much as I pity Miss Riebau should you want to pursue her, it could do you some good to be associated with a lady for once,” the female had snipped, in a low voice before yanking at Eloise’s tall figure to get her to back off on the poor missus under attack, “Elly can take a hit to the head, perhaps it shall shrink her,” she informed Miss Riebau with one smooth move before stuffing the used napkin into Eloise’s hand with another rough move.

The only one that remained anywhere near decent was Euphemia, though Frederick knew his sisters enough to know that there was mischief on her mind as well, her words pleasant, but impossible to refuse, putting Miss Riebau in a complicated position that she seemed, on all accounts, overwhelmed by.

“Why not my face, dear sister,” Frederick interjected, his cheek already lowering between Euphemia and Miss Riebau to put the other out of the sight of the rest, “I recall that I lack my sister’s beauty,” he continued with a jest, staking yet another insult to his character that earned yet another hit to the shoulder from Melinda.

“My brother really isn’t all that bad,” she filled in for Miss Riebau, as if really trying to convince the scientist to consider Frederick as a suitor, though as encouraging as Melinda tried to be she shattered it with the next sentence; “just watch your toes.” Which, without the context that Melinda was thinking of, sounded menacing.
 
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Euphemia Wellington
24 | Miss | A solitary flower

Miss Riebau clearly wasn't used to playing with other girls her age. Though some would argue that ladies stopped playing as soon as they were old enough to learn some manners, the Wellingtons did not necessarily subscribe to such limiting ideas. Of course, there was a time and a place, boundaries to be learnt about when to poke fun and when to dab your handkerchief daintily at your lips and let the conversation die, but now? Now was most certainly the time and place. Even if they caused a ruckus, it was a bustling exhibition, buzzing with dozens upon dozens of people. So long as no one started to weep openly or profess their love to one another, they would likely remain mostly anonymous to those whose main goal it was to peruse the inventions and products on display.

The blonde stepped back, her sweet face filled more with hesitance and confusion than offense. Euphemia did not give chase. She only stood there, expression still pleasant. Miss Riebau could run, but she could not hide.

"The snails worked quite hard to make this for us. It would be a shame to waste it." she tutted, alluding to what was in the cream but not much else. Still, Frederick came in a show of mercy for the guest in their group, his face carefully placed between hers and Emilie's in order to resolve the silly little children's conflict. Euphemia stared at him briefly, tilting her head slightly, before joyfully (and nearly forcefully) pressing her fingers against her favourite brother's cheek, making sure that the cream was absorbed as much as it could be. Perhaps it was both punishment and a show of being impressed.

"My, you look more dainty and beautiful after the first application, dear brother. It has returned much of your youth."
 
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Maergarethe Dalrymple | 68 | Lady and Emilie Riebau | 20 | Miss

"Elly can take a hit to the head..."
"The snails worked quite hard..."
"My brother isn't really that bad...just watch your toes."

The Wellingtons were by far the most baffling people Emilie had ever met, and people tended to be quite baffling most of the time. Calculus at least made sense. She couldn't really imagine that hitting 'Elly' could be the right thing to do, though...maybe an extremely moderate, mostly symbolic bop would be...but Emilie doubted it.

However, it seemed that some sort of mischief might be in order, though she could not be entirely sure the Wellingtons would respond positively. Emilie caught a glimpse of one of the copper leads attached to the bathtub in the corner of her eye and made a plan, gathering her courage to implement it. But then to her great relief, Frederick interposed himself, taking the 'hit' of the unpleasant substance in her place.

"So...it's made from the secretions of snails?" Emilie said. At the moment, she could not imagine a production process that would be either efficient, or pleasant for those performing the task. Even so, her curiosity was piqued. "If I may ask, how did you come to the hypothesis that snail secretions would be beneficial to the skin?"

In the back of her mind, Emilie was still wondering how she would even test any electrical beauty apparatus she might construct, to insure that it was both safe and efficacious. This was the Wellingtons' chosen field, so perhaps they would be well ahead of her in terms of developing testing methodologies?
 
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