Galina nodded and smiled, though not too widely of course, not too brightly. These Americans were, after all, the descendents of Puritans still rapt with their precious Victorianism - and a good five years behind the more fashionable East Coast styles at any rate. As was appropriate, Papa had brought her a program, and a dance card... How quaint.

Her dark eyes widened in something that might have resembled demure acquiescence - or perhaps a plea for mercy? A promise of impending doom? No, no certainly not [i]that[/i]...

The young woman remained at her father's side, surreptitiously slipping the program and dance card into her beaded hand bag as if it had never been, skillfully dodging the interested gazes of any single-seeming young gentleman with a facade of gentle shyness, or a coy inability to understand the English language quite yet. All polite smiles and blank, slightly startled looks and gentle laughter as bright as cut crystal in candlelight, Galina maneuvered through the glittering crowd on her Papa's arm, like a clipper through the choppiest seas.

And always in the back of her mind, the layout of the Winchester home was moving from two-dimensional blueprints she had spent days memorizing, to a three dimensional map as she surreptitiously studied every least detail, from ceiling height to furniture placement. By no means did she avoid looking toward the grand stairwell, leading to the second floor mezzanine that surrounded the magnificent great room. Avoidance, after all, can be a clarion call to notice, even in such a large, merry-making crowd as this. 

The triple sets of French doors were opened to the back veranda, the warm California night breeze and the strains of music floating in from the gaily lit lanterns festooned over the immaculately manicured lawns where the dancing had begun. Baron Demidov looked to his daughter, so sweetly reluctant to join such a large gay crowd who spoke a language she still found so unfamiliar. 

And besides, the young Baronessa had already been introduced to many thus far as an aspiring student of art and architecture. A father's eye could easily see she seemed enthralled by her love wood and stone; that the call of beam and angle and exquisite craftsmanship had overcome her at any rate. She would far rather explore the nooks and crannies of this magnificent home than make pained attempts at small talk. Always with her papers and parchments and charcoal-stained fingers, his little artiste.

Yet Papa must make his way among these acquaintances and potential business partners, political allies and foes alike. There was simply no help for it. Galina and her father spoke briefly, a tender kiss to her forehead as they walked by that grand stairwell. The Baronessa laughed softly, shooing her father toward the music, watching his back as he disappeared into the night and the dance.

And it was at that moment, Galina bit her lip softly, realizing her mistake as a few of the older matrons passed by where she stood. Prudish, shriveled American faces scowled in disapproval of her obvious male escort-less-ness. Of course...

It was all the she-wolf could do, to force her dark eyes to fall to the floor demurely, and not bare her teeth and snarl fiercely at their presumptuousness. But if she were going to try for quiet, unnoticed anonymity, neither snapping at these dried up old husks nor remaining here by herself so "brazenly" would much help that cause. Galina took a deep breath, her gaze darting about for a suitable escape route - 

- And landed on a Godsend, wrapped and handed to her as if by the hands of the Divine Himself. Oh truly, He was with her this night. A smiling young man, well-dressed and handsome - and obviously a foreigner as well, with the Japanese cast to his face. Just [i]perfect.[/i] Made to order, in truth. Though he might have little love for the Tsar, something about that pleasant, charming smile said he would not object to obviously at the least, to the imposition of one of Russia's darker lights. 

[i]"Dobryy vecher, ser,"*[/i] she said, her voice only barely above a whisper as she approached him, bowing her head respectfully, "Oh... Excuse... Good even? English, is no good." Galina allowed a blush to rise to her cheeks, as if she were truly mortified by both her forwardness and her inability to speak the language of these lands. 

She let one hand gesture toward the mezzanine above them, toward the gallery where a few of the guests were walking and talking, observing the various masterpieces that Winchester money could afford. "You like... Art? With me?" 

(( [i]*Good evening, sir[/i] ))