Young Writers Society

A scoff had to be made at the sight of Peter.

The young man had entered the room where Niall Claremont had made a temporary home on the parlor couch. The latter, attempting to locate sophistication by news in the town paper. He found an amusing article on the downfall of modern civilization by apples, but not a trace of sophistication. Meanwhile, Peter ruffled his hair, seeming to find no solace in his ostentatious wardrobe.

“Peter, if you change your outfit once more, as your friend, I shall have to put to question your manhood.”

This could not detain the ruffling, “You don’t seem to understand the severity of my predicament.”

“I understand enough to assure you that only a woman would show this much interest for clothing.”

“Precisely my point. Though I may find comfort in my decision, a woman will notice all the technicalities I do not.”

Niall flipped the page as Peter retreated to his room once more.

It was roughly a month prior that a letter arrived from the Americas to his English manor. The contents displayed Peter’s concern that his southern belle’s affections were not so easy to procure. A request was made that required Niall to place himself on a ship ‘at his earliest convenience’ bound for the Americas. A request that would’ve been denied were it not for the two pages of Peter’s description of nose-pinch-inducing actions already played to gain the girl’s sentiments.

The bridge of Niall's nose had continued to be bruised when three additional pages were devoted to discussing Niall's ‘particular taste in escapades‘. Peter insisted that Niall should not fear an American recognizing him during an escapade. Which was a fair point. Except, Niall had to stomach through Peter’s lack of comprehension towards Niall’s reasoning for these ’escapades’. And using this flawed logic as a tactic of persuasion for this essay.

Regardless, it was clear from the scripted words that Peter was quite serious about this girl of his and Niall was the type of sentimental cad to assist the feeble. So, for dubious and dependable reasons, he took to the seas as soon as business had been settled. Even though he hadn’t the slightest idea what it was he was supposed to do.

“Might I point out that ‘a woman’ may also notice that the assembly was scheduled for two hours past?”

Niall was pleased to hear feet scampering in the west wing upstairs.

The country home was in good shape for having been generally unoccupied for decades. Granting that it was roughly a decade since separation finalized between Yankees and King’s Men, Niall couldn’t help but to find peculiarity when his friend expressed a recent interest to reside here, let alone find a lass to court with serious intent.

Niall reminded himself that Peter was one and twenty, and more than capable of settling his own affairs. After all, if any complaint was to be made, the father would have no shame against vocalizing it. No, Niall’s job was merely to aid his friend and strain silence to stirring laughter at any fallible behaviors.

Peter stood in the parlor doorway, applying gloves and in his initial outfit. “I suppose my lack of manners will distract from any physical flaws.”

“That or your wealth being common knowledge in these parts.”

Niall itched the back of his head. A feeble attempt to remove the burning sensation by a pair of eyes behind him.

“You will be civil.”

Niall began to fold the paper. “I will keep my truths to myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Placing his feet upon the ground, Niall tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “I know what you meant. Yes, I will be civil as usual.”

“That’s also not what I meant.”

Niall looked up at Peter, curious what offense was made now, but found a smirk that spoke otherwise. Niall pushed his lower lip up to form a line, exhaled through his nostrils and shook his head. “For your information, I’m an absolute delight.”

“Clearly you don’t speak to yourself.”

“Hysteria is only common among women, sir.”

Peter pinched his nose, and shook a laugh from his head. “Jesus Christ.”

Niall straightened the tails of his coat and enjoyed the easy triumph with his Nancy-boy of a friend. “I suppose I’ll have to meet this lass before I conjure any more complaints.”

Peter revealed himself from under his hand. “You will have to scavenge like a ragamuffin to find complaint.”

Said the man who wrote a two page letter on the subject.

“I’m sure,” He chose instead and extended an open hand. “Do you have my favor?”

Niall held back a scowl as a fraction of the mirth dissipated from Peter’s face. Glancing away, he produced a folded paper and handed it to Niall by the tip of his conjoined index finger and thumb. Niall grabbed the sheet, questioned the man’s mental age, and then glanced over the contents. Satisfied, Niall secured it in the pocket of his jacket and signaled for Peter to lead the way.

No sooner had they arrived at the town hall before they were targeted. They were in the middle of a third conversation, and like the previous two, Niall heard the conversation occurring behind him much better than the one he was apart of. He managed to learn personal details of several individuals and was grateful not to have a face to accompany them. It was no wonder the south made for good gossip.

After hearing about the visit of mother flow to a cherry, Niall found a desperation to hear what the older gentlemen enlightening them had to say, but once the band began for the next dance, the strive became impossible. Fortunately, it managed to drown out both conversations.

Abandoning auditory sense for vision, he noticed two girls join their group. Niall glanced to the two gentlemen already at present, but neither seemed altered by the additional occupants. He began to wonder if it was customary for Yankees to join conversations of strangers without invitation, but thought otherwise when a laugh rejuvenated his auditory senses. The description of the girl in Peter’s letter came to mind.

Her dress was decent and her hair was pinned up in a decent enough way. She had those tiny little orb-things that he had seen some debutants pin into their hair last London season, which he assumed to signify some interest on her part and some amount of fortune behind her. However, her face held no distinguishing features. The only thing that gained his attention was the painful looking smile and her laughter. Miss Barrettmore’s ridiculously excessive laughter.

Now he was truly at a loss as to what he was doing here.

Peter fortunately signaled through body language to the temporarily deaf Niall so that he knew an introduction was being made. Niall merely hoped that Peter kept his promise to avoid using anything that signified his Baron status. Unlike Peter, Niall despised attaining excessive attention.

Niall bowed and was quickly reminded about his length of neglect toward his hair. He ran a hand through the locks to provisionally set them in line again, but doing so gave him opportunity to learn that her eyes were a light brown that he originally mistook as grey. The very eyes that were currently narrowed at him.

It was lost upon him as to what offense was made during mere introductions. Unless that was how she treated all new acquaintances, which he doubted, but he was willing to hold the benefit of a doubt for Peter’s sake. He was about to make quick chat to ease her opinion of him when Peter brought the attention to Miss Barrettmore’s flushed face. Niall waited for Peter to cease in fawning over the girl before directing himself and Niall to the punch bowl on the other side of the hall. To reach their destination, without disturbing the dancers, they were required to step outside the hall, where Peter halted.

“What do you think of her now?”

Niall had to rub at his ears to give his senses time to rejuvenate, “I’ll supply some credit toward your advances. If she has any opinions, she keeps them to herself and she seems suitable enough for your tastes.”

“Is she not delightful?” Peter bragged.

“Any delight I can see from her is the overindulgence in her mirth and the quantities of her smiles,” Except for him, Niall kept to himself, remembering the suddenness of her scowl.

“She is a doll of such sweet temperaments.”

Niall had no desire to inform Peter against the interpretation of his opinions.

“However, she shows them equally with all her acquaintances that I can‘t be quite certain as to the emotions that dictate it.”

“Perhaps her emotions are equally shared with her pleasantries.”

The predicament showed signs of clarity by Peter’s pathetic pleasure in the hypothesis, “Then you see my dilemma.”

He saw a dilemma.

Niall pinched his brow and exhaled through his nostrils, congesting more than his fill of the tragedies of courting. “Peter, why not make your intentions known to her? The worst she could do is relieve you of your affections.”

Peter scoffed, “How I envy your ability to view this matter with flippancy.”

“Peter, if you had spent the season at home, you would have found yourself drowning in flirts. Surely your father has never allowed you a moment to forget this?”

Niall found himself wishing to return to overhearing country gossip in order to escape Peter’s silence.

Niall disturbed it with, “Perhaps she’s more compliant in private company. Have you paid a visit to her residence?”

Some light returned to Peter’s face. “I have not received invitation.”

“Then let us extract one out of the father.”

“He is not in attendance.”

“A shame. We shall have to catch him in town, then.”

“He’s a hermit, Niall.”

Niall’s lips formed the circular vowel.

“Then how does he conduct business? How does he earn his livings?” Niall tried again.

“To my understanding, he does it from the comforts of his estate and he runs a sugarcane plantation.”

“Well, why not inform Miss Barrettmore of your interest in her father’s business? Perhaps he’ll seek you out?”

Peter frowned. “Women do not conduct business.”

Niall couldn’t disagree with that. Which forced him to return to scrapping for eggs. “Then what of the mother? Don’t tell me she’s a hermit as well?”

“Not an Earth-bound one.”

Niall couldn’t suppress the laugh, much to his friend’s disapproving grimace.

“Your sense of humor is morbid, sir.”

“No, no…I wasn’t--well, I suppose that to be amusing as well, upon mention. But, no. Just…Just what do you find so alluring to make such efforts?”

“I told you. Her temperament.”

“Yes, but to make such efforts for so little in return? There must be more to warrant it.”

Peter shifted his eyes to the side and began adjusting the material at his wrists.

“You must have some reason for your interest in this girl?”

“None that you would understand.”

That was enough to snuff his inquiries on the subject.

Niall made one last effort, “Have you not made any attempt to seek anyone else out? Perhaps her friend? They may have similar temperaments.”

Peter lit up like an abandoned candle given a second chance to be a provisioner. “Yes, Miss Wade! Perhaps courting her may give inspiration to Miss Barrettmore.”

Niall gave him a look of speculation. “Well, my suggestion lied more in that you court Miss Wade in abandonment of Miss Barrettmore.”

“And my suggestion wasn't for me to court Miss Wade. I was referring to you.”

“Now we’re on two entirely different continents.”

“Well, why not? She’s a lovely gal.”

“Sir, you know I’m intended.”

“I’m not asking you to marry the girl. Just occupy her time for the night. Besides, I’m sure your business won’t keep you here long and that the two of you will never move in the same circles again.”

Niall deadpanned, “Let me clarify something. You’ve invited me across nearly a thousand leagues of sea just that I may play temporary Romeo?”

“No, I was hoping for advice and counsel. Neither of which you’ve given without snide therefore I must settle for what use I can find from you.”

The dance had concluded, and upon their return, Miss Wade noted, “You seem to have neglected to obscure the object you departed us for.”

Niall wanted to tell the look of encouragement he felt pawing at the side of him to sod off. “Yes, well, we seem to have gotten lost in diversions along the way. Besides, Miss Barrettmore seems to have benefited more by your time together.” He gave a friendly nod to the mentioned lady who erected her back in response. “I believe the two of you have been friends for a good length?”

“Since girlhood, sir,” Miss Wade supplied.

Niall smiled with closed lips, finding appreciation in the lady compared to her friend. “Ah, then Peter and I may sympathize. Especially I, in that I know the hardship of compensating for a friend’s shortcomings.”

This garnished a laugh from Miss Wade and Peter. Yet, not the one person who specialized in the act.

“Not to suggest that Miss Barrettmore has any those, of course,” Niall added.

Miss Wade happily supplied, “Oh, no. Your original conjecture was on the bull’s eye.”

“Well, I believe Miss Barrettmore to be flawless.”

Niall had to fight gorgons to suppress his groan of embarrassment on his friend’s behalf. However, Niall had to give some credit to Peter. He gained a smile from Miss Barrettmore, if there were even substance to be held in her act.

“Might you supply some tactics used to lessen your burden?” Miss Wade was a Roman conqueror of conversations in her friend’s wake of muteness.

His lips began to peel back. “Certainly. Firstly, you must discredit their opinion entirely for it is clear they shall utter nothing of merit in relation to our own.”

“I suppose now I’m of obligation to stir you against taking any of Claremont’s advice.”

“Which reminds me of the second tactic: muzzle the friend to avoid any slights to your person.”

A light giggle escaped Miss Barrettmore, but was quickly lost in the noise of southern gossip. It was enough to hollow out his chest and send his ribs itching against his skin. He twitched his fingers to keep his nails from making a rescue to the area. Instead, he cleared his throat to retrieve his lost place in his speech.

He concluded with forgetting the notion entirely. “Miss Wade, do you know the name of the next dance?”

“‘The Rose in June’, I believe.”

“Ah, a lively dance. Well, if it’s not wrong of me to presume that Talwin shall ask for your friend, perhaps I may find a partner in you?”

Peter beamed at the notion, but Miss Barrettmore began to enunciate her arch vowel in the note of c.

“My apologies," Miss Wade replied, "but I believe it is best we take on the task of fetching the punch.”

As Miss Wade shepherd her friend away, she left in her wake a distraught Peter and astounded Niall.

Peter spent their lengthy absence chastising his friend for enacting a plan that Niall was reluctant to partake in from the beginning. When the ladies eventually returned, there were no mentions of dances. In fact, there were little exchanges, in general, for the remainder of the evening. Well, not the entire evening, for eventually the ladies departed before the night had reached its peak. During which, Niall had to endure an introduction to the creators of Miss Wade, inspiring Niall to inform Peter that he was now an indebted man. Peter responded by continuing to mope over the lady who had practically slighted him.

While Niall pretended to be engaged in his friend’s revealing of sorrows, he found a worthy piece of gossip behind him, “We use pesticides, Mrs. Emmons.”

“One can never use enough, you know,” The previously mentioned Mrs. Emmons opined.

Niall retrieved the sheet, containing his reward in the favor, from his interior coat pocket. Glancing over the names, he confirmed his suspicion and stowed the note away once more.

“Peter, perhaps you should retire for the night. We can formulate a new plan in the morn.”

Peter nodded. “I shall fetch our coats if you might send for the carriage.”

“Actually, I’ll make my way back at a later date.”

Peter stopped his momentum toward the door and turned to annoyingly speculate at Niall. Then a childishly knowing-look dominated Peter’s features and he quickly resumed making his way to the door.

Niall turned around, his lips peeled to display his teeth, “Mrs. Emmons, is it?”