Young Writers Society

A/N: Due to a previous critique, I'm going to try splitting this chapter and seeing how well this goes.

Salvation of Ignorance - Chapter 6.1: Devious Admiration of Her

“Madam, she saw my face, not yours.”

“Yes, you’ve said that, but what I’ve been trying to express is that she may possibly be waiting downstairs to see who emerges from this room.”

Her mouth had been more tolerable while she was silent.

"Well, shall I be the first to descend?” Niall suggested, though his focus rested on ensuring that he wouldn’t have to make a fifth attempt to retie his cravat.

"No, it would be the greater of two evils if another of your guests found me alone in your chambers.”

He nodded while rising from the foot of the bed with his hand at his vest, an additional precaution to any other artifacts that may refuse to submit to order. Strolling up behind the crossed-armed, elderly woman, he slid his hands along the linear slope below her lower arms. As he graced his lips along the backside of her lower jaw, she flinched a re-establishment of distance between them.

“You may open the door now.”

He flexed his hands and had to remind himself that he was as disinterested in her presence as this woman strived to appear of him. Stepping to the side, he complied to her command, all the while restraining a mocking repeat of it.

“I apologize for the interruption. What time was allotted was alluring, Mrs.--,” Niall reached for his tailcoat’s inner pocket for his favor.

“I believe it’s best we part as acquaintances.”

Her husband must frequent the red light district.

The anonymous hag jolted the door from his hand, but had either enough decency or self-preservation to not repeat the earlier abuse that caused the door to cry out.

Niall returned to the guest bed and, though its mattress stiff, the warmth tempted him with a promise of slumber. Inwardly groaning in protest to his rational refusal, he rolled upon his back and became very aware of the silence cloaking his room in comparison to the menagerie of voices from below. Sleep received his heartfelt apology once he accepted that the paper-thin floorboards required him to wander below and join the party of strangers. He reassured both the temptation and himself that an hour would be sufficient in deriving whether anyone had a witnessing ear to the earlier disturbance.

The outcome of the additional minutes spent combating sleep, since he was uncertain as to the likelihood of his happening upon the bitter ol’ bat should he emerge early, was that opportunity presented Miss Barrettmore’s substitute for a farewell to surface.

Irritation to the surface of his palms killed any remaining urges toward slumber. Elevating his torso, he rested a shoulder upon the bed post and went to work to alleviate the sensation. He questioned the fundamental reasoning for her disgust. Certainly she was not unfamiliar with what may have transpired had she not trespassed.

Niall grinned as the itching heeled.

Laughing in further confirmation of his original hypothesis, a curiosity conspired toward Miss Barrettmore’s reasoning for choosing to visit the upstairs hallways in abandonment to the undoubtedly elaborate array of entertainment below. Well, perhaps not 'reason', but 'person'. Curiosity made him aware of the ridiculously stiff nature of the bed and increased his newly found impatience for testing out his hypothesis.

“Claremont!”

Niall turned, now reassured that someone was indeed vying for his attention.

He had scaled through the rooms inside in search of the chit, but found that the percentage of the ton, who took to Peter’s invites, had increased the heat and airlessness of the rooms. The excess illumination was also of equal blame. His outdoor search was hampered, for a period of time, by his need to wait for his eyes to readjust to the difference in illumination. Not his wisest decision, for they had adjusted enough to see the displeased expression upon his caller’s face.

“What a splendid spectacle. You’ve truly outdone yourself,” Niall negotiated.

“Please, appease my spirits with verifying that you are not engaging in your own private spectacles on the premises.”

“I am not.” At the present.

Peter sighed in relief and began directing the two of them back to the airless rooms, “I had received a few inquiries regarding your whereabouts. Even one by Miss Barrettmore.”

Niall coughed.

Peter halted, and adjusted himself to achieve a better view of Niall, “Please, tell me that was a cough of the influenza.”

“I’m delighted to see where my health lies in your list of concerns.”

“Niall, I’ve been spending the last few hours playing host. Do not try my remaining patience.”

He was tempted to do just that in order to influence the same annoyance that Niall held for his friend’s present persona, but chose to be the better of two bitter men. “It was a laugh. I merely had something in my throat.”

Peter nodded, but both saw the clarity in his bronchial passage.

How Niall could have missed the two ladies was beyond him, but he believed the true abnormality lied in Peter’s minute-less tracking abilities for Miss Barrettmore. The lady always-of-topic, and her more-favorable friend, were hovering beside the entrance to the ballroom, quite taken with their punch and isolated conversation.

“Miss Barrettmore. I see you’ve finally secured some punch.”

The chit turned to address Peter, punch cup midway to her lips, and being the independent to the quartet’s bow. “My apologies. I was not aware you were anticipating my tasting.”

Peter shortened his bow and his cheeks had the color of an abused bottom, “No, no. I was referencing to our dilemma during last night’s assembly. Neither of us had managed to retrieve some punch.”

Peter pointed to Niall, possibly expecting his assistance in the anecdote. Regardless of whether he would provide, after Miss Barrettmore’s eyes followed the hand gesture, she coughed a giggle. Niall questioned how Miss Barrettmore found humor where he had failed, but reminded himself that the act was her favorite past time.

The love-struck fool was pleased with the unworthy response, “Yes, well…So, what conversation did I interrupt...If I may ask?”

Miss Wade exchanged glances with her friend, “You always may. We were simply marveling at how well you cater to your guests.”

Niall gave the girls a questioning look, but neither seemed interested in returning the attention.

Peter was all a flutter, “Oh, well, you are too kind. Thank you very much. It is merely my desire to ensure that all my guests are properly cared for. In fact, I was just in the midst of a discussion about the seasoning of our meat. You see, I was worried they may have been over-smoked, but it seems that no one minds the wrinkled texture.”

Miss Barrettmore choked on her punch. It was a shame she didn't expire by it.

Peter looked as if he was witnessing the death of a family member and cared. “Are you alright?”

“Quite content. I…simply find it delightful that…certain persons prefer their meat wrinkled,” Miss Barrettmore’s reply poisoned Miss Wade with a case of the giggles.

The flirt was gossiping.

God was one of possibly many witnesses to the number of ears who had been the audience to ‘her’ tale. The impropriety and apathy she must hold for the hag’s reputation. Not to mention her gormless amusement in how he conducted his affairs. She was a witless mute who could only enunciate sounds for the majority of her conversations and what sentences she could form were riddled with stutters. Yet, not once, did he split a gut over her follies. If anything, she could have demonstrated a level of respect toward her elders--elder…He was not four and thirty.

“Miss Wade, are you aware of the name to the next dance?” Niall’s interruption cured the giggles.

Voices from the adjacent ballroom masked the silence that occurred while the three exchanged glances.

“The Sphinx.” Miss Wade gave Niall a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes.

“Ah, it’s been some time since I’ve heard it play. I’ve a hankerin’ to participate.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of endearing women eager for a partner in the other room,” Peter said, while eyeing his friend cautiously, before presenting Miss Barrettmore with a smile. “After all, we must cater to the pleasantries of all our guests.”

The poor excuse that the Yankees could provide for ladies filled the room with exaggerated laughter.

“A brilliant idea, except it is a lively dance, and I’m fearful of choosing a partner I’m unfamiliar with. Miss Barrettmore.” Niall was privileged with the most delightful relief of high decibels and a blatant display of terror upon the chit’s face. “I don’t believe anyone could match you in your liveliness this night. Might you assist me in this participation?”

“Uh…”

“A simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”

“Actually, we had promised a friend of ours to return promptly for a discussion on--.”

“The night is still young, Miss Wade. You may give your excuses for Miss Barrettmore, and I shall return her promptly upon our completion.”

“Well, on that note, I had intended to direct Miss Barrettmore to—and Miss Wade, of course—to a sampling of our catering.”

“Your food is overcooked and your guests are too polite for insults. Certainly you are of the same temperament, Miss Barrettmore?”

With her escapes snuffed, her eyes widened at the emphasized offer of Niall’s hand. Her fingers entwined with one another and they began to maneuver like worms.

“Yes.”