The Adopted Debutante [Rough Draft]

The Luncheon

"He taught me." Eloise nodded, smiling at Jeremy.

"Besides, he can't bear to leave you for long, anyway." Bylious casually added.

Flintworth's shoulders drooped as he sighed softly. Jeremy looked at Bylious. "I enjoy her presence, but I don't keep it from others." He explained.

"So you won't play with her, then?" Bylious asked.

"...I think the choice should be hers." He answered quietly.

"I agree." Bylious replied archly.

Eloise sensed the awkward tension and sought a way to make peace. "Let us have Jeremy play first." She decided. "When his fingers grow tired, I will replace them." While she said this, she gently led Jeremy to the piano, thereby eliminating any opportunity Bylious had to object. As Jeremy seated himself, Bylious' only comment was, "See that you don't play too loudly. My head aches when I hear loud noises."

"I can understand that, sir." Jeremy smiled.

Flintworth was not so amused. Leeds ushered a few elder couples into the room soon after and Eloise and Jeremy extended their warm greetings to guests. They apologized that Sir Carroll was not present, but he was invited to breakfast by one of the neighbors and would return with them to Trellis Manor for the luncheon.

With the flux of people, Flinworth slipped out of the parlor and made straight for the garden. He could feel the frustration inside of him. It did not happen often but every now and then, even he would feel his patience stretched thin by Bylious' antics.

"So Master Delend came earlier than you did, sir," Flintworth muttered aloud as he paced the garden walk. "Of course he did, he's in love with Miss Eloise, for heaven's sakes. Do you really think the world stops at your whim—?"

He sighed.

What was the point of growing angry? Nothing could be done. Peter Bylious came from an upper class family. His uncle was in the House of Lords, and laws in England did not do much to punish the wealthier folk for their inconsiderate actions toward their fellow men. Though Sir Carroll had hired Flintworth to calm Bylious' foul moods, Flintworth himself had no authority over the short-tempered man.

"But I have to admit, he is trying," Flintworth told himself. "After all, he could have said much worse and he didn't—and that after the disappointment of being too late when he was making efforts to be early!"

He paced along the garden path, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, Austin, what have you gotten yourself into?" he asked himself aloud. "Not that it was your choice, really. I'm sure Sir Carroll had the best of intentions, but I think his hopes are misplaced. I've hardly done anything to help Mr. Bylious...oh, perhaps I have, but my, I feel so worthless. And something just—it just doesn't feel right. I don't know, am I wrong?"

"You could be," a voice behind him answered. Flintworth turned and saw Faulke standing near the garden wall. "Then again, I expect shadowing a man like that must leave you on pins and needles day and night."

Flintworth drew in his breath. "Good morning, Mr. Faulke."

"Is it one?" Faulke asked with a disbelieving smile. "You don't seem to think so."

"I don't trust my thoughts at the moment, Mr. Faulke."

"Indeed." Faulke nodded. "You give vent to them, though."

Flintworth's jaw tightened. "I tend to when I'm alone. I have little recourse otherwise."

"My, my, affairs have grown worse," Faulke said with mocking seriousness.