Salvation of Ignorance

Chapter 4: Previous Tomfoolery

“Who chose the company of a stranger over his master.”

“Yes, but was it the hound who chose the stranger or the stranger who encouraged the hound?”

“Philosophize as you will, she’s still trespassing sans chaperone.”

“I’m sure she’ll mention nothing upon today’s subject. Poor thing was more terrified of us.”

A gust of pristine air opened his lungs and a smile that couldn’t be repressed, “She was, indeed.”

“She truly is a lovely girl.”

From the corner of his eyes, Niall noticed the decent of her head and creeping intensity of her grip on his arm. Extracting one of her hands, finger by finger, he cradled it between his hands and brought the amalgam of appendages to his lips. He breathed a kiss upon the knuckles, grateful for the glove that shielded them from the cold.

Niall allowed his lips to linger, and dared a look at her through his lowered lids, “Any charms of hers were lost with you in company.”

His grasp loose to begin with, he took extra precaution in expanding them further to assist Mrs. Emmons’ retrieval of her hand. She took advantage of the newly achieved freedom to adjust her gloves and her scarlet cheeks ebbed his unease.

“Do not be modest, Louisa,” He egged on, “Remember, even Athena posed a match to Aphrodite before tempting Paris.”

“Omens, you truly are familiar with this trade.”

He expelled a laugh from his nostrils, enjoying a chip in the fourth wall, “’Familiar’ seems a minimal definition.”

Louisa coughed a laugh, encouraging facial expansion by the corners of Niall’s mouth, “Well, you certainly hold a bone for modesty.”

“As I recall, there wasn’t a modest bone in my familiarity.”

Another cough was earned.

On a mirth inspired whim, he peered down upon the lady through his peripheral vision. Louisa was a petite woman and although age had loosened portions of her skin, previous expeditions exploited their cushioning. Aided by the illumination that snuck through hovering leaves, he could see past the sagging and piled groves to be able to identify the contours of her high cheek bones and narrowly-bridged nose. At the age of seven and fifty, she generally seemed capable of keeping some charms of her youth. Or was she three and fifty? Well, she was old enough, and that was most important.

As her eyes turned to catch his, Niall made a desperate attempt to cleanse his vision with an aggregate of trees. It was a meager attempt to distract his attentions from the abrupt churn of his stomach. He certainly couldn’t understand Miss Barrettmore’s appreciation for the subject.

“My son often skylarked this lot as a boy. He’s about your age, I believe. Four and thirty next May.”

“I’m seven and twenty.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right.”

Niall released a sickly sigh, quite familiar with the tactic being employed by Mrs. Emmons. He was accustomed to being compared to sons, nephews, and the occasional grandson. After over-seeing initial slight from the first few occurrences, he could now reap the benefits of severing previous sentiments.

Striving for a last impression of propriety, he offered an arm to the widow, “I would be honored to resume escorting you home.”

“No need, dear. It’s not much farther from here.”

He attempted to grasp her hand for farewells, but she used said appendage to pat the cheek of a parted lip Niall.

“Your mother must be proud of you.”