Peter had caught him at a gentleman's club for lunch. One glance at the merchant's attire had Niall's colleges cooing that his 'Mary' was calling for him, the bloody pricks. Familiar enough with Peter's fashion sense, Niall realized he must had started early in his chasing of Phoebe at some neglected debutante's event. Something easily done when one's father was still alive to do his half of the business.
But why Peter should cut his petty chasing short was beyond Niall.
The two shared an individual table where Niall's colleges were kind enough to provide the first round of drinks from across the room. As previously mentioned, the infamous pricks. Neither made it a point to touch the mugs. Instead, Niall waited to be enlightened by what inspired Peter to call him at this time of day. The enlightenment was stalled by Peter's occupation in fidgeting in his seat and tapping his phalanges atop the polish wood.
"Well," Niall started in his stead, "This is an honor to be singled out. You are aware this is a debutante and female-of-all-kind free establishment?"
Peter frowned. "Yes, Niall. I have a membership, after all."
"You do? Well, you're hardly around any more. I could hardly remember."
"They wouldn't've allowed me through the door if I hadn't one, Niall."
"It was merely a quip, Peter. Untwist your garments and tell me what has you abusing the table."
It was possible he had heard of Phoebe's illness. Or, more specifically, Niall's involvement in Phoebe's aid. And, just like the two priority-skewed women, chose to come here for lecturing Niall of risking Phoebe's reputation rather than thank him for being a minority in representing common sense. No good deed, and all.
Peter extracted his hand, having seemed unaware of its actions. Sitting back in his seat, he placed both palms in his lap. "Yes, so, how fairs legislation?"
Niall eyed him speculatively. "As I told your father, I'm not at liberty to discuss."
"Ah, yes, that's right."
If Peter truly wished to discuss that matter, he would not had left it at that. But as an extra precaution, he asked, "Is that what you called upon me for?"
Peter beamed. "Oh, 'called'! Perfect segue!"
Niall blinked.
Peter adjusted his folded napkin. "Uh, no. I mean 'no, that's not it'. But speaking of 'called'. I've come directly from checking on the state of Miss Barrettmore's health."
"Did you now?" Niall itched his palm. "How fair she?"
"Oh, come off it. As if you care."
Niall clenched his jaw, in absolute loathing of the hypocrisy and accusation. The emotion was smoothed with reasoning that Peter's ignorance may be more valuable than correcting the erroneous statement. Niall slowly released a breath. "Well, if you strongly believe such, then what news could you possibly bring from her presence that may interest me?"
"As of," Peter squinted at the ceiling and individually flexed each phalanx to count, "an hour and some minutes ago, Miss Barrettmore accepted my offer to regularly call upon her."
Overcoming his distaste of the flavor, Niall downed the ale to keep his lips shut.
"'Call upon her'?" He swallowed out.
"Yes." The fool had teeth to his ears.
"As in 'seek her out'?"
"Yes."
"'Romantically'?"
"Yes, we've agreed we'd prefer to see one another as intimate friends."
"But still 'friends'?"
Peter frowned. "You think I should have specified my intentions more clearly to her?"
Niall swallowed, remembering that Peter was still unaware of his disapproval in his intentions to marry Phoebe. And that Niall's questions should be closely guarded. Niall smiled behind his mug only to quickly frown after a poor choice to siphon from it. Placing it down, he replied, "No, I'm sure she comprehended your meaning. So, I'm assuming her debutante days are at an end?"
Peter shrugged his lip. "Well, I'm sure she will still attend some parties. After all, there are a few acquaintances who are quite fond of her. Though, for at least her health's sake, she may not be as...frequent...in occurrence."
"Aha, and would you happen to know her next public appearance?"
As a matter of fact, he did. Or he presumed her acceptance in a future proposal for such an appearance. An invitation was made, by Lady Allington, who desired to host a small gathering in honor of 'her dear friend Phoebe's recovered health'. According to the calligraphy of her hand-printed, personally-delivered notaries.
"It's intended to be a small gathering, so I'm sure that's why she neglected to send you one," Peter defended. "That, and no one knowing what parties you wish to attend."
Fortunately, Niall extracted an invitation a few days later. After 'coincidentally' attending a card game Lord Allington infamously appeared regularly, the man stated personal slights on behalf of his daughter not making the invitation initially. So, that weekend, Niall attended with the intention of bringing his thwarting to its successful conclusion.
A servant directed Niall to the parlor of their townhouse. True to Peter's word, the room was spacious in the presence of a hostess, a few familiar ladies and gentlemen, Peter, and Phoebe. Just as his foot had passed the threshold, Peter gaped, halting the current conversation, "Claremont? What ar--a...pleasant...surprise."
Peter then turned to the lady he interrupted. "Oh, my apologies. I had no intention to--."
"Oh, Miss Cunnington is not accompanying you?" Lady Allington seemed to favor the change of topic.
"No, she is engaged elsewhere." Technically, Niall never informed her of the event, but Sarah had a knack for finding easy entertainment in his absence.
Miss Allington pouted, but quickly followed the action with an indifferent shrug of her shoulder. "Well, perhaps it's for the best. She can be quite critical in her conversational input." She no sooner completed the statement before turning to Niall, faux-sympathy and all. "Oh, no offense, of course."
Niall chose to stand at the mantle, as the ladies had occupied the provided settees. "Of course. She's merely my fiance; what offence should I sustain?"
"I think she meant--," A girl with bobbing-blonde-curls framing her face interjected, who cut herself short when receiving Niall's attention. She swallowed and began again, "I think...she meant it as a jibe. A 'quip', as some people may say."
Niall took a moment to grin, to filter every--what they called--'quip' for one that wouldn't be made at the dimwit's expense. "Thank you. You may yet prove to outsource the use of dictionaries."
Phoebe scoffed.
And she was too absorbed in her drink to immediately notice the attention.
She paled, letting her eyes flit left and right, then replied, "S-sorry, I..." She took a deep breath, then smiled. "I merely had something in my throat. I'm certain you would make a lovely dictionary."
She was not shy in her publicly displaying her indulgence of the glassed liquid.
The guest-of-honor's discontent was apparent to Niall. No doubt regretting her new arrangement with Peter. Given the merchant's choice to stand beside the seated lady, Phoebe most-likely noticed his tail-chasing in the Americas were mild in comparison to the horror she gave permission to. A simple conversation of enlightenment should be all that was left to finally cease Talwin's ploy.
"Delight me, Lord Claremont," Lady Allington reclaimed attention, "By clarifying a common inquiry. You and your fiance have been attached since birth, yes?"
Niall slowly turned his head to her. "Yes...well, no. But our mothers began arrangements since then, yes." Then he adjusted his standing position to relieve the stress on his knees. "Have your conversations truly become so idle that such a clarification is a 'common inquiry'?"
Some of the company snickered, encouraging the hostess to draw out her fan. "Oh, no. That's common knowledge. The true inquiry lies around the true engagement. You proposed, what was it, seven years ago? Any particular reason for the wait?"
Niall paused to develop a stiff smile. "My goodness. I've only arrived a mere seconds ago. Should you like my salary value and girth measurements?"
"I would settle with your answer to the question." The hostess's smile shamed him, despite it being hidden behind her fan.
"Eudora--I'm sorry to interrupt--but I just noticed the pattern on our napkins. The little cranes: did you purposefully craft them for the theme?"
Again, the party was stunned to hear Phoebe's statement. Slowly, Lady Allington retracted her gaze in favor of the American lady, but needed no further encouragement to accept the compliment with smiles. "Oh, you are all kindness. No need to apologize. Yes, dear. I have such a fascination with Asian culture and heard that cranes were often made for sick dear ones."
The party's attention was returned to their hostess so that she may elaborate. But Niall remained occupied with scrutinizing Phoebe. Questioning whether she comprehended the extent of her aid, or merely spoke in reaction to his meager avoidance-tactics. Irregardless, when her eyes finally extracted from the hostess and passed to him, Niall took the momentary opportunity to express a courtesy nod.
Phoebe turned to the gentleman standing next to her, thus removing her face from Niall's view. She placed her too-free-of-a-hand on top of Peter's resting on the arm rest. The simpering, money-glutton spared no expense to concern himself over relocating his attention to the gesture and zealously placed his other hand atop of the slowly growing pile.
"My, my," Lady Allington was too quick to take notice of the revolting gesture. "What a daring display."
Niall agreed whole-heartedly.
Phoebe shyly removed her hand, leaving a crevice between Peter's two.
"Hopefully," Lady Allington continued, "You will be more readily to confide in me than Lord Claremont. But there have been whispers of your future absence from some of the debutante events."
"Oh, well, Peter and I--oh!"
A free gloved-hand covered Phoebe's mouth. The ladies present hysterically cooed.
"Oh, Phoebe, you delightful creature!" Lady Allington chided in laughter. "That was a 'yes', if I ever heard one."
"I believe you are influencing your American friend," Peter replied with his head sunk below his shoulders.
"'Eudora'."
Miss Allington eyed the spineless merchant 'til he complied. "Eudora."
"Anyway,--not that I believe any improvement necessary--if such were the case, I must say I like what I see thus far."
Peter grinned. "I concur."
The ladies cooed once more and Niall caught Phoebe taking advantage of the moment to drown her drink. Only Niall could hear the 'pings' of his finger tapping his glass in contemplation.
"I believe," Niall announced over the ill-placed euphoria, "you provide a brilliant point, Eudora."
Lady Allington's quelled-delight encouraged the others to follow. She lifted her chin and arched her brow. "I provide many a brilliant point. Which do you fancy, sir?"
Niall was all smiles. "The opinion of influencing our American friend. You're correct, she needs no improvement. But perhaps we may provide some...cultural enlightenment."
Lady Allington lowered her fan, speculatively, but wore an amused smile, all the same. "And, what aspect of our culture may she learn that societal observation cannot offer?"
Swirling his glass, he replied, "Well, I confess, I socialize little outside of parliament and my siblings."
"Yes, we know your situation. Proceed."
Niall shrugged his lip to hold his retort. "My reasoning for resurfacing the matter, is that I may be biased in believing it essential to play a game of Sardines."
The group hollered in laughter and even Peter playfully scoffed, "We are not five-year-olds, Niall. What a ludicrous suggestion."
Niall raised his head. "Is it? Humor me." He began to circle the room. "We are generally grown adults, attempting to step our foot into a routine society dictated as 'maturity', and 'occupation', and 'settlement', and 'the-death-of-one's-soul'."
The group laughed and Lady Allington replied, "Oh, Niall. How bleak you are. No wonder I forgot your invitation."
Niall raised his glass with a smile. "Allow me to earn my keep. So, as I was saying. We're all well past the prime of--what was it Talwin supplied?--ah, yes, 'ludicrous suggestions' of childhood indulgences. But keep in mind that most of us have parents raised together. So, we've grown tired of Sardines in our over-exposure. But perhaps this may be our only chance to make up for the childhood we missed with our new American friend."
Peter frowned. "You're seriously hoping to have us all succumb to such an humiliation?"
"What's 'Sardines'?" Phoebe saved him from calling out Peter.
Lady Allington suddenly found an interest in the idea at the chance to inform Phoebe about a topic everyone else in the room knew like the back of their hand.
"Oh," Phoebe mused, "So, it is like Hide-and-Seek?"
"My goodness. The Americans have even chosen to alter our childhood games? What's your 'Hide-And-Seek'?" Allington asked for the group.
"It's rather similar, but we have one seeker, rather than one hider. And, generally, we all attempt to hide separately."
"Perhaps we may prefer to try an American tradition instead?" Niall had to slow his speech to quell his excitement of these rules increasing the feasibility of his plan.
"Well, we did agree that Phoebe needs no improvement. Perhaps we may prefer this alternative the Americans have supplied." Lady Allington's suggestions were more of a passive law.
The group scattered about the house in every which direction. Their chaperone, Lord Allington, accompanied the sound of scattering feet, slammed doors, and whispered laughter with a performance of his excellent vocal cords from where he slept on a couch in his ajar study. The sounds allowed Niall's presence to go unnoticed as he examined the group that had sought refuge upstairs.
Fortunately, Peter preferred the downstairs in contrast to Phoebe's consistent interest in private quarters. Niall watched as the few doors she selected were already occupied and she was forced to look elsewhere. Finally, she secured a location.
Removing his boots, he ascended the stairs with the intent of drowning his footsteps with the sound of the counter. His clammy bare-feet increased the distance from him and Phoebe, but he was persistent in leaving his presence unknown. His hand at the doorknob, he could hear the count rounding closer to the targeted final number. The knob was in his hand. He couldn't account for what moistened his hands.
The risks? Reputation? Exposure? His betrayal of a friend's confidentiality?
Completing the turn of the knob, he entered the room. Phoebe was all astonishment.
"Lord Claremont?" She eyed his hand as it closed the door behind him. "Uh, I do believe I was here first, if you would be so kind..."
"Phoebe, I've come to speak of a serious matter."
Her eyes widened and then her hands were at his chest, shoving at him. "I think it's best you look elsewhere. Now."
She had chosen (well, perhaps had forced upon her) the situation of a linen closet. Thus, his only choice of defense was to push his arms and feet against the wall to keep him in place. "No, listen. Forget the game. It was the only way to speak to you privately. Away from Talwin. Away from your Grandmother."
"You could have nothing to say that requires their absence."
"I have everything to say that requires their absence. Listen--."
"No."
"Phoebe, their intentions are to misuse you."
The external pressure was released from his chest. "...What?"
Niall hesitated at the change of tone, but knew he needed to press on with the burden. "The Talwins informed me of a proposition they made with your grandmother. They intended to have both of you married and seemed disinterested whether you would disapprove. Peter, himself, admitted reluctance in the match, but acceptance from the financial suitability. He's been promised a potential title if the merger succeeded."
Her hands went to her stomach and hip. He presumed a feeble attempt to aid in digesting his words.
"I'm sorry," he added. "I wanted to reveal Peter's character more naturally or inspire him away from making further advances, but after hearing of your recent developments with him..."
Niall left it at that.
Finally, Phoebe spoke. "He wishes to marry me?"
Niall raised his head. "...Yes."
She nodded her head and shrugged her lip at the wall. "And you've chosen to thwart his attempts without counseling my opinion. I suppose it's needless to say you never attempted to state your opinion to Peter."
Niall blinked, then stared at her puzzled. "I'm not certain I explained the notion clearly. He has no romantic attachments to you. His interests lay in the dowry and monetary benefits the union will secure him. He doesn't love you or seem interested in that manner of attachment toward you."
Nodding, she twisted at her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she stated, "Thank you for your...'assistance'. But on both mine and Peter's behalf, I believe it no longer necessary."
Niall struggled with multiple starts at a response, but realized he needed to collect his thoughts before a logical statement could be uttered. "Am I to understand you wish to continue this relationship? Knowing he harbors no love. Knowing you will be taken advantage of by family and a potential spouse."
"I know that you have declared an accusation against your friend and my Nana. And I know you've laid one against my own character."
"Phoebe, that was then. I know you now--."
"You know nothing of me, my interests, my mind--."
"I know you're a fool if you agree to this merger. Regardless of your unfounded notion--."
"I think my notion is just finely founded."
"--to enter this soulless pact, Peter himself will destroy the momentary pleasures of 'security'." He scoffed with an incredulous smile. "Do you truly believe his over-compensating for your approval is his natural spirit?"
Phoebe returned the incredulous expression. "You dare speak in this manor of your own friend?"
"He is a selfish creature whose only interest is his father's approval and the money it benefits him. Believe me, I once thought him beyond his father's shadow and would continue to do so had he not revealed his nature to me."
"I think I'd prefer to make a decision myself."
"Even before the reveal, I had my suspicions of the ill-match. That day I found you at your wits-end wandering London. You truly believe he would have risked his reputation to see you home if it wouldn't benefit him? To warm your hands to keep you from your grip? And when I danced with you at your introduction ball when those other gentlemen left you at your seat. True, I terribly dishonored you during our first dance that year ago. But Peter. Both incidences, he had no interest in dancing with you. Because he knew of your secret. And last week, when you were publicly ill--Peter makes it a point to avoid all sickly and those of the profession--if I wasn't there, you would have had no one at your aid."
Phoebe seemed to have trouble breathing. No doubt from the poor choice in room that activated what amount of illness may still plague her. "If you weren't there?"
"You are still quite young, and have other alternatives here in England with a good amount of the season left to explore. But you are far too dependent of an individual to find any success with Peter. You have yet to find a way to sooth any personal ailments without external assistance. It's no wonder you foolishly wished to latch onto the nurturing façade those two menaces performed. And, goodness, look at you even now. With excess punch at the corner of your mouth."
He ran a thumb over the drop and licked his finger, as he had done for Retty many a time. This resulted in an intake of air through her teeth which stopped him in his place. The action was familiar to him. But not from any of his sister's actions.
He blinked.
There was a certainty in him the he had not moved. Their feet remained stationary. His hand, with the punch stained thumb, still remained raised. He was still a considerable distance from her in what room was allotted. And she still had her hands stationed at her stomach and hip. But splotches of red decorated her collarbone. And he had a fleeting memory of the abstract proportion of her lips to his.
His hands came to cup her cheeks. Beneath her flesh was a furnace that spluttered dots across her cheeks. An internal pressure forced his lungs to violently invade the personal space of his ribs. It took both his lips to capture her upper lip, and even then their volume was beyond containment. Lifting her chin, he utilized both his height and her favorite vowel to aid him, but only succeed with siphons. He endeavored to see how he fared with the lower one, only to discover it to be more difficult a feat. Grasping for a better hold, he caught a small taste of the silky interior that inspired him to question whether her other lips tasted the same.
It was then that he knew he must stop.
His hand went to her waist, to remove the remaining sliver of a distance and removing the strain from his neck. Her lips remained equally parted as the initial space that had been used to expel the squeal of a gasp that initiated his grasping at her like a school boy. Slipping his upper lip further in the space provided, the inner texture of his upper-lip glided over what her lower interior had to offer. And he suckled the exterior of her lower-lip to prevent over-rejuvenating the menagerie of dusty-nerves.
Refreshed, and ready for another dip, his hands extended along her upper back for better positioning. Physically incapable of stretching his fingers to their full length, only his palms and finger tips could appreciate her solid and too-warmly dressed form. Such an appreciation was distracted by the consequence of her swelled bosom finding what little-exposed folds of his shirt could be found past his vest and coat. No sooner could he desire to return to the textures of her welcoming lips.
"Is anyone else up here? I've already found the next seeker."
The incapability to breathe never seemed more relevant.
Hearing his own lungs wheezing to squeeze oxygen in and out, the silence of the external world seemed to hinder their success. He pulled his hand to his chest, only realizing his hands were fisted in the light-material of her gown. God, just having his knuckles distinguish the contours of her corset. To know the proximity was narrow all this time.
Past the pulse in his ear, he faintly recognized the other human present finding complications with their basic survival functions.
Dropping the layers like they pricked his fingers, he finally brought a hand to aid his chest. It was war to conjure rational assessment of the situation while fighting his own body. Phoebe seemed no more in control of her own sensibility and seemed just the same as when he first took a sample of her.
Miss Barrettmore.
He turned his back to her with his hand still at his chest. Using the calling seeker's voice as a distraction, he solely worked to return his breathing to normal. The correction needed to be done immediately for the voice could not locate them.
Straightening his back, he took an addition deep-breath for precaution. "I'll reveal myself first. When we're out of hearing, wait a few more minutes before descending."
Without glancing back at her state, or a chance to hear how she may provide evidence of what they had done with her voice, he opened the door with care to avoid exposing her. The seeker was occupied with the other side of the hall which gave him a chance to return his boots to their proper place. Identifying himself, he coaxed the seeker into heading downstairs to wait for the remainder to reveal themselves.
And as he descended the steps, Niall had a revelation: she had not kissed him back.