A shiver had run down her spine when the earl touched her, and the eerie feeling from the gesture hadn’t faded when he led her away from the gathering. She’d also been surprised how a sudden burst of servants had emerged from the kitchen just as he’d begun to lead her away—she’d lost sight of most everyone before she’d even left the room. Gone was the music, the lit chandeliers and the bubble of conversation. With each step she’d taken, her unease had grown into nervous paranoia.

He was trying to be subtle and polite; that much was obvious. Even so, her hand itched towards her thigh: underneath her dress was a set of vials for cases of emergency and self-defense. She had no reason to believe that he would attack her, but on the other hand, he was acting remarkably suspicious. Why invite her to a gathering when she’d provided no information about herself? Why provide her with a dress? Why take her away from everyone when the entire theme was mingling?

Was it a dark fascination with her that she’d somehow acquired? Did he have a history of escorting away unaccompanied young ladies to his study? As one question led to another, little beads of sweat appeared along the edge of her forehead and the nape of her exposed neck. By the time they reached his study, she was feeling cold, stiff, and a little bit nauseas as her over-fed stomach complained at her to relax.  Despite the paleness her face had taken, she still managed to appear somewhat composed, a thin smile upon her face as she stepped into the earl’s veritable library.

She could see a fine wooden desk in the corner of her eye, but elected not to go near it—the thing radiated an oppressive, business-like aura. Instead, she gazed about for another, more relaxed place to begin conversing with the earl, only to feel another shudder when the click of the door closing sounded from behind. Cicely turned, eyes wide, and there he was. Between her and escape loomed the tall, immaculately dressed Mr. Eisenhorn.

This time, the sweat was thick enough to start the tiniest trickle down her neck. Cicely promptly cleared her throat and turned back around, unsure of whether or not she was overreacting. Surely, another guest from downstairs wouldn’t feel quite so oppressed. She would have been flattered and eager, no? But then she would have to be clueless: one did not approach an earl casually, nor accept his attentions without regard to the consequences of gaining or losing his favor. 

[i]But he has been pleasant. I’m just… I’m overthinking things. I’ve never been in a situation like this, so I just need to calm down and act rationally.[/i] Cicely found a comfortable-looking sofa next to one of the nearby bookcases and made her way towards it, trying to remove the lump in her throat before she sat herself down and spoke. “I’m so sorry—my constitution this evening is rather weak. Wine would be too much at the moment, but if you had some water…”