[indent][h2][b][i]L o r d   F i n n e g a n   O a k[/i][/b] 𝓼[/h2][/indent]


		[color=silver][i]“Will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?”[/i][/color]

[indent]With his right hand on Evelyn’s waist and the small of her back, Finnegan could feel the docile folds of her posture as they waltzed around the dance floor. Her right hand was loosely placed on his shoulder, which would cause for some alarm in Finnegan if it had been any other woman in at party aside from Lady Alyssana. Evelyn was nothing of worriment in this manner, and even if she was, his unfortunate calculation was at least something in the inadequately dressed ballroom. Her erectness had eased from the First Waltz, and he found maneuvering her more innocently than prior to entering the library. For this reason, he could not complain.

The follies of dancing in and of itself, but having only danced with the poor girl a couple times, now, Finnegan could assume much about her personality. Her dance etiquette was not as polished as he would have liked, but her simplicity was modest enough to ensure that she would not be partnerless, given that the gentlemen at this party were anything less than genteel in their mannerisms. He had already spotted several guests with limited taste for following the standards of high-class society, and he meant this far beyond the shallow visage of naive pink painted hair. Finnegan was above making any mention and preferred to keep the commentary crushed, underfoot on the unkept tiles that layered the ballroom.

However much more was to be said about the dance will be swept into the corners of the room or pushed under the carpet that lay somewhere whose whereabouts are yet to be revealed. The couple danced not just with themselves but in some flow of events found themselves together, once more, and in the last of the courtesies that were offered between the Lord and his ill-advised guest, they were interrupted -- and for a good reason, no less.

“Mademoiselle,” Finnegan, paused his dance with Evelyn as the music determined the change of venue in style, pace, and altogether, subject as they were lead back to the library. A smile brightened his lips as he looked down at her. She was flushed in the face but altogether pale as if a strange mesmerism had overcome her. Her body gently tapped fingers against his forearm for better understanding of the sensation. Her lips parted, making a small peep. However, she was interrupted in the most honest manner necessary and shushed by a servant requesting their presence in the library.

And upon making it to the library, complete with a small, light conversation that was in jest about the previous comments on the door, there in the ornately decorated room, several announcements were made, in which went well-beyond Evelyn’s current condition. It appeared Finnegan’s misfortune had turned into something quite in-genius, “Of course,” he let out a sigh, feeling the genuine pomp of his own pride carry his boredom through the speech. He would have much rather been somewhere else...

...Although, he ought to pay a better mind. There was more reason than just the fact of an invitation having summoned him to the court as some guard dog on a leash, which he found to be degrading. (He could make an argument for others to be of such a nature due to their inability to properly apply a decent cologne or soap.) Finnegan, no less, liked to think he was more than just that, especially with with the personalized dog tag names, “This probably all means so very little to you, my dear Evelyn?” his eyes scanned her weary cheeks and the shadows that cast over the young woman’s faint eyes. He could cup one of them in his palm; and like a thief, he could sneak a kiss upon her forehead, right beneath the gentle curls that wisped from her fashion; but he thought better of himself than to resort to in such a rested position that all too many of the guests already understood about him.

“No, no. I am quite interested,” she feigned, and he thought to let her take a seat, instead of cling to him as a broken mechanical doll would. She was such a piece of work prior to this engagement, and he was not sure if he was saddened by her having been made of no use so quickly. And so, he did not bestow anything of the sort with affection upon her.

Instead, the man glanced around in his waist coat, trying to find himself in line with Lady Alyssana and her magnificent metal wings. His blue eyes combed through the room and all its shelves, while he mindlessly displayed an air of authoritative apathy, and before he found his subject, his action was interrupted by his most recently hired employee, his brother, Walter. His eyes drew back to his guest, and her silk, springtime garment. At first, he thought his next guest should wear something embroidered, and his next thought was of having to choose different names for both he and unfortunately, his brother. He was far less interested in basking a secret honor that likened him to dog scraps and felt such contemplation lean him towards the inevitable aesthetic that parted the human from the animal, “Ivory Wingtip and...” He paused for his own identity, “Silk Cavat,” he said gently, under his breath with pleasure, “Yes… No,” he changed his mind, feeling the fickleness of his own indecision and then decided to remain firm in his initial choices. 

“Pardon?” Evelyn asked. Her eyes were looking intently upon him, begging to know what he had just said in hopes that it was for her.

And he rested her assuredly with another smile, even perhaps, batting his dark, blonde lashes. “We shall find you a seat,” he corrected her and began guiding her towards the cushioned chairs that enjoyed their whereabouts amongst the shelves and studies of the room. Her gloved hand still rested quite comfortably, upon the white of his suit as she leaned upon his strength and knowledge.[/indent]