Location: Almack’s
“Chivalry never died; some men just choose to ignore it.”
Fyror found that he was once more met with kind words from Ms. Millicent Wyndham, quite the contrast from her ill-mannered mother. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she spoke with sincerity, or if she was simply using flattering words to ease the bruise dealt by Mrs. Wyndham. The answer mattered not at the moment as he was more concerned about the shake in her voice and the man who had put it there. He gave her a slight respectful bow in greeting, and his brows furrowed when he took in the emotion written in her expression. He felt a strong urge to comfort her and make things right. It was in his nature to be protective and to care for others, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He followed Millicent’s gaze when she unexpectedly turned away. What he saw, or better yet whom he saw, greatly displeased him. The man that Ms. Wyndham had been speaking to, the man who had caused her distress, was glaring in their direction as he stood in the doorway to Almack’s. If Fyror was not mistaken, one of the other Wyndham sisters was at the man’s side. Fyror’s expression hardened in response. He made to step in front of Millicent, so as to be the first to engage the man; however, to his dismay, she quickly excused herself and went back to the man! He started to reach out to grab her and pull her back towards him, but he stopped himself, letting his arm fall back to his side. He realized it wouldn’t help matters if he manhandled her.
He barely caught what Millicent said under her breath, and it indicated that she did not want to go back to this man. So why was she going back to him? What threat had he made? He watched her every step as he dully heard the women in black and Virginia speaking behind him. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides as he contemplated what to do. His jaw clenched angrily as the man grabbed her roughly and then escorted her inside once she had relented. When she looked back over at those she had left and her eyes lingered on him, it was about his undoing. He stood there transfixed until she disappeared from his sight.
“Who is that man?” he asked sharply as he spun back around to face Virginia and the woman in black. It took him a moment to realize that the woman in black was Jeanette and a moment longer to realize she was wearing a dress rather than men’s clothes. Seeing her again, safe and sound, was a cooling balm to his anger. A small strained smile appeared on his face, and he was at a loss for words at the moment.
A sense of dread began to creep back when Jeanette told him and Virginia about the damaged wards. Yet he was thrown off when she so quickly changed the subject. Of all the topics she could choose to speak about next, she chose to ask whether or not she looked good in the dress she was wearing. Without thinking he gave her a onceover. A slight flush came to his cheeks when he realized what he had just done. He cleared his throat, poorly playing it off, before speaking.
“I think you look beautiful, though—” he started, before pausing to lift the veil away from her face,
“I think it is better if one can see your face.” He gave her small almost shy smile.
He glanced over at Virginia when she spoke and then watched as she made her way into Almack’s proper. He then turned to face Jeanette once more.
“Shall we, Ms. Crane?” he stated as he offered his arm to her in order to escort her inside.
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