The Intruder

After that flashy introduction, things slowly settled thanks to Eleanor owning not only the place, but the air, the lights, and everyone's attention, Theodore stood in her shadow for a moment, but soon after, perhaps following her request, he went on his own, stood awkwardly in the middle of nowhere for a moment, then sat on a chair, surrendering to his social exile. But before the frustration had gotten into him, he was saved by Lady Penelope Windemere, who was the first to dare to talk to him. She was a minuscule fair blonde creature; everything from her face, aura, and voice down to her dress spoke of how much attention she'd gotten. Being the youngest of her family, she had a strong older sister who watched over her.

"Hello, Professor Wycliffe," said Penelope with confidence, the kind of confidence a woman would acquire naturally when all the noblemen kiss her hand upon meeting, "It was quite the entrance that you had."

Theodore faced her and answered, "Greetings, Lady…"

"Windemere"

"right, very nice to meet you Lady Windemere," he paused eyeing her in a way most people would find offensive, him being a commoner did not help, but from her perspective, she knew, for reasons even she couldn't tell, that he was looking at, not a woman standing in front of him, but a mere case of study, which for a woman flooding in attention, could have been much more insulting than otherwise.

"Professor?"

"Oh, my apologies… I see you play music." That was no question; it was a certain conclusion.

"How did you know?" she answered without thinking.

"Well, your index finger is slightly deformed; such cases can be explained by writing, for example, for the middle finger, but the only case that matches your status that I could think of is playing the violin." That was a blunder, she knew it, and was conscious about it, that is why she wore thick white gloves, it was not something huge as to be called deformation, but so was Theodore's choice of words.

She looked around if anyone has heard him, and excused herself, she then walked as quickly as the circumstances allowed to her sister Celeste Windemere, who was the one next to Eleanor most of the time, they shared a lot in common, they both were the heads of their families upon the death of their parents despite being women, and they both proved that they deserved their title just as much as the next person.

Penelope stopped two feet away from her sister, who was still standing next to Eleanor, and spoke to her of what happened, and Theodore watched from afar as their faces changed in reaction to her story. To his eyes, Eleanor's face wore the perfect mask, but her eyes were bursting into laughter. Unaware of his mistake, he did not know what they were talking about; he could only watch and anticipate.

A moment later, Penelope stood once more near Theodore's chair, after she heard a speech from her sister, about how a lady shouldn't fear imperfection but face it, the young man became a challenge to her, her young spirit swore by her name, that she will make him treat her like the rest of the folk does, like he is expected to do.

"Yes, professor, I do matter-of-factly play the Violin, I am impressed you managed to catch such a small and well-hidden detail."

"that's flattering," he then remembered an important lesson he'd learned previously; "people like compliments," having that in mind he continued, "I think it's impressive that you can play such a difficult instrument, despite being embarrassed of what it left on your hand, you couldn't give up on playing it, I think it's admirable beyond measure"

Penelope smiled back at his words, satisfied even more than she would have otherwise been, had he treated her like the rest of the nobility does.

"Professor, it's not good manners to wear your hat indoors."

His eyes widened, remembering he was still wearing his hat, "Oh, I apologise." That was the third time he had something to be sorry about that night. He took the hat off, revealing his dark hair, which could use some care; it did not take any shape, it was like a forest that naturally grew into itself with no roads or patterns.

The ball was far from over, and despite Eleanor taking over the stage, she was not the only interesting person, and certainly not the only centre of attention, for not far from where she was, stood Earl Godfrey Whittemore, a man whose stance screams and shines of wisdom, not only is he one of the most influential aristocrats in England, but the head of a family that supported the kingdom for ages.

He never stood alone throughout the whole night, not that he chose to be surrounded by nobles of a lesser title who wanted to be on his good pages, or those who simply got carried by the flow he created just by being there, no, none of these was a choice he made, for others it could seem like that flow is a gift, and he might argue the same to some extent, for the most part however, he despised it.

He couldn't be truthful to any of them, because none of them was his equal, and for the same reason, none of them could be truthful to him, him being the man he is, with his wisdom preceding his title, something almost unheard of, not only did he always see through the pathetic masks everyone wore, but they were all ugly in his eyes. Because of those masks, he was alone. Charged with such thoughts, Earl Whittemore saw something far too interesting for him to ignore and focus on the ball.

Lady Eleanor Thornwood, wearing the mask of nobility better than anyone he'd ever seen, she had a knack for stealing the highlights, she was the established lead performer of every play she enters, and her counterpart, Theodore Wycliffe, a man of intellect, but who has no mask to wear, they both couldn't be farther from one another, yet their beings don't seem to struggle against each other, but quite the opposite.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Earl Whittemore noticed Eleanor dragging Theodore's hand out of the hall; his curiosity took over him, and he followed them. Godfrey Whittemore can be easily misunderstood. He hated the masked nobles, but he was noble and proud to the bone marrow. He was not spying on them, and he did not walk carefully not to make a sound, he made no adjustment to his behaviour, for he had no imaginable reason to do so, he was neither afraid of them noticing him, nor was he afraid of what might be said about him, he was simply bigger than all that.

Theodore and Eleanor turned at a corner, and stopped walking, then started talking.

"So, what did you find out?" said Eleanor in a serious voice that was impossible to match her usual charming nature; she was different.

"She can fight, and she's great at it on top of that, her palm is soft around its edges but slightly harder in the middle, perhaps from swaying a sharp weapon, a small sword, for example, her muscles can't lift anything heavy, she's likely trained for quiet and swift murders."

"Very well, keep watching, and don't let your guard down."

He did not answer, so Eleanor snapped her fingers to catch his attention and spoke with a hearable smile in her voice that was more at ease, "Alright?"

"Yes, Nora."

"Good."

She dragged his hand again, heading back in, but they met the Earl at the corner where they took the turn.

"Earl Whittemore, I thought we would find no chance to talk tonight; it seems God is looking down on us."

"Indeed," He looked around, "but I fear this is no place for such a talk, shall we go back?"

Theodore watched as the two clashed, not only against each other, but against the situation they found each other in, clash might be an overkill, but again, so would Theodore's choice of words be, he couldn't help but draw the obvious conclusion; "Whatever happens tonight, it will certainly be monitored by these two."

The three went back to the main hall, Eleanor and Godfrey matching steps, and Theodore following like her loyal pet –a position he has never hesitated to take.

With the beginning of the late night drawing near, champagne served, bonds deepening in the mansion, and new ones being born, the lights were not going to turn off that night.