He had endless patience for most things – particularly society, for if he wanted to marry one day he was obligated to be part of it – but upon arriving at this dinner party Endymion had realised his mistake. This was one of those invitations it would have been better to feign an excuse for: something noble or diligent or interesting, like a curse he was busy breaking or some other thrilling-but-inescapable-venture.
Instead, he had scarcely seen a friend here, and Endymion was resigned to an uneventful night. It was perhaps because he cared so little, or because it was so airless and dull in here, that he had had to loosen his collar already, unbutton a top button and tousle his hair. And then, as he went to take his seat, at his side was –
“Oh,” he breathed, wrongfooted by the redhead’s appearance. Not too taken aback to forget to pull out her chair for her, appropriately, but surprised enough for his brow to furrow. “Indeed,” he agreed, because there was plenty he had imagined getting to say to her when next they met, and precisely nothing he was prepared to bring up here; in fact, all that was on his lips was her name – Merida – which he could hardly say in company either. “Miss...” (His memory was failing him; he had worked out who she was in society once before, but her surname had suddenly flown right out of his head.) “Though I am pleased to see you again, Miss...” Nope. He didn’t know it, and glanced at her helplessly as he took his own seat beside her.
Instead, he had scarcely seen a friend here, and Endymion was resigned to an uneventful night. It was perhaps because he cared so little, or because it was so airless and dull in here, that he had had to loosen his collar already, unbutton a top button and tousle his hair. And then, as he went to take his seat, at his side was –
“Oh,” he breathed, wrongfooted by the redhead’s appearance. Not too taken aback to forget to pull out her chair for her, appropriately, but surprised enough for his brow to furrow. “Indeed,” he agreed, because there was plenty he had imagined getting to say to her when next they met, and precisely nothing he was prepared to bring up here; in fact, all that was on his lips was her name – Merida – which he could hardly say in company either. “Miss...” (His memory was failing him; he had worked out who she was in society once before, but her surname had suddenly flown right out of his head.) “Though I am pleased to see you again, Miss...” Nope. He didn’t know it, and glanced at her helplessly as he took his own seat beside her.
