"Sir Frederick, if you're here, shouldn't you be the wordsmith of the night?" I ask.
"You see scamp, I'm your opener. Then you come in and send their pompous noggins aclutter."
"A nobody as the highlight of such an auspicious occasion? You teeter mockery."
His grin brings me anxiety. "Your presentation at the Harmonick lodge astounded me. Your elect mannerisms is the sought of wildcard I desired for this event."
Nevertheless, I should stay calm.
Another croissant?
No.
A tart?
Bad, bad experience.
She bit me. Twice!
Nebo, you're a deviant.
Why do I still call him my friend?
"Hold your head high. The nerves have you sullen,"
Sir Frederick says
as he straightens his tie,
combs fingers through his hair,
and gathers courage.
"The window to touch a widow is open.
I will use all fingers."
He ambles off in the direction of Lady McBess.
An hour can't be killed alone.
But I...
I don't want to ingratiate myself
to these hand over mouth giggling sycophants.
Well, I must admit,
the women here are fair.
Most are from well off families.
The others
seek to scale ladders,
and I am a bottom rung.
But, to be in the heart
of a walleted man's daughter
is a pleasing notion.
Especially because
I don't bring
any semblance of elevation.