As Victor finished explaining his ambitious business proposal, Jonathan looked at him thoughtfully. "Mr. Mallory, this has been an enlightening discussion. It's getting late, and lunch is ready. Would you care to join us?"
Victor smiled, "Thank you, Mr. Whitmore. I would be delighted."
They exited the study, Higgins leading the way towards the dining room. As they walked, Jonathan and Victor continued to discuss the potential of the business venture, their steps echoing softly on the polished floors.
As the others joined them on the way, The double doors swung open, and the Whitmore family filtered into the elegant dining room, taking their usual seats around the long mahogany table. Jonathan settled into his chair at the head, giving Victor a welcoming nod as he joined them.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," Jonathan said.
Victor inclined his head respectfully, as he lowered himself into the upholstered seat. Just as the others were getting settled, a tremor shot through Victor's left arm, causing his hand to tremble violently.
A flicker of alarm flashed across Victor's features before he managed to school them back into a mask of nonchalance.
Not now, Victor pleaded internally, his smile tightening as the first tremor skittered through his fingers. Please, not in front of them...
Clenching his jaw, Victor adeptly slipped his shaking hand beneath the table's edge and squeezed it into a tight fist with his right. He forced a tight smile as the tremors spread in rolling waves up toward his shoulder.
As the servants began serving the appetizer course, Victor relied on every ounce of his restraint to keep his body rigid and motionless. Each uncontrolled spasm lanced through his muscles like heated pokers, the pain stole his breath away. But his expression remained a mask of polite interest as the conversations flowed around him.
Sarah studied her father surreptitiously from across the table as he engaged Victor Mallory in easygoing conversation. It was a rare sight - her father's rich laughter lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, his entire mien exuding a warmth she so seldom witnessed.
Watching him joke and share tales with their dining guest, one would be hard-pressed to recognize the imposing presence of Jonathan Whitmore, business mogul and stern patriarchal figure.
"An amusing tale, to be sure," Victor responded to Jonathan's anecdote with an easy smile, his voice the very essence of geniality despite the tightness Sarah detected beneath. "Though based on my brief acquaintance, I confess I would never have taken you for such a reckless soul in your youth, Mr. Whitmore."
Jonathan's rich laughter rolled out, the lines around his eyes crinkling with genuine mirth. "Ah, but you've only scratched the surface, my friend! Why, I could regale you for nights on end with the misadventures of the Whitmore boys before responsibility and the weight of legacy reigned us in."
'It seems that the things they discussed in the meeting on top of Victor saving Dad have caused Dad to finally mitigate the suspicion of Victor and accept him as a friend of the family'Sarah thought internally.
But Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Victor accept a glass of wine from the footman, his fingers briefly curling inward in what looked like an unconscious spasm. There was an undercurrent of tension there, simmering beneath his composed veneer that she could not quite put her finger on.
Sarah could not quite banish her sense of unease as the meal progressed. More than once she caught the unmistakable flicker of strain pass over Victor's features, there one moment and gone the next. His fingers would briefly tremble around his utensils before he appeared to force them still through sheer force of will.
"Mr. Mallory," Emily's cheerful voice broke through the haze of Victor's agony. "What are your thoughts on the opera performance next month? I heard they will be putting on a revival of La Traviata."
Stabbing pains shot down Victor's back, but he mustered what he hoped was an engaging smile for the youngest Whitmore daughter.
"Ah, an inspired choice," he managed in an even tone. "Though I must confess, my Opera knowledge pales in comparison to your own cultivated taste, Miss Whitmore."
His subtle evasion seemed to satisfy Emily, who happily launched into an elaborate summary of the production's history and creative team. All the while, Victor focused every fibre of his being on maintaining an aura of relaxed geniality.
Was he unwell? He did not present as such, his words and wit flowing with nary a pause. And yet Sarah could not shake the feeling that some inner turmoil gripped Victor.
Sweat began to bead on Victor's brow as he struggled through rounds of polite conversation, his responses growing more clipped with each passing minute. The tremors showed no signs of subsiding, intensifying until his very teeth chattered with the force of them.
Even as forks were being replaced for the main course, Victor's torment showed no signs of relenting. He could feel the tremors spreading throughout his entire left side now, causing his jaw and neck muscles to twitch unnaturally.
Sarah observed him closer now, catching the subtle tic of tension in his jaw, the barest sheen of perspiration on his brow. His shoulders were drawn taut as if braced against some unseen force.
Steeling himself, Victor sought to rejoin the conversation in a bid for normalcy. "I hear this season's social calendar is quite full," he remarked lightly. "Any events you are particularly looking forward to?"
The question was a mistake. As soon as the words left his lips, a tremor seized Victor's entire body in one violent convulsion. He tensed, barely managing to swallow a cry of agony as his fork clattered loudly against his plate.
Emily's eyes went wide, her startled features a study in open-mouthed shock.
Silence fell over the table, all eyes turning toward the source of the disturbance. Victor could feel their questioning stares, and smell the wariness in the air as they sensed something amiss.
"My apologies," he bit out through a rictus grin, his voice strained. "A...muscle spasm."
Jonathan looked on in puzzled concern. "Victor? Are you quite alright?"
But the mask was already being reassembled, Victor's affable demeanour slipping back into place with the ease of long practice. "Merely the lingering effects of horseriding, I'm afraid," he lied smoothly, offering a tight smile. "Nothing to trouble yourselves over."
But his eyes...those piercing blue eyes held a tempest barely restrained behind their calm facade. Sarah read the turmoil there, the desperation to hide whatever ailed him from prying eyes.
The eating and conversation continued after confirming that everything was alright, the only one who was not participating was James, who was silently savouring his food, whether due to tiredness after the race or due to everyone's focus being Victor.
Sweat began to bead along Victor's brow as the tremors reached a fever pitch, wracking his entire left side in roiling waves of torture. His trapped hand was clenched into a useless claw, tendons pulled rigid as an overwound clock spring.
'This was it, the point of no return. Either I excused himself now or risk horrifying the Whitmores with a public display of his anguish.'Victor thought.
Mustering what he hoped was a convincing smile, Victor abruptly shoved back from the table fighting through another wave of pain.
"My apologies," he gasped out, every word a battle. "A previous...engagement, slipped my mind..."
He pushed himself to his feet, grateful when his legs did not immediately betray him.
"Surely you can rearrange your so-called important appointment for the chance of dining with us" James spoke for the first time.
"I am sorry as I can't keep you company as horse riding today was not in my today schedule, leading to the late "Victor replied
Jonathan intervened "You are excused Victor, we will have the chance on the day of the meeting"
Victor thanked them and turned towards the door leading outside, he could feel their probing stares as he turned on unsteady feet to make his exit. Jonathan's eyes in particular burned into him, scepticism writ plain on the older man's features.
Emily seems to lost the mood to chatter and start focusing on the delicacies.
Stay upright, he commanded himself with each stilted step. Just...make it...to the door…
Sarah half-rose from her chair, her hand outstretched in an abortive gesture of aid, her instincts rebelling against the obvious falsehoods they were being fed. But she held herself in check, watching in perturbed silence as Victor staggered out of view.
Beyond the dining room's heavy oaken doors, Victor staggered blindly, his entire universe having contracted to a single-minded drive: escape, escape at all costs before the dam shattered entirely.
The facade, so carefully maintained, was crumbling with each agonizing stride. By the time Victor reached the foyer, he could no longer fully suppress the anguished groans that slipped through his gritted teeth.
It was only once the tremors reached their zenith, seizing every muscle and tendon from his neck down in merciless paroxysms of torture, that Victor finally unleashed the agonized howls he had been suppressing. He barely registered the pattern of Higgins' concerned footsteps as his suffering whited out all else.
Doubled over, curled on the gleaming foyer floor, Victor could no longer muffle the ragged screams that were torn from his very core. This was hell itself, hellfire searing through every nerve as his body revolted against his mind's staunch controls.
Trembling violently, Victor hauled himself upright and half-fell, half-stumbled towards the front doors.
At last, blessedly, Higgins materialized with news that his vehicle awaited. Victor felt himself sag, all pretences of geniality discarded as he clutched at the wall for support.
Somehow, through sheer force of will, Victor propelled himself through the front doors and out into the dim evening light. He was only vaguely cognizant of Higgins' concerned visage, of the gravel crunching beneath his faltering steps as he made his way to the waiting car.
At last, he tumbled into the rear seat, violently seizing as the dam of his restraint burst in an explosion of torment. Every muscle, every nerve in his body revolted in a blinding conflagration of spasms and paroxysms.
There, in the blessed sanctuary of the vehicle's dim interior, Victor could finally unleash the agonized howls he had been suppressing. His limbs convulsed, his spasming torso leaving him rolled in a shuddering foetal position on the floor.
A prisoner in his own body, tortured from within as the tremors held his form in its merciless grip.
Through the windshield, the Whitmore estate had long since faded from view.
Victor sat in the back seat of the car, his body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. His left hand, still trembling, rested against the car door as he fumbled to pull down the seat. With shaky fingers, he managed to retrieve a briefcase stashed beneath it.