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"I'm—Lady Henrietta! Shouldn't you be finding your own name and seat?!" Nadia exclaimed in a heated whisper.
"Your father asked me to look after you, and I can't have some silly foible by old Henry Perrywise foiling your father's goodwill," Lady Henrietta declared, examining the nameplate as if it held some secret clues. "Lord Beckham... a strange fellow. I hear little of him from these events. Perhaps he'd simply rather sit up on his hill," Lady Henrietta mused.
"Or," Nadia interjected, "perhaps he simply hasn't got the time or attention span for these silly dinner parties," she responded coolly.
"Come now, darling! Every single man has his eye out for lovely ladies, and—"
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"Excuse me," came a darkly-entrancing voice from behind Lady Henrietta's bird-like squawks. Nadia blinked, turning to see the source of the sound - oddly brooding, but spoken in a manner that demanded attention. Lady Henrietta froze and turned to see him - a man in a black coat, his expression dark, his face handsome but crossed with emotion. He struck Nadia silent - he was like nothing else at this ball, as out-of-place as she was, clothed in dark colors and vexed rather than pleased by the drunken follies of loud, gossiping nobles in bright-white and powder-colored coats and gowns. "I believe that spot is meant for me. No offense, m'lady," the brooding man rumbled, his voice like a soothing thunderstorm crooning quietly across the northern moors. Lady Henrietta stood in stunned silence for a moment, gathering her thoughts before a devilish grin crossed her wrinkled face.
"Certainly, m'lord, you've a wonderful little lady waiting to make conversation with you," Lady Henrietta brimmed, tossing a conspiratorial smile in Nadia's direction. Nadia cringed, the old woman admiring the new arrival, the entrancing storm of a man, as sat into the chair. Nadia got a better look at him now; tall, broad, with a deep face crested with the signs of both wisdom and strength; eyes as much a tempest as his voice, his expression so out of place somewhere like this. Nadia silently wished him to be different, so different the way she was; perhaps, she held out hope, this handsome and curious man saw the world differently, just as she did.
She could only hope. Men had little regard for women like Nadia, or their 'worldly' ideas, and she felt certain this man would prove no different. She looked away, awkwardly counting candles along the far wall. This man, Lord Beckham, didn't seem too interested in breaking the silence, either... which Nadia took to be rather interesting. Among these types it was, after all, the duty of the man to be the aggressor; such was what she came to expect.
Instead, he reclined in the chair, deep in thought on himself; so deep, it seemed, that Nadia honestly grew... a little offended. Had she not the looks of one of these other debutantes or young heiresses? Didn't she deserve his attention? Instead, since the moment he'd invited himself to sit, he'd remained silent, and she began to long to hear his powerful voice again, if only to know she was deserving of at least an inkling of his attention.
Instead, he remained silent. The chatter around them grew louder; the squealing noise of the string orchestra growing bawdier, and the life around them growing more jovial. But still Lord Beckham and Lady Havenshire remained standoffish, her arms crossed atop her chest; Lord Beckham's eyes drawn inward, looking at his own soul more than anything around them. Nadia shifted in her chair, the wood creaking beneath her; finally, the silence between them deafening and her own sense of insecurity welling up, she spoke out.
"Well, I'm rather surprised at your acquiescence, I'll say that much," Nadia bristled. "Letting the woman be the first to speak is not quite the manner I've come to expect from men of wealth in this part of the world." Lord Beckham's expression turned slowly, and when his deep, contemplative eyes fell upon her she blinked, realizing just how confrontational she had sounded.
"Pardon, m'lady. If you were expecting a wellspring of conversation, perhaps we ought to ask Lady Henrietta to come back," he spoke, words utterly deadpan. Simultaneously shocked and pleased, Nadia couldn't stop herself from erupting into a completely ugly and unladylike laugh. Lord Beckham smiled mildly. "I'm fortunate that made you laugh, else ways I'd be expecting a long and firmly-worded scolding from the old woman rather soon."
"Oh, lord, no, we'd both be getting one if she knew I'd laughed at that," Lady Havenshire whispered, chuckling. "I wasn't aware her reputation was so well-known."
"You weren't aware? Shall I call her back to make you aware? None have been so vigorous in letting all of England know that Lady Henrietta likes to talk, than Lady Henrietta herself," Lord Beckham joked. Once more Nadia let out that ugly laugh, stifling it before she embarrassed herself, though Lord Beckham's smile invited her to continue. "Please, don't be concerned on the nature of your laugh around me. This is Lord Perrywise's event, after all." Nadia blinked; she could feel her defenses falter, her heart weak and inviting for just a moment.
"Such boldness," she grinned. "You're certain you belong here? You're not some manner of rogue who slipped in unaccounted for, are you?" Nadia snarked incredulously.
"I could certainly ask the same of you, with that laugh," he teased, inviting a playful slap on the shoulder from Lady Havenshire.
"That's most uncalled for, Lord Beckham," she exaggerated his title to tease.
"Quite so, Lady Havenshire," he responded with the same sense of gravity; she expressed surprise.
"H-how did you know my name?" she intoned quizzically.
"Well, I've a secret to share," Lord Beckham's voice grew conspiratorial. "I've some great manner of otherworldly power, such that it would engender envy from the devil himself. I can see into the minds of the vulnerable, the weak-willed, and I can..." he drew closer, his voice falling to a whisper. "...read, the nameplate sat before them," he finished with a flourish, tapping on the plaque - LADY HAVENSHIRE - still set in front of Nadia. Embarrassed, she chuckled, her cheeks bright red.
"Weak-willed, huh?" she sniped back playfully. "Gullible, perhaps I'd admit, but weak-willed? Do you know who I am?"
"Of course I do," he answered without missing a beat, "You're Lady Havenshire." She blushed and tried to stifle her laughter again, her heart singing, odd yet comforting. This strange man had somehow proven himself to be different - at least, entertaining.
"That's not what I meant, Lord Beckham," she again repeated his name with that sarcastic weightiness. "You wouldn't call a woman weak-willed when she's spent the last few years traveling the world, all on her own, would you?"
"Is that what you've done? Am I meant to be impressed? I traveled across all of northern England, you know, and I'm certain that's a far greater trifle than traveling the world. Do you have any clue how many Lady Henriettas have sought to talk my ear off in the past few years?" he joked.
"I'm serious! It was no small task," Lady Havenshire responded incredulously.
"Yes, in fairness, I do have an inkling of who you are, Lady Havenshire. Have you forgotten that lovely introduction Lady Henrietta gave you?" he asked. Her laughter died away to grudging admission.
"I do indeed recall," she nodded. "I had good reason to be scared after that, frankly. Noblemen hear of a single woman with an ailing father, and..."
"Ailing father?" Lord Beckham's dry sense of humor faded to a voice full of deep concern. False tears could be conjured by many a skilled liar, and the aristocracy housed many such liars, but something... something, about the deep sound of his voice, about that face, something about... him, convinced Nadia of his sincerity. "I'm... I'm sorry, for..."
"You've nothing to apologize... for," Nadia's voice grew vulnerable as she thought on her father.
"I know the... pain, I watched my father..." Lord Beckham shamefully admits. "My sister and I could do nothing to help him."
