The Adopted Debutante

On the Steps of the Opera House

Eloise stared. What could Flintworth possibly have to say? And why would such words make him fall to his knees?

Flintworth's cobalt eyes gazed deep into hers. The man seemed desperate to speak his mind, but could only fumble for the right words. Without thinking, Eloise stepped closer to him.

"What is this about, Mr. Flintworth?" she whispered.

"I..." he gasped hoarsely. Eloise leaned nearer still, but Flintworth looked down, "I didn't mean to trip..."

Before Eloise could ponder this, Flintworth stumbled to his feet again.

"I saw you--you--you dropped--" 

Giving up, he shook his head and merely extended his hand. A familiar piece of cloth lay in his palm.

"Oh!" she screamed. She snatched her memory patchwork from his hand. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Flintworth! Thank you so much! How did you see it?"

Flintworth's eyes shone, and his cheeks flushed, "I saw you near the, um, pillar and--"

"What's this, then?" Sir Carroll asked, coming near at the sound of Eloise' squeal.

The smile disappeared from Eloise' face. She flushed and shoved the cloth into her glove quickly. 

"Oh-erm-Mr. Flintworth found my glove," she smiled to Sir Carroll, holding up her small hand as she fidgeted with the cuff.

"Did he?" Sir Carroll asked. "You seemed quite pleased."

"Well, what's a lady without her gloves," Eloise said, beaming at Flintworth. "Thank you again."

"Of course," Flintworth said, bowing to hide his confusion (and bashful smile).

Bylious approached.

"So that's where you went off to, eh, Flintworth?" he said, having overheard the conversation, "We find Miss Eloise and all you can come up with is her glove."

He laughed. Flintworth shifted and looked down. 

"I'll try harder next time, sir," he said.

"I hope so," Bylious chuckled. "What if the lady were in danger? She'd be in hot water if you were the only one sent to find her."

Eloise gasped. "No, he has very keen eyes, Mr. Bylious," she found herself saying.

"For a glove," he laughed.

"That will do," Sir Carroll interrupted. "Come along, Eloise, we must be getting home."

"Yes, Uncle Carroll," she nodded, flushing. She'd spoken too quickly in defense of Mr. Flintworth, hadn't she?

Good nights were exchanged and Sir Carroll led Eloise to their carriage.

"I am sorry I fell back, Uncle Carroll," she said. "Everyone was walking so quickly, I--"

"Never mind. You're alright," he said briskly. "We have an important morning tomorrow. Let's go home."

"Oh, yes, the luncheon," she remembered.

They reached the carriage and Sir Carroll helped her step inside. 

"Did we invite Mr. Bylious?" Eloise asked.

Sir Carroll paused. 

"I'm not sure if we did," he said slowly

"Don't you think we should? As a thank you for tonight?" she said, "I do feel terrible for inconveniencing them. Wouldn't it be courteous?"

Sir Carroll thought a moment. He seemed hesitant to agree, but at length he nodded and said he would extend the invitation. Eloise watched as he hailed Bylious and spoke to him. Flintworth stood near, loyal as ever. Eloise felt the cloth inside her glove, enormously relieved that she had not lost her precious token.

"Thank you, Mr. Flintworth," she breathed.

As she watched, she suddenly noticed Miss Hartford descending the steps. Eloise shifted further back in her carriage, afraid to be seen lest Miss Hartford decide to approach or at least smite her by a look. Another young woman walked beside Miss Hartford. She did not seem intimidated in the least. In fact, she had an overall air of confidence that seemed to set Miss Hartford on edge. The pair walked past Eloise' carriage, not near enough to see her but near enough to be overheard.

"I do enjoy a good show when I'm in town," the young woman said easily. Her accent sounded different from those Eloise was used to.

Hartford laughed daintily, "I dare say you could easily draw in an audience."

"Would that my singing would let me," her companion sighed. "But I must be home. Aunt Maybel will be wondering after me. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Hartford."

"The pleasure is all yours, Miss Pemberly, was it?"

"Oh, you spoil me! You mustn't let me be so selfish, you know. Enjoy your evening. Ta-ta!"

Eloise tried to snatch a peek at "Miss Pemberly," but both women had disappeared from sight by the time she glanced out. She felt herself overwhelmed with admiration and maybe a little envy at Miss Pemberly's debonair manner. Perhaps such confidence would be considered scandalous, but Eloise couldn't help feeling that such outward confidence could only come from inner confidence. 

Eloise recalled Miss Pemberly mentioned that she was "in town." She hoped the young woman would stay long enough so that they could meet.

"Peter said they might come," Sir Carroll's entrance into the carriage broke Eloise from her thoughts.

"Oh! They might?"

"Yes," he nodded. He tapped the top of the carriage, "Trellis Manor, Fiedler. Thank you."

~~~~~

The carriage rolled away from the curb. Flintworth watched it leave. Part of him hoped Miss Trellis might look out at him, but she seemed to be hiding from sight while Sir Carroll talked to them. Poor girl! He knew he would have been so embarrassed if someone to come find him.

"Well! I'd say that was rather a success," Bylious said.

Flintworth stirred, "A success, sir?"

"Yes. We helped a young damsel in distress and now we will mingle with her elite friends tomorrow. Affairs couldn't be better."

The servant's brows furrowed, "I believe Sir Carroll said that his friends were--"

"What friend of Sir Carroll is not a friend of Miss Trellis?" Bylious interrupted. "After all, I am friend to both of them, am I not?"

Flintworth couldn't refute that argument. He followed his master to their carriage. If Bylious had been invited to the luncheon, then surely he was bound to come along. He was certain Sir Carroll had hinted at that more than once, if he remembered their conversation correctly. If the older man was having a number of friends over, then Flintworth knew he must do his utmost to keep Bylious from causing a scene.

I hope we don't arrive too early. Flintworth thought. He's not at his best in the morn--

A loose flagstone caught him by surprise. With a stifled yelp, Flintworth stumbled on it. His balance was compromised, but a strong arm caught him before he could fall.

"God, these flagstones will be the death of me," he grunted. "Thank you--Mr. Faulke?"

Faulke smiled as he helped Flintworth steady himself. "Wouldn't want your pretty face bashed in, would we?"

"Sir?" Flintworth said, appalled by the comment.

"Faulke?" Bylious appeared on the scene in a moment. He pushed Flintworth away from Faulke, "What are you thinking, laying hands on my property?"

"He's not yours. Sir Carroll commissioned him," Faulke shrugged.

"I stumbled, sir--" Flintworth tried to explain. Bylious didn't even glance at him.

"Just don't provoke me, you hear?" he said, shaking his finger at Faulke.

"Helping your staff literally save face is provocation?" Faulke said. "What will the next one be, breathing?"

"Tardiness," Dr. Newson said, approaching. He slipped his pocket watch back in its fold. "You should have been here ten minutes ago, Edward."

"If I had been, Flintworth may have bruised his chin."

Flintworth frowned, "That's no concern of yours, sir." He had endured far worse than a bruised chin and he mostly likely would continue to endure worse.

 "I accept your thanks," Faulke smirked.

A young man approached. "Newson, are we getting on or not?" 

Flintworth recognized him. Benjamin Talbot, a banker by trade, who was soon to inherit his father's bank.  

"Yes, Talbot, just a little mixup between Edward and Mr. Bylious here," Newson sighed.

"He was laying hands on my servant."

Flintworth wished the ground would swallow him up. Or at least swallow up this recurring topic.

Talbot raised an eyebrow. "In public?"

"Apparently," Bylious nodded smugly.

"Hmm, I should say he's rather taken a page out of your book, then, sir," Talbot smiled, patting Faulke's shoulder. "But it is to be hoped he doesn't take a page out of your ledgers, Mr. Bylious. I dare say he wouldn't be seen in public, then."

Bylious' face flushed, "Are you threatening me, Mr. Talbot?"

"Not at all, sir," the banker shrugged. "But the facts will bear their own interpretation, I suppose. In any case, we must off. Our table at the Visconde won't reserve itself. Good evening."

With that, Talbot guided both Faulke and Newson away from the silenced gentleman. Flintworth put a hand on Bylious' shoulder, hoping to keep him calm. Bylious shrugged it off. 

"Come on," he grunted, turning on his heel. "I'll not be bothered by the likes of them."

"Yes, sir." 

"And for God's sake, mind your step, you buffoon!" 

"Yes, sir."

When they reached the carriage, Flintworth made to step in after Bylious. 

"No, up with the driver," Bylious said, closing the door on his face.

With a sigh, Flintworth climbed up beside the driver. Talbot's comment must have worried Bylious, who was fast becoming a gambler. Flintworth had found small tickets lying hidden away in different places. Not to mention there were many times that Bylious adamantly insisted he go out alone. Flintworth had hoped that he was meeting a lady and starting to settle down, but...

He shook these thoughts from his mind. All that mattered now was getting home and ensure Bylious went to sleep soon. After all, they have a luncheon to attend in the morning.