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Author's Chapter Notes:
Jim-Mark-Angela-Pam

After an hour or so spent rambling about in Hyde Park, Jim did have to admit to himself that he was feeling better. For all of Mark’s kind words about Jim’s own handling, it could not but be admitted that Viscount Banbury was himself considered one of the finest whips in all of England, and a fellow connoisseur like Jim could hardly be faulted for allowing the observation of such deft management to relieve the tedious lethargy that had tugged upon his soul. His imagination was still caught up in Miss Beesly, of course, but he could look upon the situation with new eyes, seeing that it was only natural that, in the first time he had had a good long talk with a stout English girl after returning from the Continent, he should find himself inclining towards her. It was a matter of familiarity, of habit and inclination in general. Not that there was nothing special about Miss Beesly—she was a very flower of English womanhood, to be sure—but there was nothing about her that was so very outstanding, so very unique as to bedevil a true bachelor’s breast, or to cause—quelle horreur—such a gentleman to impinge upon such a long-standing engagement as some mild inquiry (in tones of greatest disinterest) had revealed hers to be. No, it was clearly the merest flirtation of the eyes, with no greater implications for his or her disquiet. Indeed, it might be the best thing for him to see her again, to go to Scott’s impetuous second ball, simply so as to reassure himself of this new and much healthier resolution of his.

 

All of these comforting thoughts died away instanter when his eyes met a pair of green eyes under a smart bonnet in Hyde Park. He felt his face stretch immediately into a broad smile, and his arm come up into a wave. He did not know whether to be grateful or dyspeptic that his friend Banbury seemed to read his mind like a deuced mesmerist and drew up slowly alongside the lady in question (accompanied by another lady he did not know, somewhat more severely dressed) and left him no choice but to address them both. If he didn’t know better, he would have said this was planned on Mark’s part, but there was no way…was there? He refused to speculate too far on this point and instead committed himself to the conversation.

 

Had Miss Beesly made the acquaintance of his good friend the Viscount Banbury? She had? Oh, of course, at one of the Colonel’s balls. Would they be blessed with the Viscount’s presence at tomorrow’s affair? How lovely. Pray, Viscount, Mr. Halpert, be known to my companion, Miss Angela Martin of the Shrewsbury Martins. Oh, you know the family? Indeed, the Welsh border is a small world. Perhaps we’ve met before, in Wrexham, was it? Or perhaps it was a sister, or a cousin? No matter. Will we have the pleasure of seeing you both tomorrow? Perhaps we can make another hand of whist? Oh, Miss Martin does not gamble, I do beg your pardon. Perhaps Schrute or Malone will make up the table then, or maybe the Colonel himself? Well, how delightful. Is there any assistance I can render you? I see you have packages; could we be of service in transporting them—or indeed you? Oh no, I’m sure I don’t mind, and neither does Banbury, do you Mark? No, no, simply delighted. Where? The Colonel’s? Not a problem, no problem in the world. We will, I’m sure. Tomorrow then.

 

And they were out. Not without Mark glaring at him…no, not glaring, simply staring agog…for having agreed to transport two rather large and as it turned out quite heavy packages to the Colonel’s apartments for the ladies, but safely out without blurting out anything like “I adore you” or “have you noticed how perfectly green your eyes are?” or “might I have the honour of addressing your father for your hand” or any other nonsense. He answered the growing mirth in his friend’s face with a sheepish grin and a shrug, and held the packages tightly as they turned onto the main road. After a brief colloquy with the Colonel’s butler, they deposited what that worthy believed to be several dozen pounds of assorted decorations in his capable hands and turned back towards home, at which point (to Jim’s mingled regret that he would have to answer Mark’s questioning and relief that his friend had come down on the side of amusement and not reproach) the Viscount began to badger his companion with a series of laughing questions about his intentions towards their mutual acquaintance with the fetching bonnet. Jim at first pretended that Mark must of course have been referring to Miss Martin, then, once that jest had paled, answered honestly and firmly that he was not the sort of gentleman to disrupt another’s happiness, but that he was, for the first time, uncertain of retaining the propriety over his own heart that he had had for so long. Mark clapped him on the shoulder, announced that even this feeble declaration demanded a drink, and steered him into their flat, up the stairs, and into the parlor, where Jenkins was called on for two glasses of madeira, which quickly turned into four, then six, and resulted in the gentlemen in question sleeping most soundly that evening, after a rousing rendition of “To Anacreon in Heaven.”

 

Miss Beesly’s experience of their encounter was somewhat less fraught, though if anything more confusing to her. She was conscious of a great deal of satisfaction at re-encountering Mr. Halpert, and was in no way surprised to find him the intimate of such a person as Viscount Banbury, for as Colonel Scott’s social secretary she was quite certain it was Banbury’s influence that had obtained for him the invitation to the previous night’s ball. She was somewhat relieved to learn that while Shrewsbury and Denbigh were within common calling distance of Wrexham, the Halpert and Martin families were not closely acquainted, for she was already certain that being hailed in the street by an unmarried man—well, two unmarried men—was most certain to obtain for her a scolding from her companion, and to have it reinforced by animadversions on the known character of her friends would have made it most unpleasant. As it was, Angela confined herself more generally to the habits of “gentlemen these days” with a sniff about ladies who engaged in gambling, especially whist—a game that she could not approve of, as it went about “partnering” men and women willy-nilly, and worse, unpartnering them afterwards—though she did find herself conceding that if men like Dwight Schrute played it, it could not be the worst sin, though she was quite sure it was still improper for Pam to be so engaged. Speaking of engagement…Pam politely ignored the rest of her companion’s chatter, as she was already familiar with Angela’s opinions of that score and had no need to hear them told over again. She instead dedicated herself to considering why she was so pleased to have seen Mr. Halpert again, and why it was that he had so graciously offered to carry her packages for her. Deciding just as she got to her door that he must simply be the most accommodating man alive, a consideration only reinforced by her memory of him allowing Phyllis Lapin of all people to corner him for hours last night, she bid her neighbour good night at her doorstep and made herself at home for the evening, banishing all thoughts of the outside world as she took up her paints and endeavoured to finish the Pietà she had promised Angela to make in time for Easter. She was quite proud of it, and the effort required to get Mary’s face just right allowed no time for Viscounts or Halperts or packages.

Chapter End Notes:
Thank you for reading! The next chapter should take us into, if not through, the Second Scott Ball.

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