Once all the preparations were through, Virgil descended the staircase and headed for the front entrance. Spotting the very woman he’d intended to apologize to, he stopped to hail her.
“Hele—”
He cut himself off before he could finish calling her name. Helen was already dealing with a guest. Thankfully, he’d realized and reined himself in to avoid interrupting them.
In moments like this, his late mother would’ve scolded him and insisted he call out to Helen anyway. The master of the house needn’t show such deference for the help, she would tell him. It wasn’t until he saw the way Claudia treated the help that he’d changed his way of thinking. He understood why his mother held such rigid beliefs: On one hand, if a master didn’t conduct himself with the dignity expected of his position, he would only cause more trouble for his servants. On the other, thanks to his younger sister, he had also learned that flexibility was the best way to maintain pleasant relationships with others.
A mother’s lessons were important, to be sure, but one should always improve upon them with their own experience and knowledge. Mothers usually simplified their explanations for their children, so their lessons sometimes lacked context. Virgil’s situation was a bit different. Before he was old enough to think critically, Claudia was already setting a shining example. He struggled at first to understand everything she did, and there were times when he thought she was wrong.
But she’s always been cleverer than me, even when we were children.
At any rate, it would’ve been impolite of him to interrupt Helen right now, especially because he wanted to apologize to her personally. It wasn’t official house business.
That’s Brian of the Evans Company, isn’t it?
Though Virgil could only get a glimpse of the man over Helen’s shoulder, he recognized the man. Claudia maintained close business relations with the Evans Company; she had made some good friends while at the academy. Brian himself was only a baron’s son, but he and his family had enough business acumen to garner praise from the other merchants the Lindsays had close ties with. Brian had probably come to deliver a sales report to Claudia.
Virgil suspected his presence would only make Brian unduly nervous. He slipped behind a nearby pillar.
Hold on a moment. Aren’t I being a bit dramatic?
He was the duke’s son. What was he doing, hiding in his own home? Still, there was something about the friendly atmosphere between Helen and Brian that made him hesitate to show himself.
While Virgil struggled to understand his own actions, Brian’s booming voice reached his ears. “There’s a wonderful eatery I’d like to take you to if you’re interested, Miss Helen!”
“Excuse the intrusion, but we don’t accept personal invitations,” Virgil interjected. He’d moved without thinking—and what for? After he’d purposefully hidden himself so as not to disturb them? And now here he was, acting like Helen’s bodyguard, blocking her from Brian’s view.
Both Helen and Brian were startled by his unannounced appearance, but Virgil stood firm. He stared down his nose at Brian. There was a sliver of a moment where Brian’s eyes widened, but he bravely met Virgil’s gaze without backing down.
Oh? He refuses to avert his eyes, does he?
There weren’t many who could do that. Most of high society thought Virgil cold and unfeeling. They found him intimidating, probably in part because of his status as a duke’s heir. The only person around his age who outranked him was Sylvester.
Brian didn’t strike Virgil as fearless. If anything, it seemed he recognized Virgil’s superior status—felt threatened by it, even—but was nevertheless brave enough to stand his ground.
He would have to be brave to approach Helen like this.
It wasn’t all baseless courage, though. Brian’s defiance was calculated. He knew how much Claudia valued him, and no matter how much Virgil outranked him, Brian was convinced the man couldn’t make a move against him so easily. Or maybe it wasn’t Claudia’s favor that Brian counted on to save him. If word got out that Virgil had done something to a lowly baron’s son, it would reflect poorly on him. Aristocrats were all about reputation, especially when it came to households with unmarried daughters.
Whatever it was that empowered Brian, he was no fool. Virgil could tell that much.
Knights learned to predict their opponents’ moves while training. Virgil could read someone during a confrontation, but only when he and the other person were of similar intellect and were on the same wavelength. Achieving this may have sounded simple enough, but people possessed different perspectives and levels of intelligence. The less similar they were, the less likely they would be to identify with each other. Thus, Virgil’s ability to read Brian made him like the other man more.
That said, he wasn’t willing to budge when it came to Helen.
Virgil wasn’t sure how long they glowered at one another. It was probably only a few seconds, though it felt impossibly long.
Helen was the one to break the silence. “Lord Virgil, I apologize for causing you extra trouble.” She turned to Brian. “Lord Brian, as Lord Virgil has already expressed, I don’t accept personal invitations.”
Brian’s shoulders slumped. “All right,” he said after a time. “That’s a shame.” His disappointment didn’t last long, however. He braced himself and stared straight into Virgil’s eyes as he declared, “But I won’t give up!”
He spoke with enough steel that it sounded like a declaration of war. Yet without context, his words would’ve invited misunderstanding. Anyone who walked in at that moment would have assumed that Brian was saying he wasn’t going to give up on Virgil rather than Helen.