Of Tea...and Things

His Lordship's Night Out

Lord Mulligan paced up and down before the blazing fire in his study, deep in thought, for he was powerful and famous and rich, yet still he was unfulfilled. He wanted more, of what he could not say, but he desired it with all his being; there must be more to life than this! But what? Just then a timid knock sounded upon the door, for a moment drawing him back from his futile and troubling thoughts, a welcome relief indeed. "Come," he said with an indifferent scowl, uneager to plunge back into the seemingly bottomless abyss of his own musings, but knowing it was probably only another invitation to some mindless societal function he would likely tear up and throw into the fire. Wait, mindless? Yes, perhaps that was the answer, if he just quit thinking about such things, perhaps it would save him from despair, madness, or worse?

He took the dainty envelope with its elegant wax seal in hand, studying it as he might some delicate bird he had never before seen yet that he might crush with a single movement of his hand. Within might lie the answer to all his vain ponderings, or at least it might prove a very welcome distraction therefrom. He tore it open, much astonishing the waiting servant, though he tried valiantly to hide his surprise under a veneer of bland indifference, as his Lordship actually read the missive. "Tell them I shall come," said he, glancing over the invitation, "respond in Standard fashion."

The man bowed and hurried away to do just that, leaving his master to grin in grim amusement, perhaps there was more to this tedious life than he had anticipated? Perhaps there was even someone worth meeting at such an insignificant gathering? He had spoken with every major lord and minor noble and found them to a man the most dull and tedious people alive, as if the Standards required it; come to think of it, perhaps they did! What did he want out of life? What could fill that dreadful ache in his soul, if man was even possessed of such a trinket? No! He would not go down that tiresome path again, forever retreading the same worn ground. He would go to his room and decide what to wear to dinner, perhaps an even more tiresome ritual, but at least more novel.

They had not been in the house more than fifteen minutes when the first invitation arrived, inviting them to dinner at a fashionable residence in approximately two hours and nine minutes, a barely acceptable amount of time for a young lady of breeding to prepare for such an auspicious gathering, but it was unthinkable to eat even a quarter of an hour later, the Standards very nearly forbid it! The ladies exchanged a vastly amused glance before telling the servant they would accept and then parting ways to be fussed and fretted over by their very real personal attendants. Iris was missing her soulless maid already, for though she had no need to prepare so for a night out, she couldn't exactly explain that to an actual human person! But the ritual was accomplished, with two minutes to spare, and they were again in the coach being whisked off, adventure bent. Or as much of an adventure as an evening of idle prattle with complete strangers affords.

During the meal, Iris almost fell asleep in her soup, but eventually the meal wearied itself completely and they moved into the second best parlor for cards, music, and idle prattle. As Iris was completely hopeless in either of the first two categories, she resolved to show her proficiency in the third. But there seemed no one free to talk about airy nothings, for one young lady was singing an airy nothing as another plodded out the melody on the piano and the rest of the party seemed engrossed in their hostess' favorite card game. Iris stared forlornly into the fire, determined to wheedle out at least one of its primal secrets ere the evening adjourned in utter failure.

"May I ask you about your chickens, milady?" asked a strange masculine voice.

She had been asked stranger things during the course of her recent adventures and even as a socialite before that, but this seemed downright batty. Chickens? She was supposed to be a wealthy debutante, not a farmer's daughter! She gave the man, a startlingly handsome fellow, in a tall and mysterious sort of way, such a peculiar look that he could not help but laugh at her perplexity, the first such she had heard all evening, save the insipid chortling and inane giggles of the society matrons and young ladies, respectively.