Entangled

There was nothing Byron Goulding hated more than socializing and forced small talk. He was a man who appreciated efficiency, and entertaining guests with mindless chatter was an incredible waste of time. Which is precisely why Nellie had to try and physically drag him out of his lab that evening. He refused to get up from his lab chair and so Nellie grabbed his sleeve and towed him across the stone floor.

"Byron, you agreed to this," she said, a warning in her tone. "These men are important people."

"They're buffoons mostly, actually."

"Byron."

"Oh, all right. You can stop giving me that look. I'll come quietly." He finally relented and rose from the chair so Nellie could quit pulling him along like a sled dog.

"Now go get cleaned up. I have a suit already pressed and ready for you upstairs." Nellie shooed him out of the lab and Byron trudged grudgingly up the stairs to his room. He made his best attempts at getting presentable, but his hair refused to ever stay flat like it was supposed to, and was always sticking up in the front like he'd just rolled out of bed. Over the years even Nellie had given up trying to fight with it. When he came back downstairs Nellie was bustling about the dining room, setting out plates and glasses and silverware. She looked up while he clasped his hands behind his back.

"You look very nice, Byron."

"Thank you." He glanced at his watch and Nellie made a disapproving sound in her throat.

"Behave, Byron. It's very rude to check the time when you have guests over."

"There aren't any guests here yet," he protested.

"Be that as it may, you'd best get into the habit now of keeping your eyes off your watch. Now let me fix your bow tie."

"What's wrong with it?"

"You've got it all crooked," she replied, shaking her head as she deftly tidied up his appearance.

"This dinner is cutting into valuable research time," he complained. "I'm close to perfecting my formula for self-extinguishing flames. If I'm successful it will be a revolutionary invention."

"You'll get the formula right," Nellie said quietly, placing little vases full of pretty flowers on the table as a centerpiece. "It's just one evening, Byron."

She sounded far less stern when this particular endeavor of his was brought up but Byron was glad she didn't bring up why. He had lost his parents to a fire when he was fifteen; this was common knowledge in Airedale. People said he'd become obsessed with his mission to create a substance for torches, lanterns and candles that would immediately go out if touched to any other surface. "Obsessed" was a word people often applied to Byron, along with many others that were even less flattering.

Byron preferred to think of himself as "dedicated and focused," and he didn't much care what opinion the puffed up aristocracy had of him. All of them still had at least one of his inventions in their homes. No one could dispute that he knew what he was doing in that lab of his.

"What about the other project you're working on?" Nellie asked. "The one you're always yelling and cursing at? It's a wonder none of the neighbors have complained."

"It's coming along," Byron said, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Nellie gently smacked his hands away.

"That's a very nice suit, Byron, don't mess it up."

"The food smells delicious," he said abruptly and Nellie looked pleased.

"I made a pork roast," she said. "There's also rolls and soup, and I made dessert."

"You know when Cedric first told me you grew up in a fishing village, I was worried all you'd know how to make would be salted bass or pickled sardines. But I must say your cooking abilities could probably take you all the way to the Queen's Court."

"Then why do I always have to remind you to eat?" Nellie asked teasingly. The doorbell rang and she ushered him into the foyer to greet guests as she opened the door. They clustered in the parlor while waiting for everyone else to arrive, and Byron tried not to choke on Lady Chandliss's strong floral perfume.

"My son wants to run for political office," Sir Chandliss declared, puffing proudly on his thick cigar.

"What on earth for?" Byron asked, waving the smoke out of his face. "Is he not smart enough to go into something useful?"

The Chandliss's scowled, bristling at the question. "Our Harry is a brilliant student, Byron. He wishes to make a difference in the world."

"A politician making a difference? My, that would be an achievement for the history books indeed," Byron answered dryly.

"Oh, don't mind Byron." A hand clapped him firmly on the shoulder as Byron's oldest friend, Cedric Hitchins, sidled up beside him. The friendly shoulder pat was Cedric's way of warning Byron that he was being rude. His pale blue eyes cut a sideways glance at Byron, who simply shrugged.

"I'm a man of facts and science," he said, shaking Cedric's hand off. "Politics hold no interest for me."

"Well that's just as well, isn't it?" Cedric joked. "You're not at all charming enough to be a politician, Byron old boy."

That earned a chuckle from Sir and Lady Chandliss, and they meandered off into the throng to talk to someone else. Cedric heaved a long-suffering sigh and gave Byron a look of exasperation.

"Twenty-five years old, Byron. A certifiable genius. And yet you still can't learn how to behave."

"It's not a matter of ability to learn, Ced. It's a matter of desire to learn. Of which I have none, in this particular instance."

"You're impossible."

The final guests; the ever 'fashionably late' Yvette and Harold Drummond; arrived and Byron left it to Cedric to politely lead everyone to the dining room. Nellie had laid out a most impressive spread, the table bedecked in lovely food and fine china dishes.

Nellie herself was standing in the corner, hands clasped in front of her and her brown hair pinned nearly up under her white cap. When it was just her and Byron she had stray curls peeking out all over the place, but she turned into a silent, neatly pressed shadow whenever company called.

She moved forward quickly once everyone was seated, filling glasses and serving food with a neat efficiency. She never spilled so much as a drop and never bumped an arm or a chair as she worked. Chatter swirled around him as Byron surveyed the other people at the table. He and Cedric were the only single men among the investors club; the seven other members all had wives and children. Byron and Cedric were also the youngest by far, having come into the group as legacies since their fathers had been original founders. Every few months one of them would host a dinner party like this for all the members.

Byron didn't understand the point of all the pomp, and figured the older men just liked showing off their wealth and fancy things. The point of the club was to grant money to colleges, award some scholarships, invest in ingenious business proposals and other intellectual endeavors. Showing off like a pack of cigar puffing, brandy swilling peacocks didn't exactly promote a sense of academic advancement.

Still, Byron endured the idle prattle; sipping at the coffee Nellie had brewed and scooping frosting off the cake. Harold Drummond was good and suitably drunk after one glass of whiskey; he was a small, nervous man who had never been good at holding his liquor. He stumbled into the table and knocked his glass to the floor.

"Oh, drats. Where has that maid gotten off to? Maid! Maid!"

"Pick up the damn glass yourself, you buffoon," Byron said irritably. "It's right in front of you."

"Did someone call for me?" Nellie appeared in the doorway and Harold gestured wildly at the whiskey glass.

"Nellie, don't you dare pick that up," Byron said, still scowling at Harold. "The drunken idiot can pick up his own glass."

"It's no trouble, Mr. Goulding-"

"This is quite inappropriate, Byron," Lady Chandliss sniffed. "Cleaning up is what maids are for. Let the girl do her job."

"She works for me, Beatrice, not any of you," Byron shot back. "You are all of you grown men. I do believe one of the best accountants in all the province is capable of cleaning up after himself."

Harold lurched forward, reaching for the glass, and promptly sprawled on his face across the floor. A few moments later he began to snore.

"All right, Harold is officially passed out. I'd say this evening is over," Byron said in disgust.

"You are a most ungracious host," Lady Chandliss snapped.

"Oh bugger off, Beatrice."

"I never!" Lady Chandliss clapped a hand over her heart in indignation.

"Never shut up," Byron muttered. "Go on then, all of you. Get this louse to bed so he can sleep it off."

Byron was all too happy to usher them all out the door as their footmen came with the carriages to collect them. Cedric shook his head and left with a rueful smile.

"Thanks for the lovely evening, Byron."

"You should really learn to behave yourself around them," Nellie remarked.

"I'll do no such thing. And if I ever do, slap me immediately."

Her lips twitched even as she tried to give him a stern look.

"The meal was quite lovely," he said, yanking at his bow tie. "Good night, Nellie."

"Good night, Byron."