His smile solidifies, and this time it is sure enough that surely even Silcox mustn't sense anything is amiss. Only of course Silcox hasn't spent long hours in James McGraw's company - among books, in debate, over late dinners, and quiet conversations in corners, in carriages and... elsewhere. "Of course," he says. The season and old friends. Obviously.
He is so staunchly, preemptively angry (for absolutely everything that will come of this) that he can feel it in his hands, his fingers tingling. He needs something to hold - another glass of wine, one of the young ladies being turned around and around on the dance floor. Instead he tucks them behind himself and pinches the skin between his thumb and forefinger.
"I wasn't aware you were so well acquainted with the Lord and Lady Hamilton, Mister Silcox." Which is, mercifully, exactly the thing to say to encourage the other man to jump toward leading the conversation.
Thomas's hand moves to his opposite side, over his wife's, automatic affection. (Sometimes, it makes the rumors worse. How can she, when Lord Hamilton is so docile with her? He hasn't taken up with so much as a maid - maybe he can't? But doesn't she know how lucky she is that he won't raise a hand--) Beside them, Silcox launches into an old yarn about more formative years, prompting Thomas to roll his eyes and threaten, entirely without teeth and all fond exasperation, to never speak to him again if he details any youthful exploits.
"Come now, you never got into any real trouble," the man is saying, "just arguing with instructors."
"I should have tried real trouble, it turns out being in the habit of arguing persists in aggravating people long outside school years."
Silcox laughs brightly and without a trace of reproach; not everyone in London thinks Thomas Hamilton is mad, after all, and not everyone who visits his salon lies about it in the daylight. Bennet hasn't attended in a while, being busy with his career (and trying to find an appropriately uninvested girl to marry) as well as not stunningly intelligent. But he isn't stupid, and he isn't unkind, and he spent at least one summer nursing a broken heart over Thomas. In that respect it's a little classless to court his attentions, but he'll be delighted and Thomas-- Thomas will feel less inert. He just doesn't have the free time Miranda does, these days. Nor the options.
One of which is currently in control of his glower. Thank God. Thomas tries to catch James's gaze and communicate - what? Calm? Something curious? He knows the man well, but not well enough, it seems. Does Miranda? She may well have the key to soothing him, ironing out the edges of his temper, some intimate thing Thomas has no grasp on.
"Are you acquainted with any of the young women out on fishing expeditions tonight?" he asks her, and then at Silcox's faux-scandalized "Thomas!", adds: "Is that not a navy term?"
"Oh certainly," the smile is guileless, as out of turn as her husband with the same lack of venom, taking the conversation in an easy direction. Like knocking over houses of cards, it falls into an easy step by step crumble.
"Young Lady Wyatt is looking quite handsome tonight, isn't she, Silcox?" That chimes to the tune, of the same sort of pattern, "Yes, madam, she does."
It's the same practiced turn of hand that doesn't miss the excuse to entangle her fingers with Thomas as she does direct the conversation away from themselves. It does not matter that Silcox doesn't care for that company, or that she knows that Lady Wyatt has only an interest in books and not so much in husbands, but that it isn't so strictly themselves and so the purpose is served.
Look somewhere else, there is plenty of looking to be done if that is what you worry about. She shouldn't be teaching military men about misdirection, for heaven's sake. "Perhaps you will both like to be introduced, Lieutenant, Silcox?" Her husband, after all, was a happily married man and had the only introduction that served him, despite no one in society understanding the forms that could take. There is a hundred fictions to be composed, and enough to throw society off a scent, as full of themselves as they liked to be.
Of course they aren't the only people of note in attendance - nearly every man of the Navy's officers has some degree of respectable parentage -, but surely they're among the most talked about, the best placed (to do themselves and him some degree of harm). Yes, there are indeed plenty of other places to look but none require such immediate attention.
He can't very well bloody ignore them, now can he?
So Silcox talks and Thomas brandishes his wit and James adopts the most cool expression he's capable of as he ignores Miranda threading her fingers easily with her husband's. It isn't so difficult to do - not thinking as he is of some point ahead of this moment where Miranda and her husband can successfully be bundled away back into whatever carriage they came in and sent home, and how best to arrive there without injury. They'll have to stay long enough to warrant coming in the first place, he thinks. Miranda will likely care to dance, god willing with her husband.
--A thought immediately dashed by Silcox saying, "As a matter of fact, the lovely Lady Wyatt and I are already acquainted. But I'm sure Lieutenant McGraw would be most happy for your introduction." The man clearly intends to keep Thomas in conversation.
James releases his hands from behind his back. He offers her his arm. "Of course. I'd be grateful for it." Maybe they can find something so riveting to talk about that the conversation will last the evening.
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He is so staunchly, preemptively angry (for absolutely everything that will come of this) that he can feel it in his hands, his fingers tingling. He needs something to hold - another glass of wine, one of the young ladies being turned around and around on the dance floor. Instead he tucks them behind himself and pinches the skin between his thumb and forefinger.
"I wasn't aware you were so well acquainted with the Lord and Lady Hamilton, Mister Silcox." Which is, mercifully, exactly the thing to say to encourage the other man to jump toward leading the conversation.
no subject
"Come now, you never got into any real trouble," the man is saying, "just arguing with instructors."
"I should have tried real trouble, it turns out being in the habit of arguing persists in aggravating people long outside school years."
Silcox laughs brightly and without a trace of reproach; not everyone in London thinks Thomas Hamilton is mad, after all, and not everyone who visits his salon lies about it in the daylight. Bennet hasn't attended in a while, being busy with his career (and trying to find an appropriately uninvested girl to marry) as well as not stunningly intelligent. But he isn't stupid, and he isn't unkind, and he spent at least one summer nursing a broken heart over Thomas. In that respect it's a little classless to court his attentions, but he'll be delighted and Thomas-- Thomas will feel less inert. He just doesn't have the free time Miranda does, these days. Nor the options.
One of which is currently in control of his glower. Thank God. Thomas tries to catch James's gaze and communicate - what? Calm? Something curious? He knows the man well, but not well enough, it seems. Does Miranda? She may well have the key to soothing him, ironing out the edges of his temper, some intimate thing Thomas has no grasp on.
"Are you acquainted with any of the young women out on fishing expeditions tonight?" he asks her, and then at Silcox's faux-scandalized "Thomas!", adds: "Is that not a navy term?"
no subject
"Young Lady Wyatt is looking quite handsome tonight, isn't she, Silcox?" That chimes to the tune, of the same sort of pattern, "Yes, madam, she does."
It's the same practiced turn of hand that doesn't miss the excuse to entangle her fingers with Thomas as she does direct the conversation away from themselves. It does not matter that Silcox doesn't care for that company, or that she knows that Lady Wyatt has only an interest in books and not so much in husbands, but that it isn't so strictly themselves and so the purpose is served.
Look somewhere else, there is plenty of looking to be done if that is what you worry about. She shouldn't be teaching military men about misdirection, for heaven's sake. "Perhaps you will both like to be introduced, Lieutenant, Silcox?" Her husband, after all, was a happily married man and had the only introduction that served him, despite no one in society understanding the forms that could take. There is a hundred fictions to be composed, and enough to throw society off a scent, as full of themselves as they liked to be.
no subject
He can't very well bloody ignore them, now can he?
So Silcox talks and Thomas brandishes his wit and James adopts the most cool expression he's capable of as he ignores Miranda threading her fingers easily with her husband's. It isn't so difficult to do - not thinking as he is of some point ahead of this moment where Miranda and her husband can successfully be bundled away back into whatever carriage they came in and sent home, and how best to arrive there without injury. They'll have to stay long enough to warrant coming in the first place, he thinks. Miranda will likely care to dance, god willing with her husband.
--A thought immediately dashed by Silcox saying, "As a matter of fact, the lovely Lady Wyatt and I are already acquainted. But I'm sure Lieutenant McGraw would be most happy for your introduction." The man clearly intends to keep Thomas in conversation.
James releases his hands from behind his back. He offers her his arm. "Of course. I'd be grateful for it." Maybe they can find something so riveting to talk about that the conversation will last the evening.