How Ardently I Admire

“Well,” Logan asked her, “how was it?”

“Pleasant enough,” Emma replied.

Erik, standing across the room, frowned. “That sounds very reserved a review from you, Emma.”

“Well, the mother is a nervous, pandering idiot, and the daughter is far too forward; it was quite a trial to sit in their company the whole morning." Emma poured herself a drink at the mantle. "But Henry really does have the most pleasant manners imaginable. Did you know that he rides? I did wish you were there, Logan, I don’t know anything about horses. And the brother – Charles – seems slightly too sharp at times, always ready to make some witty remark, but I must say that aside from that his manners are excellent. He does have the good grace to seem embarrassed by his mother and his sister, when they prompt him into it. Which they often do.”

“I hope you were polite.”

“Of course I was, Logan, especially to Henry – did you know that they call him ‘Hank’? At least, his siblings do. For as long as you like him, I shall be polite to him, and his intolerable family.”

“And not a minute longer, I expect,” Erik muttered.

“I thought you didn’t mind Charles,” Logan said to Emma.

“I think perhaps I wouldn’t mind being better acquainted with him. I would certainly enjoy some intelligent company; he may be the best equipped omega in Meryton to provide it. And he is very lovely to look at.”

“Careful, Emma, I thought we’d established that Charles Xavier has hardly a good feature in his face.” Logan grinned over at Erik. “Isn’t that what you said?”

 Emma laughed, not entirely kindly. “That is what he said, and bullied us all into concurring.”

 “Well, Erik, you may re-evaluate your opinion soon if you wish – we are invited to dine with the McTaggarts on Thursday, and the Xaviers will also be there,” Logan said.

Emma smiled.

Erik gritted his teeth. He had no wish for company, and certainly no wish to see Charles Xavier.

Meryton being the small neighbourhood that it was, their paths had already crossed more than once in the last few weeks, at dinners and suppers. Charles had mostly ignored him, speaking with his friends or family; and more than once Erik had felt sure that he himself must be their topic of conversation. “Not handsome enough to tempt me,” he had heard Charles say once, in a mocking voice, to the group of omegas he was with, and he knew that Charles had meant him to hear it when he looked over his shoulder at Erik, eyes full of amusement as his friends dissolved into laughter. Erik, standing alone by the window, had finished his drink and gone in search of another, trying not to be irritated, trying not to dwell on how well Charles’ breeches fitted. He would not allow himself to even entertain those kind of thoughts; Erik made a point of never going back on his own judgments. Even if this principle were ever broken, it would not be broken by some self-satisfied rural omega with passable thighs.

Erik had no wish to see Charles Xavier again.

 ~        ~        ~

“But it’s obvious that Mr Howlett admires Hank,” Moira said. “It’s very obvious.”

Charles sighed, and put down his teacup. “I know, Moira, but that’s not what I meant; the problem is that Hank doesn't appear to admire Mr Howlett as much.”

“But he does! Charles, of course he does. You know he does.”

“I know he does, and you know, but that’s only because we know Hank, we know what he’s like. He’s shy. He is always sweet, always cheerful. And of course, it might be better for people to think him only a little interested, if for some reason it goes wrong, but if he doesn’t show a little more affection, Mr Howlett might never realise that… well…”

“That Hank is a little in love with him.”

“Yes.” Frowing, Charles finished his tea.

“So Hank needs to be a bit more open, to help Mr Howlett along.”

“That’s the thing, Moira – Hank’s already helping Mr Howlett along, at least as much as his nature will allow him to. He’s not like Raven, he’s not confident or free with his expression – granted, Raven can be a little too free, but Hank is perhaps not free enough.”

“Surely if I can see that Hank is in love, Mr Howlett must see it too. He would be an idiot not to.”

“He doesn’t know Hank like we do.”

“If Hank continues the way he is, not concealing anything, Mr Howlett must find out. He will have to notice it. He would have to be blind, Charles, not to notice.”

Charles sighed. “I hope you are right. Maybe if they see enough of each other. We are always in such large parties; they only get a few half-hours of conversation each time.”

“Maybe that would be enough, enough for Mr Howlett to to feel more certain; and then once they are married they can spend all the time in the world falling in love.”

“Hank doesn’t want to be married right away, though. If I wanted a rich alpha – or any alpha – then I’m sure I would do as you suggest – charm them quickly and then marry them before either of us really had time to decide otherwise.”

“They have spent some time together already,” Moira said. “Maybe Mr Howlett is more enamoured than you think.”

“All they’ve really been able to learn about each other is that they both like horses, they both prefer vignt-un to commerce or whist, they both like walking outdoors, and neither of them can play the piano.”

Moira smiled. “Have some hope, Charles. You sound absolutely hopeless. Both of them will be at my father’s dinner tomorrow night; I’ll sit them across from each other at dinner, and I’ll have the card tables brought out as early as possible, so that they may both play vignt-un and talk about riding.”

“And how are you and I going to entertain ourselves?”

“Well," Moira said with her beautiful white smile, "I know some of the good wine has been brought up from the cellar.”

Charles grinned back. “Moira, I’m almost sure that you know my character a little too well.”

 ~         ~          ~

Displeased with how the evening was passing, and wishing to be back at Netherfeld, Erik stood in a corner of the room, wondering how soon he could leave. They had come in Logan’s carriage. Logan was – predictably – playing vignt-un with Henry Xavier, both of them laughing and gazing at each other and somehow finding excuses to touch each other’s hands when dealing or collecting up the cards.

Erik had no wish for Logan to marry; he suspected things would be less amusing and more domestic if Logan settled down.

Besides, if Logan were to marry Henry, Erik would have to see more of his unbearable family.

He glanced around the room. Charles was with a group of people, laughing and conversing, holding a glass of wine. Of course, Erik had made it clear to himself that Charles had hardly a good feature in his face, but as he looked over at the conversation, he was forced to admit that Charles did look strikingly intelligent as he spoke. It was his eyes, that was all; light and expressive, and creasing at the corners as he laughed.

Erik made his way over to them, slowly, drawn almost against his will, trying very hard not to actually look at Charles and telling himself he was only doing it because there was nothing better to do. He stood on the edge of the group for a moment, attending to the conversation but not speaking himself.

After a minute he was noticed, by Miss McTaggart, who caught his eye for a moment and seemed to decide to act upon this.

She nudged Charles a little, and glancing again at Erik, said “Perhaps Mr Lensherr has some thoughts on this, Charles.”

Turning toward him, Charles immediately caught his eye and said, “Well, Mr Lensherr, don’t you agree that I expressed myself very well, just now, when suggesting to Colonel Forster that he should host a ball at Meryton?”

“Certainly, Mr Xavier; you were most energetic, but the subject of dancing always makes an omega energetic.”

Charles smiled, eyes narrowing. “You are too severe with us, Mr Lensherr; but of course, we already know that you are never one to moderate your views.”

“Come, Charles, you are teasing him.” Moira looked over again, not in an unfriendly way. “You may tease him in return in a moment, Mr Lensherr. I am about to open the piano, and he can almost always be convinced to play.”

“You are a strange kind of friend, Moira, always wanting me to play and sing in front of everyone. I am sure I would be grateful to you if I was vain about my musical abilities, but as it is, I would rather not sit down and play for all these people. Especially as Mr Lensherr is here, and I am sure he is used to only the very best kinds of entertainment. My unpolished country airs will certainly not be up to his standards.” Here he shot Erik another sly look, as if daring him to make a remark. Despite himself, Erik wanted to smile.

“Why don’t you sit down at the piano, and I’ll get you another drink,” Moira said.

“That sounds more agreeable, if it really must be so.”

The wine was brought over. Charles, seated, turned his head to catch Erik’s eye, and said, “There is a saying around these parts, Mr Lensherr, which you may take note of: ‘keep your breath to cool your porridge.’ I shall keep mine to swell my song.” He turned back, and began to play.

He played well, and sang well; Erik was irritated. It was increasingly more difficult for him to find real faults in Charles’ character, as much as he tried.

Soon enough Charles had given up the piano to another, more eager omega, who at the request of some of the others (not least among them Raven Xavier) was playing more lively songs fit for dancing to.

Erik, standing nearby and preferring to have some more brandy than to dance, was lost in his own thoughts. After a few minutes he was approached by Sir Lucas McTaggart, and did not notice him until it was too late to move away.

“How charming it is to see young people dancing, Mr Lensherr!” he said. “I consider it one of the finest refinements of decent society.”

“Certainly, sir; and I believe less decent societies enjoy it as well; every savage can dance.”

Sir Lucas smiled. “Your friend is doing a delightful job,” he said, gesturing towards Logan, who was of course dancing with Henry Xavier. “I am sure you are adept enough yourself, Mr Lensherr.”

“I should hope so, but I avoid it when I can.”

“Is that so? Well… But there is young Mr Xavier, quite nearby, and I am sure you would make a fine couple… Charles!” he called out. “My dear Charles, do come over here.”

Charles approached, empty glass in hand. “Actually, Sir Lucas, I was just –”

“Charles, my dear boy, why are you not dancing? Mr Lensherr, you must allow me to present this young omega to you as a very desirable  partner. I am sure you cannot refuse to dance when such beauty is here and ready before you.” He took Charles’ hand, as if to give it to Erik.

Erik, a little startled but not – to his surprise – actually unwilling to accept, was about to put out his hand when Charles drew back, looking a little flustered.

“Indeed, Sir William, I have not the least intention of dancing. I was merely passing in order to refill my glass.”

Erik told himself that it was propriety and not real desire which prompted him to say, “Mr Xavier, I request to be allowed the honour of your hand.”

“Really, Charles, you are such an excellent dancer that it is cruel to deny me this happiness of seeing you dance; and although this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, I am sure he will not object to obliging me.”

“Mr Lensherr is all politeness,” Charles said, smiling at Erik in a way that did not seem quite sincere.

“Certainly he is! But this acquiesce is surely not remarkable – for who would ever object to having you as a partner?”

“Who indeed?” Charles shot Erik a knowing look, and turned away.

 Sir Lucas grumbled a little, and moved off towards the dancers.

Erik took a deep breath, considering Charles’ retreating figure. He tried to be offended, but instead, it was admiration that forced itself to the fore. He admired Charles’ pride, and his wit. And – Charles had taken off his coat at some point in the evening – his waist.

And like the other night, his breeches did fit very well.

He was trying very hard to behave like a gentleman and not to stare at Charles Xavier’s ass when Emma came over.

“I can guess what it is you’re considering,” she said.

“I should really be considering the question of ‘where has Ms Frost been all evening?’”

“I was entertaining myself. With the help of an officer and some brandy,” Emma said primly, in her beautiful white dress.

Erik snorted.

“You’re thinking about how unbearable it would be to pass many more evenings in this kind of manner, and this kind of company. I must say I agree with you; everyone is so noisy, so self-important. It’s quite horrible. I wish we could get Logan away from here.”

“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I must tell you. My mind was very agreeably engaged. I have been considering all the merits of a fine pair of eyes in the face of a very pretty omega.”

She turned and looked at him, frowning. “I certainly did not expect to hear that. So your evening has been productive. And which omega is it?”

Summoning some courage and preparing to steel himself against her reaction, he said after a moment, “Mr Charles Xavier.”

Emma stared. After another moment passed, and Erik said nothing further, she repeated, “Charles Xavier.”

“I simply noticed that he has very fine eyes,” Erik said evenly.

“Well. I suppose in good time you and Logan will be married to one each and their ghastly mother will come and live with you at Pemberley.”

“How your imagination jumps from one thing to another, Emma.”

Emma entertained herself all the way home by presenting to him various future scenarios in which he was forced to attend assemblies and interact with Charles’ family; and Erik, knowing it was best to seem completely indifferent, let her enjoy her own wit unchecked.