Bab 43: Chapter 43: Denial
Sarah couldn't help but return her father's conspiratorial grin as she absorbed the underlying challenges apparent in his words. Evaluating prospective suitors was practically baked into the Whitmore DNA at this point - even eccentric enigmas like Victor Mallory were hardly exempt from such inevitabilities.
Sarah felt a twinge of...something disquieting ripple through her. Some hairline fracture in her customarily impervious certainty that she brusquely attempted to ignore.
The very notion of assessing Victor Mallory's qualifications as a prospective husband - for Emily should have been an entirely clinical calculation. A merciless analysis of traits, assets, and compatibility metrics through which to enhance their family's hallowed ascendancy.
And yet...Sarah found her thoughts perversely, treacherously wandering in wholly unproductive directions even as her father's words still hung in the study's cloistered air. Directions that simultaneously repulsed and disturbingly intrigued her in ways she couldn't quite define.
Inexplicably, her mind kept circling back to the most arcane, paradoxical aspects of Victor's persona that should have been the most repellent. The elusive glimmers of otherness simmering beneath his studied mask of urbane collegiality.
The way his penetrating gaze seemed to pin her thoughts like some inscrutable celestial lepidopteran specimen whenever their eyes met...
Sarah barely stifled a seething exhalation, forcibly shoving such errant contemplations from her mind. This was utterly unacceptable - surely just some momentary psychological lapse brought on by the evening's indulgences and enigmas. She was an impeccably composed Whitmore scion, the embodiment of propriety and rational judgment. Not some untethered dilatant succumbing to irrational distractions.
And yet, a smaller voice within couldn't help whispering...what if Victor did, in fact, harbour profound metaphysical complexities lurking beneath that impassive exterior? Profundities that hinted at vaster primordial intricacies fundamental to existence itself? Was that what had briefly, shockingly, sparked her curiosities in a manner she couldn't quite repress?
Almost as unsettling were the murmurings of a different sort of doubt creeping in from Sarah's subconscious depths. What if Emily truly did find herself magnetically drawn to this Mallory figure in the thrall of some misguided infatuation? Her impetuous younger sister always had been susceptible to mercurial whims and worldly indulgences in ways Sarah constantly strove to elevate her beyond.
Surely her father couldn't be serious about even entertaining the prospect of their family entertaining such an uncredentialled, potentially compromising union? Not when Emily was not even mature.
Her body tensed imperceptibly as the ghost of a frown creased her brow. No, any dalliances between the Whitmore daughters and this Victor Mallory would simply be unacceptable from a pragmatic standpoint. Even if his professed business prospects somehow proved potentially transformative on a scale with his grandiose metaphysical pontifications, his overall qualifications were still far too obscure.
...And yet, an even deeper part of Sarah's psyche felt compelled to condemn such outright dismissals with almost vitriolic desperation. As if some sacrosanct truth remained fiercely safeguarded behind those varnished layers of propriety and certainty she typically never had to question.
Because in the most secluded, unguarded corners of her subconscious...Sarah was forced to confront the most disturbing possibility of all emerging in Victor Mallory's wake.
What if the person truly, inescapably feeling that uncanny magnetic push and pull toward the prospect of metaphysically and terrestrially intertwining with this enigmatic newcomer...was Sarah herself?
Her fingers clenched spasmodically around the crystal goblet as she physically willed such profane speculations away. This...this was utter insanity. Delusional indulgences brought on by too much rich wine and not enough cautionary discernment.
Sarah was no moonstruck schoolgirl prone to entertaining fanciful infatuations, especially not with suspected mystics and charlatans lacking any substantive credentials or-
Her mental self-rebukings stuttered to a halt as fleeting images from a recent dream hauntingly resurfaced. Impressionistic flashes of Victor's chiselled profiles amid coiling, vapour-like forms that seemed to both constrict and caress him with some alien preternatural sentience. His mouth slightly parted in an expression of rapturous transcendence completely at odds with that typically impassive exterior.
And surrounding it all, a formless aura rippling with vast, nameless cosmological enormities against which individual consciousness seemed to pale into utter insignificance...
With a concerted mental effort, Sarah viciously crammed such ineffable visions back into the obsidian lockboxes from whence they'd escaped. Unbidden night terrors, nothing more - certainly not some perverse subconscious yearning to delve deeper into the enigmas and adversities that seemed to cling to Victor Mallory like some preternatural mantle.
Nor any treacherous inklings that her own carefully cultivated path may in fact be leading her toward...cosmic inevitabilities on scales her regimented Weltanschauungs could scarcely fathom.
No, Sarah instantly refuted all such preposterous chimaeras as she traded mirthful banter with her father. She was the eldest heir to the Whitmore ascendancy, forger of their family's predetermined dynastic trajectories. Not some untethered waif unravelling at the mere potential of unforeseen perturbations in the meticulously stratified orders she had striven to uphold.
Whatever further profundities and convolutions awaited them all in Victor Mallory's numerary wake, Sarah was determined to navigate them through those illustrious Whitmore appraisal talents her father had toasted. No matter how unsettling or eldritch the ripples they may send coruscating through the immutable celestial constants governing her path.
At least, that was what she desperately, feverishly clung to amidst the yawning precipice of uncertainty and anomaly that seemed to insidiously beckon beyond the study's cloistered confines this night.
Meanwhile…
Emily matched stride with Victor as they departed the study, an anticipatory silence hanging between them. She stole a sidelong glance at her enigmatic companion, studying the inscrutable calm etched across his features.
"Well played this evening, Mr. Mallory," she ventured finally, aiming for a lighter conversational tone. "Though I must confess, I'm utterly mystified at how you manage to invest such gravitas into a simple game of tiles and melding."
The faintest of smiles played across Victor's lips, though his eyes remained distantly focused ahead. "The true grandmasters understand that any crucible for probing the intrinsic geometries underlying consciousness inevitably invokes the most profound metaphysical implications, Ms. Whitmore."
Emily couldn't stifle an amused chuckle, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "There you go again, elevating pinochle into some esoteric interdimensional thought experiment. Must you dissect every pastime through such transcendental analytical lenses?"
"Only when the subject matter begs such divinations," Victor replied easily. "Though I'll concede, few diversions appear as ostensibly prosaic on their surface as tonight's entertainment initially suggested."
They lapsed into companionable quiet again as Victor seemed to ruminate over his next words. Emily chose that moment to broach the matter that had been weighing on her mind since glimpsing his car earlier.
"Speaking of outward appearances defying first impressions..." she began, keeping her tone as casual as possible. "Do you happen to be familiar with a certain charity operating in the city's less...opulent quadrants? One by the name of 'Haven of Hope,' I believe?"
Victor's measured footfalls stuttered almost imperceptibly as Emily's words seemed to pierce straight through his impassive composure. She watched as his brow creased ever so slightly, the first outward crack she'd witnessed in his carefully sculpted mask of urbane inscrutability all evening.
When he finally responded, something in Victor's typically sonorous voice sounded almost...strained. As if the mere mention of the Haven's name was enough to chip away at whatever mantles of cultivated personae he so meticulously maintained.
"I...am acquainted with that particular philanthropy, yes," he said at last, each word carrying hushed, measured weight. "Though I must confess, I'm rather surprised that an aristocrat of your standing would have any knowledge of such comparatively...impoverished circles, Ms. Whitmore."
Emily felt her cheeks flush hot despite her best efforts at maintaining bien ĕlevĕ composure. Of course, someone of Victor's elevated intellectual pedigree would find it questionable, if not outright scandalous, for a refined woman of the gentry to take interest in such déclassé concerns.
Subconsciously, her steps slowed until she'd ground to a halt in the corridor, suddenly reluctant to meet her companion's penetrating stare. How could she possibly explain her motivations for visiting the Haven without coming across as just another misguided debutante indulging in philanthropic affectations?
"I...well, that is to say..." Emily faltered, finding the words sticking in her throat like shards of glass. She cast about frantically for some polite fiction, some palatable half-truth through which to veil the full magnitude of personal awakening she'd undergone within those shelter's walls.
But one look into Victor's unblinking, penetratingly azure gaze dissuaded her from even attempting such disingenuous misdirections. There was something about this man, something that compelled utter forthrightness in a manner Emily had scarcely experienced. As if he could simply sense the truth resonating in the spaces between words and behind every studied social courtesy.
So instead, Emily straightened her shoulders and met Victor's gaze directly, her own eyes shimmering with naked emotionalism.
"To be perfectly candid, I...happened to glimpse your vehicle parked nearby while en route to another obligation earlier this week," she confessed in a breathless rush.
"Something within me simply couldn't resist the inexplicable compulsion to investigate, to understand what had drawn you to frequent such a...limen between our disparate societal strata."
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