As soon as Ernest crossed the threshold of his London townhouse entryway, he hears the nasal, irritating voice taunting him from the drawing room.
"Mr. Sinclaire! Too-hoo!" It calls. "Over here. Come, come!"
He rolled his eyes, being every bit as pedantic as that behaviour the woman inspired within his spirit, and walks over to the room with a clear scowl on his face.
"What are you doing here, Alexandrina?" He asks, severe.
"I should ask you the very same thing, Mr. Sinclaire." She smirks, taking a sip from her steaming hot cup of tea. "Awfully late for you to be out and about in the city. Even in light of your said proclivities with fallen women."
"It is not like that and you know it." He responded, his voice betraying an edge of intense hatred.
She laughed it off. "I know it alright. Unfortunately for you, believe me when I say I would hold you in much higher regard if it was the opposite. At the very least there would be something interesting about you."
"It has been many years since I cared about your regard." The esquire says, his clear eyes glaring at the woman. "If I ever did."
"Oh, but you did, or else I would have left already." She smirked, cruelly. "Care for a cup?"
He rolls his eyes. "I care for you to leave."
"But we are having such a nice conversation!" Her voice raises a note, in glee for having been able to get under his skin. "And you have yet to tell me where did you spend your evening."
"I went to the opera." He responded, without further elaboration.
Alexandrina looks him dead in the eye and cannot help herself but to laugh scandalously. "How stupid do you think I am, Ernest? I know you. You hate the opera. You hate people who go to the opera. You hate people who perform at the opera. If it was up to you, every orchestra in the civilized world would be disbanded."
"If you refuse to believe me, why do you ask?" The man retorts, making himself comfortable on a chair.
"If you are not even going to try to make up a believable story, why do you bother to respond?" She raises the right tip of her lips in defiance.
"I was at Opera St. James. Believe what you want." He shrugged it off.
The woman seemed to be about to debunk that claim, but something made her hold her tongue. "I see. I understand it now. I am asking the wrong question. I should be questioning you about who were there with you."
Ernest choked on his own breath. "What are you suggesting, Alexandrina?"
"Nothing that offends your irritating sensibilities." She answers in a dismissive manner. "I am just wondering who might be able to operate such a change on your beliefs so much for you to deign yourself to attend the opera. Unless, of course, your conduct towards the girl was less than honourable."
"What makes you assume it was about a girl?" He asks, trying to distract her.
"Common sense." She shrugs. "And I do notice you are not denying there is somebody influencing your opinion on theatre and courtly life."
"I do deny it, I only took it for granted the fact it would be understood by your supposed inquisitive mind." He throws the veiled insults lightly. "But if it is going to make you stop meddling into my business, very well. I was at the East End, distributing loaves of bread to the women. Like I always do this time of the year."
The woman nods. "I see, I see. And they were not put off by your presence hampering their business? Or men lack shame to the point that they hire prostitutes even in front of polite company?"
"If so, they did not mention." He says, leisurely.
She takes a sip of her tea. "And how your hair? Why is it so wet?"
"I was caught up in the rain." Was the response.
"Rain?" She looks out the window. "It stopped raining for a while now. How long have you been exposed to the weather, being this wet?"
"Long enough to find a coach to return home." Again, with the laconic answer.
"And your companion? Have they found their way home safely, as well?" She insists.
Ernest loses his temper and throw the nearest object, which happened to be a book, at the woman. She closes her eyes and braces herself for the impact.
The literary work hits the wall behind Alexandrina with a loud bang.
"Silence! Silence, woman, for once in your life!" He shouts, a vein on his neck popping angrily. "I do not owe you an explanation. I do not owe you any satisfaction."
He jumps to his feet and breathes loudly, fumbling with his collar to release his constrained neck, all on the while the woman looks at him with a saddened expression. He paces back and forth, trying to control his temper.
"You left me, Alexandrina." Ernest says, with a chilling calm. "You abdicated every right to intervene in my life and my choices on a late-spring night that you walked out that same door." A moment of silence. "Why do you insist in coming back?"
"It is not I that come back." She says, her tone a little louder than a whisper. "It is you that insist in summoning me. Why do you do it?"
He sighs. "I know you never loved me, and neither did I, you. I admit, however, that I thought you respected me more than that. I thought you cared enough about me not to try and deceive me into assuming a child that was not mine."
"This is not an answer." The woman retorts.
"It is because everyone I ever cared for left me." He says, his voice constrained with grief and frustration. "I am detestable company. I killed my mother upon birth, my father only cared for his kept women. The boys at my boarding school did their very best to avoid me, and when we finally married, I was so alienated, so wary of other people, I successfully burned down every bridge between us."
"This has nothing to do with us, does it?" She asks. "We are talking about the present, not the past."
Ernest gave her a side smile. "Yes. I met someone. The natural daughter of the earl. She is…" He trails off.
"I never thought I would see you like this." She says.
"Like how?"
The woman smiles at him. "Besotted."
His cheeks redden a smidge. "I suppose you are not wrong."
"And what is the harm on that?" Alexandrina questions.
"She needs to get married so she can inherit." He retorts, the mere thought filling him with dread. "I am only standing on her way. I am selfishly monopolizing her time, endangering her reputation. Forcing myself on her. God!" His air pipe tightens in panic. "What I almost did tonight?! I don't have anything to offer her, I have no title, I am not charming, my wealth is pitiful compared to her father's."
He throws himself back into the chair, his feet not strong enough to sustain him anymore. A look around and he notices he is completely alone.
"And I have discussions with my dead, cheating wife." He sighs.
After a moment sitting in silence, Ernest stands up and pour himself two fingers of scotch.
The twirl of the brown liquid on the glass calms his nerves, overcoming his mind with a sense of finality. Something had to be done about his attachment with Vincent's daughter.
Even if it meant damning himself to a grim existence for the rest of his days.