Handsome had never figured out Frederick Patton. He seemed sensible enough—twenty-nine, well-off, employed in the Department of Mysteries. His family was unremarkable (a good thing, he insisted) and there were no whispers about him in the gossip rags.
This all begged the question: what in Merlin's name did he see in his sister, and what sort of godly patience did the man possess to be able to put up with her and remain so affable?
He'd never voice his confusion out loud, lest he doom the whole courtship, but there was just something... off... about it.
"Patton," he greeted flatly, unable to muster up the friendliness he might've shown the man had they passed each other in the Ministry atrium instead of the foyer of his home. "I nearly forgot you were coming today. Saturday already?" he asked, as if he hadn't stayed in bed for as long as he could until his footman's knocking had startled him into a sitting position. He'd gotten used to rising early on workdays—and even most weekends—but he couldn't help but doze into mid-morning on Saturdays after a stressful week.
This all begged the question: what in Merlin's name did he see in his sister, and what sort of godly patience did the man possess to be able to put up with her and remain so affable?
He'd never voice his confusion out loud, lest he doom the whole courtship, but there was just something... off... about it.
"Patton," he greeted flatly, unable to muster up the friendliness he might've shown the man had they passed each other in the Ministry atrium instead of the foyer of his home. "I nearly forgot you were coming today. Saturday already?" he asked, as if he hadn't stayed in bed for as long as he could until his footman's knocking had startled him into a sitting position. He'd gotten used to rising early on workdays—and even most weekends—but he couldn't help but doze into mid-morning on Saturdays after a stressful week.
