Chapter 98: The Introduction III

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: The Introduction III

The gentleman across from Damian extended his hand.

"Harold Whitmore."

"I own the furniture workshop near the east square."

Damian accepted the handshake.

"Damian Blackwood."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure’s ours," Harold replied.

"You’ve traveled quite a long way to get here."

"I don’t imagine East Junction is the sort of place St. Albion students visit every day."

"It isn’t," Damian admitted.

"Which is precisely why we’re here."

The answer earned several approving nods.

"That’s good to hear."

One of the older gentlemen leaned comfortably against his chair.

"Too many people pass through small townships without ever really seeing them."

"We’re hoping to do the opposite," Damian said.

"We’re here to learn."

The simplicity of the answer seemed to satisfy everyone.

The conversation drifted naturally from there.

No one questioned him about university life.

Instead, they spoke about East Junction.

How the weekly market had grown over the years.

How several family businesses had been passed down through three generations.

Which bakery always sold out before noon.

Which carpenter insisted on making every piece by hand despite younger craftsmen insisting machines were faster.

Damian found himself listening far more than speaking.

Whenever someone finished telling a story, he asked another question.

Not because he felt obliged.

Because he was genuinely interested.

--

Across the hall, Vivienne had settled just as comfortably into her own conversation.

"So..."

Clara smiled.

"Tell us a little about yourself."

Vivienne looked faintly surprised.

"There isn’t very much to tell."

"Oh, nonsense."

"There always is."

"Let’s see..."

Elsie leaned forward thoughtfully.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"So young."

"And this is your first Foundation visit?"

"Yes."

"I was quite nervous before we arrived."

"Nervous?"

Several women exchanged surprised looks.

"You hid it well."

Vivienne laughed softly.

"I don’t think I did."

"I simply tried not to let it show."

"Why?"

"Because this visit isn’t about me."

"It’s about learning from all of you."

The words settled gently over the table.

Margaret smiled.

"You know..."

"I had expected someone from St. Albion to come here and tell us what we should be doing."

She shook her head.

"Instead..."

"You’ve come to ask."

Vivienne lowered her eyes modestly.

"I don’t think we’re experienced enough to tell anyone how to live."

"We’re students."

"We’re here because we still have much to learn."

The women exchanged quiet glances.

There was no performance in her words.

No attempt to impress them.

Only sincerity.

Clara smiled.

"I was right."

"What was right?" Vivienne asked.

"I said we’d like you."

"I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly."

Laughter rippled around the table once more.

Vivienne laughed with them.

The warmth she had felt upon entering the hall no longer seemed directed at a guest.

Somehow...

It felt as though she had been welcomed into an extended family.

--

Across the room, Damian looked up just in time to catch another burst of laughter from the women’s table.

Harold followed his gaze.

"They’re keeping Miss Beaumont busy."

Damian smiled.

"It appears they are."

"They’ll have her telling stories before lunch is over."

"I don’t doubt it."

Harold chuckled.

"And what about you, Mr. Blackwood?"

"You’ve been asking us questions ever since you sat down."

"When do we get to ask about you?"

Damian blinked.

"I’m afraid there isn’t much to say."

Harold leaned back with an amused smile.

"We’ll start with the easy questions, then."

"How about this..."

"What made you volunteer for the Foundation?"

For the first time since sitting down, Damian paused to consider the answer.

"I’ve been familiar with the Foundation for quite some time."

"Volunteering always felt like a natural thing to do."

"When I entered St. Albion..."

"Joining simply felt like the obvious choice."

The gentlemen listened attentively.

After a brief pause, Damian continued.

"The Foundation gives students an opportunity to learn beyond the classroom."

"There are some things books can teach."

"And there are others that can only be understood by meeting the people they’re written about."

The table fell thoughtfully quiet.

Harold smiled.

"That’s a good answer."

"I suppose we’re part of today’s lesson, then."

Damian returned the smile.

"You are."

"But I suspect we’ll be learning far more than we’ll be contributing."

The older men exchanged approving glances.

"I like that attitude."

"So do I."

Another gentleman chuckled.

"Well, don’t let Rowan hear you say that."

"He’ll have us believing we’re the professors."

Laughter spread easily around the table.

--

The women had settled into an equally comfortable rhythm.

Questions flowed one after another—not intrusive, simply curious.

Vivienne answered each one patiently, speaking about university life, the Foundation, and how excited she had been for her first community visit.

The more she spoke, the more the women found themselves smiling.

There was no trace of pride in her.

Only quiet sincerity.

Before long, conversations had spread from one end of the hall to the other.

Laughter rose and fell between the tables, carrying with it the easy warmth of people who no longer felt like strangers.

Only when Rowan rose from his seat did anyone realize how much time had passed.

He clapped his hands lightly.

"I hate to interrupt."

A chorus of playful groans answered him.

"I know, I know," Rowan laughed.

"But if we keep talking, lunch is going to get cold."

--

Almost immediately, the volunteers began uncovering the serving platters.

The rich aroma of home-cooked food drifted through the hall, accompanied by another wave of cheerful conversation.

"All right," Rowan called with a grin.

"Everyone help yourselves."

The invitation was hardly necessary.

Serving dishes began making their way around the tables.

"Pass the rice."

"Careful, that’s still hot."

"Oh—and don’t forget the vegetable stew."

Before Vivienne could politely decline, Clara had already spooned a generous helping onto her plate.

"And some greens, too."

Elsie added another serving before Vivienne had a chance to protest.

"You simply have to try them."

"They were picked fresh this morning."

"They’re our pride and joy."

Vivienne stared at the impressive portion of vegetables now occupying one side of her plate.

"...Thank you."

The women smiled with obvious satisfaction.

Across the hall, Damian happened to glance in her direction.

His gaze settled briefly on her plate.

Then...

The corner of his mouth lifted.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just enough.

Vivienne caught it immediately.

...What was that look?

She followed his gaze.

Her eyes dropped to her own plate.

The vegetables.

She looked back at him.

Damian had already lowered his eyes to his own meal, though there was still the faintest trace of amusement lingering on his expression.

Vivienne knew that look.

You’re enjoying this.

The urge to narrow her eyes at him was very strong.

Unfortunately...

Half the table was watching to see whether she liked East Junction’s cooking.

With remarkable composure, she offered the women another warm smile.

"They look delicious."

Then, with all the dignity she could muster...

She picked up her fork.

--

Across the hall, Damian returned his attention to his own meal.

The faint smile never quite left his face.

He knew she disliked vegetables.

He had seen her reluctantly eat them before.

But today, he had learned something else.

Faced with genuine kindness, she would quietly set aside her own preferences rather than risk hurting someone’s feelings.

For some reason...

That realization pleased him.

--

Tbc