At Your Service
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Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
1,620
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The Acquisition
Chapter Three: The Acquisition
“Discretion of speech is more than eloquence; and to speak agreeably to him with whom we deal is more than to speak in good words or good order.”
Francis Bacon, “Of Discourse”
“Julia?”
Julia’s mouth was full of hairpins: this time, because she was helping Melody prepare for bed. Even if that hadn’t been the case, Julia wouldn’t have responded. Melody loved to torment the prim maid with her incessant chatter.
“I was wondering if you would care to share your impressions of Wright.”
“He is an acceptable superior,” Julia mumbled around the pins. Five words. Melody felt inordinately proud—five words were only two words less than her record: “I am pleased to serve you, miss.” Julia had graced her with that monologue when Priscilla had first hired the young woman, who actually was the same age as Melody herself. Melody had hoped at first that she could befriend the other woman, but Julia’s tight-lipped disapproval of everything about her mistress had quickly proved that impossible. That was when she had started the talking game, in which she would talk a lot, and try to goad her maid into speaking a few words herself every now and again. This time, however, she had been hoping for a real answer. She would have liked to know what the servants really thought about their new butler. It might have helped her figure out her own opinion of the man.
Wright, the new Wright, Melody corrected silently, had been waiting in the foyer when they arrived home to take their coats and hats. It was her first opportunity to examine him, as her missive for sherry earlier that evening had been answered with a maid carrying a tray. The new Wright had included with the beverage one of the crystal sherry glasses from her mother’s best set. The old Wright would have known that Melody preferred the older set, which she had sometimes “borrowed” as a child for tea parties. Somehow, it had been terribly unsettling, and Melody wondered if there was any hope for this new butler. She’d had the nagging suspicion that he wouldn’t linger in the hall to ask her about the party and the funny things that people said. She was right. He’d taken their things, bidden them a curt goodnight, and disappeared. From the front, he’d been rather handsome, actually, in a surly, brooding sort of way, with his heavy eyebrows dark slashes above darker eyes. If one didn’t mind the sharp angle made of those eyebrows by his deep scowl. When he’d turned so abruptly to leave, Melody had felt rather relieved—and angered. Who was this man, this butler, to make her feel judged and found wanting? His disapproval had managed to exceed Julia’s. Melody knew she was fairly silly upon occasion, that her imagination sometimes ran away with her, but was she so bad that not even her servants could stomach her presence, despite their pay? She sighed, dismissed a disdainful Julia, and climbed into her bed. In the morning light, the situation would look brighter, Melody was sure. After all, who could care about the help’s opinions when her Lord Weatherdale would be calling tomorrow? She fell quickly into the deep, untroubled sleep of the innocent and dreamt of strong arms and a soft voice.
Dinner the next evening went beautifully, without a hitch. Lord Weatherdale had met her father and seemed to genuinely like the man. After dinner, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the parlor, her father had skewered the younger man with a look, but Melody supposed that was to be expected. After a moment, her father had shrugged and smiled and asked Lord Weatherdale if he had seen any decent horseflesh recently at Tattersall’s. He seemed pleased with the answer, something to do with a young colt from Ireland that had recently been purchased. Since her attention wasn’t strictly necessary, Melody took the opportunity to admire her family’s guest. He looked resplendent this evening in a rusty red waistcoat that brought out the gold in his eyes. And were those red highlights glimmering in his dark hair? Melody bit back a giggle; somehow they made him look, for just a moment, like a little boy. He was undoubtedly handsome, and Melody knew that, while she wasn’t a diamond of the first water, she was rather good-looking herself. Their children would look very fine, indeed. If, of course, he offered. She dearly hoped he offered.
“Er...Miss Rathford?” His voice startled her out of her orange blossom-scented reveries.
“Yes, forgive me. My mind wandered,” she admitted, blushing.
“I asked if you might like to go riding with me tomorrow. I would like to show off my new acquisition.”
Melody felt her eyes go wide, then realized that he was speaking of the horse. Still, she had little about which to complain. Riding at Hyde Park at the fashionable hour would ensure that the entire ton would know he courted her. She blushed harder and tried to keep her grin down to the small, polite smile that was acceptable. He was more than welcome to show off his new mount at the park tomorrow. She would use the time to display him.
With a kiss for her hand and a clever thanks to his hosts, he departed. A possessive gleam shone in Lady Rathford’s eyes, and for once, Melody was inclined to agree.
*****
Henry Wright always knew which days to expect Lord Weatherdale to come calling. A certain soft, dreamy light glinted in Miss Rathford’s eye, and a soft smile graced her lips—except when she thought no one was looking. Then the soft smile spread into an entirely too improper smile. He could not only see her teeth but also part of her gums. Truly, the chit’s manners were deplorable.
It seemed the girl was always “at home” for Lord Weatherdale, for he came nearly every day, and she never failed to receive him. They sat under her mother’s watchful eye, chatting animatedly about the latest gossip in the papers or discussing soirees they had attended and the people who had been there. They often read poetry. It surprised Wright, somehow, that Miss Rathford enjoyed that high, stylized form of literature. She seemed too flighty to sit down and really discover the beauty of the meter and images. Her discussions with her beau, however, proved otherwise. He was not surprised when her attempt at a sonnet turned out to be a disaster of words. She and Lord Weatherdale had merely laughed and decided that perhaps she should focus instead on her paints, where she was quite talented, albeit in a bland, generic sort of way. Yet, when Lord Weatherdale left, she remained at the escritoire, scribbling away for hours on end, pausing only to wearily rub her neck. Wright had no idea what she wrote; the girl unfailing took her papers with her to her room, and burned the scraps. Not that he was curious. After all, he could always ask Julia to find out what was contained in those papers. If it weren’t improper, that is.
In the evenings she went out. Having been seen several times riding with Lord Weatherdale had increased interest in her family, and the invitations poured in. Wright thought that even Lady Rathford could have no complaints about the progression of the Season. Still she harried her family, however, and Wright increasingly understood why certain members of the family needed something to bolster them through an evening in her company. He still could not condone the necessity of alcohol, though. There must be some way of dealing with the woman without reliance on that particular evil.
Still, the Rathford family was respectable enough, and his mother was content, having quickly befriended the housekeeper, Mrs. Andrews, and several of the upstairs maids. Beyond the unpleasant task of providing the family with their evil brew, he actually rather enjoyed his position in the household. He certainly never felt bored.
Especially when the engagement was announced.
*****
It was a terribly good match, the fashionable members of the ton agreed. Although a bit more than young, the girl was rather pretty and of a good family with a rather large fortune. He, of course, was so handsome as to put the ladies all a-flutter, and word was he had ten thousand a year. The couple even seemed to hold a genuine affection for each other. The question of everyone’s mind (and tongue) was: then why is he leaving?
“Why is he leaving?” Melody wailed. Julia drew her eyebrows in minutely, which Melody took as a shrug indicating the colossal mystery of it all.
“People are starting to talk! They think he doesn’t love me, or that his money has run out. Or that he has run out. Maybe he loves someone else, and they’ve run off to Gretna! I know that’s what they’re saying. And what if they’re right? I’ll be disgraced forever! I’ll have to stay indoors forever and never blacken anyone’s home with my heartbreak and wear black and never dance again for the agony! My life is over!”
Julia cleared her throat. “Excuse me, miss, but please don’t move your head so much or I might burn you with the curling tongs. I’ve laid out your yellow satin and white pearled dancing slippers for the evening. Which would you prefer?”
Melody stared at her maid in open-mouthed wonder, her troubles forgotten. Where on earth had all those words come from? Melody had never imagined so many could escape the tight, puckered seam that Julia called a mouth. She was so shocked she could not even formulate a response. Instead, she did her best impression of a fish.
Julia’s face moved into an expression that might almost be a smile. “May I suggest the yellow?”
Melody almost nodded, then remembered the remonstration about head movements. She grinned. “The yellow would be most suitable, Julia, thank you.”
The maid nodded absently, her attention already returned to the arrangement of Melody’s hair.
Some time later, when Melody was coifed and dressed and waiting for the carriage, she considered again her fiancé’s disappearance to Edinburgh. Perhaps it was as Jason had said. Perhaps he did just want to inform a particular friend of his impending marriage in person. He would surely be back in the month, just as he had said. Melody could finally believe it. After all, it was a night for miracles.
“Discretion of speech is more than eloquence; and to speak agreeably to him with whom we deal is more than to speak in good words or good order.”
Francis Bacon, “Of Discourse”
“Julia?”
Julia’s mouth was full of hairpins: this time, because she was helping Melody prepare for bed. Even if that hadn’t been the case, Julia wouldn’t have responded. Melody loved to torment the prim maid with her incessant chatter.
“I was wondering if you would care to share your impressions of Wright.”
“He is an acceptable superior,” Julia mumbled around the pins. Five words. Melody felt inordinately proud—five words were only two words less than her record: “I am pleased to serve you, miss.” Julia had graced her with that monologue when Priscilla had first hired the young woman, who actually was the same age as Melody herself. Melody had hoped at first that she could befriend the other woman, but Julia’s tight-lipped disapproval of everything about her mistress had quickly proved that impossible. That was when she had started the talking game, in which she would talk a lot, and try to goad her maid into speaking a few words herself every now and again. This time, however, she had been hoping for a real answer. She would have liked to know what the servants really thought about their new butler. It might have helped her figure out her own opinion of the man.
Wright, the new Wright, Melody corrected silently, had been waiting in the foyer when they arrived home to take their coats and hats. It was her first opportunity to examine him, as her missive for sherry earlier that evening had been answered with a maid carrying a tray. The new Wright had included with the beverage one of the crystal sherry glasses from her mother’s best set. The old Wright would have known that Melody preferred the older set, which she had sometimes “borrowed” as a child for tea parties. Somehow, it had been terribly unsettling, and Melody wondered if there was any hope for this new butler. She’d had the nagging suspicion that he wouldn’t linger in the hall to ask her about the party and the funny things that people said. She was right. He’d taken their things, bidden them a curt goodnight, and disappeared. From the front, he’d been rather handsome, actually, in a surly, brooding sort of way, with his heavy eyebrows dark slashes above darker eyes. If one didn’t mind the sharp angle made of those eyebrows by his deep scowl. When he’d turned so abruptly to leave, Melody had felt rather relieved—and angered. Who was this man, this butler, to make her feel judged and found wanting? His disapproval had managed to exceed Julia’s. Melody knew she was fairly silly upon occasion, that her imagination sometimes ran away with her, but was she so bad that not even her servants could stomach her presence, despite their pay? She sighed, dismissed a disdainful Julia, and climbed into her bed. In the morning light, the situation would look brighter, Melody was sure. After all, who could care about the help’s opinions when her Lord Weatherdale would be calling tomorrow? She fell quickly into the deep, untroubled sleep of the innocent and dreamt of strong arms and a soft voice.
Dinner the next evening went beautifully, without a hitch. Lord Weatherdale had met her father and seemed to genuinely like the man. After dinner, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the parlor, her father had skewered the younger man with a look, but Melody supposed that was to be expected. After a moment, her father had shrugged and smiled and asked Lord Weatherdale if he had seen any decent horseflesh recently at Tattersall’s. He seemed pleased with the answer, something to do with a young colt from Ireland that had recently been purchased. Since her attention wasn’t strictly necessary, Melody took the opportunity to admire her family’s guest. He looked resplendent this evening in a rusty red waistcoat that brought out the gold in his eyes. And were those red highlights glimmering in his dark hair? Melody bit back a giggle; somehow they made him look, for just a moment, like a little boy. He was undoubtedly handsome, and Melody knew that, while she wasn’t a diamond of the first water, she was rather good-looking herself. Their children would look very fine, indeed. If, of course, he offered. She dearly hoped he offered.
“Er...Miss Rathford?” His voice startled her out of her orange blossom-scented reveries.
“Yes, forgive me. My mind wandered,” she admitted, blushing.
“I asked if you might like to go riding with me tomorrow. I would like to show off my new acquisition.”
Melody felt her eyes go wide, then realized that he was speaking of the horse. Still, she had little about which to complain. Riding at Hyde Park at the fashionable hour would ensure that the entire ton would know he courted her. She blushed harder and tried to keep her grin down to the small, polite smile that was acceptable. He was more than welcome to show off his new mount at the park tomorrow. She would use the time to display him.
With a kiss for her hand and a clever thanks to his hosts, he departed. A possessive gleam shone in Lady Rathford’s eyes, and for once, Melody was inclined to agree.
*****
Henry Wright always knew which days to expect Lord Weatherdale to come calling. A certain soft, dreamy light glinted in Miss Rathford’s eye, and a soft smile graced her lips—except when she thought no one was looking. Then the soft smile spread into an entirely too improper smile. He could not only see her teeth but also part of her gums. Truly, the chit’s manners were deplorable.
It seemed the girl was always “at home” for Lord Weatherdale, for he came nearly every day, and she never failed to receive him. They sat under her mother’s watchful eye, chatting animatedly about the latest gossip in the papers or discussing soirees they had attended and the people who had been there. They often read poetry. It surprised Wright, somehow, that Miss Rathford enjoyed that high, stylized form of literature. She seemed too flighty to sit down and really discover the beauty of the meter and images. Her discussions with her beau, however, proved otherwise. He was not surprised when her attempt at a sonnet turned out to be a disaster of words. She and Lord Weatherdale had merely laughed and decided that perhaps she should focus instead on her paints, where she was quite talented, albeit in a bland, generic sort of way. Yet, when Lord Weatherdale left, she remained at the escritoire, scribbling away for hours on end, pausing only to wearily rub her neck. Wright had no idea what she wrote; the girl unfailing took her papers with her to her room, and burned the scraps. Not that he was curious. After all, he could always ask Julia to find out what was contained in those papers. If it weren’t improper, that is.
In the evenings she went out. Having been seen several times riding with Lord Weatherdale had increased interest in her family, and the invitations poured in. Wright thought that even Lady Rathford could have no complaints about the progression of the Season. Still she harried her family, however, and Wright increasingly understood why certain members of the family needed something to bolster them through an evening in her company. He still could not condone the necessity of alcohol, though. There must be some way of dealing with the woman without reliance on that particular evil.
Still, the Rathford family was respectable enough, and his mother was content, having quickly befriended the housekeeper, Mrs. Andrews, and several of the upstairs maids. Beyond the unpleasant task of providing the family with their evil brew, he actually rather enjoyed his position in the household. He certainly never felt bored.
Especially when the engagement was announced.
*****
It was a terribly good match, the fashionable members of the ton agreed. Although a bit more than young, the girl was rather pretty and of a good family with a rather large fortune. He, of course, was so handsome as to put the ladies all a-flutter, and word was he had ten thousand a year. The couple even seemed to hold a genuine affection for each other. The question of everyone’s mind (and tongue) was: then why is he leaving?
“Why is he leaving?” Melody wailed. Julia drew her eyebrows in minutely, which Melody took as a shrug indicating the colossal mystery of it all.
“People are starting to talk! They think he doesn’t love me, or that his money has run out. Or that he has run out. Maybe he loves someone else, and they’ve run off to Gretna! I know that’s what they’re saying. And what if they’re right? I’ll be disgraced forever! I’ll have to stay indoors forever and never blacken anyone’s home with my heartbreak and wear black and never dance again for the agony! My life is over!”
Julia cleared her throat. “Excuse me, miss, but please don’t move your head so much or I might burn you with the curling tongs. I’ve laid out your yellow satin and white pearled dancing slippers for the evening. Which would you prefer?”
Melody stared at her maid in open-mouthed wonder, her troubles forgotten. Where on earth had all those words come from? Melody had never imagined so many could escape the tight, puckered seam that Julia called a mouth. She was so shocked she could not even formulate a response. Instead, she did her best impression of a fish.
Julia’s face moved into an expression that might almost be a smile. “May I suggest the yellow?”
Melody almost nodded, then remembered the remonstration about head movements. She grinned. “The yellow would be most suitable, Julia, thank you.”
The maid nodded absently, her attention already returned to the arrangement of Melody’s hair.
Some time later, when Melody was coifed and dressed and waiting for the carriage, she considered again her fiancé’s disappearance to Edinburgh. Perhaps it was as Jason had said. Perhaps he did just want to inform a particular friend of his impending marriage in person. He would surely be back in the month, just as he had said. Melody could finally believe it. After all, it was a night for miracles.