Throw His Heart Over

by Sebastian Nothwell

  He fell asleep at last, clasping Aubrey tight as if his arms could shield him from the slings and arrows of all the world. But upon waking, he did not find his irritation diminished. Not even Aubrey’s kiss, an affectionate peck on his lips before they rose to dress, could banish it. He buried it deep beneath his affection for the man who shared his home, his bed, his life, but though he kept it hidden, it surged on.

  The irritation lasted through breakfast and failed to diminish as Aubrey went off with Emmeline to renew their work upon the electrical conversions, and Rowena retired to her parlour to conduct her correspondence, and Lindsey summoned Mrs Sheffield and Mr Hudson to the library and asked them to assemble all the household staff in the foyer.

  “Everyone, sir?” asked Mr Hudson.

  Lindsey could hardly blame him for wanting clarification. It was, after all, an unprecedented command. Still, Lindsey gave no more explanation beyond a grim nod. “Everyone.”

  Mr Hudson bowed, Mrs Sheffield curtsied, and both departed. Lindsey waited in silent impatience, watched a quarter-hour tick past on the mantel clock, before Charles appeared upon the library threshold and announced the staff awaited him in readiness.

  Lindsey crossed the house to the foyer, where he found the whole staff of the country house—some twenty-odd persons—standing shoulder-to-shoulder, stretched out across the bottom of the grand staircase. Mr Hudson, Mrs Sheffield, Fletcher and the other grooms from the stable, the hound-master, the gardener, the game-keeper, the cook, the maids in their tidy black-and-white uniforms, and the footmen in their livery. His gaze lingered upon the footmen in particular. One of these, he knew, had taken particular issue with Aubrey. He wished he could tell the wolf from the sheep. He wished he’d paid better attention to who worked for him, so he might know the man from description alone. He wished his sister had not been quite so thorough or so fashionable in her efforts to procure a well-matched set of male servants.

  “Good morning, sir,” said Mr Hudson.

  Lindsey blinked, recalling where he stood and for what purpose. He smiled in appreciation for the gentle reminder, and returned, “Good morning.”

  There, his speech stuttered to a halt. The vast expanse of staff loomed before him—some loyal, some traitorous, and no way to tell one from another—in such numbers as to intimidate any would-be public speaker.

  Lindsey cleared his throat and said the first thing that came into his head. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here.”

  A score of blank stares turned upon him, which he supposed was as much as he deserved for such an opening. He swallowed and continued.

  “First and foremost, allow me to extend my sincerest gratitude and appreciation. Your diligence, your honesty, and your loyalty are truly to be admired. For these, and for all the services you do for our family, I thank you.”

  This went over better than his first attempt. While none amongst his audience broke tradition to smile outright, many stood up straighter, shoulders shifting back and chins rising, taking more positive notice of his address.

  Emboldened, Lindsey went on. “On this day, I would ask one further service of you.”

  Curiosity rippled through the crowd. Lindsey waited another moment to assure himself he held their full attention, then pressed on.

  “From this moment forward, you are to consider Mr Warren as a member of the Althorp family.”

  Though he tried to restrain himself, his eyes wandered over towards the line of footmen as he added, “As much deserving of your respect, your diligence, and your loyalty as my sister, my fiancée, or myself.”

  The footmen appeared no less stoic than the rest of the staff, though Lindsey thought he caught a nervous swallow bobbing down the throat of one particular footman. Before his eyes spoke too much of his suspicions, Lindsey returned his gaze to the assembly as a whole.

  “If you feel you cannot in good conscience do what I have asked, you may speak to Miss Althorp, and she shall find you a place in another household—a place as good or better than what you hold here, and with a letter of highest recommendation. I should be heartbroken to see any of you go, but I understand what I ask of you is not often asked in other households, and in those you may find yourself more comfortable.”

  Lindsey had gone over these particulars with Rowena the evening before, and together, they had decided upon this as the most amicable resolution. As he spoke the words now, he glanced over each face for any sign of dismay or outrage. He caught none—though he supposed if he were in their place, he too would endeavour to keep such feelings hidden from his employer.

  “I have no wish to chide you,” Lindsey continued, “or to cast judgment. I only ask that you continue to conduct yourselves with the same integrity I have come to know and appreciate from each and every one of you.” He glanced over the gathering one final time, and as much to his own relief as theirs, finally concluded, “Thank you. That is all.”

  It was no St Crispin’s Day, but it would suffice.

  ~

  Aubrey waited in the breakfast room just off the foyer, listening to Lindsey’s speech, arms crossed, chin tucked into his chest, brow furrowed in concentration. It followed all the same points as they’d laid out the night previous, yet still, to hear it in Lindsey’s voice gave it new life. Resonant tones, equal parts mellifluous and heartfelt, granted a level of sincerity to his words which compelled the listener to attend. Aubrey only hoped the staff would see it in the same light.

  The speech concluded, and the air filled with the echoes of scores of heels clicking against the marble floor as the staff returned to their posts. These echoes had not yet faded away before the door to the breakfast room opened and Lindsey entered. He seemed a little surprised to find Aubrey so near the door. Aubrey, meanwhile, noted the wan lines of his brow and the tight cast of his mouth.

  “You heard it, then?” Lindsey asked.

  “I did,” said Aubrey. “If baronets served in the House of Lords, you might’ve made an adept member of Parliament.”

  A smile returned to Lindsey’s lips at last, no less handsome for its bashful nature. “I’ve had my fill of speech-making, I think. Though they seemed to take it well enough.”

  Aubrey stepped up to slip his hands under Lindsey’s jacket and wind his arms around his waist. “I prefer you at home, anyhow.”

  Lindsey bent to kiss him. When they broke off their embrace some moments later, Aubrey kept one hand upon Lindsey’s lower back, unwilling to relinquish his hold entirely.

  “I don’t suppose,” Lindsey said as they wandered out of the breakfast room and towards the library, “that I could induce you to give your opinion upon staffing the Manchester house?”

  Aubrey hesitated. “I’d like to see what comes of your speech first.”

  Lindsey conceded the point with a nod.

  Aubrey couldn’t help feeling some small measure of relief at his dropping the subject. His fears regarding Miss Murphy and Miss Owen’s reaction to Lindsey’s speech, Aubrey kept to himself. Given what he knew of the two young women—little enough of the latter, and still less of the former—he considered his fears irrational. Still, they remained in the back of his mind, buzzing like trapped bees against his skull.

  They’d reached the library by then, Lindsey settling into his armchair and picking up a nearby novel, no doubt discarded by his sister. Aubrey attempted to lose himself in The Engineer.

  Little more than a half-hour later, Rowena entered the library.

  “George has elected to seek his fortune outside of our establishment,” she announced.

  Lindsey glanced up from his book with a furrowed brow. “George?”

  By way of explanation, she replied, “Cleft chin, small ears, blue eyes, brown hair with a slight curl.”

  Lindsey gave Aubrey an enquiring look.

  Aubrey nodded in confirmation. As Rowena had spoken, the knot of anxiety in his chest had eased to know the footman who considered his face too ugly to be borne would no longer ha
unt the halls of their household.

  Lindsey relaxed as well, smiling up at his sister. “Then it seems we may rest easy.”

  “And the rest of the staff?” Aubrey asked.

  “No one else has yet come forward,” said Rowena. “Have you given any further thought to whom among them you may bring to the Chorlton-cum-Hardy house?”

  Again, Lindsey looked to Aubrey to provide an answer.

  “Miss Murphy seems an adept cook, if she’ll have us. And Miss Owen,” Aubrey added. “Or Freddie, as you call her.”

  “You have then consigned yourself to the necessity of staff?” asked Rowena.

  There was nothing teasing in her tone, yet Aubrey couldn’t help reading something wry in her expression. “I have. Though I won’t deny it’s bizarre to always have at least one extra person in every room whom one must pretend isn’t there.”

  A half-smile of amusement flickered across her lips. “In the interest of further dispelling the awkward nature of such an arrangement, perhaps you would like to join me in informing them of their good fortune?”

  Aubrey knew as well as Lindsey that gentlemen taking personal interest in household management was not the done thing. Yet as Lindsey himself had just proved, the done thing was not necessarily done in their establishments. And while Rowena might very well smile at the notion, the smile she wore now bore more resemblance to her brother’s natural ebullience than her usual dry wit. He concluded her offer was sincere. “I would, thank you.”

  Rowena turned to her brother. “Lindsey?”

  For a third time, Lindsey glanced to Aubrey before making his reply. “I’ve done rather my fill of household management for the morning.”

  “Then,” said Rowena, “I would ask you, Aubrey, to meet me in the morning room in a quarter-hour.”

  Aubrey nodded, and she swept out of the room.

  “Unless you wanted me to go along?” asked Lindsey.

  Aubrey smiled and shook his head. Lindsey returned to his book with an expression of some relief.

  A quarter-hour later, Aubrey found his way to the morning room. There sat Rowena in her rose velvet armchair with the posture of an empress upon her throne.

  “Perfectly punctual,” she declared as Aubrey sat down beside her with considerably less grace or ease. “I do so admire that about you.”

  Aubrey hardly had time to thank her before the door opened again to reveal two maids in uniform on the threshold. He recognised one as Miss Owen. The other, a much taller and broader young woman with a square jaw, snub nose, and black curls escaping from beneath her white cap, he presumed to be Miss Murphy. Both curtsied upon the threshold.

  “Good morning,” said Rowena as they entered.

  Miss Owen echoed the greeting in soft and muted tones. Miss Murphy offered it up as one accustomed to speaking clearly above the noise of clanging pots and pans in a busy kitchen.

  “Do sit down.” Rowena gestured broadly to the matched set of chairs before her.

  Both maids did so, Miss Owen looking about as uncomfortable as Aubrey felt, with Miss Murphy at considerably more ease.

  “Before we begin,” said Rowena, “I would like to allay any concerns you may have. This is not a disciplinary meeting. This is an opportunity.”

  Miss Owen relaxed a fraction, bringing her head up along with her eyes.

  “As you are no doubt well aware,” Rowena continued, “Sir Lindsey requires a larger body of staff in Chorlton-cum-Hardy to prepare the household for his impending marriage. I believe you, Siobhan, have already volunteered to join this new establishment?” At Miss Murphy’s eager nod, Rowena concluded, “Then Mr Warren and I have the happy privilege of informing you he and Sir Lindsey are quite satisfied with your performance as cook during this past season and look forward to your filling the post in Manchester.”

  Miss Murphy beamed. “Thank you, Miss Althorp!”

  “And now we come to the position of housekeeper. Freddie,” said Rowena, turning to Miss Owen. “Your people are yet in Wales, are they not?”

  “Yes, miss,” said Miss Owen.

  “Would you be willing to live some further distance from them?” Rowena asked. “With the addition of a pay raise, and the status of one in training to be a housekeeper in her own right?”

  “I would, miss.”

  “Excellent.” Rowena turned to Aubrey. “Have you any further enquiries, Mr Warren?”

  He did, indeed. He’d spent the last hour ruminating upon them, and yet come no nearer to finding a phrasing fit for polite society. Still, he had to be sure. He cleared his throat. “Miss Murphy.”

  Rowena’s left eyebrow twitched. Aubrey knew he’d erred in her eyes by not using Miss Murphy’s Christian name. But in this moment, her opinion was not the one most important to him.

  Miss Murphy herself took the solecism in stride, responding with a bright, “Yes, sir?”

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I’ve very much enjoyed your cooking these past months, and am glad for the opportunity to tell you so myself.”

  Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “As you may not have had the opportunity to see me in person before his moment…” Aubrey turned his head to bring the scarred side into her full view, and gestured towards it with an open palm. “Does the sight of my face at all distress you?”

  Her eyes widened, but apparently more at the audacity of his question than at his scars, for he’d made no effort to hide them from her before. “No, sir.”

  Rowena, too, had wide eyes, and one hand clenched the arm of her chair, but otherwise she made no sign she disapproved of Aubrey’s line of questioning.

  Aubrey smiled. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. Miss Owen,” he continued, turning to her. “Though you and I have already met in passing, I must confess I wish to be absolutely sure before I force anyone to live in the company of such a gruesome sight. And so I ask, does my face distress you?”

  Miss Owen showed no emotion as she replied, “No, sir.”

  “Thank you, Miss Owen,” said Aubrey.

  Rowena drew breath, as if to conclude this meeting before Aubrey could embarrass her further.

  Miss Owen spoke first. “My brother has a similar look about him.”

  Miss Murphy and Rowena alike turned to look at her. Aubrey found himself no less compelled.

  This attention appeared to unsettle Miss Owen, but she nevertheless spoke on. “An explosion in the mines.”

  No wonder she had such familiarity with the oxygen canisters. Aubrey found his voice. “He has my sympathies.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Miss Owen. “He gets by all right.”

  His concerns satisfied, and with more to ruminate upon, Aubrey sat back and let Rowena resume control over the conversation. He half-listened as she informed the young ladies what they might expect from Manchester, and when she would send them on to assume their new roles, and what their new wages would be, and dismissed them. Miss Murphy and Miss Owen curtsied again and departed.

  “Well!” said Rowena when they had gone, drawing Aubrey out of his thoughts. “I suppose if I ever find myself unable to hint at a point, I might call upon you to cut to the quick.”

  Aubrey bit back a smile. “I suppose you might.”

  ~

  The tailored waistline of the jacket drew the eye to his narrow hips. The buckskin breeches clung to his thighs, and the boots—particularly the stark and brilliant gleam of the polished black leather—displayed his shapely calves to their fullest.

  “Well?” asked Aubrey.

  Lindsey looked up into those beautiful brown eyes, and realised he’d spent perhaps a moment too long staring at the splendid sight of Aubrey in his new riding clothes. “It suits you.”

  Aubrey’s brow furrowed in a manner suggesting he didn’t quite believe him.

  Lindsey crossed the room, gently plucked the black silk top hat from under Aubrey’s arm, and laid it upon his head like a victory wreath.

 
“Your crowning glory,” Lindsey announced, unable to help himself.

  His indulgence was rewarded in a snort of laughter from Aubrey, who quickly covered it with a cough. Aubrey turned to pick up the final piece of his new ensemble—a pair of gloves—from where he’d laid them out on the bed whilst dressing. In doing so, he showed off, however unwittingly, the flattering effect of the buckskin breeches upon an already handsome behind.

  “See something you like, then?”

  Lindsey jerked his head up at the question and caught Aubrey’s eye looking right back at him over his shoulder. No one could withstand the inquisition of such a sculpted ebony eyebrow as Aubrey cocked at Lindsey in that moment.

  Warmth rushed to Lindsey’s cheeks. “Rather, yes.”

  Aubrey rose laughing and turned to lead the way out of the room—pausing as he passed by to give Lindsey a kiss as light and fleeting as a snowflake.

  Lindsey felt more than content to follow.

  In the stables, Lindsey chose his steed with greater care than he had the afternoon of the accident. Atalanta, for all her speed, he now considered too hot-blooded and skittish for a ride in the country with his Aubrey. Fletcher suggested another gelding, called Galahad, as a fit match for Parsival, as the two horses’ stalls stood side-by-side in the stables, and the animals had a bond not unlike friendship.

  Once the grooms had both horses tacked up and led out to the stable yard, Lindsey again assisted Aubrey in mounting—for, while Dr Pilkington had declared his patient strong enough for exercise, said patient had spent so much time on bed rest as to lose some of his strength. However, with Lindsey’s assistance, Aubrey vaulted up into the saddle on his first attempt, and, from his lofty seat, grinned down at Lindsey in thanks.