Thankfully, Blair takes it in his stride. ‘I see. Would you like to have breakfast early?’
‘No, I’m good at waiting. Sometimes waiting makes you better appreciate things when you do indeed receive them. Reward after abstention.’
God, even that sounded dirty. Blair raises his eyebrows, apparently unable to ignore the innuendo on this occasion.
My father nods, seemingly unaware of any sexual tension. ‘I always appreciate a good breakfast.’
‘So do I, m’lord.’ After giving me an amused look, Blair comes over to set the tray down on the side table next to the settee and pours Father a cup of tea. ‘Will Lady Emilia be seeing you off at the station?’
‘Oh no, that won’t be necessary,’ He looks at me quickly, apology in his eyes. ‘I don’t want to cause a fuss with her mother.’
‘Yes, m’lord.’
I pout, but understand that my father is right: Mother may take it as a slight.
Whoa, being up this early is exhausting. It must be all the worrying. I really do owe my parents for what I put them through.
‘Are you quite sure you don’t want anything, Millie?’ Father asks. Maybe the sudden stress makes me look hungry. ‘Let Blair fetch you something. He won’t bite.’
Me being me, I instantly think of Blair giving me a love bite, a fantasy that inevitably results in my cheeks turning bright red.
My reply comes tumbling out of my mouth, completely rushed and clumsy. ‘No, no, no. I don’t need Blair to get me off.’
Both men look absolutely mortified. I’m not sure why until I replay my own words in my head.
I sit up, flailing my hands around. You’d think I was trying to erase my words by snatching them back from the air around me. ‘Oh my God, I meant get me food. I don’t need Blair to get me food.’
Red-faced and no longer able to look me in the eye, Blair presses his lips into a fine line, doing a marvellous impression of my mother suppressing a raging outburst. Then I remember that I’m potentially putting his job at risk if my father sees the comment as an indiscretion that needs to be throttled before it turns into something more. Perhaps the rage is real.
Mother’s butler. Father’s house.
‘On second thought, I’m sure you can make your own breakfast after we’ve left for the station,’ Father says, speaking slowly and eyeing me curiously.
Heart pounding in my chest, I do my best to recover. ‘I really am sorry,’ I say to the pair of them. ‘It’s early and I clearly don’t get out enough.’
Yes, I’m invoking the I don’t know how to deal with men excuse. It’s the useful cousin of the I don’t know how to deal with life excuse, though I suppose both are anti-feminist – if not downright sad.
Father remains unimpressed. ‘With comments like that, you ought to stay inside.’
‘That was the last of this year’s accidental vulgarities, I swear. My quota has been filled.’
‘Well, I expressly ban you from having any such quota in the first place.’ He gestures at Blair, who still can’t bear to look at me. ‘Show the man some respect.’
‘I do respect him.’ I almost laugh from the absurdity of it all.
Father raises his hand to prevent me from talking any more, before addressing Blair. ‘I apologise for her. If you’d feel more comfortable waiting in the servants’ hall, then by all means do so.’
Blair clears his throat. ‘Thank you, m’lord. Do ring when you need me to return.’
It’s only when my father raises his newspaper that Blair catches my eye, his smirk of disbelief indicating that maybe he’s not completely furious with me, but simply exasperated by my inability to act like a sane, fully functional human being.
It could’ve been worse. I could’ve blurted out that he’d already gotten me off… several times.
With a final shake of his head, he leaves the room, probably making mental notes about how much I owe him for the trouble. Hopefully the debt won’t be too difficult to repay. More importantly, I hope the deception doesn’t make him overly nervous about continuing with our relationship.
I must look worried, because Father pats my arm. ‘I know you’re anxious, darling, but you mustn’t panic and let your insecurities get the better of you. You’ll find a man eventually.’
I smile ruefully and then sit quietly where I am, counting palm trees and wishing I could go one week without making a fool of myself. Little does he know that I have found a man. Now I just have to make sure I can keep him.
***
Blair leaves me hanging while he completes the rest of his duties, the distraction of my verbal blunder not the most welcome intrusion to his day, no matter how amusing in retrospect. It’s not until after ten, when he’s dropped my mother at her friend’s for a morning of tea and gossip, that we get to discuss things freely. Thank God for the inventor of the hands-free kit.
I take the call while lounging around on my bed – probably not the greatest idea considering I’ve hit a mid-morning wall. Anxiety and sleep-deprivation are a terrible mix. Getting up before six really was a mistake.
‘You sound sleepy, Millie. You might as well take a nap.’
‘No, I am not taking a nap,’ I say indignantly, wishing I were in the car with him. ‘If I nap after you’ve already worked who-knows-how-many-hours, we won’t get to spend much time together.’
‘Calm down. We’ve got all day. I’m not seeing my family until dinnertime.’
‘Oh.’ Suddenly, I’m a whole lot happier. I’d thought we were down to two hours of hurried sex and truncated conversation. Now we won’t have to rush at all – unless we want to, of course.
‘So you’re going to take a nap?’
‘Definitely not.’ I try to stifle an incoming yawn but fail miserably. Naturally, I’m forced to deflect before he passes comment. ‘You need me to be awake. Did I mention you sound stressed?’
He snorts. ‘Yes, what possible reason would I have to be stressed. Stress? What stress? I’ve a had jolly good time driving your parents around this morning.’
‘I sense sarcasm.’ I say this in a small voice, mostly because the stress is ultimately my fault.
‘You sense correctly. This morning your father wanted to know my general strategy for when women are inappropriate and then, four hours later, your mother grilled me on contraception.’
I sit up, not liking where this is going. ‘Is it worth me asking which was more mortifying?’
‘Probably the latter considering she read my facial expression in the rearview mirror and correctly deduced that the answer to her question was no, I haven’t been using condoms when we’ve had sex.’
‘What?’ My stomach lurches. Then my heart lurches. All my internal organs are lurching. ‘Blair! Why didn’t you use your indifferent face?’
‘I hardly think it would’ve helped to come across as ambivalent. Besides, you’re one to talk, Miss Freudian Slip.’
‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry about this morning, and for, you know, everything afterwards. Makes me feel like we’re teenagers being lectured.’
‘It certainly felt like Sex Ed,’ he says, downtrodden, before putting on the bright, over-enthused voice of a sixties advert. ‘Did you know the pill is only ninety-nine point seven per cent effective? Would you like to know some worst-case scenarios of the point three per cent? I know I do. How about an NHS leaflet on the dangers of chlamydia?’
‘You know, funny you should mention that, because I once brainstormed places where I might’ve seen you before, and one of my crazy ideas was an anti-STI poster. You’re good looking, you see, so all the ugly boys would look up to you and believe whatever slogan you were pushing.’
‘You thought I was a poster boy for herpes?’
‘Anti-herpes.’
‘Do me a favour and never go into marketing.’
I pause, unable to rejig the strategy on such short notice. ‘I suppose ugly boys wouldn’t be getting any, anyway.’
He guffaws, but not in a way that suggests he disagrees. ‘T
hat’s terribly mean, Millie.’
‘Then why are you laughing? Look, it’s not like we’re anti-extra-contraception. It’s just that we weren’t meant to be having sex in the first place so we were never extra prepared.’
‘Yes, I know. I was there.’
I think twice before asking my next question. I don’t want to embarrass him too badly while he’s driving, lest he feels the need to keep on driving by when he does reach the house. Then again, he’s already survived two brutally humiliating conversations, so maybe there’s no reason to worry.
‘Are you nervous about sex now?’ I ask lightly.
‘Should I be nervous after my boss tells me off for being irresponsible with her daughter?’ If his responses get any drier, he’ll be at risk of dehydration. ‘Yes, I believe I’m entitled to be a little nervous, as emasculating as that sounds.’
I glance at Abby’s iPad on my bedspread. ‘Lucky for you, all I’m doing is reading the careers section on Net-A-Porter. Yes, that’s right, still in my pyjamas and not waiting for you in a see-through negligee with my legs splayed open.’
‘Oh yes, that makes me feel very lucky indeed. Go on, fuck me and call me a four-leaf clover.’
‘That’s the thing, see? I’m not fucking you. I’m looking for a job, even though I’m not supposed to be looking yet.’
‘Always the rogue.’
I hope there’s some recognition of my job-seeking efforts, or at least my job-seeking intentions. It might be wise to bring it up with him again later, after other activities have helped clear his mind.
‘Anyway, back to the condoms. You have a stash, right? You’re the one who planned on sexing me between prospective matches.’
‘Between prospective matches? What an awfully crowded bed.’
‘If you don’t have any, you should go and buy them now.’
He laughs. ‘The butler buying prophylactics?’
‘Fine, don’t buy them. I’ll run to the nearest clinic and grab a handful from the jar they have at reception. Hopefully there are fewer germs in them than in those bowls of nuts you find in bars.’
‘Delightful.’ I get the feeling he would slow-clap sarcastically if he wasn’t driving. ‘Such a shame that I have some already.’
I try to picture where his stash might be. ‘These condoms, are they strategically placed around the house? We’re very spontaneous, you know.’
‘It’s not a bloody Easter egg hunt,’ he says, exasperation creeping into his voice again. ‘Look, I’m almost home. Don’t jump me when I walk through the door. I want to get changed and have something to eat. Forgive me, but I wasn’t hungry earlier. Lost my appetite between interrogations.’
‘Should I make you some toast?’
‘If you can manage.’
I pause deliberately. ‘Where do you find the manual for this toasting contraption?’
‘See you soon, Millie.’
‘Bye!’
I drop my phone and race out of the room, reaching the kitchen in what must be record time. Plates are located, bread is in the toaster and, after a panicked comparison of two jars with similar fruit labels, marmalade is chosen. The goal is to set up my version of a breakfast tray, one closely resembling my father’s from earlier this morning. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that both my memory and my domestic skills are a bit fuzzy. I’m thinking the toast was stacked diagonally in the other direction and that the plate wasn’t this big, not to mention the rather careless dollop of ‘marmalade’ is currently wobbling in what I now recognise as a crème brûlée dish. Never mind. It’ll be endearing, like when a child brings home a picture that doesn’t make sense.
After adding a small teapot, I carry the whole lot upstairs, where I face the dilemma of whether to keep this in my room or take it up to the attic. In the end, I decide to take a gamble and rush up to Blair’s room. I’m not the best at romance, but some sort of pleasant surprise is surely better than nothing. I set the tray on his nightstand and then undress, walking back out into the corridor to create a trail of clothing.
By the time Blair returns, I’m waiting for him naked under the covers of his bed.
‘Millie?’ He sounds like he’s at the top of the stairs.
I try not to laugh, sitting up and covering myself with the sheet. ‘In here!’
He finally appears in the doorway, a smirk on his face. ‘You are terrible at following instructions.’
‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ I say, feigning innocence. ‘You said not to jump you when you walked through the door. No one’s jumping here.’
‘Uh huh.’ He enters the room and takes his jacket off, hanging it up on one of the coat hooks on the wall. ‘Minx.’
I nod at the nightstand. ‘A minx who made you breakfast.’
You’d think I was showing off a masterpiece, so proud am I of this tray. Now, bathed in the yellow light from the nearby lamp, it looks like it could be on display, perhaps a worthy subject for a still-life sketch.
I really should get out more.
Blair takes a step forward, craning his neck to inspect my work. ‘Aw, you didn’t burn it. Aren’t you sweet?’
‘That sounds very much like you are mocking me.’
He maintains his smirk, taking off his waistcoat and loosening his tie before taking another step forward. ‘Mock you? Never.’ Another two steps, and something on the tray grabs his attention. ‘Wait. Is that a crème brûlée dish?’
Damn his attention to detail. ‘No. You’re mistaken.’
This earns me a sidelong look. ‘Right. Of course I am.’
He’s tantalisingly just out of reach. I know this because I try to touch him, to no avail.
‘Hold on,’ he says, removing his tie.
‘Tease.’
He moves away from me, shedding both his shirt and belt as he meanders around the foot of the bed. ‘Well, judging by what you said this morning, you don’t need me to get you off, remember?’ he says, both horror and amusement in his voice.
I believe the official reaction for when Blair is shirtless is phwoar. He is one hot man.
Of course, the polite reaction is to reply with proper words. ‘I don’t think the damage is that bad. He still thinks I have it in for you.’
He halts on the opposite of the bed, still out of reach. ‘If he’d stayed any longer, he probably would’ve become suspicious.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
I can tell he has his doubts. ‘Even if you’re right, being blindsided is never nice. I think we both know that.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ Recognising the hypothetical as a mood killer, I concentrate on the good deed he did instead. ‘That was nice of you, though. Helping my father this morning.’
‘I thought I’d suck up to him a bit. Make him less likely to kill me when he finds out.’ He pauses, possibly contemplating either the past or the future. ‘I think the row was a bad one. I’ll leave it to your mother to tell you, if she wants.’
I nod, accepting this for now. All the divorce talk is hurtful anyway, and I’d rather think of something else if there’s nothing I can do to help at the moment.
Again, I attempt to lighten the mood, remembering what my father asked him. ‘So what was your strategy when hotel guests made a move on you? I’d have half a mind to whack those admirers with a cricket bat.’
Blair rolls his eyes, hands now on those sexy hips of his. ‘The best strategy is usually complete and utter indifference. Unfortunately, some women find that attractive.’ He smirks. ‘Men, too, actually.’
I laugh, holding the sheet and making sure I’m still appropriately covered. ‘Sluts. The lot of them.’
‘And what if we’d met at the hotel?’
‘That wouldn’t have changed anything. My mother would still have brought you home.’
I’m about to say more when Blair drops his trousers. Suddenly, I’m very, very glad that I didn’t decide to wait in my room.
‘Not yet,’ he says, a more serious tone to
his voice. ‘Sort of need to talk first. Seriously.’
As if I could deny him anything in this moment. ‘Course.’
He steps free of his trousers before crouching down and retrieving something from under this side of the bed. When he walks all the way back around to the nightstand, I recognise it as a photo frame.
He hands me the frame – his Harrow class photo. ‘I’m sorry I was so harsh the other night. I was a bit of a royal prick.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ I wriggle over, offering what limited space is left on the bed. ‘I mean, I stuck my nose in your business. It wasn’t super polite.’
Blair is pensive, not replying immediately. He does, however, get into the bed, sitting up against the iron frame and not shying away when I cuddle up nice and close. I let him think while he eats the toast, knowing his past will probably always haunt him.
Keeping the sheet up with one hand, I hold the photo frame in the other, eventually cradling it against my chest. I’m reminded of my own school memories. It’s positively frightening to think how much time has passed since high school. I don’t even want to think about what life will be like in another ten years. Planning for the future has never been my forte, not when everything has always been secure.
I know that’s not the case now. It’s true I don’t expect to learn about hardship straight away and to a depth that rivals the stress of a lot of people, Blair’s family included. But I hope I can make some headway into not being so sheltered, both for my own personal growth and for Blair’s confidence in us. It might even help steady me – why be so irritated when others have it worse?
‘Thanks for letting me see this again,’ I say after a while, looking down at the image from his past. ‘I know you probably don’t want to go through all the details now, but when you’re ready, I’m here.’
The gratitude in Blair’s eyes makes my heart ache. He’s wavered all this time between being thankful for me and resenting my very existence. It’s amazing to witness him settling on the former.
‘You’re not so bad when you’re nice,’ he says, brushing my forearm gently with his fingertips.
‘It’s usually for a limited time only. I would capitalise whenever possible.’
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