Saint Valentine
Thomas's nerves were still strung high as the house's hundred foot roof when he placed the weighted down tea tray on the nursery's dark oak side table. His hands shook from passing Mama's bedroom, the master bedroom, he'd had a terrible fright thinking that she would wake and catch him. Mama would've caned him for wasting her good tea on, "Wretched, filthy, little tarts." like Lucille. Lucille might've been the bad one, but she wasn't a tart, she was his sister, his selfless protector, his lover.
Briefly, he wiped his hands on his trousers and bit his lip as he surveyed the silver tray - scrambled eggs with thyme, a bowl of porridge, a cuppa of black tea and set gently yet prominently across the tray a bouquet of flowers which he'd picked from the garden. Forget-Me-Nots and red roses for the depth of his love and white roses to show his faithfulness to her. Well, that was what Lucille said they meant anyway and he'd not wanted to hurt her by questioning her. Surely, she would appreciate his gesture on today of all days ?
Thomas turned to Lucille, ah, but she was beautiful - her raven hair splayed over the pillow whilst firelight warmed the ivory skin. He put a hand on her nightgown clad shoulder and shook. A few moments later, she yawned, "What did you do now, Thomas ?" and her back arched as those gorgeous, dark blue eyes fluttered open.
Lucille's dismissive tone had his spirits smashing like the plate he'd dropped last week. "I-I didn't, it's Saint Valentine's and I, well, I made you breakfast and tea."
Her, "Papa was right you are a disappointment, breakfast is women's work. You'll never be a man this way, Thomas, not ever." had him rubbing his hands, glancing at the floor; all he'd wanted do was lessen her work and she'd still not appreciated it.
She sat up and quick as a whippet her attitude changed, "Oh, look, you brought me flowers." Lucille took his face in her hands, lifted it and kissed him. "What a lovely gift. Thank you, darling."
Finally, some appreciation. A faint smile crossed Thomas's lips as he opened his eyes. "I love you, Lucille."
Those words caused a familiar, obsessive glint to enter her eyes. Really with her hair unbrushed she did look rather mad when she demanded, "Say it again !"
He murmured, "I love you, Lucille." and she pulled him to sit beside her.
"My pretty Thomas, eat."
So, even though he was the one who'd brought the food to her she picked up the plate of scrambled eggs and started to feed him. Why not let her ? It was one of the ways she showed him that she loved him. Lucille was all that he had, he needed her. He loved her. Saint Valentine would not have approved.