Mathew came back from his talk with Lord Grantham feeling humbled and contrite. Everyone did have their place after all, and he now meant to take full advantage of Thomas's services. Make him feel appreciated. True, his butler didn't defer to him the way he would a gentleman, but Mathew found he rather liked that. A docile manservant would have irritated him to no end. Besides, Mathew realised he'd never once acted the gentleman in Thomas's presence. What right had he to complain?
Mathew waited for Thomas to appear to dress him for the evening. He would take his advice when it came to cufflinks, allow him to put on his jacket, tie up his cummerbund, whatever was standard procedure. However, he continued to wait nearly a quarter of an hour. Eventually he gave up and impatiently rang the bell, quietly fuming at the delay.
Thomas sauntered in as usual and bowed; somewhat ironically, Mathew thought. "Do you require assistance?" he asked politely.
"Er, yes…I was wondering which cufflinks I ought to wear," Mathew swallowed his pride enough to answer.
"I thought my services were dispensable," Thomas answered, not making a move. "I'd thought you couldn't wait to be shot of me"
Mathew paused. "I had a talk with Lord Grantham. He explained to me that we all have our roles and…"
"How very feudal," Thomas said cuttingly. "I thought you weren't going to let them change you"
Mathew stepped back like he'd been struck in the face. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him. Yet before he could react, Thomas continued.
"You're right though. I'd like to feel I was useful and I would like to actually do my job. I'm a good valet. But I want you to know this isn't all I want to do with my life. I have ambitions, and I don't want you to patronise me"
"I respect that," Mathew answered, feeling his anger die. "Perhaps we ought to start over?"
"Very good sir," Thomas said with a wry smile before stepping forward and sliding Mathew's jacket on in one fluid movement. He then took hold of a brush Mathew had been unable to decipher the use for and began brushing lint off his shoulders.
"How are you finding the Grantham family?" Thomas asked while he worked and Mathew was surprised he bothered making small talk.
"Tolerable," he answered, before realising he wasn't doing them justice. "Mary's a brilliant if shrewish young woman of course, and Lord Grantham's a good man. Cousin Cora is a lovely hostess. But they're not really my sort of people"
"Lady Edith's a snake in the grass," Thomas commented.
"She seems perfectly lovely," Mathew replied hotly, feeling the need to defend his cousin.
"No one ever thinks Lady Edith is perfectly lovely," Thomas said with a knowing smirk.
Mathew couldn't help but smile at Thomas's reflection in the mirror he was standing in front of. It was wrong to talk of her that way, but in all honesty he never had thought of Edith as perfectly lovely.
"I heard she made you visit every church in the county," Thomas continued.
Mathew groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I had to fake an interest in architecture to avoid conversation," he confessed.
"Not very subtle, is she?" Thomas asked. Mathew was about to rebuke him, but before he could Thomas smoothed down his lapels and smirked again.
"There we are, ready for the ball," he said and made to exit the room.
Mathew realised he was indeed ready and looking quite the gentleman. Thomas had apparently been right. He was a good valet. "Thankyou," he called after Thomas, who paused at the door to bow in acknowledgement. Mathew was surprised how easy and friendly the conversation had been. What was an awkward situation seemed to have resolved itself and he was glad of it. Perhaps he ought to follow Lord Grantham's example more often.
Mathew awoke with certain sensual images in his mind. He couldn't picture clearly what he'd been dreaming about, but creamy, pale skin and dark hair stuck in his mind. Perhaps Mary was having an effect on him. He readily acknowledged her as a beauty, although her imperious personality grated on him. However, if he could be friendly to Thomas, he supposed there was no stopping him from forming a favourable relationship with anyone.
Speaking of the devil seemed to make him appear and Thomas arrived through the door carrying Mathew's freshly pressed morning suit. Mathew stretched and made to pull away the covers before realising he was aroused and rolling onto his stomach. This was certainly an uncomfortable situation. What did the gentry do when this happened to them?
"Sir, it's a fair commute I believe. If you insist on having a job there's no point in being late for it," Thomas sounded impatient. "Anyway, breakfast's on and Mrs. Bird won't be pleased if you let it get cold"
Thomas was waiting for him to get up, so he could dress him. Dear lord. How could he ask him to leave without appearing to renege on his promise not to patronise the other man?
"I was wondering whether you'd give me a moment Thomas? Just a moment?" Mathew's voice came out thin, strained and just a little whiny. He hated feeling this vulnerable in his own bed, unable to even look at the man standing across the room.
"If you want to sleep in, you ought to quit that job. I would," Thomas grumbled.
Mathew sat up, hastily grabbing a pillow to cover the area. "I assure you, I intend to work until the day I die," he said passionately.
However Thomas's eye had strayed to the obviously placed pillow. "Perhaps you ought to dress yourself this morning?" he asked with an arched eyebrow, after which he promptly left the room.
Once he had, Mathew collapsed on his bed and groaned. He couldn't recall being more embarrassed. He dressed himself and went off to work as usual however, busying himself with speculations as to why the fierce dowager had asked to see him later that afternoon.
