Arranged Marriage AU

xxxxxx

Rather than meeting a second pair of lips, the ones to which he had become so accustomed, Jervis found his mouth pressed against a set of gnarled fingers instead. "This can't continue."

Tetch looked up in broken confusion. "Why not?" his voice sounded in a manner that was almost whiny, and he reached out halfheartedly as Jonathan withdrew his hand. The look on his gaunt companion's face was not at all sympathetic. "I've already told you, ten times or more. You know I'm arranged to be married tomorrow, and you know that this behavior has been illicit enough without the addition of adultery to help it along."

A hot summer wind rattled the leaves in the trees and compelled the untrimmed grass below to flutter while Jervis's mouth twisted into a strained frown, his buck teeth peeking out even further than usual. "But—" "I hardly think Miss Isley would appreciate finding out about you, Jervis. And I shudder to think what my grandmother would do to either of us. So trust me when I insist that this is for the best."

Tetch's gaze sank to his feet, and his eager fingers— now deprived of a mate— fell to fiddle anxiously with the hem of his waistcoat. Out here in the woods, there was no one around to see him cry, with the exception of Jonathan, to whom such a display would not be foreign, but all of a sudden, poor spurned Jervis Tetch found himself wholly unwilling to reveal his emotions so plainly anymore. But, curse his sensitivities, a few tears splattered on the toe of his shoe nonetheless.

Although his tone and even his expression had been blank and dismissive since they'd convened this morning, something at Jonathan's core must have hitched, because the same hand that had blocked his wooer's way just moments ago was pressed apologetically to his cheek. "You know this isn't quite the way I would have things were the choice up to me." Not that it made much of a difference. Tetch recoiled miserably, unwilling to accept this, that his beloved paramour was discontinuing their meetings for the sake of some woman whom he'd never even met, as if he were a worn cleaning rag to be disposed. Jervis had been there first, and in all likelihood, he'd been there better. He glared up at Jonathan, hoping to catch some sign of weakness, only to find that his body language was still as sturdy and unemotional as ever.

So that was that. No more secret meetings. No more illicit love letters. No more Mister Crane.