Of the Peerage
March 1913
Lucien Blake wiped the remaining shaving foam off his face and checked the mirror to ensure he'd gotten a clean line on his beard. Usually he'd have the barber do it, but as the doctor in Ballarat, Lucien knew that Sam's barbershop was closed this week because Sam had been exposed to diphtheria and was quarantined while the antitoxin took effect. His case wasn't severe, and Lucien was not too worried. But he ought to go by and check in after his other patients today, he thought.
As was usual, Doctor Lucien Blake's day began happily but almost immediately distracted by thoughts of his patients and the work that awaited him. Life had not been this way for Lucien until recently, and he was thankful for the change.
He left the bathroom after combing his hair. Upon returning to the bedroom, he was greeted by another sight that had also recently become quite routine. He smiled. "Here, let me," he said.
Jean turned to smile at her husband. Even after three months of marriage, she still hadn't gotten in the habit of knowing he was there to help her. For most of her life, she had been lacing and tightening her corset all on her own. Growing up on the farm, her mother or sister had been able to help her, but then she and Christopher and their boys lived on a farm of their own, and Jean was the only woman to do anything and everything that a farmwife is meant to do. Including dress herself properly without assistance. A housekeeper in the home of a doctor is expected to do the same, and she has for many years.
Only now she is not a housekeeper. Jean is a doctor's wife, and she wakes up in bed with her husband each and every day. Lucien kisses her softly and whispers, "Good morning," and gets out of bed to go to the bathroom while Jean enjoys a bit of a relaxing lie in before getting up to get dressed and they go downstairs together to greet their cook—who they hired after they were married, since Jean was now Lucien's wife—and have breakfast together.
Today, she had just wrapped the laces around the bedknob to tighten her corset like she'd always done before when Lucien came from the bathroom to offer his assistance. She unwound the laces and turned her back to her husband.
"Right, I'm never quite certain how tight to go, so you'll tell me, alright?"
Jean smiled. "Yes, I'll tell you. Go on," she encouraged.
Lucien was always apprehensive of dealing with Jean's corset—unless he was removing it, in which case eager haste was the reigning emotion—but it was a chore he strangely enjoyed. His first wife always had maids to tend to her. Jean never had. And seeing this everyday intimate part of her world warmed his heart. He liked learning about her, and he liked being able to share in these mundane but important daily tasks. If he didn't, he wouldn't have bothered marrying her. She was a very good housekeeper and a very good friend to him after his father passed more than two years ago now. But Lucien had fallen madly in love with this woman and, after a few false starts and obstacles in their way, he'd finally managed to find a way to have a proper life with her. It was a simple, beautiful life, and he would not squander it.
He pulled the laces slowly, not wanting to go too fast and jerk it too tight. Jean was far from delicate, regardless of Lucien's opinion on the matter. She would have already had the task done by now if she'd done it herself, but her new life as Lucien's wife gave more time and space for enjoyment in a way she'd not been privileged to experience before. It did not matter if it took her a few extra minutes to dress. What mattered was the pleasure of Lucien's dedication at his task.
And he was dedicated. "How's that?" he asked, thinking this was plenty tight.
"A bit more," she told him.
"You're sure?" He was wary of pulling any tighter.
Jean chuckled, "Yes, I'm sure. You do this nearly every day, Lucien, haven't you gotten the hang of it yet?"
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Jean," he answered, ignoring her teasing.
"If the corset isn't tight enough, my dress won't fit properly. I promise you that it's fine. I'm quite used to it," she assured him.
Lucien put his left hand against the middle of her back to give a bit of leverage as he pulled with his right hand.
"There," Jean said.
With a grunt of acknowledgment, Lucien tied the laces into an elegant bow. But he did not let her go just yet. He placed his hands on her hips and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. The strap of her chemise wasn't so wide as to obstruct his access to her delicate shoulder, dotted lightly with the freckles of her age. He dragged his lips up her neck and began to suck lightly just behind her ear.
Jean hummed with appreciation for his efforts. Before Lucien, she'd never kissed a man with a beard. Now, she rather felt she'd missed out. The slight scratch of his whiskers sent a shiver through her.
But they could not get distracted first thing in the morning on a Tuesday. There was work to be done, and they had to get properly dressed and have breakfast before they could get things done. Jean was about to pull away and remind her husband of this fact when the bell at the front door sounded.
Lucien forced himself away from his wife and scowled. "Who the bloody hell is bothering us at this time of day?" he grumbled.
Jean gave him a sympathetic pat on the hand. "You're a doctor, and people need to be able to see you," she reminded him.
"That's why we got the telephone installed," Lucien said. He'd actually been quite excited about it, though Jean had been somewhat reticent.
"Yes, but we're the only private house that's got one," Jean pointed out. "The only calls we get are from the hospital when there's an emergency. None of your patients has a telephone."
Lucien knew she was right but was still annoyed with the interruption to his pleasant morning. He hurried out of the bedroom to go answer the door.
Jean remained where she was and finished dressing. By the time she was doing up her shoes, Lucien had returned. "Who was it?" she asked. "Everything alright?"
"Telegram," he said. He held up the paper and read it again for the dozenth time. It still did not really make any sense. "Apparently I had a distant cousin living in England by the name of Jonathan Blake. He's died and according to this, I'm his heir."
"Oh!" Jean exclaimed. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. "Did you know you had any relatives still in England?"
"No, not at all. But…well, that's not really the important part of this," he said, feeling already somewhat dumbfounded by this turn of events. Lucien slumped down on the edge of the bed.
"Yes?" Jean prompted.
"Jonathan Blake was a Baron. The Fifth Baron Bolton. Which, according to this, if I'm his heir, I am now the Sixth Baron Bolton."
Jean's jaw dropped. "What!?"
Lucien swallowed hard, handing the telegram over to her. "The lawyer for the estate asks how soon we can go to Yorkshire."
Presumably Yorkshire was a place in England. Jean had never left Australia. Other than one visit to see young Christopher in Adelaide, Jean had never left Victoria. But if this telegram, written in stark black ink and bold before her amazed eyes, was to be believed, Jean would not only be going to Yorkshire in England but she might possibly be a baroness there!