Meet The Governess

by pretentious-git

When Alfred's wife had left him for another man, it tainted his name in the Nobleman's world as a Viscount. Over a few years, his son had grown wild due to his lax care. With the child motherless and with servants unable to help, Viscount Jones is persuaded into hiring a Governess to help aid the child in his growing years. But what happens when the new 'Governess' hired is...male?

2. Chapter 1

~Chapter 1: Man Does Not Respond Well Under Pressure~

Most men in 1862 tried to rise early so that they could start on their daily duties around the house and in their offices before the afternoon had crept upon them, which was usually when they tried to find time to relax and spend time with their families. They would be woken either by themselves, or by their butlers, at the break of dawn, or at least when the birds had started to sing. Of course, this sleep pattern would already be ground into their daily routine. It would start at a young age, sleeping in until ten AM at the latest, then over time and over age, when responsibilities would pile up; they would start being risen at the times of eight. Then six, then occasionally five or four, depending on what needed to be done, and what hadn't been done the night previous. Unfinished mail, letters, and documents were always a hassle if they cost one extra time the next day.

The Viscount was a man such as these. Percy, his faithful and decently young butler at the mere age of thirty-seven, would come up into his room and quietly awaken the master, murmuring his schedule for the day, as well as telling him of any events that had happened whilst he slept – which was usually none. Alfred would then nod tiredly, and mumble that he understood, sliding off the bed. Then the man would start his days, glancing at the faint sunlight that had started to filter through the windows. Ah, days such as these… Days where the outside world looked so nice, serene and calm… Yes. These were the worst kind of days. It was the kind of day where little boys around the age of 6 enjoyed going out and having fun…getting into trouble…causing mischief. Severe mischief.

It was 4 in the morning. The birds were BARELY starting to sing and the outside world was drenched in darkness, sunlight still resting behind the hills and valleys. Today was not a day that the infamous Viscount was busy. No, instead there were just a few office papers to sign, then a social event later that evening. The Duke and Duchess of Whitefield were holding a ball due to their youngest daughter, Lily Whitefield, being introduced to society. Being a famous family due to their business that they own and run (which consisted mainly of trades and markets), it was expected that many other big names were to show as well at the ball.

Since this was a slow day, save for the ball, the Viscount had no intention of rising at such an early time and rushing about to do work. Instead, he had specifically requested of Percy to wake him up around ten, which was usually when Franklin rose. Then they could have a nice breakfast together that morning and Alfred would try his best to try and keep his son from getting into any more trouble…

But of course…That could never be the case.

At four in the morning, with the Viscount sleeping heavily in the sheets, a loud crash and boom was heard thundering through the house, resulting in the blonde man to jolting up straight in his bed. His eyes were blurred and his vision unfocused as he tried to rub away the sleep and focus on what was in front of him, it being his bedpost. His movements were lethargic and he felt tired, having stayed up later than usual the night before to get more work finished. But he heard it again, another crash, one louder than the previous one. That got him to stumble off of the bed and hastily make his way to the door, slipping on his shoes.

What, were there intruders in the house? A fire? Checking the clock on the wall, he grimaced, before sliding on his slippers and throwing the door open, stumbling outside with an expression of irritation. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to wake him up at an insane time such as four in the morning? And where the hell was Percy? Usually, if the man was not busy putting out a fire in some part of the house, the butler would leave all the guarding to the Viscount's actual security man, Charles. The burly man would then deal with whatever situation was happening as Percy would rush to his master's chambers, swiftly encouraging him out of bed so that he could bring him to safety.

But ah, this was not the case. He heard the sounds coming from the hall of armor, a place of display where a few sets of armor were set on display for the sake of their…Well, 'English' past. Judging by what was currently clanging and ringing, he assumed that a set of armor had been knocked into, falling down and crashing against the marble floor. But who on earth could've done it? His servants were either all asleep, and the ones on night duty were insanely careful with whatever they did in the dimly lit house. In fact, he highly doubted that anyone would even come to conclusion that touching the armor would be a good idea.

He could hear a few shouts of surprise, one that sounded strongly like Percy's voice and another one of Charles. However, his brows furrowed as he ran down the hallway, heading straight for the large, winding staircase that was in the middle of the house. None of their shouts were of terror, fear, and of battle. In fact, they were more like cries of distress and panic – concern for whatever had been done. Had one of his servants really been clumsy enough to walk straight into a set of metal armor?! The idea was preposterous… From the moment he and his family had moved to England, a good four years ago, most of the servants of the household were still the exact same, save for a few that had done something drastic. Percy was faithful and loyal, becoming quite the family friend, and many of his other workers came to agree with the Jones family quite well. He had come to recognize his friend's voices, and what they implied, even from across the house. This time, it was a shout he knew all too well. With a loud swear he ran even faster.

"YOUNG MASTER!" Came the distressed voice of the butler as he stared down in horror at the sight before him. The Viscount burst into the hall. Running over to them and coming to an abrupt stop when he tried to register the image of the incident before him. A look of utter irritation flashed across his face as he let out a sigh. It wasn't an intruder, nor was it a looter of some sort, out for the family jewels and whatnot. Instead, it was his six year old son, Franklin William Jones, was sitting amidst the mess of a pile of broken, scattered armor. A large breastplate was hanging off of the boy's shoulder and chest, too large for his small, lithe body, and a helmet was fastened on crudely, too big, and nearly covering his eyes underneath the shocking blonde locks of hair. In his hand, clenched tightly, was the mace that the armored knight had held, and judging by the dents and holes in the rest of the armor, the Viscount knew exactly what his son had done.

However, there was no remorse in his son's eyes, and there was no guilt that could be seen in those dark blue irises. Instead, there was defiance. Franklin was awake, ready to start his day, and he had done just that. The boy had merely dreamed of being a real knight as he lay in bed, and when he awoke in the middle of the night, he was struck by the remembrance of his family owning a various number of armor that he was sure could work well in his favor. So darting down into the armor hall at the break of dawn was what led him to this situation. A frowning butler stood to the side, hands clasped, ready for any order that his master would give him. And that said master, his ever-spoiling father, was standing in front of him, looking down with disappointed eyes.

"Franklin Jones." He said in an authoritative voice, looking down at the boy with weariness evident in his frown. "What on earth have you done?" he demanded in question, his sharp, American accent was prominent in his words.

"Papa…" The smaller blonde had replied. He did not speak hesitantly; however and instead trailed off only because he could see a dark look flash behind the light blue hues of his father's eyes. He knew he would be getting into trouble. How much trouble exactly, he had no clue.

Reaching down, he grabbed Franklin's hand and yanked him up, successfully pushing the armor off of him and turning to Percy. "Please clean this up." He said tiredly and the man promptly nodding. "And any one of them that are damaged, please take to the repair." He murmured in request and the tall man immediately set off to work, gathering pieces of metal in his arms.

Basically dragging Franklin off to his office, the Viscount wore an expression of pursed lips and a look of frustration as he made their way to his office. His child… Yes, Franklin was a very wild child. Ever since their mother had left them, two years before, his son had grown reckless and brash, jumping at every opportunity to make things harder for the Manor's staff and his father. He knew it was Charlotte's leave that was to be blamed, for the boy had dearly loved his mother. The moment it was broken to him that she had 'gone on a trip, and was not going to come back for a while,' he had seemed distressed over it, sending a miserable aura all around the house. It tied in with his father's, who seemed just as depressed. However, when he learned that his mother was not coming back at all, then it was as if something hand snapped inside of his little heart, and he turned into the most uncontrollable boy ever.

Perhaps it was to be expected that young boys tend to find themselves in heaps of trouble. However, Franklin was the son of a noble and though occasional mischief was acceptable, what the blonde boy did was close to disgraceful. The only problem was that Alfred was too lax of a disciplinary father. In fact, he could also blame that trait on Charlotte's absence as well. He lacked the ability to look into Franklin's dark blue eyes – the same eyes as hers, and yell. He had no confidence in looking at the face that held traits of his past, broken love, and to order it to do something. Even beating his son seemed horrendous, no matter how often the custom was to properly beat a son when absolutely necessary.

It was her face, her eyes, and her offspring. Although she sent him through a world of pain, he could do her son none.

"What were you doing?" The Viscount had tiredly asked, dropping down onto his chair and staring at his son with eyes that were filled with disappointment and frustration. He was also highly irked. "Frankie," he started, using the nickname that he always preferred to use. "It is four in the morning, and we find you with broken armor all around?!" He said, sitting up to press his hands onto the wood, looking at the boy who sat on the chair before him, his feet hanging inches from the ground. Franklin's face held no emotion whatsoever, as was his way ever since his mother had left. "Explain yourself!" the Viscount had demanded and he waited with serious eyes, watching as Franklin expelled a long and drawn out sigh, crossing his arms and looking down glumly.

"I…I wanted to become a knight." He said as a grumble, turning his head to the side so that he could glare at the wall. Why did his dad have to yell at him? Usually he never got yelled at…maybe it was because it was really, really early… "I had a dream I was a knight, and I wanted to become one." He said as his only elaboration. His eyes looked up briefly, only to catch his father lean back with a thump onto his chair, slender fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenched and his face scrunched up.

"Franklin…" he started, but was immediately cut off when the younger boy straightened up and looked at him with a frowning face and narrowed eyes.

"I wanted to become a knight, papa!" he stressed again, continuing when he saw his father begin to speak again. "I wanted to become a person who saves people! Strong knights save women from villains." He said hastily, hesitating a bit before blurting out. "You didn't save momma from that bad guy, so you're not a knight!" he cried out, his little fists clenching and almost immediately, there was dead silence. The nobleman looked down at his son with eyes that slowly started to harden. 'He's an idiot! He doesn't even know what he's saying! Just going off like that about his mother, this child…' Alfred yelled in his head as he stared him down, successfully making Franklin feel a bit uncomfortable, sending him into a state of unease.

The boy's eyes were suddenly downcast as he felt the guilt wash over him at the actions he had just committed. He was aware of what he had said and done. Even at a young age, he had understood the fact that his mother, a once respected Viscountess, had fallen into sin and ran off with another man. Whatever his father was going to deal out, he knew he deserved it. However, he still felt the frustration course through his veins. He really just wanted to become a knight.

"I was neither knighted, nor dubbed." Alfred had ended up saying after a long bout of silence. "So there is no point in saying that I was or wasn't." He said with a sense of stiffness to his voice. It was obvious the Viscount was trying to control his voice, for the tone that was accompanying his words were threatening to break out into long rants on his wife's disappearance, a topic that he had pushed aside in his mind a mere two years ago. He didn't want to deal with that anytime now.

The only problem was that Charlotte's face was so clear in Franklin's that it was nearly impossible for Alfred to forget of her and her actions. He was reminded every day, every moment, he looked at Franklin. It was her smiling face, or the boy scowling. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he was over it, and he had moved on, he knew that deep down, the pain had anchored itself deeply in his heart, and there was simply no way of releasing its hold. She was the love of his life, and reprimanding the results of their love was ridiculous.

"However, there was simply no reason that you were to be up and about at this hour of the morn." He had said, giving a little 'tch' as he stood up and crossed to his window, using a finger to push aside the curtains and look out. The sun was just barely starting to come up. He was to be awakened around now…But instead, here he was, awake with his son who should still be sleeping. Turning back to him, he clasped his hands around his back. "You are to return to your bedroom at once." He commanded, a firm look upon his face. "Go back to sleep. If you are unable to do that, call Percy and ask of him to bring you warm milk." He frowned, glancing at the clock that rested on his desk. "It is five, Franklin. You must go back to bed."He stressed, rubbing his temple. He wished he still got that last half hour of rest.

"Yes father." Franklin had replied automatically, knowing that it was best to abide by his father's word lest he gets in trouble once more, and breakfast was prohibited for the day as his punishment. He vaguely remembered a time where he had stolen a large number of pots and pans from the Manor's kitchen, using them as drums with ladles and wooden sticks as drumsticks. His breakfast was then taken away. However, the following hour found him releasing two of his father's prized horses from the stables far behind the house. In almost an instant, both his lunch and dinner were gone. He had starved that day, but he knew not to cross his father's path once more. How else was one to have fun if it was always around some sort of supervision?

Waiting for the taller blonde to give him permission to leave, Franklin's fingers were continuously messing with themselves in his lap, his gaze staring straight ahead at the desk that was set in the room. Covered with official documents and quills and all sorts of adult things, it bored Franklin to death. "Also, tonight I will be going to an event." His father had said, turning his gaze towards him and Franklin's eyes snapped up. Another event? What was his father doing, attending balls and parties here and there? It wasn't as if he were doing anything bad, though. He had never brought another woman home, and he was never drunk when he arrived in the carriage. His Viscount father was simply…social.

"Another ball, papa…?" He had asked quietly, staying soft in his voice as to not irk the man any more than he already did.

With a nod of his head, Alfred sat down again, resting his elbows on the desk. "Yes, this time it will be at the Whitefields'. You are to stay here, and please," he said, shooting a disapproved look at Franklin who simply looked back at him innocently. "Stay inside the house or at least in the backyard where Percy and the others can keep an eye on you." He requested, exasperated. "God forbid you send Percy into another hysterical attack when you ran off to the hide in the gardens." He said, looking disappointed once more.

Franklin merely snickered inwardly, remembering the event vividly. He wanted to play hide and seek with his maid, Jane, and as she counted to fifty, he ran around the house, trying to find a place desperately. There were nooks and crannies EVERYWHERE that would have sufficed as an amazing hiding spot, but the boy was simply not satisfied. Without any hesitation, he had sprinted out to the backyard and straight into the maze of rose bushes that lined the gardens on the inside and out that reached up to 6 feet high. Their family was a bit more famous because of their rose-maze garden, and Franklin believed that this would be the perfect spot. Jane would never look for him there.

And he was right. Wandering around for about an hour, the sun was already beginning to dim and he realized he was lost. His father was probably worrying for him, darn the overprotective adults, and it was probably because Jane had ratted him out about his escape to Percy, who had then told the news to Alfred. He figured the entire house was searched before they even bothered to look outside. However, when they did find him, it wasn't the prettiest scene and it mainly consisted of his father looking extremely frustrated, although Percy did most of the scolding.

"Alright…" the child had said, plans for what to do tonight already formulating in his mind. He would be bored – no doubt about it. There were no other children in this mansion and Jane, his maid, was always busy – or too scared to partake in any stunt he wished to pull. "Have a good time, papa." He said, smiling sweetly. It was one of innocence, one of charm, and Alfred knew immediately that he'd return home once more to another disaster. But unable to say anything of it, or scold him anymore, he sent the boy another frown of an expression and waved his hand dismissively.

"Off you go then." He said to him and the blonde jumped out of the upholstered chair, eager to get away to his rooms, or anywhere else he deemed as his play place. Alfred watched with amused eyes as his son sprinted out of the room, making sure not to slam the door on the way out. Turning towards the window once more, he rubbed his chin with his hand, thinking on tonight's ball. In all truth, he had actually been going to many of these events for a selfish reason. He had been trying to find a wife. But not just any wife. A wife, as well as a mother. The emotion of affection and love had long since evaded him. He didn't care whether or not he came to even remotely fancy the woman he danced with – as long as she could stand by his side and fix his name; repainting the already scratched title of the Viscount. Also, she must be a mother to Franklin, for Alfred had concluded that only a person of strong will could ever truly control his son. Yes, Alfred was in desperate search of a flower to place in his house, only for its decoration and charming scent. Whether it be a beautiful, red rose, or a green swamp weed, Viscount Jones had learned to care less.

Viscount Jones and his family were peculiar. All-American and loudly cheerful, they had attracted the attention of most of England's nobles when they moved from the new word. And not only had they moved here with wide eyes and great expectations, but the blonde man with distracting blue eyes, his wife with gorgeous brown hair, and their son who was a charming devil had swept themselves into the world of the upperclassmen as if they belonged there. And they did, to some extent. Not every English family accepted their difference at first. They went to balls and had perfect manners and actions. They smiled when needed, socialized when appropriate, and they were truly a star family. But that was the thing – Viscount Jones and his American family was just like the British. And it scared them to no end. The most unnerving fact about them was their lack of accent. Viscount Jones' laugh was loud and boisterous, almost to the point of being obnoxious. He was known to laugh at almost anything, and whenever he attended social events, his laughter could be heard from across the hall. Charlotte was just the same, but less loud. She was polite with the other woman, and joined in on their conversations. Her accent seemed opposite and different compared to the Briton's softer tongues, but she spoke it with such authority that no one bothered to question it. Even with Franklin, his childish tone and bubbly giggles put anyone in high spirits, and watching his growth through his parents' words always astounded many. Indeed, the Jones were strange.

But eventually, Britain's noble society had begun to accept them for who they were, and what they did. The Viscount owned a popular clothing store company that branched out to all of America, and they had moved to England for the sole reason of reaching out past Europe and beyond. Their family was well-supported, and each one of the members was finely educated. There was simply nothing wrong with them. Their appearances at social events soon became something to be anxious for, due to their sudden boom of popularity. Alfred was flagged down by many of his gentleman friends, introducing them to woman who obviously fell in love at first sight. Charlotte was asked many dances, and refusing them all, she grew to hold the reputation of rude and untrained. But that idea had been immediately oppressed when Alfred pulled her onto the dance floor, and she gave no restraint. People watched with wide eyes as the pair waltzed expertly across the hall's floor, the couple staring at each other with what one would call true admiration. Charlotte and Alfred were fantastic dancers – and they reserved the talent only to each other.

Even Franklin had become quite a star child. He was a mere babe and unable to do much of anything, but just his appearance was what caught the eyes of many woman who had given birth to girls. His dark eyes and light hair made people swoon, and being able to hold the little infant was what people considered to be a blessing. His parents addressed him by his nickname, Frankie, but many were horrified at butchering such a lovely name – resorting in the rest of them calling him Franklin. But Frankie was a dear, and even his babyish smile made hearts flutter.

Their family was the exact image of perfection. Their American charm just made them all the more popular. They had become quite the idols in the eyes of the Britons and always presented surprise after surprise. Regardless of all their fame, they had stayed extremely humble. They had never bragged of their wealth, their property, or their child (For the others did it for them.) Alfred had never once purposely spoken a put-down for the sake of insulting, and his cold, harsh words only ever appeared when he was in the middle of important business-making. Charlotte was the noble's favored queen, for like her husband, pure sweetness and enthusiastic words poured from her cherry lips. She gave advice to her friends when it was needed and reprimanded lightly when absolutely necessary. When the name 'Jones' was uttered, people turned to look.

But of course, a family can only be so perfect with a certain amount of flaws, holding it together. People had expected Alfred to snap sooner or later, him being the male figure in the household. Maybe he would shout? Perhaps he'd get drunk to the point where he forced Charlotte into something that was not consensual or hit her (Although the man had never gotten drunk in their memories.) England's nobles were waiting – waiting for a flaw.

It might as well have shocked the world when people learned that it was Charlotte who had snapped instead of Alfred. Sweet, beautiful Charlotte was sleeping with another man underneath all their noses. In fact, she had even hid it from Alfred for more than a year. During the next event, Alfred had come alone, much to everyone's shock. The pair was inseparable. But as he made the announcement, he shared the news with a calm expression. His wife had found love in another, and had left him and Franklin. The affair had gone on for a little more than a year, but regardless, the Viscount would stay in England, due to the fact that it was rumored that Charlotte had left the country. Alfred felt no point in speaking harshly about her, yet there was also no reason in searching for sympathy. He told them the simple truth, and that was that.

All the nobles were in shock, and it was then that the Jones' reputation started to crumble, yet uphold in a new direction. Their family's title of being 'perfect' was then slashed away to where a new word arose. 'Broken.' Charlotte's name was no longer accompanied by the descriptions 'beautiful, elegant, and simply wonderful,' and instead was heard with words such as 'whore, disgraceful, an absolute sin.'

Alfred received many sympathies from many people. "I'm so sorry for your loss…" or "I would feel so dreadfully ashamed…" However…they were all mainly woman, with their single daughters hanging in their arms. The Viscount merely nodded and warily turned away, to be greeted by many more. Once Franklin's change had begun being known, he too was the talk of many. "That wretched boy! Running through my gardens, trampling the work of my gardeners! Oh, how awful!" And others, such as: "I feel so sorry for the Viscount living in a family such as that…he deserves none of it. Having a wild son and a whore for a wife…my, my…It's a shame indeed."

Viscount Jones was once more, popular among them all. However, he didn't cease his attendance at the balls, and after a good year of social events and conventions, and meeting, the rumors had died down to a soft roar, only being spoken when his name arose. He stayed the laughing, happy man that didn't crumple under the eyes of England despite his shaken family. It amazed many, how he had the courage and determination to stay so strong in his enthusiastic and carefree personality.

But the question was, if and when would Viscount Alfred F. Jones, loved by many, finally crack?

Whitefield Manor was just as grand as any other. It was a beautiful hall with shimmering chandeliers and mirrored walls that surrounded the entire hall. What was most famous about it were their lights. The idea seemed simply preposterous to unknowing people at first, but when one would step into the hall, understanding would immediately flood in.

The chandeliers were nothing – merely icing to the cake. It was the series of lamps and mirrors that made the sunlight bounce around the mansion and their ability to send the rays moving. Gas lamps were in the corners of the hall, shaped in grand designs that reached up to the ceiling. It was said that they represented elements. Fire, wind, earth, and water. They were turned on for every event and ball that took place in the hall, sending shadows of rocks, fire, water, and wind in patterns that scattered along the floor. In the dim sky, it gave the music a wonderful vibe, and it never ceased to amaze the event-goers. However, the personal favorite of every one who was ever invited was only shown during breezy summer evenings. The windows were propped open all the way for the fact that dotting the tall ceiling of the hall, there were gas lamps that hung – suspended by wires. They had many shapes cut in them, and were molded and formed into different shapes as well. Specially designed, the wind would then push against the glass, making the lamps twirl on their strings, either slowly or fast, depending on the weather. The lamplight inside it would then cause flickering glows to dance across the room and all around, never shining on just one person. Fast paced songs and strong winds were always the favored pair, while slow dances and a soft breeze made people sit back and admire. Due to these amazing features, halls at Whitefield Manor were always something people were excited for.

The Viscount himself even found himself growing excited. As evening grew close and the afternoon light started to dim, the blonde man found himself looking through his ball-outfits with a certain feel of anticipation. He could feel it in his veins – perhaps tonight would be the night. Yes, he would not deny the fact that he had felt this way before during other nights, but he knew that the Whitefield Manor was a special place, where special things could happen. Also, after taking a quick walk around his central garden after coffee, he was certain that there would be just enough wind to send an enjoyable moving light-glow around the dance floor. Subconsciously, he gripped his hand while he analyzed his coats. 'Tonight will be the NIGHT!'

When evening arrived and his clock chimed 7 in the evening, the Viscount looked at himself in his large mirror that was up in the corner of his equally-as-large room. He wore a dark navy tailcoat that contrasted his light blue eyes to the extreme. The tailcoats themselves were rimmed with a gold stitching that ran up around to his lapels, neatly folded at his neck. His trousers matched the color, and his black boots that were fit snugly onto his feet were rimmed at the top with gold as well. His vest was a deep gray, almost black, depending on how much light was used to see it, and the buttons were shined and untouched. The starched white cravat was ruffled to perfection at his throat. His hair was in its usual stance. Many hairdressers had attempted numerous times to fix it. Slicking it back was alright, but it was agreed by many that his boyish, cheerful charm was immediately replaced by a serious look. It tended to scare away potential women. After a while, the Viscount had figured that it was perfectly fine the way it was. Untouched and parted a bit to the left, with his ever-famous cowlick curling up. He had gotten questions about it, and he merely countered with things that left the others speechless. "If one piece of my hair chooses to stand up, as you stand there commenting on it, then why not un-oil your hair for once, and let me comment on that?"

Yes, the Viscount was ready for the ball.

"Viscount Jones, it's a pleasure to be greeted with your appearance this fine evening!" The Duke of Whitefield had said, walking up to him and greeting him with a large, warm smile and a firm handshake. The man was around his height, but a bit larger around the belly. With slightly graying hair and a jolly, red face, many people looked at him as some sort of father figure. Alfred received the handshake with a charming one of his own – he and Whitefield were good friends, as well as business partners.

"Ah, Duke, it seems that the times have been treating you well." Alfred said, chuckling when the large man simply laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "You seem to look younger since I saw you last." The Viscount joked, causing the man to laugh boisterously once more, clapping his shoulder affectionately.

He sighed, shaking his head with eyes full of amusement. "Ah, Alfred, you never fail to amuse me with that tongue of yours." He said mirthfully, and Alfred took the opportunity to look horrified.

"My tongue, good sir?!" He said, pretending to be aghast which was evident in his smiling eyes. "I assure you, Duke, that this tongue shall never lay upon your face, or mouth, unless it the ways of words." He said sincerely, patting the arm that was pressed on his shoulder.

A look of disbelief passed briefly through the Duke's face before he chuckled lowly, patting the shoulder once more before pulling away. "As well as that horrific mind of yours – filled with obscenities." He added with a grin. "Count yourself lucky we are close enough that I can hear you speak of those things without turning my shoulder." The Duke mused thoughtfully. "Never forget that that topic is unwelcome here." He murmured and Alfred merely grinned, shrugging.

"Then sir, I believe I am quite lucky." He agreed, watching the man before him snicker. "And do not fear, for I believe that today I will find my lady." He said sincerely, smiling when the Duke's eyebrows shot up.

Duke Elliot of Whitefield was a man who knew Alfred since he and his family had moved to England. He was one of the shoulders Alfred came to vent to when Charlotte had left, and he knew the entire story – much more than what the others new. He had always been aware of Alfred's quest to find a new mother for Franklin and was also aware of how many times the younger man had failed. This was a new idea. "Do you now…?" he said in genuine surprise, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at him curiously. Tonight was no different than any other ball – tonight was simply for fun. What did Alfred mean? "Pray, tell what gives you the sudden burst of confidence?" He added.

Alfred was quick to respond, looking excited. "I'm not quite sure myself, sir. But I assure you, tonight will be the night." He said determinedly and smiled faintly when he caught the man's doubtful look. "I just…I believe that it will be. All throughout today, I just felt this little feeling at the bottom of my head…" he said, looking off to the side thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll ask her to dance? Maybe her mother will introduce her to me?" he said, before turning back to face the man who was regarding him with a soft expression. "Either way, I'll find her tonight. And soon enough, I'll give Franklin the mother he deserves." He said, clenching his fist at his side.

"I believe you, Alfred." The Duke replied with a warm smile, reaching out to clasp his arm reassuringly. "I wish you the best of luck, then, as you find her." He said, before chuckling. "And once you do, please, let me know." He said and smiled when Alfred nodded in agreement.

"I believe I see Knight Carriedo over there, Duke, so I shall take my leave." The blonde had said and with a grin, he headed towards his other close friend.

The Duke himself had nodded politely at the conversation's close, giving him a bob of the head before turning to greet the new guests of his party that were climbing out of their carriage in a strict, black tailcoat. "Ah, Governess Kirkland!" he greeted happily. "What a pleasure to see you…"

Arthur Kirkland was a Governess. It was arguable that the correct term was to be 'Governor' but after his own opinion was voiced, people were shocked to hear that he preferred the title Governess. When asked why, he merely answered that he simply thought it sounded better. And if you asked him, he would've told you that he was the best bloody governess that ever stepped foot in England.

Jokingly, of course.

However, there he was, standing in the entrance of the Whitefield Manor, taking in the extravagance of it all, and still trying to register that he had been invited to a ball such as this. He turned his head, looking around and his eyes stayed slightly wide as he took in the sight of beautiful gowns and handsome suits. Big names were everywhere, and everywhere there were people. Marquis Harrington and his wife were in conversation with the Duke of Wetherford, and Lord Simon of Chesters was leading a woman – who Arthur recognized to be the Lady Eleanor of Piercingfield – to the table full of food. The list went on and on and the native Briton started to feel very…under-named. Nobody knew him, besides the Duke, yet he knew everyone. It was a very strange feeling.

The Duke had greeted him wonderfully, being extremely polite and eager for him to immerse himself in the ball and its socialites. The greeting had been short and to the point, a simple Hi and Hello, as well as some pleasantries. Next thing he knew, he was being pushed inside the mansion, into an entirely new world.

He pursed his lips as he made his way to the food table, absently picking up a piece of cheese that was pierced by a toothpick. He ate it, noting its nice taste in his mouth as another man turned to face him, looking him up and down curiously. "Excuse me." he said, causing Arthur to blink, turning his head to look at the man. He was tall and extremely regal looking, nothing like Arthur. He had a pile of obnoxious, shocking blonde hair, and he was dressed in what seemed to be some kind of fancy trench coat. But the trench coat was styled so nicely that the black complimented with the red rims wonderfully well. In fact, he looked too royal that the governess could do nothing but gawk.

"Excuse me." He man said again, this time putting his full attention on the shorter blonde. Arthur quickly swallowed, placing the toothpick down.

"Y-Yes? Ah, sorry, my mouth was full…" He mumbled a bit as he looked up at him. "Can I help you?" He asked and mentally swore, for he believed he sounded rude.

The man merely smirked. "Ah, no. I was simply going to ask what might your name be?" He said with a bright smile. "I have not seen you before at any of the events that the Duke has held, so I'm assuming you might be a new name that I can acquire." He said and Arthur nearly doubled over at how nobleman-like he sounded. Of course, he was used to it all the time, since being a Governess, you were only ever hired by nobles. However, he assumed that at balls, they loosened up a bit….Apparently not.

"Yes, that's right, I have just recently made acquaintances with the Duke." He said, nodding. "This is my first social event, actually." He stuck out a hand for a handshake. "I am Governess Arthur Kirkland, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He said with a polite smile. He watched with carefully guarded eyes as he watched the man's eyes widen and his eyebrows shot up. It was the usual.

"Governess?" The man repeated, before furrowing his brows and staring at him a bit more curiously. "Do you mean governor?" He said a bit hesitantly, and tilted his head in slight confusion as Arthur shook his head, no. "You are a Governess…" He said in awe, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, I am…" Arthur had replied uneasily, waiting for the worst. Usually, barrages of questions were hurled at his face. Why was he a Governess? Why was he invited to this ball? Why didn't he choose the pre-fix Governor? Was he a homosexual? The last one usually wasn't ever said, but it didn't take a keen eye to see that Arthur was. And that was what usually kept people at bay. However, this man pressed on interestedly.

"That is certainly most intriguing." He said with a smile, shaking his hand enthusiastically. Arthur merely blinked in confusion, though he was appreciative of the fact that the man said nothing negatively. "I am Matthias Kohler, King of Denmark." He greeted. "And it truly is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Governess Kirkland." He said politely.

Arthur nearly threw up the cheese he had eaten. King? KING? He had just told that he was a 'female' worker to a KING? And of another country too! It was astounding, that Arthur's first handshake at his first ball was with a king. And what was more amazing was that the man didn't care as much as the others. Perhaps it came with being a ruler. "Y-Your majesty!" He said, letting out a small gasp, bowing quickly, before straightening back up. "Yes, thank you." He said, trying not to sound meek. But the man merely chuckled and nodded, turning to take a piece of meat, pierced on another toothpick,

"I am curious, Governess, to how you made friends with the Duke?" he mused, and Arthur was immediately pulled away from his fascination, quickly recalling how he had met the man in the first place. Right. The Pinkertons.

"Martin! Martin, for the sake of the Queen, will you PUT THAT BLOODY FROG DOWN!" Arthur had yelled as he chased a little brunette boy around the large backyard of a semi-noble family.

The Pinkertons, Sir James and Lady Elizabeth, had a small boy named Martin who was both a beauty and a terror. He had a ridiculous attraction towards small insects and creatures and it wasn't the first time that Martin was found by the Governess with a frog (or a chipmunk, or a rat, or worms) in his hands. The family was one that was gentle and kind, hiring Arthur only out of interest that he was male. Sir James was always off working, and Lady Elizabeth was actually used as a model for many women's' dresses, causing their household to be deprived of a parent to nurture Martin. In search of a Governess, they had inquired at the agency, and were thoroughly shocked when introduced to Arthur. Extremely intrigued, they hired him and set him to work, watching on their off days. However, in just a few short days, the Governess had proved his excellence with children, already causing Martin to grow fond of him as a prank-victim. He had then turned into a family friend.

"I'm going to throw it into your bed, Governess!" the little boy had cried, sprinting for the door of the house. Arthur nearly gasped. Not again!

He ran even faster, reaching out to snag his arm. "Not again, you little piece of-"

"MUMMY!"

"SUGAR-TARTS! WILL YOU JUST STOP?!" Arthur had screamed and as requested, the little boy had halted so suddenly that the Governess ran straight into the child, successfully knocking them both onto the ground. They were shocked into silence at first, too surprised to even groan in pain, but when their eyes flickered to the frog that had ribbit-ed, jumping from Martin's open hands, they broke into loud laughter, standing up. "You put a frog into my bed one more time, and I'll skin you." Arthur threatened and Martin simply grinned.

"Yes ma'am." He said, before turning his head to see his mother at the door.

"Martin!" she cried, waving her hand. "We have a visitor! You too, Arthur, I'd like you to meet him!" Lady Elizabeth had said, and the Governess had nodded, taking Martin's hand and leading him back inside. Dragging him to the bathroom, he cleaned him up, trying to get the grass stains off of his trousers as best as he could before giving up and leading him into the parlor, where a large man sat, holding a plate of tea.

"This here is my son, Martin Charles Pinkerton. Martin, love, say hello to the Duke of Whitefield. He's your father's business partner." She said with a smile and Martin had politely greeted the man.

However, another man standing at attention at the side of the room, close to the child, was interesting enough – as well as peculiarly strange. The Duke turned his head to face Arthur, looking him over. "Hello, I pray this may not be so bold, but may I inquire who you are?" He said and Arthur blinked in surprise. He was being addressed?

Bowing quickly, he straightened up. "Hello, sir. I am Arthur Kirkland, this here boy's Governess." He said with a smile and once more, he saw the quick raise of the eyebrows as the man's mouth opened to release a flood of questions.

The King of Denmark had listened quite intently and was genuinely fascinated by his story, listening to how the Duke was immensely amused by Arthur's occupation, requiring talking to him alone during one afternoon at tea time. It was then that more questions popped up about Arthur and his job that caused the Duke to sit back in his chair and nod in amazement. Arthur had willingly majored in education during his university years, and after a while, he had entered the field of teaching at home. Soon enough, he had found himself being complimented of his Governing roles, and was persuaded by a few close friends into the act. Of course, they had started it off as a joke in the beginning, but were quickly shocked when Arthur came home, flourishing a certificate that clearly read 'Governess Arthur Kirkland.' Seeing that most of his friends were girls to begin with, they didn't particularly mind when he came out to them a few days later, saying that if he was to be called 'Governess' instead of 'Governor,' they might as well know the reason why. They supported him fully despite the fact that homosexuality was known as 'extreme taboo.' The idea always struck him as disappointing. The 1800's sure was harsh. Regardless, they found his job amusing, and dutifully kept his sexuality a secret. However, together, they never failed to tease him.

Arthur found it surprising that he shamelessly told the King his story. Perhaps it was because the man intimidated him by his height, yet made him feel comfortable with his nods and happy inputs. The man had simply nodded and congratulated him on living life the way he wanted, before they parted on pleasant terms. Arthur was dumbfounded, for he had just had a pleasant conversation with a king.

The beginning of the night had gone around easy enough, meeting a few people, and explaining (in a shortened, LESS detailed version) his occupation. He made a few friends and met many famous people, gradually learning how to suppress his awed stutter whenever a name that held much importance was uttered. Eventually, he had taken a seat at one of the tables that lined the walls of the hall, crossing his legs casually and holding a glass of champagne in his hand. People were dancing and skirts were fluttering everywhere. The conversations that swept across the rooms were endless, as people enjoyed themselves to their hearts delight as the lights that hung from the ceiling swung in time with the music.

It fascinated Arthur from the moment he stepped into the main dance hall, surprised when he saw rays and flashes of lights bouncing to and fro. At first he was about to comment nervously on it – was it supposed to happen? But in less than a few seconds, he recognized it as part of the display. It was the mansion's charm and specialty – the moving lights.

As the night progressed and Arthur was introduced to more people, he came across the Duke Whitefield once more who was animatedly talking to a tall blonde man that was listening to his every word with a smile. The Duke had caught sight of him by the table and immediately made his way over, leading the man with him. Arthur was neither blind nor stupid when he saw a glimpse of the blonde's face. He was technically part of the noblemen crowd, so he knew a lot of its gossip. That was indeed Viscount Alfred F. Jones making his way towards him.

'It only makes sense that they would know each other…' the Briton thought in awe as they made their way towards him. 'They're both so famous for what they've done, or at least for who they are.' He stood up when they were before him, smiling faintly at the two men.

"Ah, Arthur!" The Duke had greeted him enthusiastically, surprising the Governess a little when the man addressed him so informally. So, they were friends, apparently?

Arthur bobbed his head a bit in greeting. "Duke, it's a pleasure to see you again." He said and watched as the large man turned his head. "Alfred," he started, causing Arthur to raise his eyebrow. First name basis as well. Friends? Or was the Duke just this informal? "This is my friend Governess Arthur Kirkland, and he is here as my guest." He said and Arthur turned to smile at the Viscount.

However, as the Viscount was being introduced to by the Duke, a smaller man, a staff member, had run up to him, whispering in his ear. A small frown flashed across his face, his flawless portrait wrinkling a bit before it flattened out into its cool look again, and he nodded, murmuring a quick thank you. He had straightened up in time to hear 'Arthur Kirkland' emit from the Duke's mouth and to Alfred, it was enough to know he didn't miss much. "Sir Kirkland," he said, flashing his charming smile once more, sticking out his hand in greeting. "It's simply a delight to meet you, a friend of my own. I'm Viscount Jones." He said.

At first Arthur didn't want to accept it, but as he continued to stare, he was simply blown away by how attractive Alfred was. He had a flawless face without a single blemish, and had a beautifully profound jawline. His lips were set in a smile that could send any girl reeling and behind spectacles were the brightest pair of light blue eyes Arthur had ever seen. They were like the ocean, or at least a bright sky that hung very rarely in England. And that was how he saw it – The Viscount's eyes were very rare. His voice held such a prominent American accent that Arthur could do nothing but give a small, hesitant smile of his own. The Viscount had greeted him with the title 'Sir' and not with Governess. It was either he recognized it as strange and refused to use it, or he wanted to emphasize the fact that he saw Arthur was clearly a man. Either way, Arthur was taken away. "It's a pleasure as well, Viscount." He murmured in reply.

"Yes, yes, well you two make friends and whatnot," the Duke cut in quickly, looking a bit hurried. "The missus is finding a hard time with a few of the guests, and I shall aid her." He said before quickly turning tail and leaving. The two blondes watched as he walked off quickly into the crowd, calling out for his wife.

Arthur turned back to face the Viscount, still a bit startled at being so quickly left on his own with a big name. Everyone was acting as if he were nobility, when he was simply…well, in crude terms, a 'nanny.' Alfred turned back to him as well, smiling politely. "Ever a busy man is he, correct?" he said conversationally with a chuckle and Arthur merely nodded.

"Yes, he is…" he said, pursing his lips and looking out onto the dance floor. "However, the ball so far is amazing, so I give him my congratulations that he can host this well." He said just as politely. He was taxing his mind right now, trying to find the right words to make him sound smart and sophisticated, for he was in the presence of nobility.

"Mm, I agree." Hummed the Viscount as he swirled the wine glass he held in his hands. "It truly is quite the event. Many people, as usual." He glanced at Arthur vaguely, taking a sip. "Is this your first time at Whitefield's?" He inquired. "I don't recall ever hearing of your name, and I speak with no offense." He said.

Arthur wanted to splutter, telling him that it was absolutely no offense at all and that he and his lowly name shouldn't even BE present at this ball. But instead he nodded quickly. "Yes, this is my first time here, for I'd only met the Duke just a few months ago." He told him, trying to keep his eyes off of the attractive man. He held not much affection, and his attention was merely focused on admiration for his face. The Viscount truly had a nice face.

"Then I do hope you enjoy the rest of your night here, Sir Kirkland." The striking man had said, turning his head to give him a small nod, raising his glass slightly in a bit of a cheer. "Pardon my rudeness, but I am currently in search of a certain miss I owe a dance to. I shall take my leave, if you don't mind." He said, and Arthur felt his heart deflate. Ah yes, the charming ones always had to be straight. Then again, he was supposed to be too, but he rebelled against life. Oh well. Meeting attractive straight men (which was always) had turned into such a natural occurrence that Arthur couldn't care less anymore, and he smiled and nodded.

"Ah yes, of course, don't leave a lady waiting. I believe that's one of the worst insults possible." He said with a chuckle and the Viscount merely laughed in return. Secretly, Arthur was honored to have had the opportunity of listening to the famous Jones laugh.

"Yes," The man replied, "I believe it is. Good night to you, sir." He said and with a bob of his head, he turned to walk away. Returning his attention back to the floor, the Governess watched as men moved their women across in beautiful dance steps, and he smiled faintly. He might not have the chance and/or urge to take a woman on the floor to dance, but either way, he believed that he would have a good night. In fact, many times people had come up to him, after seeing his short conversation with the famous Viscount. He felt swamped by the five-minutes-of-fame, but regardless, meeting new people was a delight.

"Hello!" came the next greeting. "I'm Antonio Carriedo, a knight of the Queen's castle herself…"

"FRANKLIN. WILLIAM. JONES." The Viscount had yelled, pacing back and forth in his main hall. His cravat was hanging loosely and his buttons were undone, the tailcoat flapping vigorously behind him. His actual best friend, Knight Antonio Carriedo was standing behind him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He had come back with Alfred to many scenes like this, and he merely waited it out. At first, the Spaniard felt mighty sorry for the small boy, always getting in trouble, and getting scolded by nearly everyone in the Manor. However, when he woke up one night after staying over, he found his room covered in roses, causing him to nearly gag and throw up. He had stumbled out of the bed, intent on getting out of the room, but the moment his feet touched the ground, he found it littered with broken glass. From that moment on, Antonio could only smile, ruffle the child's hair, and stay far away. Yes, Franklin Jones was a menace.

"Papa, I said I was trying to help cook and chef Feli-" Franklin had tried reasoning but was quickly cut off.

"Ludwig was sent to the HOSPITAL, because of what you've done, and when I was informed, I couldn't just leave because I was in the presence of the Duke himself!" He cried, wringing his hands at the thought of his German chef being scalded by hot water pouring down his back. "What on EARTH were you doing with a pot of boiling water?!" He shouted, enraged. Franklin had merely muted himself, eyes downcast and stormy as he listened to his father go on about how that was an extreme danger hazard. "You are to never 'assist' in any cooking again, do you hear me?" He said angrily, shaking a finger down at the boy who merely turned away with a small 'tch'. "Franklin! Do you hear me?! You are to-"

"Yes I KNOW." Franklin ended up shouting, a small outburst with his lips turned down in an extreme pout, eyes watering up in the first time since a long while. Dark blue, watery eyes glared up at his father. "I know, no more cooking. So stop yelling! All you do is YELL papa, you're not even any FUN anymore because all you do is go to balls and have fun WITHOUT ME!" he screamed before turning around and sprinting out of the hall, hastily wiping his tears.

Taken back by his son's outburst, he stared in shock as Franklin ran off, Percy quick to follow. It was silent for a few minutes before he felt Antonio walk up behind him and clasp his shoulder. "Let's go to your office, amigo." He said quietly, and still in quiet shock, Alfred followed.

Was that how it really was? Was his son that angry – that wild, because he was never home? Why, he was always home! He only went to his company's shops when he needed to, and the rest of the time, he was in his office, working on papers. Franklin couldn't possibly be that irritated by his 'absence' at home. And what was that about balls? Didn't his son know that it was only socially acceptable to go to balls when invited? The Viscount was only followed society's rules…Plus, what Franklin didn't know was that he was looking for a mother for him. Someone to care for him when Alfred couldn't. His child couldn't see that! Franklin didn't understand.

"Alfred." Antonio had said when Alfred was firmly seated in his chair. The Spaniard had taken up a seat across from the desk, his legs crossed. His green eyes were watching his friend stare out into space, trying to think. "Alfred." He said again, a frown gracing his lips.

"A-Ah, what?" The American had said, blinking out of his reverie, and turning to face the man with a confused, tired look. "What is it, Antonio? Shouldn't you be heading home? I'm tired." He said with a sigh.

Antonio pursed his lips and deadpanned, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Amigo, you can't do this anymore." He said then sighed, continuing on when he noted Alfred's confused expression. "Finding awife." He clarified, watching Alfred's face turn a bit stony. "Alfred, listen to me. Franklin is getting out of hand. You've been at this fruitless quest for a year now, and look what's happened! You have no wife! Franklin has gotten worse!" he said, looking concerned for his friend. "You can't keep going like this, because your butler is not his parent, or trained to help him." He emphasized and he could see in his friend's eyes that Alfred knew he was right.

"Then what?" the Viscount had spoken quietly.

"Eh, pardon?" the Spaniard said, not hearing.

"THEN WHAT?" Alfred shouted, rising up to slam his fist on his desk in frustrated anger. "Nothing I do, nothing I SAY ever gets through to that THICK mind of his! What do you mean, trained? Am I not his father? Am I not trained enough? What else is there to DO?!" he thundered. "What else is there other than a mother, or at least some kind of stronger parental figure to guide him?! Tonight I was supposed to FIND HER!" He cried, wringing his hands. He knew that he had felt something that night. Some strange fluttering in his heart…But he brushed it off as some of the champagne, for the girl he was dancing with was no appealing whatsoever. "I thought she'd be here tonight! I had a FEELING!" He shouted desperately, searching his friend's face for an answer. However, he was simply faced with an expression of calmness. In fact, Antonio was smiling. "Antonio…?" he said, a bit confused, sitting back down. "I'm sorry…sorry for shou-"

The Spaniard shook his head quickly, standing up to place his hands on the desk. "That's it though, Alfred. You are GETTING it, mi amigo." He said with a grin, and chuckled at Alfred's expression of lost confusion. "You need someone now. RIGHT now, to help that…that issue." He said, waving his hand to the door. "You need a Governess." He said seriously.

"A Governess…?" the American had repeated, blinking a bit as he furrowed his brows, thinking. Ah, that's right. England had Governesses, while America had… what were they called? Nannies? He needed a…nanny?

"Si, Alfred. A Governess. A strong, parental guidance mentor to help nurture the child when you yourself can't. And you can hire you quickly!" he said with a reassuring smile.

The blonde was rubbing his chin, thinking quickly. Perhaps he could get a Governess in the meantime, allowing himself even more time to look for a wife and a proper mother, granted that the Governess do her proper work and teach Franklin to behave. It was silent for a few minutes as Alfred thought, formulating it in his mind. The idea appealed to him, yes. For the moment, he'd hire a Governess. "Alright." He then said, nodding and looking up to his friend. "I'll hire one. But I don't know of any." He said with a frown, blinking again once Antonio's smile grew wider.

"Perfect for you, Alfred. I had met one tonight. The name is Governess Kirkland, and from what I've been told, they are quite good at handling children." He said with a grin, recalling back to his conversation with Arthur, remembering when the man told him of his adventures with all sorts of children. Yeesh, the Governess sure had it quite hard, judging by his stories.

Kirkland? As in, Arthur Kirkland? Alfred recognized the name quickly, as was his way of making new friends. So, the man's wife was a Governess? That was interesting; perhaps they didn't have any children of their own, allowing the woman to have free time to spare with other children. Seeing that he knew her husband, perhaps the hiring process would go smoothly. Alfred smiled at the thought, nodding once more to Antonio.

"Good. Go in my stead, Antonio, I'll give you the money and documents you need. Please hire Governess Kirkland."