"Woah!" the coach driver called out. Jet felt the wheels slow to a stop as the coach reached the front doors of the Hotel. Even now it seemed as though the events of the past two months, even those of earlier that morning, had occurred in another lifetime - now he found himself waking from that vivid dream and returning to his own world. The coach shifted with the dismount of the driver. "Mr. Moore, we have reached our destination." the man called rapping twice on the door.
"Thank you." Jet stepped down and gave the driver his pay. A footman looked him over dubiously. It was only then that Jet realized he must look quite a sight in his shabby, ill-fitting homespun clothes - not to mention the general filth and grime common to a laborer which clung to every inch of his flesh. The servant was ill-able to disguise his horrified stare as this unkempt tramp approached the entryway. "Lord Chester Jenkins Moore - I believe you have my bags in storage." Jet spoke the words in the cool tones of the aristocracy; as though his outlandish appearance were something to of so little consequence that it should be far beneath the notice or remark of any man. The footman stared incredulously at Jet for a moment. "Is there a problem? If not, I should like to retire to my room at once." Another footman appeared beside the first. The two stood discussing the situation in whispered tones; occasionally pointing at him as though he were some oddity. After what seemed an interminable length of time the second footman left, returning with the Hotel Manager some minutes later. Jet did his best to appear incensed by the situation even as he found it near impossible not to burst out laughing from the general hilarity of the scene.
"May I help you?" the Manager asked warily.
"Yes, I am Lord Chester Jenkins Moore III - I sent a message that I would be arriving today and I must say, I find the service here quite below the standard I have been accustomed to at this establishment. If it would please you I should like to be shown to my room immediately." Jet replied in clipped tones. The manager squinted at Jet closely, examining each feature of his young face for comparison. Jet smirked as he watched the horror of recognition dawn on the face of the other man.
"Sir! I am very sorry we have delayed you so. Adams!" the manager addressed the footman. "Please show Lord Moore to his room."
"Yes, sir."
Finally alone in his room, a hot bath drawn, Jet opened his bags in search of proper clothing. What he found did not particularly surprise him, though he did feel a certain dismay for the classlessness of the display. There, folded neatly, were the thickly sliced ribbons which had once been his clothes. He ran his fingers through the torn fabric shreds - Lady Cox was nothing if not thorough - not even a stocking had escaped her wrath. He sighed and rung for a maid. A few hours and an urgent message to his solicitor bought him a tan leisure suit and flat cap - a style more befitting Arthur than himself - still, at least he would be presentable until more suitable clothing could be purchased. Had he ever thought to retie the threads he had severed with the Cox family this final act sealed his resolve to be entirely divorced from them. Even Arthur would fall against them - vindictive passions made for poor business partners. Such troubles would keep until tomorrow, Jet concluded, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him. He tucked himself under the smooth covers of his bed and slept more soundly than he had in weeks.
The following afternoon came far too quickly and with it a letter informing Jet of his party's arrival and an invitation to an early afternoon tea in the parlor. Properly scrubbed, shaved, and in his pressed suit Jet finally began to feel himself again. He tugged at the jacket hem out of habit. A package on the mantle caught his eye. It was rectangular in shape, covered in brown paper, and tied with twine - no doubt left with the mail but he had been far to distracted by Arthur's missal to notice it. Taking it in his hand he deftly removed the twine and tore the paper to reveal a worn book cover: The Tennant of Wildfell Hall. A slip of paper slid from under the cover, fluttering to the floor. He picked it up and examined the neat handwriting: "For when you miss me. Bertie" He allowed a wry smile - it would be presumptuous were it not so accurate. The world he now occupied was in its very nature so different from hers as to seem completely divorced from it. His memories of his time among the Reeds and Smiths were so different from his current concept he had not even had the capacity to miss them. He held the worn fabric cover of the book close to his chest for a moment, embracing the sudden deep ache inside the book stirred. He shook his head; she was a cruel cruel woman to make him hurt so - surely she must know what she had done! He took the book to the armchair and sat to read, yet none of the lines his eyes fell upon seemed to reach his mind. He thought about what she must be doing. It was only just past dinner - likely she took it with the women at the house. Jim Reed would have been by with the deliverables. He smiled as he remembered that first day he had accompanied Jim on his rounds, how startled Bertie had been to see him about - dressed in the garb of a laborer, of all things! Likely, she was bustling about Cheapside in her blue uniform trying to organize the events of the week. Without his realizing it, an hour passed without him having turned a single page. A knock at the door startled him from his reverie.
"Lord Moore, your party awaits your company in the parlor." a deep voice intoned. Jet glanced at the clock - he was late by a quarter of an hour!
"Please convey my apologies and tell them that I will join them presently." Jet called to the door. He quickly wrestled his coat onto his shoulders and opened the door. "Artie!" he cried out. The tall man stood, grinning, in the doorway.
"How do you do, mate? Did you miss me?" the two men clapped their arms about each other in a fraternal embrace.
"How do I get along without you, Artie?" Jet grinned.
"From what I hear, very poorly. How exactly did you manage to accidentally fall into the Thames?"
"It's a long story that is not improved by the retelling." Jet answered stonily.
"Ah, so drop it then?" Arthur replied knowingly.
"If you would." Jet looked his friend over: his skin possessed a new, tanner hue and he appeared to have added a few pounds to his frame. "Italy seems to have agreed with you." Arthur flashed his most debonair smile.
"And England you it would seem - though how an English winter could do so is beyond me. Perhaps it is just my memory playing tricks but I don't quite remember you being quite so sinewy." Jet had not even considered that the hard physical labor of the past month would be readily apparent on his form; his accident and subsequent illness would be far easier to explain away than the addition of musculature on his spare form. Fortunately, Arthur had moved on from that point to another - the man was vaguely examining his suit. "At least you have finally obtained some fashion sense." Arthur remarked making a quick tug at the lapel of Jet's suit.
"It is only temporary, my clothes met with the wrath of a woman scorned." Jet countered suggestively. Arthur responded with raised eyebrow,
"Ah, don't tell me you had the temerity to invoke the rage of Lady Cox."
"I did and I have. My only regret in the matter is that I did not secure my suitcases before leaving."
"She'll never forgive you for it."
"Of that I am certain." Jet replied. "But it's a bloody bad game to play business with a hedonist. Their fortunes turn with their tastes and no investment is worth the censure that is certain when disgrace finally visits itself upon them." Arthur seemed to consider this point.
"I gather you recommend I cut all ties?" he frowned. "Pity, she was a delicious little devil. But it is done - I'll contact my solicitor when we return home."
"Are Elizabeth and Miss Mason about?" Jet asked eagerly.
"Regrettably, Miss Mason had to return home once we got into port - Frederick Danvers took ill with influenza and she was anxious to be by his bedside. Elizabeth is in the Parlor; she's been a bit tired lately." his eyes twinkled knowingly. Jet caught the meaning instantly.
"You can't mean-?"
"Ah but I do."
"When do you think...?
"August or September, the doctor said." Arthur beamed. Jet leaned against the wall, a hand to his head.
"Artie, you're going to be a father! I can't believe it. Congratulations! I cannot express my happiness for you both."
"Trust me, mate, it couldn't even compare with a fraction of my own. Now come on, the mother will be cross if we keep her waiting much longer."
Elizabeth sat quietly at the tea table. The sun streaming in from the window set her blond hair with an angelic glow. Her eyes rested on her hands, folded neatly on her slightly protruding stomach, her smile one of gentle contentment. The very embodiment of future motherhood, Jet thought on beholding her. The rustling of their footsteps at the entryway broke her reverie, she looked up to see both her husband and brother, brimming over with excitement as children on Christmas morning. "Oh Arthur! You told!" she cried with an adorable pout. Arthur leaned down to bestow a kiss on her cheek.
"I couldn't help it, my love. I have never been so transcendentally happy in my entire life." he answered, taking his seat next to her.
"I am so happy for you." Jet gave his sister a kiss on her other cheek and took his seat.
"You will be an Uncle twice in one year." Elizabeth replied.
"Twice? Oh yes, Philomena. Has there been any word?" Elizabeth answered with a perplexed look.
"Yes, she gave birth to a girl a few weeks ago. Did you not receive the news? I would have thought you would have heard even before we did." Jet searched for an explanation.
"No, I'm sorry, I didn't hear of it at all. What did they name her?"
"Her name is Emily May Norbert."
"Pleasant enough, if a bit pastoral, less ostentatious than I expected."
"I would expect that is Roger's influence." Arthur interjected, in reference to Philomena's husband.
"I imagine so." Jet agreed with a nod.
"How are you doing, my brother?" Elizabeth asked, taking Jet's hand in hers. "We heard you had an accident and took terribly ill. We were very worried."
"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Elizabeth wanted to come home immediately on hearing the news - she and Miss Mason both - we sent a telegraph to your parents to tell them of our change in plans but they wouldn't hear of it. Your father insisted we finish our stay - he said he would keep us informed if there was a turn for the worse. Confidentially, we still opted to come home as early as we could manage without invoking his ire." An image appeared in his mind of Arthur and Ingrid pacing about, fervently planning how to immediately return home while Elizabeth sat reading the telegraph - the idea warmed his heart. He had been far from abandoned by those he loved. Still, the incubus of the subconscious Philomena's words haunted him. They had wanted to return, but they had been held back - and he had been mortally ill. How very different things would have been had they followed through! If it had been their concerned faces he had awoke to rather than those of the Reeds and Smiths. He was not sure whether to curse his father or be grateful for his elder's cold-blooded ways. Jet supposed the man would repent of his decision soon enough. He smiled in that sphinx-like manner of one who holds tightly to a earth shaking secret.
"I will not lie, my circumstances were quite dire for a time. But, I have recovered entirely; as you can easily discern for yourselves." Jet reported.
"May I ask what happened?" Elizabeth further entreated.
"It's rather embarrassing. I had imbibed in a few drinks and simply slipped on a patch of ice while crossing the bridge. I lost my balance and, unable to catch myself, went over the balustrade into the river." Jet spun the lies as easily as if they had been truth. "It was something of a miracle that I was able to swim to shore; though I have no recollection of doing so."
"I am so thankful there were people about to tend to you. I can't imagine what would have happened otherwise." Elizabeth fretted.
"Fortunately, that is a scenario we need not consider." Jet replied, patting her hand. "But now is not the time to focus on the past, not when there is so much joy in the present."
"Hear hear!" Arthur exclaimed raising his tea cup in the motion of a toast.
"Have you discussed names for the child.?" Jet asked offhandedly.
"Well, we did consider Chester were it a boy..." Elizabeth started.
"But then we thought two cousins named Chester so close in age would only lead to confusion. So we are considering Cederic or Henry, instead." Jet could not miss the implication. "Abigail for a girl, of course - no other name could be as fitting." Arthur finished, not for one moment taking his eyes from his bride excepting for only the briefest glance to prognosticate to Jet regarding his inevitable future progeny. In his entire life, Jet could not recall Arthur ever being so completely and utterly euphoric.
The group left the hotel for the train station within the hour. The evening star had only just appeared on the horizon when the train from London arrived at their destination. "You will be staying with us for the night, mate?" Arthur asked as they stood on the platform.
"Oh, please say you will, Jet!" Elizabeth begged taking both his hands in hers.
"I will do as you request." Jet acquiesced with a fraternal smile. "Only I need to call on Lord Danvers first."
"It is far too late for a social visit!" Elizabeth protested. "Surely it will keep until the morning."
"I am aware, but I fear it is something that should not be delayed any further than it already has been." Jet answered. Elizabeth made to protest further but Arthur placed a hand upon her shoulder and, giving her a knowing look turned his eyes to his friend.
"Then we shall see you soon. Good luck, mate." he added. Jet watched the pair walk away, Arthur's arm protectively wrapped around Elizabeth's shoulders.
His coach arrived at the Estate of Lord Danvers half an hour later. He rung for the Butler who arrived promptly at the door, exhibiting a vaguely perplexed physiognomy. "I'm sorry sir, I know this is highly unusual but I find I need to request an audience with Lord Danvers."
"Who is it?" Lord Danvers called from inside.
"It is Lord Moore, sir. He requests an audience." the Butler answered.
"Ah! Send him in, send him in." the voice boomed. Jet was scarcely through the door before he was swept up by Lord Danvers.
"My boy you gave us quite a scare!" Danvers proclaimed, setting Jet down he looked him over, still enthusiastically gripping Jet's upper arms. "But you look no worse for the wear. It is good to see you!" the large man embraced Jet again. "Potter! Please inform Miss Mason of Lord Moore's arrival." Danvers more declared than spoke the orders to the Butler. He turned to Jet, his eyes all a twinkle. "She's been anxiously awaiting word of your arrival. I imagine she'll be very eager to see you. But please, let us have a seat in the Library." He ushered Jet to that familiar room. Jet took a seat on a chair just aslant of the couch. Danvers attempted to sit but was instantly up again, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "How was your journey?"
"It was uneventful but generally pleasant." The door clicked open. "Ah, Miss Mason!" Lord Danvers declared. "Come, see who has come to visit."
"Lord Moore!" Ingrid exclaimed, a broad smile lighting her face. Jet stood.
"It is good to see you Miss Mason." Jet said with a bow.
"I'll just leave you two to speak." Danvers said knowingly, exiting the room. The pair stood in awkward silence for a moment. Finally, Jet gestured to a chair. Both sat quietly while Jet searched for the proper words. Ingrid smiled at him nervously.
"How is Freddie?" Jet asked awkwardly.
"Oh! He is much improved. He should be up and about the house in the next day or two." she replied. They lapsed into silence.
"I'm sorry," Jet apologized. "I had this all planned out before I arrived, but it seems much more difficult to say with you here in front of me." He took a deep breath. "I suppose the crux of it all comes down to one question: Are you, in any way, related to Lord Danvers?" Ingrid seemed puzzled by the question, she tilted her head to the right slightly as if attempting to decipher the meaning of such an odd inquiry.
"No, his wife was my Godmother, but he and I share no common relation."
"I suspected as much. I apologize for this unusual line of questioning but I must venture one further." She nodded in assent. "When you said there was a man here whom you preferred, you were not referring to me, am I correct?" Ingrid appeared startled by the abruptness of the question; it was now she who was at a loss for words.
"I am... fond... of you." she chose carefully. "But... you are correct. I am sorry, I care for you very much. But-"
"But you have loved another for far longer. Miss Mason, I did not come here to accuse you of any wrong doing. If there is shame to be had on any person's part it is mine. I knew you did not feel anything more than friendship for me and I for you, but I pursued you regardless because it was a prudent match and well supported by our families. I know this is difficult but I am afraid I must end our courtship." Jet spoke in tones gentle yet firm in their resolve. "Yes?" he asked, reading a question aching in Ingrid's large blue eyes.
"I know it is impertinent to make such a request..." she ventured nervously.
"Do go on; I believe I have already set the standard fairly high for that today."
"May we continue to be friends?" she offered meekly. Jet relaxed, a smile crossed his face.
"Yes." he laughed. "Yes, we may continue to be friends. I would be glad for it." Ingrid looked as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, her face a picture of pure relief.
"Thank you - I should have hated to lose your friendship."
"And I yours." He took her by the hand, "Now, shall we tell Lord Danvers the bad news?"
"Oh! He will be crushed!" Ingrid exclaimed. "He had so hoped for our union."
"Not so much as his actions might have led you to believe, I suspect." Jet suggested.
"Whatever can you mean?" Ingrid looked at him quizzically. Jet rang for the Butler.
"Potter, could you please ask Lord Danvers to join us; Miss Mason and I have finished our discussion and desire his company." Potter exited the room, returning only moments later with the jovial Danvers beaming at his side.
"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Lord Danvers exclaimed clapping Jet on the back.
"Only for you, I'm afraid, if you will take them." Jet answered somberly. The large man looked confused at Jet's cryptic statement.
"How do you mean?"
"Miss Mason and I have decided to end our courtship." Jet answered. Lord Danvers round face, only a moment ago so very jolly, was crestfallen.
"W-why?" he stammered. "It was such a fine match!"
"It was a very fine match, and we are well suited. But I believe there to be a much finer match with a man whom she loves dearly who, I believe, loves her in return." Jet could not miss the way Ingrid's face glowed with joy at this assertion. "I also believe that you should never think your historical fireplace tales ignored - particularly the one regarding the quick-witted, but large nosed, French cadet that pined for his cousin who was married to another man. What was his name - DeBergerac? It's a pity he died never having revealed his true feelings, even after she was widowed! I should hate to witness such a cruel fate among my own friends." he said pointedly. "Anyhow, I thank you for your hospitality but the hour grows late and I really must be going." He turned and strode out of the room, leaving a bewildered Lord Danvers and Miss Mason in his wake. 'If she is not the future Lady Danvers by tomorrow,' Jet thought, stepping into the carriage with a wry smile, 'then he does not deserve her.'