Naturally, it was only after the letter had been two days gone, that it occurred to Jet to worry. How he could have forgotten Bertie's dislike of Arthur he could only marvel at - but then, the issue that mattered so greatly to her was so far in the past it only seemed, to him, a trifling thing at best. After all, no lasting harm had been done, and Arthur had repented of his philandering ways long ago. If Bertie felt it to still be a relevant issue than it was well within her ability to decline the invitation. As the days passed he found himself anxiously checking the post with the ever growing hope of finding that letter which would absolve him of his foolishness only to have those hopes dashed. To make the matter worse Arthur had failed to heed his advice, preferring the company of his flask to that of his wife. At Jet's urging Elizabeth had endeavored to bridge the gap, with some success, but the relationship between the pair seemed a bit too David and Jonathan than Abraham and Sarah for his taste. Elizabeth appeared more often about the house, but there was a queerness about her - a brokenness in her smile, the crashing of the world behind her eyes, a crawling, servile meekness that had never been a part of her character before - that Jet found deeply troubling. She doted upon her husband with a renewed fervor, as though her pleasure came only through his. Arthur, for his part, presented himself as the dutiful husband who lovingly oversaw his ailing wife. In all their interactions the couple appeared, to any who observed them, as a shining example of those who had been met with the most terrible adversity and had overcome it together. But, despite their best efforts to conceal it, Jet sensed that there was something broken between the Duke and his Duchess, perhaps irreparably. If she must come, Jet hoped Bertie would arrive soon. Saturday brought that long awaited letter in the evening post. Seeing the address Jet dropped the other letters onto the floor and hurriedly took the blade of the letter opener to the upper crease, severing the joined sides and allowing him to empty its contents into his waiting hand. He read the brief letter with a mixture of relief and trepidation: Bertie would arrive at the train station Monday afternoon.
Despite all his fears he found he could not stop his heart from soaring ever higher with every moment that passed between the reading of the letter and Monday afternoon, by the time it came to pick up his prize he less walked than flew to the station. Arthur had offered a carriage but Jet dismissed his generosity stating a preference to walk on this rare fine day. More than the weather had inspired his ambulatory preference this day, however, he had a pressing matter he wished to discuss in private with Bertie - and there would certainly be no privacy once at the house! Sitting on the station benches only served to increase Jet's restlessness whilst he waited. He took his bowler hat off and shuffled the rim around in his fingers. He stood, replaced the hat upon his head and paced a few feet, then back to his seat, only to start up again. After what seemed an eternity he heard, far in the distance, the distinctive sound of the train whistle. He jerked to attention, making every attempt to conceal the grin that seemed to be appearing in willful defiance of his wishes to appear aloof. His sucked the inner part of his lower lip between his teeth and gently pressed it, a technique he had found to be quite effective when standing before the fuming Grand Duchess, but to no avail - he felt the corners of his lips stretch upward against his cheeks. He had just about managed to gain, through sheer perseverance, a composed countenance as the train rolled up to the small station. He watched the passengers disembark from the train, a few men, a family, then the Conductor extended an arm to assist a woman. The plump young bird accept the arm, pressing it lightly as she stepped down. She turned her brilliant, travel reddened smiling face towards Jet. His hard won somber composure was instantly replaced by a wide grin. From just behind the Porter, who was busy engaged in unloading her baggage, she leaned out to see and, catching sight of Jet, waved to him. Instantly it was as though his time these past months had been lived under the gloomy vale of dark clouds now dispelled by the brightness of the sun, and, even now, becoming but a faint memory. His feet moved without his bidding to where she stood thanking the Porter for his aid. "Bertie!" in one word his voice recalled the stress and sadness that had become his constant companion since the accident poured out in pure relief at the sight of the one who could assuage it. She smiled warmly at him,
"Jet! It is-" her words were cut off by his cathartic embrace. Her initial stiffness softened in his arms, he felt her form conform to his, her arms traveling across his back, holding herself to him. He kissed her forehead,
"Bertie, I missed you."
"So I gathered." she mumbled from his lapel, nuzzling her cheek closer. The pair stood, entwined, on the platform - each unwilling to be the first to slacken their hold and release from the other. "I suppose we should go to the house now." Bertie murmured.
"I suppose so." Jet answered, yet still the two remained as they were. Finally, Jet pulled back, he had not recalled there being such a chill in the air before but now he perceived it acutely. He laid a quick salute on her lips - anything more he feared would only increase their delay. Still grasping her hands he looked to the platform, "Only one bag?" he observed.
"I find it easier to travel light. Besides, I have very few dresses outside of my uniform, anyway." Bertie smiled self-consciously.
"We may need to add to their number." Jet suggested.
"Oh no Jet!" she objected, breaking their hold. "I'm perfectly well supplied. There is no need for you to concern yourself with the matter." He reached his hand out, stroking her cheek with his gloved finger - he spoke in low, gentle tones.
"But I wish to concern myself with the matter." She turned her eyes away from his face, her physiognomy turning a deep shade of pink. He stood mesmerized, running his fingers across her supple cheek, lightly brushing a few stray hairs away from her face. The howl of the departing train startled him back to his senses. He turned to the bag and hauled it over his shoulder as he had so many sacks of flour and potatoes before. He extended his arm, "Shall we depart?" Her fingers found their natural home in the crook of his arm.
"Lead the way." she answered. To any still observing the couple as they walked from the platform it would have to be assumed that Jet's reply to that answer was of a most piquing nature, for the lady shifted herself in such a way that her elbow made unmistakable contact with his side.
"Do you intentionally aim for that spot or is it mere coincidence?" Jet remarked, still rubbing his ribs a quarter mile past.
"I scarcely nudged you!" Bertie protested. "I'm surprised you felt anything at all through that coat - but if you are trying to gain my sympathy through feigning injury I can assure you it will not work."
"You're right, of course, but if you may play at violence I may play at injury." He answered, straightening up. The two walked quietly on for some minutes.
"I hadn't heard from you in so long," Bertie ventured shyly, her eyes fixed on the road before her. "I was worried for you. I was afraid-"
"That I had returned to my wicked ways and thus had done myself in." Jet finished. She swallowed hard,
"...Yes, or had taken ill or been otherwise injured." her eyes were still fixed to the road.
"Well, I suppose now we know it wasn't I who was in danger." Jet said wryly, scorn for the accident that had so deeply hurt his sister fought to conquer the words. a tear escaped her lashes leaving a shining trail on her soft, pink cheek.
"Oh Bertie!" Jet cried out grasping her against him. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to worry you!"
"It- it's not just you. Your poor sister!" she spoke wiping the tears from her eyes with her hands, which had been pressed all the closer to their targets by Jet's chest. "There is little that could have enticed me to venture into that man's house but such a terrible tragedy. How is she faring?"
"Poorly, I fear. I am glad you did not delay your coming." She wiped her eyes a final time, she met his eyes with her concerned brown ones;
"And what of that man, Arthur? How shall I be received by him?"
"I am certain he shall challenge you at every opportunity - but as far as your meaning, I do not believe you have anything to fear. He has surrendered his roguish ways to the habits of a devoted husband. To be perfectly honest, I doubt he would even recall you - he scarcely saw you and the better part of a year has passed since then."
"Still, I will be certain to keep my distance." she replied, gently extricating herself from his grasp. She walked a few paces, unaware that Jet was not following. "So tell me about the town? Is it a large place?"
"Miss Bertha Smith?" Jet asked.
"Jet, since when have you called me anything but Bertie." she teased, looking to her side - her face clearly reflected the shock of his absence. She spun around to see Jet kneeling in the middle of the dirt road, a small dark box open in his hand revealing its glittering contents. Her eyes widened; she rushed to cover her mouth, which was agape in the shape of an "o".
"Bertie, then." he smiled. "I will never be a great man, I doubt I should ever even aspire to be called a good man - certainly I shall never be so excellent a man as you deserved - but you make me wish that such aspirations could be grasped and in that way you make me a far better man and all I can hope is that such a poor specimen as myself could be acceptable to you. Bertie Smith, will you marry me?" To his surprise, Bertie knelt down to join him - closing the box with one hand, her other gently placed just behind his jawline - she tenderly kissed him.
"Yes, Jet, I will marry you. Where you go I will follow, where you are praised I will stand beside you," she paused and kissed him a second time. "And where you are humbled I shall kneel with you until such time as I can help you stand." Jet embraced her with great fervor - instantly he recognized that he had overestimated their stability in this posture and the pair rolled over onto the dusty road in a heap, laughing. Bertie pulled herself up, brushing the dust from her light blue stuff dress. Still laughing she offered Jet a hand, which he gratefully received, pulling himself up from the dust. Seeing him, now, standing, his fine clothes covered in dust, his hair all amiss, his hat lonely on the ground; Bertie doubled over in peals of bubbling laughter. Jet looked himself over - his black clothes now coated with the fine light brown powder - slapping off the dust he could not help but laugh as well.
"Perhaps we will have to tell Arthur a motorcar passed us on the road - though I doubt he would believe it, for, aside from his own, there are none in town." He walked over to his hat, scooping it up in one easy motion. "Ah, the box!" He exclaimed; plucking the errant item from a rut in the road he offered it to Bertie. "I believe this belongs to you now." She demurred, raising her hand to stop him.
"No, it is far too much - please, the needy would have better use for its price than I would a bauble."
"Then take it for my sake as a symbol of my love for you - take it and I swear it will be the only fine jewelry I ever purchase for you that you did not wish for." Bertie's resolved seemed to waiver, yet still she was hesitant. "At least, please look at it, I had it made special for you." She relented to this lesser request. Taking the box she carefully opened it revealing a silver band in which was set a sea blue stone, flanked on both sides by a smaller black stone. "The center stone is a type of Beryl they call Aquamarine; the black stones are Jet." he grinned. "It would mean everything to me if you would take it as my gift to you." Bertie looked at him askance,
"If I accept this, you swear you will not buy me another item of jewelry without my express wishes?" Jet raised his right hand in a mock oath:
"Yes, not a single necklace or earring, no precious gems or metals will enter our home without your express consent - you have my word."
"I suppose I can take this one ring then, if it truly means so much to you that I should, and as it will spare me from receiving such gifts in the future." she finally consented, placing the ring on her finger. "It's a little loose." she remarked.
"We can have it re-sized. It's likely best you don't wear it until we break the news to my family, anyhow."
"So you haven't told them yet?"
"Save for Arthur and Elizabeth, and even them I only gave the scantest of information to... I suppose I wanted to wait until it was certain before I spoke of it openly."
"Won't it come as quite a shock to them?" Bertie asked, concern written in her eyes.
"Yes, I daresay it will. But there is little they can do regarding it except disapprove or approve as they see fit. And that would have been true whether I told them of it two months ago or today. So, for now, let us not worry about what cannot be changed in the past and focus now only on the present." Jet answered, consolingly.
"I can't say I much care for the secrecy - it smacks of dishonesty - but so long as we do not delay the announcement too long I suppose I can allow for it." Bertie replied. She made to hand back the ring but Jet closed her fingers around it and repelled her hands gently,
"No, you keep it. Even if you can't wear it yet it will do my mind a great deal of good just to know you have it." Bertie nodded and, unclasping the small chain around her neck from which dangled a small metal cross, she slipped the ring onto the necklace and clasped it back around her neck carefully tucking the ring bedecked cross back under her collar. "Why do you love me Bertie? I turn it over and over in my head and I can't see a single reason that would entice you."
"Perhaps it is because you are better than you think you are." Jet smiled and kissed her forehead before offering his arm once more,
"Shall we continue?" She took his arm and away they went.
Jet held his breath as Arthur approached trippingly down the stairs, veritably giddy at the prospect of this new toy to play with - for Jet knew that smile, the mischievous glint in his eyes. Not that he meant any harm by it, he merely wished for sport; Jet was certain that in any challenge his friend would find Bertie more than game.
"So this is the woman who has stolen the heart of my dearest friend." Arthur announced as he reached the couple. He made to take her hand but she routed him.
"Sergeant Major Bertha Smith of the Salvation Army." she spoke brusquely, sticking out her hand as though for a handshake. Arthur adjusted his tack, taking her hand he shook it firmly. "I should think your wife would be your dearest friend." she seemed unable to keep herself from adding.
"Arthur Wyndham, Duke of _ , at your service. My my, you did not lie when you described her manners as... provoking." he flashed Jet a shark's grin. "Yes, my wife would be my dearest friend were she not so in accord with me that I have difficulty viewing her as a being apart from myself, as is right for a wife to be. But for the sake of your satisfaction, I apologize Jet, I must demote you to the position of second most dear friend."
"I shall attempt to bear the disgrace with dignity." Jet replied, catching his friend's mood.
"Is that all your luggage?" Arthur asked with mock incredulity; referring to the single bag still resting upon Jet's shoulder .
"It is all I need." Bertie answered tersely.
"Hodgson!" Arthur summoned the butler, "Please take the Lady's bag to Mr. Moore's room."
"To Mr. Moore's room!" Bertie was aghast. "I should prefer to have it taken to my own room, my dresses will do him little good in the way of fashion outside of of the house of deBeaumont."
"Ah, the little lady knows her French aristocracy. But there is no need to hide behind the guise of a prude in this house, we will not take moral offense if you wish to reside with your lover. Surely, he would not object to it." Arthur said, indulgently. Jet could not pretend Arthur was incorrect in his assertion, even were it more than he could rationally hope for, he dearly wished she would succumb to Arthur's offer of a discretionary cover of her loosening of morals. But such an indulgent fantasy was only allowed to fly for a moment before that small bow of a mouth pierced it's heart with a decisive arrow,
"You may not object to it, but I certainly do! Hodgson! Please leave my bag, I shall take it myself." Hodgson looked to his master, perturbed by this turn of events.
"Ah, only in the house a minute and already she is running the place. I will indulge you, my lady. Hodgson, leave the bag. I suppose we have a room on the second floor that should be to your satisfaction, Hodgson can guide you there."
"Thank you for your... generosity." Bertie said, stooping to pick up her bag.
"You are welcome. Once you have settled yourself please join us in the parlor for tea; my wife is eagerly looking forward to meeting you." Arthur said with a bow. His eyes not leaving her until well after she had disappeared from view, his grin never fading. He turned to Jet, that smile suddenly gone as though it had never been - "You were certainly not exaggerating in your description, she is deliciously piquing."
"I hope you don't intend to vex her too greatly, Artie." Jet answered.
"No, I would not dare take your position from you - just allow me the occasional indulgence."
"I daresay I couldn't stop you. But I think she has been tormented quite enough for today. Crikey! The look on her face when you suggested we share a room!" Jet laughed.
"It was done in the service of a friend, even the most moral woman has been known to throw off such trappings when the offer of clandestinity is given." Arthur answered.
"I won't pretend I don't wish she had given in." Jet ventured. Arthur raised his eyebrow rakishly.
"I wouldn't think you would, mate. To be sure, I can't see what fascinates you about a dumpy woman like her."
"She improves with the knowing." Jet answered.
"Well, I won't keep you longer. You best change for tea - if Elizabeth sees you looking like that she'll have a fit." Jet had forgotten his adventures in the road. Looking down, in less harsh light, the filthy state of his clothing was readily apparent. The brothers bid adieu for the moment and Jet followed Bertie's path up the staircase.
Loosening his tie, Jet fell back onto his bed. Though it had been a possibility for only the shortest of moments, Jet could not help indulging it, turning over how fine it would be to have company in his lonesome bed. He could imagine Bertie, at the vanity before him, requesting his assistance in undoing the buttons on her dress... perhaps requiring some help with the lacing of her corset... His body shivered. This was a dangerous trail for his thoughts to journey, still he let it wind its way down a few more of the darker trails of his mind before finally putting a stop to it. "No." he said aloud. Such ideas, while pleasurable to dwell on, somehow felt... disrespectful and fantastical to the point where entertaining them further smacked of idiocy. The full pleasures of the flesh would be denied him until such time as they were wed - but having been awoken he now found himself rather desperately yearning to sate them. He found the bottle he kept wrapped in cloth, tucked in the lower drawer of the bedside table and took a short dram to calm his nerves. Even as he had slowly eased himself back into the habit; he found he was reticent to dose himself as he once had - the memory of the doctor's warning his heart's attempted mutiny was never so far from his mind as to lose its prophylactic effect. Feeling collected once more, Jet changed into cleaner attire and examined himself in the mirror; fixing himself to appear, in his own opinion, quite dapper. A quick straightening of his bowtie and he was out the door.
He had overestimated the time it would require for Bertie to prepare for he found she and Elizabeth already engaged in merry conversation around the tea service. Arthur was lounging in one of the chairs watching the women with a somehow studious disinterest; much as one watching children, not their own, at play. Seeing Jet enter the room, Arthur started and stood.
"Ah, when your partner arrived unaccompanied, I fear for a moment you had been lost." Arthur teased. Elizabeth hushed Bertie indicating, with an enigmatic smile, that they should watch the men.
"Only in thought, Artie." Jet replied.
"Should I be so bold as to guess the subject of your reverie?" Arthur continued to prod. Behind him, Bertie flushed a deep crimson.
"If you are guessing the Spring plowing, you would be correct."
"Early Spring are you thinking?"
"No, the weather should be far too foul for it, mid-season would be far more ideal." Elizabeth clapped her hands with a wide smile. "Though I have had some advice that it might be preferable to scuttle the crop for this year and focus on improving the quality of the soil."
"Well, I would not tarry too long in it, for it looks to be a difficult growing season."
"I certainly would expect as much." Jet acknowledged his friend's warning. "And your thoughts on the subject?"
"I haven't formed them as of yet. Though I must admit I still do strongly question the wisdom of your choice of crop - I daresay I do not believe it would be fit for our soil."
"I'll give that it is a risky venture but I still hold that it is of a hardy and adaptable strain and that with the proper cultivation and care it will prove to be quite the valuable cornerstone of my operation."
"In W-ing we usually plant early in the Spring." Bertie added helpfully. The trio burst out laughing at her assertion leaving Bertie genuinely confused as to what she had said that was so very funny.
"They aren't talking about farming, silly." Elizabeth whispered. Bertie appeared mystified even further by this addition to the already strange conversation.
"Speaking of trials," Arthur interjected. "It seems your Father wishes to have us for supper."
"You mean to say "over for supper"?" Jet remarked.
"You know the man best, I would venture either to be an accurate reflection of his intentions."
"What brought this about?" Jet inquired.
"Ah yes, you may have missed the news, the letter arrived while you were at the station - Miss Mason and Lord Danvers are lately married." Jet clapped a hand to his head in astonishment.
"So soon! They hadn't even officially announced their engagement!"
"I suppose that brush with disaster caused our dear friend to play his hand faster than anticipated. Though I imagine there is no need to elucidate you as to how your father will react." Arthur's implication could not be missed. Jet fell back into the chair,
"No, I can imagine it quite clearly." he took a deep breath. "He will blame me for losing such a fine prospect as Miss Mason."
"More than blame, I'd wager."
"So when is the trial to take place? Not tonight I hope?." Jet asked wearily.
"Tomorrow evening, he has invited the entire household - which would include Miss Smith." Arthur indicated towards Bertie. "I believe the Norberts will also be in attendance."
"Well, I should be thankful of small favors, Philomena has always had a calming affect on his temper." he turned to the women. "Bertie, do you think you will be up to supper tomorrow?"
"Yes, I'm only a little worn from my travels. I should be quite recovered by tomorrow." Bertie answered honestly.
"I cannot deny I wish you would have said differently, I am sure you have been able to guess my father is not an easy man even on the best of days. Do you have anything suitable to wear? I know fine clothes have little value to you but it will be particularly important that you look your best tomorrow."
"Yes, I have one dress from when I was much younger - it is not particularly fashionable but it is a lady's dress." she replied.
"Elizabeth, would you be able to lend her whatever else she might need?" Jet pursued.
"Yes. Bertha, do you mind sharing my ladies maid? We can prepare together." Elizabeth was already the very picture of sisterly affection to this stranger.
"No, I don't mind in the least, if a ladies maid I must use. Thank you for your hospitality." Bertie replied.
"Well then, that's settled." Arthur declared, brushing his hands off as though he had accomplished some difficult manual labor. "Ladies, you may return to your tea. I believe Jet and I shall retire to the smoking room." he nodded to Jet, who promptly rose and followed him. "Adieu ladies."
"Goodnight Bertie, Elizabeth." Jet bid them with a quick bow. "Until tomorrow."
Returning to his apartment late that night, Jet tarried at Bertie's door. He pushed down on the door handle gently. It was locked.
The following afternoon found the gentlemen waiting for the women in the parlor. Elizabeth, resplendent in a light pink gown, hurried in; eagerly closing the door all but a crack behind her. Her expression, Jet had known it from her youth, was one of pure joyous mischief - he had had been afraid such affectations had died in the late February snow. Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Oh ho, and what is the meaning of this little game?"
"Wait a moment." Elizabeth admonished. "May I present the lovely Miss Bertha Smith." she announced throwing wide the door. There Bertie stood, looking decidedly uncomfortable with this dramatic presentation. Arthur rose to his feet, as though somewhat mesmerized;
"My my, well that is a good deal better. I must say I sorely underestimated Nellie's talents." Jet, for his part, still sat completely transfixed. Bertie was dressed in a silken green day dress, that, while in feature was remarkably plain, somehow added a bewitching air to the lady. Her small mouth had been lightly stained a more permanent shade of plum while her brunette complected cheeks, softened with powder, glowed with a pink overtone. Her hair, which normally strove to brush her shoulders, had been gathered, smoothed, curled, and pinned at the back of her head with two silver combs adorning it. But it was her dark eyes, framed with those long black lashes that stole Jet's senses entirely. She scarcely could be recognized as the dust covered woman who had entered the house only yesterday. "Jet," Arthur admonished. "Stand up for your lady." Jet, still staring dumbly, rose to his feet. Even covered by powder and rouge the blush of embarrassment was evident on Bertie's face. She fixed her eyes on the floor, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, we had best be leaving. That is, if Jet can find it within himself to walk." Arthur said with his most dashingly vicious smile. "Come my lovely one." he said, offering his arm to Elizabeth. Jet awkwardly followed behind, offering his arm to Bertie as the first couple exited the room. Bertie looked to him,
"I feel so out of sorts dressed in this manner." she said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. Jet inclined his head so that it was just a hairs-breadth from her ear;
"You look beautiful." he whispered. He felt her hand stiffen, then waiver. She steadied herself by placing her other hand on his upper arm. He could not help but stand somewhat taller, having had his words cause such an effect on this glorious creature. The two followed Arthur and Elizabeth to the carriage out front.
Despite the abundance of candles and lamps in the dining room the place seemed far darker than Jet remembered. Across from him, just to his right, sat his father - that harsh visage at the moment turned to the pheasant before it, but no doubt it would once more focus its cold, accusing stare upon him once more. Jet's mother, her nervous eyes searching for pleasant conversation in an effort to delay or even prevent the inevitable from occurring, looked to Philomena, "Dear," she began. "How is the child?"
"Em is doing quite well. She seems to be a very bright infant. I swear she has already begun to try to form words and when I read to her she follows along precisely." Philomena answered.
"Rot and nonsense." Lord Moore the elder replied, his words muffled by food. "A mother's pride is all. But let us not discuss such... womanly things at the table." Elizabeth's body slackened slightly, visibly relieved by her father's immediate rescue. Lady Moore was a well-meaning woman but not disposed to holding on to a great deal of sympathy for troubles now passed - not when there were so many worries for the future to be attended to.
"How is the cattle business this year Roger?" Arthur inquired. Lord Norbert looked at him as though somewhat confused by the question.
"Oh, um, it goes well." the droll little man stammered.
"We've just purchased a new herd of Guernsey's and so far they have found the countryside very agreeable." Philomena added helpfully.
"Philomena, please do not answer for your husband; particularly on matters of business." her father scolded tersely. Jet could see Bertie's eyes flash at the chastisement of his sister - still, she held her tongue admirably.
"Yes, Father." Philomena had twice been cowed by her father and seemed to content resign herself to the private conversations in her own mind rather than venture for a third.
"So, Arthur," Lady Moore began. "Tell us about your guest." she requested, indicating Bertie. Arthur finished chewing a mouthful of potatoes before he spoke.
"Ah yes, the lady is serving as Elizabeth's companion, but beyond that I cannot venture for she was invited on Chester's recommendation." Jet could not miss the smug smile Arthur shot him. Lady Moore simpered slightly and looked to Jet.
"Is this true Chester? How did you come to know this woman?"
"We met during one of my excursions to London. She's the daughter of a curate and I thought her an excellent fit as a companion for Elizabeth." It wasn't specifically the truth, but as of yet there seemed no reason to provide further detail.
"My dear, are you from London?" the matron asked.
"No, I am only lately from London, before this year I resided in W-ing." Bertie answered politely.
"Ah, I hear the weather is quite lovely on the South coast but I regret to say I have never been." Lady Moore mused.
"Yes, it was wonderful, particularly the summers. I find I miss the sea very much, but I suppose the good Lord had other plans for me."
"If I may ask, what took you to London?" Jet held his breath.
"My father sent me to stay with my Aunt and Uncle." Jet exhaled, Bertie had parried the question expertly.
"What do you do to occupy your time - I suspect there must be many things for a lady to do in town."
"Oh, I have no time. The work I do occupies far too much of it."
"You have a position then?" Jet could feel panic tightening his chest.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What do you do, if I may be so bold to ask?" the elder lady continued to pry. Bertie sliced a piece of pheasant with her knife and speared it with her fork.
"I'm a Sergeant Major in the Salvation Army." she said as nonchalantly as if she were remarking on the weather. Jet heard the clack of his father's knife being set on the table. He knew, even without looking, those cold hard eyes.
"Chester!" the man uttered Jet's name in a low growl. "Do you mean to tell us that you have brought a Salvationist into our house?"
"Yes, Father." Jet answered coolly despite his racing heart.
"Shall I guess that she is the one who was injured in the street - the one I forbade you to see?" The growl was no longer so low.
"Yes, Father, the very same." Jet answered, casually attending to his food.
"It is not his fault, Father!" Elizabeth interjected. "I was the one who requested she come-"
"Quiet Elizabeth, no one was speaking to you." the man eyed his daughter harshly. She looked down at her plate, shamefaced.
"She was only defending her brother, her intent was noble." Bertie cried in her defense.
"She knows not to speak unless she is spoken to. It is a woman's primary duty to be admired for her pleasing appearance, and not fill the room with her inane chatter."
"A woman may speak whenever she wishes." Bertie was in a fine temper now. Jet looked across the table at Arthur who was watching calmly, a bemused look upon his face.
"A guttersnipe may but a proper lady knows how to hold her tongue." Lord Chester Jenkins Moore II struck back, his words slicing through the air, severing any final resolve toward politeness that might have remained. Bertie stared at the man, incredulous.
"Then may I be a guttersnipe until I die, sir." she accented the last word harshly. "For I should rather live a poor woman in the road who may speak her mind as she wishes than a wealthy lady in a soft bed who must be wary of every syllable lest she offend the menfolk." Oh yes, this was the Bertie Jet knew. His father sputtered with rage.
"What sheer impudence!" he roared, turning his rage on Jet, the clear cause of his ire. "You! How dare you expose the members of my household to such a woman! First you destroy our business relations with Lord Cox, break-off your courtship with the daughter of Count Mason for no reason greater than your own inconstancy, then you renew your acquaintance with this- this- slut!" Lady Moore gasped in shock at her husband's language. "And you bring her into my house under the false pretenses of her being a lady when such a thing could not be further from the truth. I wonder what the next disgrace you intend to bring upon our house may be?" He had not expected an answer yet Jet was quite pleased to supply one; bolstered by Bertie's boldness he answered nonchalantly,
"Well, if you must know it, I intend to be marrying soon." A collective gasp answered these words. A piece of pheasant fell from the gaping mouth of Lady Moore onto the plate in front of her. Elizabeth's small hands covered her mouth, her eyes above them wide and wary. Even Bertie appeared somewhat stunned by the manner of the announcement. Arthur, by contrast, was in his glory. He clapped his hands together, a triumphant grin upon his face. Lord Chester Jenkins Moore II face appeared unable to fully convey his emotions; seeming to alternate each feature between shock and rage without being quite able to settle upon one. His voice was one of barely contained fury when he finally spoke:
"And am I to assume that it is this uncouth creature who has captivated you?"
"If you are meaning Miss Smith, than you would be correct."
"I had thought I had raised you to be far wiser than this, but clearly I was mistaken if you would allow yourself to be taken in by a common fortune hunter. This is precisely why I warned so strenuously against youthful passions leading to imprudent marriages! Clearly, you are far too young to be making such decisions. Can you not see the manipulative devil that she is? No son of mine would ever wed himself to such a... thing!"
"Then I am no son of yours if that be the criteria upon which parentage is judged, for I will be marrying her." Jet held his ground.
"Then you will do so without my approval!"
"So be it. I do not require it." The older man was fuming now.
"Rest assured - if you continue this folly and marry this woman you shall have no part in this family. I will withdraw all support and remove you from my will. You will no longer be welcome within this house or its grounds." Lord Moore threatened in measured tones.
"Dear!" Lady Moore objected, but her husband silenced her with a slight raise of his hand.
"Now I ask you, do you intend to persist in this foolishness?" Jet looked to his mother, so distraught as to have wilted into tears.
"Mother, I shall miss you terribly. But I will not be moved. I love this woman and I will marry her." Jet spoke firmly. Lord Moore stared at his son,
"Be gone then. And do not return until you have come to your senses. You are no child of mine." The older man shot a glare at Arthur who immediately sobered in his appearance to one more appropriately match the mood. "And take your wench as well." Jet stood and walked over to stand beside his betrothed,
"Then I bid you good day. Bertie?" he said, holding out his hand. She placed hers neatly in his,
"And thank you for your hospitality." she added curtly, and with that, the two walked from the room.