The noise of the machines was deafening in the narrow building. It was hot and humid with so many workers. The smell of them was very undesirable and many would've turned up their nose to them. Rumford wasn't delusional. Fate may have stepped in and took him onto another path. Throwing him into a life of comfort and nobility, but these would always be his people. The young boys running dangerously in and around the machines could've easily had been him. Which was why he didn't feel sorry for them as he gazed down from the walkway, on the workers below, working themselves to the bone for a bit of coin or food. Rumford admired them and their determination, to put food on the tables for their families. If his father had been only an ounce of what these people were, maybe their lives could've been different, but instead the scoundrel had abandoned him.
Rumford pushed himself off the railing and walked the walkway, back to the main platform, where he'd left the foreman talking to the previous owner. Clasping his hands behind his back, he worked his signet ring on his little finger, back and forth. He would've rather been downstairs, working his hands, than standing around like a gentleman. When his hands had nothing to do, he would become restless and agitated, and that was normally, when Mrs Potts ordered him out of the house.
"I'm quite satisfied with what I've seen." Rumford informed them.
Coasting to a stop in front of them, the two men nodded and smiled, then smiled at each other, as the foreman said. "They're good workers, M' Lord, they won't let you down."
Rumford centred his gaze on the foreman. "See that they don't. Otherwise, if they do, it'll be your head, dearie."
The foreman visibly swallowed. "Yes, M' Lord."
"I'm going to take my leave now. I've got a long ride ahead of me." He told them, nodding his head to them. "Good day."
"Good day, M' Lord." They said in unison, bowing in sync.
It was always a curious thing, when two random people fell into time with each other, but he held back showing his amusement, his face masked by a stern look. He turned to the stairs and descended them, his shoulders back, chin out, projecting the facade he was an Earl. Many of the workers flicked their gazes at him as he descended the stairs, taking a look at their new master, appearing indifferent to them. Being amongst them, the smell of their hard work was more potent, but he refused to hold his handkerchief to his nose. The men, women and children pouring their blood, sweat and tears into his pocket, would always have his respect.
The sun was almost blinding as Rumford exited the darkness of building, forced to hold his hand up, blocking out the sun, allowing his eyes to adjust as he descended the stone steps to the horse Lord French had loaned him. Laying his hand gently on the back of the horse, he stroked his hand over its coat, earning himself a happy chuff from the horse. Whilst he unhooked the horse's reins and led him away, Rumford allowed himself a smile, remembering when his father was teaching him to ride. His smile widened into a grin as he put his foot into the stirrup, making a clicking noise to the horse, and pulled himself up, throwing his leg over its back, as the horse set off into a slow trot.
"Rumford, you're supposed to be the one in charge, not the horse." His father had admonished, a light chuckle obscuring his annoyance.
Rumford had bounced up and down, side to side, any and every which way, while he clung to the saddle underneath him. He had already fallen more times than he had cared to remember. The Earl had thrown him back onto the horse, encouraging him to try again and again, and again, and God knew how many times his father had stood there, telling him to try again.
"Rumford!" His father had exclaimed, when Rumford had lost his grip on the saddle and flipped backwards off the horse.
The sky had been a bright blue that day, a shade close to Lady French's eyes, as he had laid on his back, staring up at it. Rumford hadn't known what had happened, dazed with his chest heaving for breath. His heart had been racing in his chest, his pulse thumping in his ears, as the rush of adrenaline did fast laps around his body. Blinking his eyes, he had become aware of the ache in his limbs, the slight pain in his back and the dull headache residing at the back of his head.
His father had dropped to his knees and hauled Rumford up and into his lap, grabbing and clutching at the waistcoat, Rumford had been wearing. Looking up at his father, he had never seen his father look so panic, in the short time he had lived with them.
"Rumford, are you alright?" His father had yelled as though Rumford had been on the other side of the field.
"Yes, father." Had been his response, worried he had done something wrong.
"Oh, God, Rumford!" The Earl had clutched him tightly to his chest, his cheek pressed to the top of Rumford's head, rocking the two of them. "I was so worried!"
Living with the Earl and his wife for two years, Rumford hadn't been accustomed to the way they treated him at the time, so found moments of affection to be very strange. Years of being hit, kicked and beaten black and blue with a belt, were his only reference for a parent's love. He never opened up to them, about the years he had spent with his real father, but Rumford assumed that they had an idea of what he'd been through, when more than once, he had shied away from their raised hand. It had taken a lot of time and their patience, for him to become comfortable with them and the kindness they willingly gave him.
Lost in his musings, Rumford realised he was approaching the outskirts of Bolster and gently tapped the horse's flanks, accompanied by a click of his tongue, urging the horse to gallop. He kept close to the road, retracing the journey back to Avonlea and then on to Lord French's estate. He sighed happily, knowing she'd be there, when he got back.
The corner of his mouth turned up as he recalled her sat at the piano, playing perfectly for them. He shouldn't have been so close to her, yet he had felt compelled to get as close as he could to her. There had been a strong air of violets and lavender about her, teasing him to come closer, to tilt his head down to her, taking in a deep breath of her. Her smell combined with her playing, had stilled his beating heart, giving him a moment of peace from the bitterness his heart harboured. Gazing at the back of her as she played, his eyes had caressed her neck, repeatedly tracing the slope of her neck, envisioning the path his finger would take, where he would kiss, nip, lick and suckle, alternating the order on each pass of her neck. He had come so close to reaching out, impelled to carry out his thoughts, but the constant nattering of the Baron enforced the fact that they were not alone.
Rumford had retired to bed not long after her, he had looked for her, hoping to see a glimpse of her as the servant had led him to his allocated room. Lying in bed, gazing up at the firelight dancing across the ceiling, his thoughts had remained on her, speculating what she would be doing. Had she long ago fallen asleep? Was she sat reading a book? Was she thinking about him?
Reprimanding himself, he had turned onto his side, slipping his arm underneath the pillow, bunching it up to cushion his head, and closed his eyes. He laid there, attempting to sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. Visions of unpinning her hair, fanning out her hair, combing his fingers through her soft curls, had come to mind as he had lay there. Rumford had rolled onto his other side, held himself up on his elbow to fluff his pillow, and dropped with a loud padded thud into the bed, slipped his arm under his pillow, clutched it to his head and closed his eyes. He had struggled not to picture her. To not think of the slope of her neck, the valley of her breasts, the way she had delicately taken her fork from her mouth, her smile when she found something humorous. And worst of all, the way her teeth dug into her lower lip, pinning the plump flesh and sending a rush deep down to his core.
He had thrown himself onto his back, letting out an exasperated moan, and opened his eyes to see the firelight was still dancing across the ceiling. The arousal in his breeches had been very apparent. Rubbing a hand over his face, Rumford hadn't wanted to touch himself and think about her. She was an innocent and he was an old man, a widower in fact. He had no right to use her image for his pleasure. It would be like tarnishing her name in public and he could never in his right mind, look upon without feeling guilt in his heart. As this internal debate ensued, Rumford's member had twitched, becoming unmistakeable bulge under the bedcovers.
He had known, he shouldn't have done it. He had felt terrible as he had unbuttoned his breeches, lifted the flap and delved his hand inside, taking himself firmly in hand. Pushing his head back into his pillow, Rumford had hissed at the first stroke of his hand, adept at knowing the right amount of pressure. Closing his eyes, he had randomly picked one of the wenches, he had been with in the past, forcing any trace of Lady Belle out of his head. Pictured in his head was a young girl, older than Lady Belle, her eyes brown, whereas Lady Belle's were blue, she also had brown hair like Lady's Belle's, but Lady Belle's had flecks of…
Rumford stopped and opened his eyes. "Damn it!"
Annoyed with himself, he closed his eyes, conceding. "Fine!"
Readjusting his hold on himself, Rumford had renewed his efforts, lavishly rubbing the length of his cock as his other hand held the hilt of himself. He had swallowed loudly, visualising Lady French… Belle had straddled him, her petite hands supporting her weight on his stomach, rocking rhythmically back and forth, soft moans of satisfaction tumbling from her lips. Her long curls were loose, swinging with her movements, caressing her skin and covering her face, every other rock of her hips. He had laid underneath her, basking in her beauty, coaching her pace, with his hands on her hips, guiding her as he thrusted up to meet her.
The movement of Belle's hips had started to increase, her hands pushed harder into his stomach, making him grunt under the strain, whilst she had drove herself forward, firmly bearing her core down onto him. She was beautiful as she had ridden him with her eyes closed, relishing the sensation of him being deep inside of her. Rumford had raised a hand to her right breast, faintly tracing his fingertips down the breast until her breast had fit snugly into the palm of his hand, allowing him to cup her. Her eyes had opened and she had gazed down at him as his thumb had swiped over her hard nipple. He had smirked, seeing her eyes flash wide at his touch. Her retorted to his tease, had been too heavily grind herself against him, but from the reaction on her face and the low deep moan she emitted, it had more of an effect on her than it had on him.
Returning his hand to her hip, he had encouraged her to do it again and again, lengthening her stroke, using his hands to force her hips further down, crushing their hip bones together. She had sucked in a breath, then another, her chest heaving in and out, before she threw back her head, moaning his name up at the ceiling. The movement of her hips became erratic as though he was trying to tame a wild horse. Clamping down her hips, digging in his fingers, Rumford had taken control, rocking her, keeping the pace, while she had lulled her head forward, whimpering with each breath she took. Her fingernails had sunk into his skin, anchoring her, while she sustained the pace under his guidance. The mixture of the pain and his pleasure had been Rumford's undoing, coming hard and fast. Pressing is fingertips into the flesh of her butt cheeks, he had demanded she keep rocking with him as his climax had blazed through his body, leaving his skin warm and tingly in its wake. He had grunted and growled her name, claiming her to be his with his cry.
Opening his eyes, Rumford had folded back the covers and got up to sit on the edge of the bed, his erection gradually subsided inside the palm of his hand. He had sneered at the sticky residue of his seed, disgusted with himself for using her image for his own pleasure. With a grunt of annoyance, Rumford had gotten up and washed himself and his hand in the wash basin, cleaning the evidence of his pleasure from his breeches. He had thought after that, he would've been able to sleep, but it hadn't helped. He had tossed and turned, paced the room, tried doing press ups and sit ups, until he had given up in the early hours of the morning and had gotten dress. Not wanting to disturb anyone in the household, Rumford had crept his way through the house and went out into the gardens, finding a spot to sit and dwell on his failings.
'And people call you a gentleman.', he remarked to himself, tugging the reins to the left, so the horse followed the road that bypassed Avonlea. Somehow, he had forgotten about his misconduct till Lord French had told Lady Belle, about him walking in the gardens. She had been very concerned that it was his room, which had caused him a lack of sleep. The bed was very comfortable; he had been honest when he had said that to her. It was the fact, she wasn't in said bed with him, which had caused him the problem. Rumford shook his head at himself, for getting so bashful under her questioning gaze. If she had known, why he couldn't sleep, her father would've been throwing him and Jefferson out of their house.
He didn't deserve her concern.
Conquering the brow of the hill, Lord French's estate came into view and Rumford let out a sigh of relief as he looked up at the sun giving way to dusk. He kicked lightly at the horse's flanks and trotted down the hill to the manor, guiding the horse to the open gates leading to the courtyard. The horse's hooves clicked and clacked on the bricked courtyard, alerting the servants to his arrival.
The Stablemaster strolled out of the stables, wiping his hands down the front of his coat. "Ah, Lord Gold!" He caught the reins under the horse's muzzle. "I was starting to wonder, if you were going to be back in time with dusk nearly upon us."
"I was a little worried myself." Rumford confessed as he swung his right leg back and over the horse, hopping from the other stirrup to land solidly beside the horse.
"Granny shouldn't be too much longer with dinner." The Stablemaster informed him, beginning to lead the horse away. "You should have enough time, if you'd like, to freshen yourself up before dinner, M' Lord."
"Thank you." Rumford nodded his head at the man.
Pivoting round, he headed back to the gates to enter the house through the front door, gazing through the French doors as he walked by them. It looked as if everyone was having pre-dinner drinks in the drawing room. He wiped down the front of his coat and waistcoat, beating off the dust and dirt, and swiped a few times at the front of his trousers. Knocking the front door, Rumford waited for the footman to open the door, checking the sole of his boots for mud and anything unsavoury.
The door opened, accompanied by a voice. "Good evening, M' Lord. Your luggage was taken up earlier to your room."
"Evening." Rumford returned, nodding his head to the young man. "Thank you."
The footman closed the door as Rumford ascended the stairs, proceeding up to his room to change his shirt and waistcoat. The smell of the cotton mills always had a habit of remaining on his clothes and it wasn't something, he wanted to repulse Lady French's nose with. He opened the door to his room and left it open behind him, knowing he wouldn't be long, and shrugged off his coat as he crossed the room to where they had left his large bag.
Rumford threw his coat, waistcoat and shirt to the wingback armchair. Yanking open his bag, he took out a fresh coat, waistcoat and shirt, laying them on the end of the bed before he rummaged inside of his bag for his shaving kit. He unclipped the pouch for his shaving kit and laid it out by the wash basin. After washing himself, Rumford set about shaving himself, brushing the lather of soap onto his face, covering his cheeks up to his sideburns, under his chin and neck, and across his top lip. Starting on the right side of his face, he stroked the blade across his cheek, then took another stroke across his face, incorporating the lower part of his cheek. He swished the blade in the water and carefully swiped along the top of his lip, taking it from the middle of his lip outwards. It wasn't long that he had worked his way down his neck and around to his left cheek, and was preparing to shave down his left cheek, when he heard the click of someone's shoe on the wooden as they entered his room.
"Lord Gold." Lady French called his name and gently knocked his door.
Startled by her voice, he nicked his skin as he shaved his cheek. Rumford touched where it hurt and pulled his finger away to see the fresh blood on his finger. He hissed out a swear word, whilst he swished the blade in the water and reached for the nearby towel.
"Lord Gold, din…" She stopped, he looked at her, pressing the towel to the cut.
Her mouth was gaping open, stood just passed the door, her arms held close to her chest for protection, while she stared at him. Mindful that most of him was naked, Rumford tossed the towel to where he had got it, discarded the blade to the wash basin and trotted over to the bed, snatching up his shirt, scrambling to put it on and cover up his nakedness to her.
"I'm so sorry, Lady French." He told her earnestly. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come and find me."
"Err… Yes. Well…" Her cheeks were a deep red as Lady French averted her gaze, refusing to look at him.
"Was there something you needed?" Rumford asked, attempting to ignore the fact she'd seen his naked chest.
She strongly shook her head. "No, no, no… No."
"You're very sure on that fact." He teased, which possibly wasn't the best idea. "But I might be inclined to take your four no's and count them as a positive, meaning yes, you do need me for something."
Her brow creased at him. "Excuse me?"
'Idiot.' Rumford ignored the voice in his head and said. "Lady French, you came to find me for a reason before… Well, you know." He waved his hand through the air, his loose shirt sleeve wafting as he did. "What was it you were coming to tell me?"
"Oh! Yes! Ha!" Her blush darkened. "Dinner's being served."
"Thank you, my Lady. I'll be down shortly." And he bowed to her.
He heard her skirt swish with movement and the sound of her shoes click as she left the room. Standing up, Rumford gazed at the door, while he touched the bloody spot on his cheek and looked to his finger, coated in bright red blood. He dipped his hand into the water, retrieving the blade and finished shaving. Dabbing his face, he was careful around the cut, checking it a few times to see if it had stemmed itself. Happy with how his face felt, Rumford retrieved his aftershave from the kit and patted a small amount onto the shaven area, and touched a hint to his wrists. He wasn't looking forward to going downstairs as he finished getting dress and spared a moment to comb his hair before he went downstairs.