Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Six,Part One
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Six (Prologue+6/?)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings:: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons between men, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 34,000+ This Chapter: 5600+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
When Kurt Hummel departed Raglan Castle to become Florian Renner, he didn't go alone. He had company for the day's journey to Oxford.
Whether he liked it or not.
"Are you still not speaking to me?" Jesse St. James couldn't keep the amused satisfaction out of his drawling words.
Kurt kept his head turned towards the carriage window, where a light snow was falling, but slanted a glare at the Steward from the corner of his eye. "Go to hell."
"Oh, come now, Hummel! It's not my fault..." He began to snigger. "Not my fault you're so...so...so damnably...punctual." St. James was all but doubled over with laughter on his carriage seat, oblivious to Kurt's palpable fury.
Kurt, who had been treated that morning to a glimpse of a half-naked Miss Lopez bobbing merrily up and down atop St. James' lap, did not find the situation nearly as amusing. For the last two and a half months he would arrive at the man's chambers at the appointed time, only to open the door on St. James with one or both of his preferred chambermaids, in a position Kurt would call "compromising" and St. James called merely "ambitious."
And yes. He was actually knocking first. He was even waiting for permission to enter the room. St. James was clearly doing it on purpose.
"You are vile," Kurt gritted out.
"And you are a prude," St. James countered, sitting back up. "How exactly do you plan to accomplish this mission - and may I remind you that your father's life does hinge on your success - if you turn that fascinating shade of scarlet every time you so much as glimpse a naked human figure?"
"Really, you are welcome to close your mouth and keep it shut at any time, St. James."
“I do think it's a fair question, Hummel.” He spread his hands out as if asking a sincere question - but the mocking smile curling his lips gave away his contempt. “I'm sure your father would think it a fair one, if he knew, since it's his life...”
Kurt closed his eyes and breathed steadily, attempting to not rise to the bait. “I continue to ask you to leave my father out of this.”
“Which reveals your very fundamental misunderstanding of how it is, precisely, that blackmail works.” St. James was bored with this. If Kurt was tired of catching Jesse in flagrante delicto, then Jesse was equally tired of hearing Kurt whine about the unfairness of his situation. Honestly, didn't he understand how lucky he was? An entirely new wardrobe - and quite an eye-catching one, too, Jesse admitted as he admired the dove gray velvet tunic with pale green silk accenting that Hummel was currently wearing - at no cost to him. An actual musical education, however harried and abrupt, for that unfairly angelic voice. An employment opportunity that far outstripped anything a mere stableman should rightfully expect.
But when he pointed all of this out to Kurt, all he got back in response was, “And all I have to do is give my virginity to a man I do not know, thereby ruining both of our lives, all while my own father's life hangs in the balance. Good God, whyever would I complain about such a marvelous opportunity?”
Jesse had not liked Kurt Hummel before, and now, having endured his razor-sharp tongue and ingratitude in close proximity for two months, he positively loathed him.
Had he asked the younger man, he would have been categorically assured that the feeling was mutual.
Kurt shifted in his seat, running a hand absently over his fine woolen hose and taking pleasure in the softness. He'd only ever worn breeches and plain cotton stockings. Nothing had ever fit him as closely as his new clothing, nothing had ever felt so soft against his skin. When the finally completed wardrobe was delivered in the wee hours of morning by the exhausted seamstress, he hadn't been able to resist clothing himself immediately, managing the doublet, hose and tunic with only minor fumbles.
As he'd looked into the mirror at Raglan Castle that morning and found...not himself, but a young lord, staring coolly back at him, he'd nearly let out a shout. Only recognizing his own odd green-blue eyes in the haughty face kept him silent, only spotting his slightly upturned snub nose made him realize that it was indeed himself in that reflection. When he bit his lip and the reflection bit its own lip as well, he calmed down entirely and lost himself in admiring the image he saw.
He'd never really known what he looked like. Hadn't known that when he wasn't covered in sweat and grime from working that his skin really was as fair and clear as St. James had sneeringly pointed out. Had not ever once realized that depending on what he was wearing, his eyes shifted from green to gray to blue and innumerable shades in between. And his hair - chestnut streaked with gold by the sun, cropped short in the back but left to tumble over his brow up front - why had no one ever explained to him before that his hair could look like that?
Because he'd never mattered before, he remembered with a sinking stomach, and he didn't exactly matter now. All that actually mattered was what he could do. He didn't matter. His heart and soul and the essence of who Kurt Hummel actually was didn't matter at all.
It made him ill to think about it.
A cough from St. James brought him back to the present, and he leveled what he hoped was an ice cold stare on the Steward. “Since we're stuck in this carriage until this evening, you might as well be of some use to me.” Kurt kept his voice calm and even, but he couldn't help the upward tilt of his nose or the haughty quirk of his eyebrow. St. James noticed both of these things and allowed a responding sneer to cross his own face.
“Careful, Hummel. Don't think you actually are becoming something you're not. Once this is over, you go back to being the dirt-grubbing horse-lover that you were before. The only difference is that you get to do it as far away from me as possible. Thank God.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “St. James, do you or do you not want this assignment you've gone to considerable trouble and expense to prepare me for to go well?” The Steward opened his mouth, but Kurt didn't wait for him to speak. “I have learned how to read music, how to wear a doublet and hose, how to speak even more above my station than I already had known to do, how to respond to a new name and how to properly breathe while singing - but there's one thing I don't know, and I warned you about it the first day we discussed this disgusting arrangement.”
St. James slumped back against the carriage wall and crossed his arms, an indulgent smile on his face. “All right then, Hummel - actually, sorry, I must remember to call you Renner - what is it? What could I have possibly forgotten?”
“I am,” Kurt reminded him slowly, “a virgin. I have never even been kissed. As I said that loathsome day and as you have just pointed out, I have no idea how to manage what you want me to do. How do I seduce anyone at all?”
“I don't think there's much you'll have to do,” St. James replied coolly. “You're pretty enough, and besides, I told you it would be better if you were to be the...ah...recipient. As it were. Just get the Viscount's attention, talk to him, try to the best of your limited ability to not be an idiot, and...oh, hell, Renner, you've seen how I am with Miss Pierce and - ”
“No, actually, I haven't,” Kurt interrupted. “I've seen you in bed with the maids - and again, damn you to hell for that - but I've never actually seen how you get them into bed. Or bent across your desk, or over a chair, and despite my utter disgust for you I do actually have a burning curiosity to know how you got Miss Lopez to agree to attempting that on horseback.”
St. James waved his hand idly. “It would have been more impressive had I talked Miss Pierce into it - Miss Lopez has a reckless personality. Danger actually excites her...but that is all beside the point, Renner. I'm ordering you to get the man in bed, not in love. This is not a deathless romance. Stand still, look pretty, tumble into the nearest bed, take it like a man, and get caught.”
“It's that simple, is it?”
“You'd better hope so, if you want your father to live.”
Kurt felt his throat close up tight with fury. Unable to speak, he rummaged in the satchel of songbooks that he'd brought to while away the time he had to spend with the odious Steward, digging out a particularly interesting text and falling towards studying it. He did his very best to ignore St. James, who had become bored with baiting Kurt anyway and now was entertaining himself with memories of his and Miss Lopez' horseback romp.
He'd been surprised at how quickly he'd taken to the study of music. Mistress Corcoran - a pretty widow who had taken over her husband's business as a music teacher when he died of the same fever that claimed the life of Elizabeth Hummel - was similarly impressed, stating the he was easily the most talented student she'd ever taught. “Jesse was right. You have the voice of an angel and thank God you've got the intelligence to go with it,” she'd informed him after their first week together. “If you have the will to spend every free moment you have working and studying with me, then I can turn you into a competent performer and give you the skills you need to teach basic vocal instruction.”
“I'll give you night and day,” Kurt had promised fervently, willing to do anything to perform his task correctly and save his father. And he had, throwing himself into his studies until he was dreaming of music after he fell into his bed every night, hearing music everywhere he went, and singing more often than he was speaking. He'd been dubious about his ability to learn anything of substance in a mere two months, but with Mistress Corcoran riding gentle yet implacable herd over him and his own desperation, he'd just managed. It helped that they discovered that Lord Crawford had no interest in even hearing about new music tutors until after the year's turning - that had bought him a little more time.
Remembering how pleased his father had been at his apparent good fortune made his heart hurt. Burt had been actually delighted that his son had been plucked from the stables in order to learn music. “But it is perfect!” he'd boomed in sheer joy when St. James came to inform the stableman that he would be appropriating Kurt for music lessons. “Kurt has always been more than just a man of horse - it has been fine for me, but I wanted more for him. Bless you for seeing it as well.”
It made Kurt's skin crawl that his father actually felt gratitude towards Jesse St. James. Burt had no idea that the Steward was actually holding a metaphorical sword over his head. Swallowing his rage at the situation, he'd only hugged his father and nailed on a tight smile for St. James. The whole thing left him with a blinding headache.
He'd been so busy with lessons and studying for the last several weeks that the only time he'd gotten to spend with his father had been dinner time, a stipulation upon which both Hummels had insisted and St. James had been forced to grant. Even these had become part of his studies, as Burt wanted to hear all the songs his son was learning to sing, wanted to hear all about his lessons and Mistress Corcoran. He didn't understand anything about music, only that he enjoyed hearing his son sing, but he listened as intently as if Kurt had been discussing the merits of Andalusian stallions instead of the mechanics of reading music.
It broke Kurt's heart every night.
Last night they'd had their final supper together. Burt had known for a fortnight that Kurt would be leaving to pursue an opportunity found for him by the apparently sainted St. James and though he was sad to lose his son, he was even more excited than ever about the chance Kurt was being given.”Isn't it wonderful that Jesse has found this for you, Kurt? See how he is trying to be friends? Perhaps now you two can forget the past.”
He would not think twice about killing you, Kurt wanted to shout across the table. Instead, he reached for a chunk of brown bread and shrugged. “Perhaps.” He'd had an idea lurking about in his mind for several days that he decided to broach at this time, his last opportunity to do so. “Father, actually...what if you came with me?”
“What?” Burt looked up from his cold ham and frowned, shaking his head. “No, Kurt. I have responsibilities here.”
“You could find a good job wherever we went,” Kurt urged, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. “We could go far away, anywhere. You're a good horseman and now I have a second sort of trade as well. We could go tonight. Just leave.”
“Kurt, what is this?” His father laughed as he ate. “Are you afraid to leave me? To leave home? All young men feel this way, I think. Do not worry. We will both be fine, and you will visit when you can, yes?”
He tried once more. “We've been here for over five years, Father. Don't you want to see new places, find what else is out there?”
“No.” Burt planted his elbow on the table top and pointed at Kurt. “I want you to do all of those things, and I want to keep my responsibilities to the Earl of Huntingdon. Write me letters, Kurt. I am sure Jesse would read them to me if I asked. Tell me all of the wonderful things that you do. But this you must do on your own.”
Kurt knew he could not push the issue further without severely alarming his father. “All right.” He forced a smile. “As long as you promise that you'll ask Mistress Corcoran to read you the letters instead of St. James. She's quite kind and I think would have more time for you than he would.”
“Consider it done, my son.” Burt was smiling again. “I am so proud of you.”
I am so proud of you...
His mouth and stomach twisted at the memory of his father's pride, at how oblivious Burt had to be at his potential death or dismemberment. At how Burt had no idea that Kurt's actual job opportunity was to ruin another man's life for no reason that he knew. He blinked back the stinging tears that threatened to spill onto his book.
“I find your melodrama both tedious and dull.” St. James spoke up from his side of the carriage, blue eyes directed firmly to the passing scenery. “We're coming upon the boat crossing into Bristol soon, and that's where we'll stop for the night. If you could tryto pull yourself together, Master Renner?”
Kurt withdrew a handkerchief from the clever inner pocket of the cloak he wore as defense against the bitter cold, the little cloth square reminding him of his first fateful encounter with the Earl of Hudson, the encounter that had led him to this impossible place in life. It took all his strength of will to not simply collapse in a flood of tears before his greatest enemy, only to dab lightly at his eyes and nose. “Possibly you should have thought of that before you decided to threaten my father's life and ruin mine.”
“Dear God in Heaven, you have got to be the dreariest, most depressing human being alive.”
He gazed out of his own carriage window, eyes still smarting. “And you the most repugnant.”
No, Kurt thought. With all apologies to his father, it seemed really quite unlikely that he and Jesse would ever be able to put the past behind them.
Chapter Six, Part Two
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings:: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons between men, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 34,000+ This Chapter: 5600+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
When Kurt Hummel departed Raglan Castle to become Florian Renner, he didn't go alone. He had company for the day's journey to Oxford.
Whether he liked it or not.
"Are you still not speaking to me?" Jesse St. James couldn't keep the amused satisfaction out of his drawling words.
Kurt kept his head turned towards the carriage window, where a light snow was falling, but slanted a glare at the Steward from the corner of his eye. "Go to hell."
"Oh, come now, Hummel! It's not my fault..." He began to snigger. "Not my fault you're so...so...so damnably...punctual." St. James was all but doubled over with laughter on his carriage seat, oblivious to Kurt's palpable fury.
Kurt, who had been treated that morning to a glimpse of a half-naked Miss Lopez bobbing merrily up and down atop St. James' lap, did not find the situation nearly as amusing. For the last two and a half months he would arrive at the man's chambers at the appointed time, only to open the door on St. James with one or both of his preferred chambermaids, in a position Kurt would call "compromising" and St. James called merely "ambitious."
And yes. He was actually knocking first. He was even waiting for permission to enter the room. St. James was clearly doing it on purpose.
"You are vile," Kurt gritted out.
"And you are a prude," St. James countered, sitting back up. "How exactly do you plan to accomplish this mission - and may I remind you that your father's life does hinge on your success - if you turn that fascinating shade of scarlet every time you so much as glimpse a naked human figure?"
"Really, you are welcome to close your mouth and keep it shut at any time, St. James."
“I do think it's a fair question, Hummel.” He spread his hands out as if asking a sincere question - but the mocking smile curling his lips gave away his contempt. “I'm sure your father would think it a fair one, if he knew, since it's his life...”
Kurt closed his eyes and breathed steadily, attempting to not rise to the bait. “I continue to ask you to leave my father out of this.”
“Which reveals your very fundamental misunderstanding of how it is, precisely, that blackmail works.” St. James was bored with this. If Kurt was tired of catching Jesse in flagrante delicto, then Jesse was equally tired of hearing Kurt whine about the unfairness of his situation. Honestly, didn't he understand how lucky he was? An entirely new wardrobe - and quite an eye-catching one, too, Jesse admitted as he admired the dove gray velvet tunic with pale green silk accenting that Hummel was currently wearing - at no cost to him. An actual musical education, however harried and abrupt, for that unfairly angelic voice. An employment opportunity that far outstripped anything a mere stableman should rightfully expect.
But when he pointed all of this out to Kurt, all he got back in response was, “And all I have to do is give my virginity to a man I do not know, thereby ruining both of our lives, all while my own father's life hangs in the balance. Good God, whyever would I complain about such a marvelous opportunity?”
Jesse had not liked Kurt Hummel before, and now, having endured his razor-sharp tongue and ingratitude in close proximity for two months, he positively loathed him.
Had he asked the younger man, he would have been categorically assured that the feeling was mutual.
Kurt shifted in his seat, running a hand absently over his fine woolen hose and taking pleasure in the softness. He'd only ever worn breeches and plain cotton stockings. Nothing had ever fit him as closely as his new clothing, nothing had ever felt so soft against his skin. When the finally completed wardrobe was delivered in the wee hours of morning by the exhausted seamstress, he hadn't been able to resist clothing himself immediately, managing the doublet, hose and tunic with only minor fumbles.
As he'd looked into the mirror at Raglan Castle that morning and found...not himself, but a young lord, staring coolly back at him, he'd nearly let out a shout. Only recognizing his own odd green-blue eyes in the haughty face kept him silent, only spotting his slightly upturned snub nose made him realize that it was indeed himself in that reflection. When he bit his lip and the reflection bit its own lip as well, he calmed down entirely and lost himself in admiring the image he saw.
He'd never really known what he looked like. Hadn't known that when he wasn't covered in sweat and grime from working that his skin really was as fair and clear as St. James had sneeringly pointed out. Had not ever once realized that depending on what he was wearing, his eyes shifted from green to gray to blue and innumerable shades in between. And his hair - chestnut streaked with gold by the sun, cropped short in the back but left to tumble over his brow up front - why had no one ever explained to him before that his hair could look like that?
Because he'd never mattered before, he remembered with a sinking stomach, and he didn't exactly matter now. All that actually mattered was what he could do. He didn't matter. His heart and soul and the essence of who Kurt Hummel actually was didn't matter at all.
It made him ill to think about it.
A cough from St. James brought him back to the present, and he leveled what he hoped was an ice cold stare on the Steward. “Since we're stuck in this carriage until this evening, you might as well be of some use to me.” Kurt kept his voice calm and even, but he couldn't help the upward tilt of his nose or the haughty quirk of his eyebrow. St. James noticed both of these things and allowed a responding sneer to cross his own face.
“Careful, Hummel. Don't think you actually are becoming something you're not. Once this is over, you go back to being the dirt-grubbing horse-lover that you were before. The only difference is that you get to do it as far away from me as possible. Thank God.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. “St. James, do you or do you not want this assignment you've gone to considerable trouble and expense to prepare me for to go well?” The Steward opened his mouth, but Kurt didn't wait for him to speak. “I have learned how to read music, how to wear a doublet and hose, how to speak even more above my station than I already had known to do, how to respond to a new name and how to properly breathe while singing - but there's one thing I don't know, and I warned you about it the first day we discussed this disgusting arrangement.”
St. James slumped back against the carriage wall and crossed his arms, an indulgent smile on his face. “All right then, Hummel - actually, sorry, I must remember to call you Renner - what is it? What could I have possibly forgotten?”
“I am,” Kurt reminded him slowly, “a virgin. I have never even been kissed. As I said that loathsome day and as you have just pointed out, I have no idea how to manage what you want me to do. How do I seduce anyone at all?”
“I don't think there's much you'll have to do,” St. James replied coolly. “You're pretty enough, and besides, I told you it would be better if you were to be the...ah...recipient. As it were. Just get the Viscount's attention, talk to him, try to the best of your limited ability to not be an idiot, and...oh, hell, Renner, you've seen how I am with Miss Pierce and - ”
“No, actually, I haven't,” Kurt interrupted. “I've seen you in bed with the maids - and again, damn you to hell for that - but I've never actually seen how you get them into bed. Or bent across your desk, or over a chair, and despite my utter disgust for you I do actually have a burning curiosity to know how you got Miss Lopez to agree to attempting that on horseback.”
St. James waved his hand idly. “It would have been more impressive had I talked Miss Pierce into it - Miss Lopez has a reckless personality. Danger actually excites her...but that is all beside the point, Renner. I'm ordering you to get the man in bed, not in love. This is not a deathless romance. Stand still, look pretty, tumble into the nearest bed, take it like a man, and get caught.”
“It's that simple, is it?”
“You'd better hope so, if you want your father to live.”
Kurt felt his throat close up tight with fury. Unable to speak, he rummaged in the satchel of songbooks that he'd brought to while away the time he had to spend with the odious Steward, digging out a particularly interesting text and falling towards studying it. He did his very best to ignore St. James, who had become bored with baiting Kurt anyway and now was entertaining himself with memories of his and Miss Lopez' horseback romp.
He'd been surprised at how quickly he'd taken to the study of music. Mistress Corcoran - a pretty widow who had taken over her husband's business as a music teacher when he died of the same fever that claimed the life of Elizabeth Hummel - was similarly impressed, stating the he was easily the most talented student she'd ever taught. “Jesse was right. You have the voice of an angel and thank God you've got the intelligence to go with it,” she'd informed him after their first week together. “If you have the will to spend every free moment you have working and studying with me, then I can turn you into a competent performer and give you the skills you need to teach basic vocal instruction.”
“I'll give you night and day,” Kurt had promised fervently, willing to do anything to perform his task correctly and save his father. And he had, throwing himself into his studies until he was dreaming of music after he fell into his bed every night, hearing music everywhere he went, and singing more often than he was speaking. He'd been dubious about his ability to learn anything of substance in a mere two months, but with Mistress Corcoran riding gentle yet implacable herd over him and his own desperation, he'd just managed. It helped that they discovered that Lord Crawford had no interest in even hearing about new music tutors until after the year's turning - that had bought him a little more time.
Remembering how pleased his father had been at his apparent good fortune made his heart hurt. Burt had been actually delighted that his son had been plucked from the stables in order to learn music. “But it is perfect!” he'd boomed in sheer joy when St. James came to inform the stableman that he would be appropriating Kurt for music lessons. “Kurt has always been more than just a man of horse - it has been fine for me, but I wanted more for him. Bless you for seeing it as well.”
It made Kurt's skin crawl that his father actually felt gratitude towards Jesse St. James. Burt had no idea that the Steward was actually holding a metaphorical sword over his head. Swallowing his rage at the situation, he'd only hugged his father and nailed on a tight smile for St. James. The whole thing left him with a blinding headache.
He'd been so busy with lessons and studying for the last several weeks that the only time he'd gotten to spend with his father had been dinner time, a stipulation upon which both Hummels had insisted and St. James had been forced to grant. Even these had become part of his studies, as Burt wanted to hear all the songs his son was learning to sing, wanted to hear all about his lessons and Mistress Corcoran. He didn't understand anything about music, only that he enjoyed hearing his son sing, but he listened as intently as if Kurt had been discussing the merits of Andalusian stallions instead of the mechanics of reading music.
It broke Kurt's heart every night.
Last night they'd had their final supper together. Burt had known for a fortnight that Kurt would be leaving to pursue an opportunity found for him by the apparently sainted St. James and though he was sad to lose his son, he was even more excited than ever about the chance Kurt was being given.”Isn't it wonderful that Jesse has found this for you, Kurt? See how he is trying to be friends? Perhaps now you two can forget the past.”
He would not think twice about killing you, Kurt wanted to shout across the table. Instead, he reached for a chunk of brown bread and shrugged. “Perhaps.” He'd had an idea lurking about in his mind for several days that he decided to broach at this time, his last opportunity to do so. “Father, actually...what if you came with me?”
“What?” Burt looked up from his cold ham and frowned, shaking his head. “No, Kurt. I have responsibilities here.”
“You could find a good job wherever we went,” Kurt urged, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. “We could go far away, anywhere. You're a good horseman and now I have a second sort of trade as well. We could go tonight. Just leave.”
“Kurt, what is this?” His father laughed as he ate. “Are you afraid to leave me? To leave home? All young men feel this way, I think. Do not worry. We will both be fine, and you will visit when you can, yes?”
He tried once more. “We've been here for over five years, Father. Don't you want to see new places, find what else is out there?”
“No.” Burt planted his elbow on the table top and pointed at Kurt. “I want you to do all of those things, and I want to keep my responsibilities to the Earl of Huntingdon. Write me letters, Kurt. I am sure Jesse would read them to me if I asked. Tell me all of the wonderful things that you do. But this you must do on your own.”
Kurt knew he could not push the issue further without severely alarming his father. “All right.” He forced a smile. “As long as you promise that you'll ask Mistress Corcoran to read you the letters instead of St. James. She's quite kind and I think would have more time for you than he would.”
“Consider it done, my son.” Burt was smiling again. “I am so proud of you.”
I am so proud of you...
His mouth and stomach twisted at the memory of his father's pride, at how oblivious Burt had to be at his potential death or dismemberment. At how Burt had no idea that Kurt's actual job opportunity was to ruin another man's life for no reason that he knew. He blinked back the stinging tears that threatened to spill onto his book.
“I find your melodrama both tedious and dull.” St. James spoke up from his side of the carriage, blue eyes directed firmly to the passing scenery. “We're coming upon the boat crossing into Bristol soon, and that's where we'll stop for the night. If you could tryto pull yourself together, Master Renner?”
Kurt withdrew a handkerchief from the clever inner pocket of the cloak he wore as defense against the bitter cold, the little cloth square reminding him of his first fateful encounter with the Earl of Hudson, the encounter that had led him to this impossible place in life. It took all his strength of will to not simply collapse in a flood of tears before his greatest enemy, only to dab lightly at his eyes and nose. “Possibly you should have thought of that before you decided to threaten my father's life and ruin mine.”
“Dear God in Heaven, you have got to be the dreariest, most depressing human being alive.”
He gazed out of his own carriage window, eyes still smarting. “And you the most repugnant.”
No, Kurt thought. With all apologies to his father, it seemed really quite unlikely that he and Jesse would ever be able to put the past behind them.
Chapter Six, Part Two