Fic: A Gentleman's Gentleman [Hockey RPF]
In my brief acquaintance with hockey RPF, it’s clear that its writers love tropes, as do I. Fanon appears to be that Jonathan Toews is repressed and lacks affect, so I was thinking, as you do, about what scenario would suit that sort of character. Why not a good English (by way of the Dominion of Canada*) butler?
Title: A Gentleman's Gentleman
Metadata: Hockey RPF (AU), Kane/Toews, FRT, ~900 words
Summary: Jonathan Toews is the long-suffering butler in the household of Lord Patrick Kane.
Disclaimer: There may be a parallel universe in which this story is true, but we do not currently have the technology to go there.
Also posted to the AO3 (yay, finally got around to posting a story there!).
Jonathan was inspecting the dusting that the housemaids had given the main hall when there was a rap on the door and Shaw, one of the footmen, hurried to open it. His employer, Lord Kane, and Mr. Stalberg entered, brushing the London damp from their coats and doffing their hats. Both seemed in a lively mood, talking loudly as they entered. Jonathan didn’t detect the smell of liquor emanating from their persons; it was only three in the afternoon, but it wouldn’t have been the first time Lord Kane had come home soused when the sun was still up. They continued talking as Shaw took their hats and coats. Jonathan caught something about a ride in the park, and a young lady with a well-turned ankle, and how Lord Kane was a lucky bastard - that last part was from Stalberg - as they went into the parlor.
When Jonathan returned from the kitchens with the tea tray, Stalberg straightened from his lazy sprawl on the settee. “G’on, tell ‘im. He’s your butler, he should know such things.”
Lord Kane flushed, looking strangely chastened, but stood, looking at Jonathan. “I am engaged to be married. To Miss Corrie Crawford.”
Years of practice kept Jonathan’s expression clear as he bowed. “My felicitations to you and your intended,” he said.
A corner of Lord Kane’s mouth turned up. “Thank you, Toews.”
“Can we get more of these crunchy things?” Stalberg interrupted, his mouth half-full.
“Certainly, Mr. Stalberg.” Jonathan turned and left the parlor.
~
Jonathan was in bed that evening when the door opened. Patrick was barefoot, wearing only an untucked shirt over his trousers, looking like a different man entirely to Lord Kane, aristocrat in a coat and cravat.
He rolled his eyes in response to Jonathan’s telling glance. “It wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “I know I promised no more engagements for a while, but this was an emergency.” Patrick put down the candle he was holding and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. “Miss Crawford had a rather unfortunate incident while riding - a small scandal to be sure, but one that will be weathered much more easily if she is engaged for a while. She’s in love with that Finnish prince, Niemi, anyway. At all the balls they make cow eyes at each other from across the room, but they’re both so shy they’ll never get together unless someone assists the cause.”
“And that someone is you, I suppose?” Jonathan asked rhetorically.
“Just call me Cupid,” Patrick replied, with a wide grin and his arms held wide, but Jonathan could detect the worry in his eyes.
Jonathan sighed. “Come here, Lord Matchmaker,” Jonathan said, holding out his arm. Despite his rakish facade, Patrick was a loving and unselfish friend, and that would never change, even when Jonathan wished he would keep a lower profile. Patrick crawled up the bed, kissing him lightly on the lips before settling with his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan squeezed the arm he had around Patrick. “Just be careful, please. A man like you can only have so many cried-off engagements before people start to talk.”
“People always talk,” Patrick said. “If there’s nothing to talk about they make it up.”
Jonathan knew he was right - the London ton was worse for gossip than the small Canadian village where he’d been raised - but that didn’t obviate his concern for Patrick. “Just…” he started.
Patrick placed a finger on his lips. “It’ll be fine, Jon. Let’s go to sleep, I have a fiancee to bring out of her shell tomorrow.” He settled his head back on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” Jonathan’s mother used to say, and it was a sentiment that he had come to know intimately since he had come to work in the Kane household. Jonathan blew out the candle and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm weight of Patrick along his side.
*[I must admit that I spent a rather lengthy period on Wikipedia’s History of Canada page, trying to figure out what people would have been calling Canada at the time and whether I wanted this set properly in the Regency or at some point later. In order, FYI: Lower Canada and Upper Canada, I.e. The Canadas -> the United Province of Canada (1840) -> Dominion of Canada (1867), which doesn’t exactly answer the “what was it called informally and when” by Brits question - the Canadian colonies? At what point did it just become “Canada” in informal parlance? /dork]
This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/29681.html.
Title: A Gentleman's Gentleman
Metadata: Hockey RPF (AU), Kane/Toews, FRT, ~900 words
Summary: Jonathan Toews is the long-suffering butler in the household of Lord Patrick Kane.
Disclaimer: There may be a parallel universe in which this story is true, but we do not currently have the technology to go there.
Also posted to the AO3 (yay, finally got around to posting a story there!).
Jonathan was inspecting the dusting that the housemaids had given the main hall when there was a rap on the door and Shaw, one of the footmen, hurried to open it. His employer, Lord Kane, and Mr. Stalberg entered, brushing the London damp from their coats and doffing their hats. Both seemed in a lively mood, talking loudly as they entered. Jonathan didn’t detect the smell of liquor emanating from their persons; it was only three in the afternoon, but it wouldn’t have been the first time Lord Kane had come home soused when the sun was still up. They continued talking as Shaw took their hats and coats. Jonathan caught something about a ride in the park, and a young lady with a well-turned ankle, and how Lord Kane was a lucky bastard - that last part was from Stalberg - as they went into the parlor.
When Jonathan returned from the kitchens with the tea tray, Stalberg straightened from his lazy sprawl on the settee. “G’on, tell ‘im. He’s your butler, he should know such things.”
Lord Kane flushed, looking strangely chastened, but stood, looking at Jonathan. “I am engaged to be married. To Miss Corrie Crawford.”
Years of practice kept Jonathan’s expression clear as he bowed. “My felicitations to you and your intended,” he said.
A corner of Lord Kane’s mouth turned up. “Thank you, Toews.”
“Can we get more of these crunchy things?” Stalberg interrupted, his mouth half-full.
“Certainly, Mr. Stalberg.” Jonathan turned and left the parlor.
~
Jonathan was in bed that evening when the door opened. Patrick was barefoot, wearing only an untucked shirt over his trousers, looking like a different man entirely to Lord Kane, aristocrat in a coat and cravat.
He rolled his eyes in response to Jonathan’s telling glance. “It wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “I know I promised no more engagements for a while, but this was an emergency.” Patrick put down the candle he was holding and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. “Miss Crawford had a rather unfortunate incident while riding - a small scandal to be sure, but one that will be weathered much more easily if she is engaged for a while. She’s in love with that Finnish prince, Niemi, anyway. At all the balls they make cow eyes at each other from across the room, but they’re both so shy they’ll never get together unless someone assists the cause.”
“And that someone is you, I suppose?” Jonathan asked rhetorically.
“Just call me Cupid,” Patrick replied, with a wide grin and his arms held wide, but Jonathan could detect the worry in his eyes.
Jonathan sighed. “Come here, Lord Matchmaker,” Jonathan said, holding out his arm. Despite his rakish facade, Patrick was a loving and unselfish friend, and that would never change, even when Jonathan wished he would keep a lower profile. Patrick crawled up the bed, kissing him lightly on the lips before settling with his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan squeezed the arm he had around Patrick. “Just be careful, please. A man like you can only have so many cried-off engagements before people start to talk.”
“People always talk,” Patrick said. “If there’s nothing to talk about they make it up.”
Jonathan knew he was right - the London ton was worse for gossip than the small Canadian village where he’d been raised - but that didn’t obviate his concern for Patrick. “Just…” he started.
Patrick placed a finger on his lips. “It’ll be fine, Jon. Let’s go to sleep, I have a fiancee to bring out of her shell tomorrow.” He settled his head back on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” Jonathan’s mother used to say, and it was a sentiment that he had come to know intimately since he had come to work in the Kane household. Jonathan blew out the candle and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm weight of Patrick along his side.
*[I must admit that I spent a rather lengthy period on Wikipedia’s History of Canada page, trying to figure out what people would have been calling Canada at the time and whether I wanted this set properly in the Regency or at some point later. In order, FYI: Lower Canada and Upper Canada, I.e. The Canadas -> the United Province of Canada (1840) -> Dominion of Canada (1867), which doesn’t exactly answer the “what was it called informally and when” by Brits question - the Canadian colonies? At what point did it just become “Canada” in informal parlance? /dork]
This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/29681.html.