Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Seventeen, Part One
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Seventeen (Prologue+17/23)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R to NC-17
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, 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: 99,000+ This Chapter: 5700+
Summary: England, 1484-85: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have 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.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
“Pretty day,” Kurt remarked as he stared out of the carriage window.
In the seat across from him, Amelia was nodding blandly. “It certainly is.” Not that she was looking out the window herself; having all of her attention focused on the fine silk thread and knitting pins in her lap.
Thad, seated next to her, simply sniffed in - agreement? Indifference? Kurt couldn't tell.
They were hardly out of sight distance of Dalton House and this was already the most uncomfortable carriage ride of Kurt's short life. Given that his traveling companion to Oxford had been Jesse St. James, to say that this ride was worse was nearly unbelievable - that trip had set a rather high standard for things that Kurt considered miserable and uncomfortable. Yet here was Thad, quite handily pushing the standard ever higher.
The difference, Kurt suspected, was that Thad's dislike of Kurt appeared to be as intense as Jesse's, with less history or reason behind it. Well, no, wait. Thad was Blaine's former lover, and all indications were that it had ended badly. That in and of itself did lend a rather special sort of awkwardness to the situation. It made Kurt want to curl up in a ball in the corner of the carriage and ignore everything until they were in town.
But that would be childish and wrong. At least the ride was relatively short.
Amelia, social butterfly and general sweet person that she was, did try to engage the recalcitrant valet in conversation. “So, the Baroness' new gown is finished! I know you've seen it while they were creating it, is it stunning? Were you involved in designing it at all? You've such an eye for color, Thad...”
Kurt stopped listening and went back to window gazing. That was why Thad was with them, of course. Alice had heard he and Amelia discussing their plans over the morning meal and brightened up. “You're going into town? Perfect! Mistress Sylvester has sent a message that she's finally completed my new gown. Thad can ride with you to Oxford to retrieve it!”
Amelia and Kurt had exchanged a concerned glance. Amelia simply didn't want anyone intruding on their excursion, no matter who it was. Kurt, though, had absolutely no desire to be trapped once again in a carriage with someone who despised him. It wasn't really his idea of fun. “I don't mind going in for you, if you'd like,” he'd offered. “It would save Thad the trip.”
But Alice had shaken her head. “That's quite kind of you, Florian, but no. Mistress Sylvester is...” She paused, tapping her lower lip with her spoon while she sought a delicate way to put it. “...difficult. She requires delicate handling, dear.” She smiled in gratitude at his offer and continued. “Frankly, if she weren't the absolute best at what she does - she handpicked the girls who do her beading and brocading and you'll never find a team more skilled and brilliant - I wouldn't deal with her at all. Absolutely vile woman, really. No, thank you, Florian, I'd rather spare you the misery.”
There was really no way to convey to her that what she was actually doing was substituting one misery for another. He sighed and tried to turn his thoughts in a happier direction.
“Blaine, I love you.”
Blaine had stilled beneath him, eyes wide and fingertips digging into Kurt's hips. “What?”
He'd already wanted to snatch the words back out of the air, despaired at the knowledge that he couldn't. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” Kurt babbled, feeling his own eyes grow huge in horror. “I didn't say anything.”
“Yes, you did.” Blaine sat up with care, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist to keep him seated on his lap. Placing his hand on Kurt's cheek, he looked deep into his eyes, searching. “Say it again, please.”
“No...don't...” Only the hand on his cheek kept him looking at Blaine. Nothing could keep his eyes from beginning to sting or his face burning red. “Don't make me, I'm sorry, I never meant to say it - I know you can't feel the same -”
“Florian,” Blaine interrupted, surprise all over his face. “I'm not sure how it escaped you, but I've just told you that not being in your presence makes me unhappy.” He pulled Kurt's face closer so that he could kiss him, sweetness and reassurance plain in his every touch. “Please, say it again.”
Kurt breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. “Blaine, I love you.”
Another kiss, then - “Florian, I love you as well.”
Kurt came back to the present with a jolt.
Florian.
It was the only flaw in what was otherwise the most perfect moment of Kurt's life. The man he loved had, once again, spoken the wrong name.
Never mind the larger problem that the life of the man he loved could be in danger, if Jesse St. James found out about him. Kurt felt his mouth tighten in worry. Could nothing go right, ever?
“You seem distressed.”
Kurt looked up in surprise when Thad spoke. The words had been flat and uninterested - he couldn't imagine for one second that Thad actually cared whether or not he was distressed - but it would be rude not to answer. “A bit tired, is all,” he responded carefully. “And I'm working on a particularly difficult piece of music for Amelia and myself, it takes quite a lot of my attention.”
“You don't have a book out,” Thad observed.
“Well, I can work on things in my head,” Kurt sniped back. “But I do have the book here. I was merely attempting to run through it and ensure I had it memorized.” Pulling the slender volume out of his satchel, he displayed it by ruffling the pages. To his horror, however, one of his letters from St. James fluttered out of the pages and landed on the carriage floor between them. Swift as he could, he leaned down to retrieve it.
Thad was there first. “Letter from home?” he inquired, picking up the folded parchment and casting an idle glance at the name on the front of it. Thank God it had been one of Jesse's letters, Kurt thought, and not one from his father with his real name on it. The close call made his heart feel as though it would beat right out of his chest. It took considerable effort to reach out and try to take the letter from the other man without betraying his nerves.
“Yes. I try to keep a steady correspondence with my father,” he lied, tugging at the parchment. But Thad wouldn't let it go. Frowning, Kurt pulled harder. “Excuse me. My letter?”
The valet let it go abruptly, causing Kurt to fly back a bit when the tension between them was released. “Apologies,” was Thad's only reply as he leaned back in his seat and directed his gaze out at the passing countryside.
Kurt smoothed the letter and tucked it back between the pages of his songbook. So close. Too close. Not that Thad could know what it was, but what if it hadn't been folded? What if, as he'd thought before, it had been a letter from his father with Kurt Hummel scrawled across the fold in Mistress Corcoran's tidy handwriting? He had to find a better hiding place for his letters, but he had no idea where that place might be. He had few enough possessions, most of them being books. It had seemed an ideal solution at the time, simple, elegant, and almost foolproof since the only people who ever went into any of the bedchambers at Dalton without invitation were the chambermaids.
Perhaps he merely had to be more careful to be sure to remove any letters from his books before he took them out of his room. Or perhaps he could find a box somewhere to keep them in, one he could lock. Or hide them under the featherbed. Or did it matter? It wasn't as if anyone knew about him but himself, so no one was looking for them.
He was simply being paranoid, Kurt decided. He pushed the thoughts away and opened his book, settling down to spend the rest of the tense carriage ride as if studying.
Kurt didn't realize that Thad glancing at him from the corner of his eye, speculation and curiosity rampant in his gaze.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
My, but that was an interesting reaction to a dropped letter, Thad thought with glee as he pretended not to look at Florian. One would almost think he was afraid I'd see its contents.
He had been diligent since sending his desperate prayer Heavenward, watching the singer closely for any opportunity to effect his undoing - only to be stymied by the man's evident campaign to qualify for sainthood. Florian Renner put not one foot out of line, ever; when he wasn't with Amelia or Blaine, he could often be found in the company of Miss Pillsbury, helping her card lambswool or even bake bread, simply because he found it to be entertaining.
Florian was tidy almost to a fault, polite to everyone, well spoken, quiet - apart from his bedroom activities, he was a man of many virtues and no apparent vices. It was, Thad decided, quite the most maddening thing in the world. It wasn't enough to be stupidly good-looking and possessing a voice the Pope would trip over himself trying to claim for the Church, he had to be a walking paragon as well!
Thad had truly been on the verge of giving up until this possible opportunity had dropped into his lap. Well, onto the floor of the carriage. Semantics.
Seeing Renner go even more pale than usual, watching his throat and jaw tighten and his visible effort to keep his hands from shaking...yes. Yes, that letter was something Thad wanted to read. Perhaps it would say nothing of importance. And of course it would be quite risky, trying to get into the man's room to find it. Not to mention Florian would be sure to move it to another hiding place as soon as they returned to Dalton House.
Still, Thad would be a fool not to at least attempt it, and Thad Lawrence was determined that no one should ever think him a fool, not even himself, not ever again.
The carriage had lapsed into the awkward silence that fell between people who had nothing to say to each other. Amelia kept herself busy with figuring out how to knit something that looked like hose. Renner had his book in his lap and was humming quietly under his breath as he ran his finger across staves of music. Normally, Thad knew, they'd be chattering like birds, but his presence in the carriage was likely putting a damper on that.
Since he'd brought nothing with him, all Thad could do was stare blankly out of the window and ponder how he'd gotten here, to a place where he was willing to rifle through a man's belongings in an effort to destroy his life. Or at least get him away from Thad's life. Whichever came to pass, it was not how he'd been raised, and he did feel a twinge of guilt whenever he glanced across the carriage at the blamelessly studying singer.
Then Renner would tug at his doublet collar and inadvertently reveal the purpling bruise of a fierce kiss, or he would stretch and wince as if his muscles were still sore from athletic bouts of lovemaking, and the slow burn of jealousy would spark in Thad's stomach, spreading into his chest and up his throat until he was near to choking with it. And he would remember why he was doing it.
He mattered. He did. He was no one to be tossed aside like refuse, not after all he'd given up. And yes, Thad knew that all of this came dangerously close to the sin of pride, but what had he to fear from sin now?
After all, it wasn't as if he was looking to murder the man. He just wanted him out and away from Dalton House so that Thad could restore things to their rightful order and matter once more. Probably his life wouldn't even be destroyed, really. Thad was just forcing him to relocate. That's all. He was sure Renner would do the same thing if it were he in Thad's position.
By the time the rooftops and towers of Oxford were visible, he'd once more managed to completely rationalize his actions, and his guilt was non-existent.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
Kurt breathed out a sigh of relief after Thad had alighted from the carriage and disappeared into the ornate stained glass doors of Mistress Sylvester's shop. Amelia chuckled. “Come now, Florian. It wasn't so bad.”
“He doesn't like me,” Kurt countered as the carriage began to move to its next destination. “And he used to be Blaine's lover. I don't quite know if he's aware of what is between Blaine and I, but the fact that he clearly detests me and always has is quite awkward enough to be going on with, thank you.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Try being one of the women who caught him with his pants down. Quite literally.”
“Fair enough. You win. My apologies.” The carriage pulled up to the front of the Puckermans' shop. Kurt got out first, turning to help Amelia down. “Let us agree that it was uncomfortable all around, and to hope that after the return journey, it will be nothing that requires repeating.”
Taking his extended arm, Amelia nodded. “Agreed.” A frown darkened her face as she caught sight of the storefront. “Florian, didn't Noah say they'd be open today?”
“He sent us a note to confirm, yes.” Kurt looked up. “Hm. They don't look it, do they?”
“Not at all.” She tugged him forward and pushed at the door, blinking in surprise when it opened. They stuck their heads in and peered around, noticing that fewer oil lamps were lit and that Rachel wasn't swishing around the shelves, returning books to their places and singing a cheerful melody. “Noah? Rachel?”
Noah emerged from the back room, finger over his lips to signal for their silence. “Rachel is unwell this day. Her head. I have her resting in our quarters.”
“Oh.” Amelia's disappointment spoke for both herself and Kurt. “That's a shame. We brought her a present. Well, it's for the baby, I suppose we brought it for both of you.” She pulled a neatly wrapped bundle from her basket and pressed it into the shopkeeper's hands. “Here. Why don't you open it, then?”
He turned the package over in his large, brown hands, a small smile playing around his lips. “Thank you, Lady Amelia.” He set the bundle atop a pile of songbooks and began to undo Amelia's carefully tied knots and bows with surprising delicacy, unfolding the linen wrapping back to reveal a pile of soft white fabric. The lines and traces of vines, leaves and flowers were scattered across its surface in a riot of color, the fine silk thread that Amelia had used glowing in the faint sunlight that shone in through the shaded windows.
“My lady...” Noah's voice was hushed in awe as he picked up the blanket with care, turning it this way and that to see all of what Amelia had stitched onto it. Kurt couldn't blame him - this was his own first glimpse of the thing, and it stunned him into silence.
Amelia was beaming at the reaction. “Oh, I am so pleased that you like it. I wanted to make something so very special for your first child. It's only right.”
The burly man seemed choked up, his eyes slightly glassy as he ran his hands so gently over the baby blanket. “It is truly special. Rachel will probably cry over it. My lady, it's too much - I cannot thank you enough.”
She shook her head. “Thank me by letting me hold the baby wrapped in the blanket when he's born. Or she.” Her smile lit up the room. “Have you names selected?”
“Eli, if it is a boy,” Noah informed them after he'd seemed to swallow down a lump in his throat. “Naomi, if a girl.”
“Lovely. Just so wonderful.” Amelia had clasped her hands together at her bosom and couldn't seem to stop smiling. “Oh, Noah, is Rachel truly too poorly to receive visitors?”
“I'm sorry, my lady,” and indeed Noah did seem quite apologetic. “She really is feeling quite unwell. I would have her sleep as much as she can, and keep up her strength.”
“Come, my lady.” Kurt took her elbow gently and tried to hide that he was as disappointed as she. “We can come back another day. Perhaps we can bring her some of Emma's nutbread. That always makes me feel better when I'm not well.”
Noah looked hard at him when he spoke. “Ah, Master Renner. I'd forgotten you were here, so quiet have you been.” He moved to the counter in the back of the shop. “I've correspondence for you.”
...Part Two...
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R to NC-17
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, 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: 99,000+ This Chapter: 5700+
Summary: England, 1484-85: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have 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.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
“Pretty day,” Kurt remarked as he stared out of the carriage window.
In the seat across from him, Amelia was nodding blandly. “It certainly is.” Not that she was looking out the window herself; having all of her attention focused on the fine silk thread and knitting pins in her lap.
Thad, seated next to her, simply sniffed in - agreement? Indifference? Kurt couldn't tell.
They were hardly out of sight distance of Dalton House and this was already the most uncomfortable carriage ride of Kurt's short life. Given that his traveling companion to Oxford had been Jesse St. James, to say that this ride was worse was nearly unbelievable - that trip had set a rather high standard for things that Kurt considered miserable and uncomfortable. Yet here was Thad, quite handily pushing the standard ever higher.
The difference, Kurt suspected, was that Thad's dislike of Kurt appeared to be as intense as Jesse's, with less history or reason behind it. Well, no, wait. Thad was Blaine's former lover, and all indications were that it had ended badly. That in and of itself did lend a rather special sort of awkwardness to the situation. It made Kurt want to curl up in a ball in the corner of the carriage and ignore everything until they were in town.
But that would be childish and wrong. At least the ride was relatively short.
Amelia, social butterfly and general sweet person that she was, did try to engage the recalcitrant valet in conversation. “So, the Baroness' new gown is finished! I know you've seen it while they were creating it, is it stunning? Were you involved in designing it at all? You've such an eye for color, Thad...”
Kurt stopped listening and went back to window gazing. That was why Thad was with them, of course. Alice had heard he and Amelia discussing their plans over the morning meal and brightened up. “You're going into town? Perfect! Mistress Sylvester has sent a message that she's finally completed my new gown. Thad can ride with you to Oxford to retrieve it!”
Amelia and Kurt had exchanged a concerned glance. Amelia simply didn't want anyone intruding on their excursion, no matter who it was. Kurt, though, had absolutely no desire to be trapped once again in a carriage with someone who despised him. It wasn't really his idea of fun. “I don't mind going in for you, if you'd like,” he'd offered. “It would save Thad the trip.”
But Alice had shaken her head. “That's quite kind of you, Florian, but no. Mistress Sylvester is...” She paused, tapping her lower lip with her spoon while she sought a delicate way to put it. “...difficult. She requires delicate handling, dear.” She smiled in gratitude at his offer and continued. “Frankly, if she weren't the absolute best at what she does - she handpicked the girls who do her beading and brocading and you'll never find a team more skilled and brilliant - I wouldn't deal with her at all. Absolutely vile woman, really. No, thank you, Florian, I'd rather spare you the misery.”
There was really no way to convey to her that what she was actually doing was substituting one misery for another. He sighed and tried to turn his thoughts in a happier direction.
“Blaine, I love you.”
Blaine had stilled beneath him, eyes wide and fingertips digging into Kurt's hips. “What?”
He'd already wanted to snatch the words back out of the air, despaired at the knowledge that he couldn't. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” Kurt babbled, feeling his own eyes grow huge in horror. “I didn't say anything.”
“Yes, you did.” Blaine sat up with care, wrapping an arm around Kurt's waist to keep him seated on his lap. Placing his hand on Kurt's cheek, he looked deep into his eyes, searching. “Say it again, please.”
“No...don't...” Only the hand on his cheek kept him looking at Blaine. Nothing could keep his eyes from beginning to sting or his face burning red. “Don't make me, I'm sorry, I never meant to say it - I know you can't feel the same -”
“Florian,” Blaine interrupted, surprise all over his face. “I'm not sure how it escaped you, but I've just told you that not being in your presence makes me unhappy.” He pulled Kurt's face closer so that he could kiss him, sweetness and reassurance plain in his every touch. “Please, say it again.”
Kurt breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. “Blaine, I love you.”
Another kiss, then - “Florian, I love you as well.”
Kurt came back to the present with a jolt.
Florian.
It was the only flaw in what was otherwise the most perfect moment of Kurt's life. The man he loved had, once again, spoken the wrong name.
Never mind the larger problem that the life of the man he loved could be in danger, if Jesse St. James found out about him. Kurt felt his mouth tighten in worry. Could nothing go right, ever?
“You seem distressed.”
Kurt looked up in surprise when Thad spoke. The words had been flat and uninterested - he couldn't imagine for one second that Thad actually cared whether or not he was distressed - but it would be rude not to answer. “A bit tired, is all,” he responded carefully. “And I'm working on a particularly difficult piece of music for Amelia and myself, it takes quite a lot of my attention.”
“You don't have a book out,” Thad observed.
“Well, I can work on things in my head,” Kurt sniped back. “But I do have the book here. I was merely attempting to run through it and ensure I had it memorized.” Pulling the slender volume out of his satchel, he displayed it by ruffling the pages. To his horror, however, one of his letters from St. James fluttered out of the pages and landed on the carriage floor between them. Swift as he could, he leaned down to retrieve it.
Thad was there first. “Letter from home?” he inquired, picking up the folded parchment and casting an idle glance at the name on the front of it. Thank God it had been one of Jesse's letters, Kurt thought, and not one from his father with his real name on it. The close call made his heart feel as though it would beat right out of his chest. It took considerable effort to reach out and try to take the letter from the other man without betraying his nerves.
“Yes. I try to keep a steady correspondence with my father,” he lied, tugging at the parchment. But Thad wouldn't let it go. Frowning, Kurt pulled harder. “Excuse me. My letter?”
The valet let it go abruptly, causing Kurt to fly back a bit when the tension between them was released. “Apologies,” was Thad's only reply as he leaned back in his seat and directed his gaze out at the passing countryside.
Kurt smoothed the letter and tucked it back between the pages of his songbook. So close. Too close. Not that Thad could know what it was, but what if it hadn't been folded? What if, as he'd thought before, it had been a letter from his father with Kurt Hummel scrawled across the fold in Mistress Corcoran's tidy handwriting? He had to find a better hiding place for his letters, but he had no idea where that place might be. He had few enough possessions, most of them being books. It had seemed an ideal solution at the time, simple, elegant, and almost foolproof since the only people who ever went into any of the bedchambers at Dalton without invitation were the chambermaids.
Perhaps he merely had to be more careful to be sure to remove any letters from his books before he took them out of his room. Or perhaps he could find a box somewhere to keep them in, one he could lock. Or hide them under the featherbed. Or did it matter? It wasn't as if anyone knew about him but himself, so no one was looking for them.
He was simply being paranoid, Kurt decided. He pushed the thoughts away and opened his book, settling down to spend the rest of the tense carriage ride as if studying.
Kurt didn't realize that Thad glancing at him from the corner of his eye, speculation and curiosity rampant in his gaze.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
My, but that was an interesting reaction to a dropped letter, Thad thought with glee as he pretended not to look at Florian. One would almost think he was afraid I'd see its contents.
He had been diligent since sending his desperate prayer Heavenward, watching the singer closely for any opportunity to effect his undoing - only to be stymied by the man's evident campaign to qualify for sainthood. Florian Renner put not one foot out of line, ever; when he wasn't with Amelia or Blaine, he could often be found in the company of Miss Pillsbury, helping her card lambswool or even bake bread, simply because he found it to be entertaining.
Florian was tidy almost to a fault, polite to everyone, well spoken, quiet - apart from his bedroom activities, he was a man of many virtues and no apparent vices. It was, Thad decided, quite the most maddening thing in the world. It wasn't enough to be stupidly good-looking and possessing a voice the Pope would trip over himself trying to claim for the Church, he had to be a walking paragon as well!
Thad had truly been on the verge of giving up until this possible opportunity had dropped into his lap. Well, onto the floor of the carriage. Semantics.
Seeing Renner go even more pale than usual, watching his throat and jaw tighten and his visible effort to keep his hands from shaking...yes. Yes, that letter was something Thad wanted to read. Perhaps it would say nothing of importance. And of course it would be quite risky, trying to get into the man's room to find it. Not to mention Florian would be sure to move it to another hiding place as soon as they returned to Dalton House.
Still, Thad would be a fool not to at least attempt it, and Thad Lawrence was determined that no one should ever think him a fool, not even himself, not ever again.
The carriage had lapsed into the awkward silence that fell between people who had nothing to say to each other. Amelia kept herself busy with figuring out how to knit something that looked like hose. Renner had his book in his lap and was humming quietly under his breath as he ran his finger across staves of music. Normally, Thad knew, they'd be chattering like birds, but his presence in the carriage was likely putting a damper on that.
Since he'd brought nothing with him, all Thad could do was stare blankly out of the window and ponder how he'd gotten here, to a place where he was willing to rifle through a man's belongings in an effort to destroy his life. Or at least get him away from Thad's life. Whichever came to pass, it was not how he'd been raised, and he did feel a twinge of guilt whenever he glanced across the carriage at the blamelessly studying singer.
Then Renner would tug at his doublet collar and inadvertently reveal the purpling bruise of a fierce kiss, or he would stretch and wince as if his muscles were still sore from athletic bouts of lovemaking, and the slow burn of jealousy would spark in Thad's stomach, spreading into his chest and up his throat until he was near to choking with it. And he would remember why he was doing it.
He mattered. He did. He was no one to be tossed aside like refuse, not after all he'd given up. And yes, Thad knew that all of this came dangerously close to the sin of pride, but what had he to fear from sin now?
After all, it wasn't as if he was looking to murder the man. He just wanted him out and away from Dalton House so that Thad could restore things to their rightful order and matter once more. Probably his life wouldn't even be destroyed, really. Thad was just forcing him to relocate. That's all. He was sure Renner would do the same thing if it were he in Thad's position.
By the time the rooftops and towers of Oxford were visible, he'd once more managed to completely rationalize his actions, and his guilt was non-existent.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
Kurt breathed out a sigh of relief after Thad had alighted from the carriage and disappeared into the ornate stained glass doors of Mistress Sylvester's shop. Amelia chuckled. “Come now, Florian. It wasn't so bad.”
“He doesn't like me,” Kurt countered as the carriage began to move to its next destination. “And he used to be Blaine's lover. I don't quite know if he's aware of what is between Blaine and I, but the fact that he clearly detests me and always has is quite awkward enough to be going on with, thank you.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Try being one of the women who caught him with his pants down. Quite literally.”
“Fair enough. You win. My apologies.” The carriage pulled up to the front of the Puckermans' shop. Kurt got out first, turning to help Amelia down. “Let us agree that it was uncomfortable all around, and to hope that after the return journey, it will be nothing that requires repeating.”
Taking his extended arm, Amelia nodded. “Agreed.” A frown darkened her face as she caught sight of the storefront. “Florian, didn't Noah say they'd be open today?”
“He sent us a note to confirm, yes.” Kurt looked up. “Hm. They don't look it, do they?”
“Not at all.” She tugged him forward and pushed at the door, blinking in surprise when it opened. They stuck their heads in and peered around, noticing that fewer oil lamps were lit and that Rachel wasn't swishing around the shelves, returning books to their places and singing a cheerful melody. “Noah? Rachel?”
Noah emerged from the back room, finger over his lips to signal for their silence. “Rachel is unwell this day. Her head. I have her resting in our quarters.”
“Oh.” Amelia's disappointment spoke for both herself and Kurt. “That's a shame. We brought her a present. Well, it's for the baby, I suppose we brought it for both of you.” She pulled a neatly wrapped bundle from her basket and pressed it into the shopkeeper's hands. “Here. Why don't you open it, then?”
He turned the package over in his large, brown hands, a small smile playing around his lips. “Thank you, Lady Amelia.” He set the bundle atop a pile of songbooks and began to undo Amelia's carefully tied knots and bows with surprising delicacy, unfolding the linen wrapping back to reveal a pile of soft white fabric. The lines and traces of vines, leaves and flowers were scattered across its surface in a riot of color, the fine silk thread that Amelia had used glowing in the faint sunlight that shone in through the shaded windows.
“My lady...” Noah's voice was hushed in awe as he picked up the blanket with care, turning it this way and that to see all of what Amelia had stitched onto it. Kurt couldn't blame him - this was his own first glimpse of the thing, and it stunned him into silence.
Amelia was beaming at the reaction. “Oh, I am so pleased that you like it. I wanted to make something so very special for your first child. It's only right.”
The burly man seemed choked up, his eyes slightly glassy as he ran his hands so gently over the baby blanket. “It is truly special. Rachel will probably cry over it. My lady, it's too much - I cannot thank you enough.”
She shook her head. “Thank me by letting me hold the baby wrapped in the blanket when he's born. Or she.” Her smile lit up the room. “Have you names selected?”
“Eli, if it is a boy,” Noah informed them after he'd seemed to swallow down a lump in his throat. “Naomi, if a girl.”
“Lovely. Just so wonderful.” Amelia had clasped her hands together at her bosom and couldn't seem to stop smiling. “Oh, Noah, is Rachel truly too poorly to receive visitors?”
“I'm sorry, my lady,” and indeed Noah did seem quite apologetic. “She really is feeling quite unwell. I would have her sleep as much as she can, and keep up her strength.”
“Come, my lady.” Kurt took her elbow gently and tried to hide that he was as disappointed as she. “We can come back another day. Perhaps we can bring her some of Emma's nutbread. That always makes me feel better when I'm not well.”
Noah looked hard at him when he spoke. “Ah, Master Renner. I'd forgotten you were here, so quiet have you been.” He moved to the counter in the back of the shop. “I've correspondence for you.”
...Part Two...