Tomb Raider fic: "Unladylike" - G
Title: “Unladylike”
Rating: G, genfic
Fandom: “Tomb Raider”(the movies, not the games)
Disclaimer: Property of Paramount Pictures and related producers; I just play here free of charge.
Summary: A teenage Lara Croft makes the acquaintance of Hillary while he’s interviewing to replace her deceased father’s retiring butler, Winston. Written as an alt-POV companion to Hardly Proper, at the request of notalwaysweak. (Thanks for being patient and waiting for me to move off dead center and write this. I hope it's close to what you had in mind ...)
A/N: Thanks to metalkatt for beta duty; errors remain my own.
Adults were the flies in Lara’s soup, diving in unannounced and doing an irritating backstroke whenever they felt like it. Especially the well-meaning adults, like Aunt Henry, who had her head bent on the other side of the parlor with Winston. Occasionally one of them would glance her way during a break in the conversation, at which point Lara would have to stop picking at her teeth or cracking her knuckles and look properly disinterested. As soon as she could, she’d excused herself to race upstairs and change out of her luncheon dress, then down out into the back courtyard, pausing only to grab her Escrima sticks from where she’d hidden them behind a box in the kitchen pantry.
She’d been at her sweaty solo practice for about half an hour when a flock of birds burst out from above the manor house, flapping south. Heaving, she wondered what had disturbed them, then jogged around the formidable structure to check it out.
Lara couldn’t see much detail from around the front corner of the manor house, but she noted an unfamiliar car in the circle drive. The way it crunched the gravel of the canopied entrance road must have startled the birds out of their trees, as had the radio. She wished she could make out what kind of music the driver had on, but the sound wasn’t quite loud enough to reach her as he rolled up the window, so instead she contented herself with waiting for him to finish fiddling with the interior mirror and get out.
All she could really tell from this distance was he was tall and slender. The driver unfolded himself from the Mini, then leaned in and dug around in the back seat until he apparently found what he needed, and straightened. She realized he was pulling a brush through his hair, patting it down with his other hand. After a fair number of seconds at this, the man seemed to finish - or rather, give up, evidenced by the toss he gave the brush back inside the car and the headshake she could make out. He shot his cuffs, brushed down his sleeves with his fingers, and buttoned, then rebuttoned, the front of his suit jacket, straightening it. Even at this distance Lara could tell the man was apparently nervous, which is when she finally remembered Aunt Henry had told her earlier today about interviewing another candidate to replace Winston, and strongly hinted that Lara might like to reorganize something in her own apartments at the same time. Mini Guy doesn’t seem terribly butler-like, Lara mused as she watched him hurry toward the front door, seeming a bit jittery even at this distance, rather than calmly strolling. At least not for those two.
She circled around to the courtyard and tried to get back into her practice moves, but was distracted by the visitor. And increasingly annoyed - since when didn’t she have an invitation to meet someone who was being hired to look out for her, at least as part of his job? Because this demanded further investigation - not to mention it was a good excuse to get in out of the humidity - after a while, Lara went into the kitchen and paused to gulp a glass of water before slinking out toward the parlor. She didn’t need to be caught in another lecture about how young ladies of fifteen should look coiffed and cool, and not smell like sweaty rugby players. In shorts, no less (as if they hid any less than one of those flowery skirts).
Come to think of it … Lara caught a good whiff of herself and raised an arm to confirm it. Okay, she admitted; nobody should be subjected to that. She ducked into the guest powder room off the library and spent a few minutes rinsing sweat off her face and bare arms, giving her underarms a swipe of antiperspirant, and recombing her hair into a ponytail - then thought better of it and fished around in a drawer for barrettes instead. That way, if she did run into her aunt, at least the woman wouldn’t be able to criticize her hair. She put her glasses back on and took them off again; the nosepads were sweaty, so she left them on the sink.
Lara peeked around from the safety of the library entrance; her two caretakers were nowhere in sight, which meant they were probably back in the parlor for the moment. Sure enough, she could see steam rising from a cup on her father’s old desk - but not its drinker. Moving into the room, she scanned it carefully, finally finding a human being contorting himself into an odd, floor-parallel position in front of one of the high bookshelves. When he straightened rapidly and turned at her laugh, she knew why he’d been fussing with his hair outside - it really was an impressive anti-gravitational collection of half-frizzed waves and curls, only partly spanked into place by product. He bowed a little at her; the gesture was obviously alien to him, and she liked him a little for it. “Lady Croft - yes?”
She nodded. “You’re one of the candidates my aunt’s interviewing.”
“Yes, ma-; I mean, miss.” He straightened, still looking uncomfortable. Lara thought he looked a little too alert, but maybe that was just from the way his ears stuck out. She noted that he didn’t jump in quizzing her on school or hobbies, like most adults tended to do - but waited for her to pick up the conversational thread again.
“I’m Lara,” she said as she walked around the settee to shake his hand, shoving the two sticks into her left. She realized her palm was still clammy and wet, probably from not drying it off completely, and stopped short of that greeting. Instead, she gave a little wave before wiping it on her shirt, feeling like a dorky child at a parade. The braces didn’t help. “What’s your name?”
“Hillary, miss. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Is that a first name?” He quickly shook his head. “What’s your first name?”
He cleared his throat, blushing. “Edmund, miss.”
Remembering history class, she grinned. “Like the guy who climbed Everest?”
“Um, yes.” He didn’t look any less uncomfortable.
She couldn’t stop smiling; he was actually kind of cute. Not at all butler material. “So … have you climbed Everest?”
Finally, he smiled, and most of the nervousness in his expression gave way to a tiny, rather becoming smirk. “No, miss.”
Oh, he was quick! She felt suddenly shy, muttering rather lower than she intended, “You can call me Lara.” She fidgeted from one foot to the other, reaching up to scratch at the side of her nose; she didn’t look away, but she couldn’t quite look directly at him, either.
“I think I’d probably better stick to Lady Croft,” he replied, glancing meaningfully past her shoulder, “but thank you.”
Lara turned to look behind her back toward the door of the parlor. “Oh, don’t be concerned about my aunt. She tries to act all proper and aristocratic, but she’s really not that bad.” She turned back, unable to think of anything intelligent to say, so she held up her sticks. “Well, I guess I’d better go - I have to practice.”
“Escrima?” He nodded at her hand.
The guy had heard of this? None of the kids she knew had any clue, and only a few adults. “You know it?”
“I’m … passingly familiar,” he answered. “Just an amateur interest.”
“But you know how to do it? How to use these?” She held out the oversized sticks. “I’ve been reading about it, but I can’t get an instructor yet. Aunt Henry won’t let me; she thinks it’s not proper for a young lady.” Lara knew she was rolling her eyes, but couldn’t help it. “Father wouldn’t have been that way. She knows that.”
Hillary’s expression was a curious mix of interest and discomfort. “I took a couple of courses while I was in the military. I’m far from expert, miss.”
“Well - but that’s okay!” She hesitated, but need to know overrode manners. “Please, could you just show me something? Or maybe you could tell me if I’m standing wrong, or whatever - I feel like I’ve been doing it wrong, and I don’t have anyone to work off of. It’s not like shooting at a target; I can do that just fine. I can study these steps, and look at diagrams and photos of the moves, but it’s not like having someone who knows how to hold them, or even-” Lara stopped, realizing he’d moved back a couple of steps from her mad waving. “I’m not shutting up, again,” she muttered, embarrassed. Way to go, she chided herself. Poke the help in the eye with something sharp before he even gets to interview.
The man seemed to think, then sighed. “Here.” He held out a large hand, gesturing for the sticks. Happily, Lara pressed them into his open palm, and he moved one to his other hand, held them up, and moved one foot back until he was in a vaguely lunging-like stance. “Watch my feet,” he instructed.
She did watch his feet - and his legs, his arms, his shoulders, and the concentration on his face as he shifted through the motions. He started with a deferential tone, but it didn’t take long for his tone to take on an expectant, clipped quality. This was not a man used to taking orders, she realized, or at least not all the time; what in the world did he want with a job in domestic service? She judged Edmund Hillary was probably in his late twenties, and realized he reminded her a lot of some of the men her father had spent leisure time with when she was quite small - military, like he’d been at one time.
Lara was so busy dividing her thoughts between trying to solve this mini-mystery and mimicking Hillary’s moves that she missed him telling her to choke up on one of the batons. At least she figured that’s what had happened when he reached for her hand, pressing his thumb inside her palm and gently pushing her fingers around to grasp the stick differently. He was extremely close, eyes on her hand, explaining the importance of a proper grip, and a good half of her brain was occupied with what she guessed was cologne. She felt her face flush with heat, and wondered if he’d noticed, since he released her hand and stepped back - though maybe he’d just been moving anyway. It wasn’t an awkward step, and it dovetailed into his next demonstration. You fool, she chided herself. He’s got more things to worry about than noticing if some underage girl is checking him out. She felt a little stupid for zoning out like some kid, so she tried to prove she’d been thinking by asking, “What part of the service were you in?”
“Hmm?” He looked up at that. “Royal Marines.”
She’d been right about something! “Why aren’t you still there?” Only after she said it did she realize she’d stepped into a verbal minefield; Hillary’s jaw tightened and his greenish eyes briefly narrowed before he visibly tried to relax.
“I served for three years after university, then decided I wanted a civilian career.” It wasn’t an answer that invited a follow-up, but it would be a few years before Lara learned to read people better, so she pressed, “In domestic service?”
Now he looked entirely uncomfortable, brow furrowed, frowning as though he’d forgotten something - like leaving the gas on. “It’s an honorable profession,” he carefully, slowly answered.
Change the subject! she thought; she didn’t want to make him feel bad. Something was going on in his head that obviously wasn’t happy memories. “Well, I hope she hires you; maybe you could help me with this some more.” He looked uncertain, and Lara tried to think of a new topic. “And guns! You probably know about all kinds of guns and rifles!” Genius, really; a former marine ought to feel comfortable talking about weapons. “Father left me several, but I’ve only learned how to shoot two kinds of pistols so far, and I had to do that at a shooting range in the village. Winston’s hidden the rest, he’s afraid I’ll shoot an eye out.”
“It’s … good to be careful.”
He seemed to relax again, and Lara, relieved, decided to tackle their original topic. “So, what’s that?” Curious, she pointed to the cross he was making with the sticks, like a big X. “I shouldn’t have interrupted awhile ago, I apologize.”
Politely, he nodded. “It’s quite all right.” This time, she pretended she was in school, in class, and concentrated on paying attention and learning - she could always ask Aunt Henry later about this man, unless by some miracle she hired him, in which case she could work herself at getting information out of him.
She heard a door creak open behind her, and thought Speak of the devil … Honestly, she liked Father’s sister, but the woman intimidated her - she was so together and professional even doing something like playing cards.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one intimidated. Hillary’s eyes went wide and he blinked briefly at her before looking down at the batons in his hands. Lara nearly laughed; his expression was comical, even as he tried to reschool it into professionally cool disinterest, his hands locked around the sticks he clutched to his chest. Thinking quickly, she grabbed them from him and turned to face her aunt, whipping her arms behind her back, the sticks hidden against her body. She took a couple of steps back, standing beside him, surprised she’d been graceful enough not to wheel ‘round and whack Hillary in the head with one while hiding them.
Aunt Henry appraised her. “My dear, shouldn’t you be finishing your homework?”
“I … needed a break.” She determined to go on the offensive; Father had always told her to ask for what she wanted, because nobody read minds. “Besides, if you’re hiring someone who’ll be working for me someday, shouldn’t I get to talk to him, too?”
“Hmph.” Her aunt sounded distracted, and Lara noticed she’d turned her attention to inspecting her interviewee. Winston almost immediately hove into view next to her, also studying the younger man. Lara imagined she could hear Hillary anxiously grinding his teeth two feet away. “We are ready to speak, if you’ve enjoyed your tea and feel ready to interview?”
She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, ma'am, of course.”
Lara couldn’t help the unladylike snort she immediately stifled with a coughing fit, giving her aunt a helpless look as the woman glanced her way. “Come along, then.” The duchess turned and walked back toward the parlor. Winston lingered, looking between the two young people, and did that eyebrow-arch thing he was so good at before turning to trail after his temporary boss.
Hillary sighed and fiddled with his vest and jacket buttons, only glancing once at her before following. The look was filled with hope and hesitancy, and Lara remembered his small car, the way he’d fidgeted outside, how generally nervous he seemed - for whatever reason, he needed this job. He probably wasn’t suited to taking orders or overseeing a household, but he seemed to know how to give orders when necessary. Most important for her, he probably knew weapons and some martial arts. If she had any hope of picking up Father’s research in the way he’d done it - the way he’d indicated more than once that he hoped she would want to do - she needed someone she could influence to help her with the physical part of it. Aunt Henry would never let her hire those kinds of instructors before she came into her trust fund, but she wouldn’t be around all the time to know what the butler might be up to, now would she?
“Hillary!” she shouted in a whisper; he was a good twenty feet away or so. “HILLS!” she tried again, still as hushed as she could; this time, he turned and she gave him an impulsive thumbs-up. “Good luck!” He returned the gesture and flashed her a quick smile.
She was going to have to have a talk with Aunt Henry about their new butler.
Rating: G, genfic
Fandom: “Tomb Raider”(the movies, not the games)
Disclaimer: Property of Paramount Pictures and related producers; I just play here free of charge.
Summary: A teenage Lara Croft makes the acquaintance of Hillary while he’s interviewing to replace her deceased father’s retiring butler, Winston. Written as an alt-POV companion to Hardly Proper, at the request of notalwaysweak. (Thanks for being patient and waiting for me to move off dead center and write this. I hope it's close to what you had in mind ...)
A/N: Thanks to metalkatt for beta duty; errors remain my own.
Adults were the flies in Lara’s soup, diving in unannounced and doing an irritating backstroke whenever they felt like it. Especially the well-meaning adults, like Aunt Henry, who had her head bent on the other side of the parlor with Winston. Occasionally one of them would glance her way during a break in the conversation, at which point Lara would have to stop picking at her teeth or cracking her knuckles and look properly disinterested. As soon as she could, she’d excused herself to race upstairs and change out of her luncheon dress, then down out into the back courtyard, pausing only to grab her Escrima sticks from where she’d hidden them behind a box in the kitchen pantry.
She’d been at her sweaty solo practice for about half an hour when a flock of birds burst out from above the manor house, flapping south. Heaving, she wondered what had disturbed them, then jogged around the formidable structure to check it out.
Lara couldn’t see much detail from around the front corner of the manor house, but she noted an unfamiliar car in the circle drive. The way it crunched the gravel of the canopied entrance road must have startled the birds out of their trees, as had the radio. She wished she could make out what kind of music the driver had on, but the sound wasn’t quite loud enough to reach her as he rolled up the window, so instead she contented herself with waiting for him to finish fiddling with the interior mirror and get out.
All she could really tell from this distance was he was tall and slender. The driver unfolded himself from the Mini, then leaned in and dug around in the back seat until he apparently found what he needed, and straightened. She realized he was pulling a brush through his hair, patting it down with his other hand. After a fair number of seconds at this, the man seemed to finish - or rather, give up, evidenced by the toss he gave the brush back inside the car and the headshake she could make out. He shot his cuffs, brushed down his sleeves with his fingers, and buttoned, then rebuttoned, the front of his suit jacket, straightening it. Even at this distance Lara could tell the man was apparently nervous, which is when she finally remembered Aunt Henry had told her earlier today about interviewing another candidate to replace Winston, and strongly hinted that Lara might like to reorganize something in her own apartments at the same time. Mini Guy doesn’t seem terribly butler-like, Lara mused as she watched him hurry toward the front door, seeming a bit jittery even at this distance, rather than calmly strolling. At least not for those two.
She circled around to the courtyard and tried to get back into her practice moves, but was distracted by the visitor. And increasingly annoyed - since when didn’t she have an invitation to meet someone who was being hired to look out for her, at least as part of his job? Because this demanded further investigation - not to mention it was a good excuse to get in out of the humidity - after a while, Lara went into the kitchen and paused to gulp a glass of water before slinking out toward the parlor. She didn’t need to be caught in another lecture about how young ladies of fifteen should look coiffed and cool, and not smell like sweaty rugby players. In shorts, no less (as if they hid any less than one of those flowery skirts).
Come to think of it … Lara caught a good whiff of herself and raised an arm to confirm it. Okay, she admitted; nobody should be subjected to that. She ducked into the guest powder room off the library and spent a few minutes rinsing sweat off her face and bare arms, giving her underarms a swipe of antiperspirant, and recombing her hair into a ponytail - then thought better of it and fished around in a drawer for barrettes instead. That way, if she did run into her aunt, at least the woman wouldn’t be able to criticize her hair. She put her glasses back on and took them off again; the nosepads were sweaty, so she left them on the sink.
Lara peeked around from the safety of the library entrance; her two caretakers were nowhere in sight, which meant they were probably back in the parlor for the moment. Sure enough, she could see steam rising from a cup on her father’s old desk - but not its drinker. Moving into the room, she scanned it carefully, finally finding a human being contorting himself into an odd, floor-parallel position in front of one of the high bookshelves. When he straightened rapidly and turned at her laugh, she knew why he’d been fussing with his hair outside - it really was an impressive anti-gravitational collection of half-frizzed waves and curls, only partly spanked into place by product. He bowed a little at her; the gesture was obviously alien to him, and she liked him a little for it. “Lady Croft - yes?”
She nodded. “You’re one of the candidates my aunt’s interviewing.”
“Yes, ma-; I mean, miss.” He straightened, still looking uncomfortable. Lara thought he looked a little too alert, but maybe that was just from the way his ears stuck out. She noted that he didn’t jump in quizzing her on school or hobbies, like most adults tended to do - but waited for her to pick up the conversational thread again.
“I’m Lara,” she said as she walked around the settee to shake his hand, shoving the two sticks into her left. She realized her palm was still clammy and wet, probably from not drying it off completely, and stopped short of that greeting. Instead, she gave a little wave before wiping it on her shirt, feeling like a dorky child at a parade. The braces didn’t help. “What’s your name?”
“Hillary, miss. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Is that a first name?” He quickly shook his head. “What’s your first name?”
He cleared his throat, blushing. “Edmund, miss.”
Remembering history class, she grinned. “Like the guy who climbed Everest?”
“Um, yes.” He didn’t look any less uncomfortable.
She couldn’t stop smiling; he was actually kind of cute. Not at all butler material. “So … have you climbed Everest?”
Finally, he smiled, and most of the nervousness in his expression gave way to a tiny, rather becoming smirk. “No, miss.”
Oh, he was quick! She felt suddenly shy, muttering rather lower than she intended, “You can call me Lara.” She fidgeted from one foot to the other, reaching up to scratch at the side of her nose; she didn’t look away, but she couldn’t quite look directly at him, either.
“I think I’d probably better stick to Lady Croft,” he replied, glancing meaningfully past her shoulder, “but thank you.”
Lara turned to look behind her back toward the door of the parlor. “Oh, don’t be concerned about my aunt. She tries to act all proper and aristocratic, but she’s really not that bad.” She turned back, unable to think of anything intelligent to say, so she held up her sticks. “Well, I guess I’d better go - I have to practice.”
“Escrima?” He nodded at her hand.
The guy had heard of this? None of the kids she knew had any clue, and only a few adults. “You know it?”
“I’m … passingly familiar,” he answered. “Just an amateur interest.”
“But you know how to do it? How to use these?” She held out the oversized sticks. “I’ve been reading about it, but I can’t get an instructor yet. Aunt Henry won’t let me; she thinks it’s not proper for a young lady.” Lara knew she was rolling her eyes, but couldn’t help it. “Father wouldn’t have been that way. She knows that.”
Hillary’s expression was a curious mix of interest and discomfort. “I took a couple of courses while I was in the military. I’m far from expert, miss.”
“Well - but that’s okay!” She hesitated, but need to know overrode manners. “Please, could you just show me something? Or maybe you could tell me if I’m standing wrong, or whatever - I feel like I’ve been doing it wrong, and I don’t have anyone to work off of. It’s not like shooting at a target; I can do that just fine. I can study these steps, and look at diagrams and photos of the moves, but it’s not like having someone who knows how to hold them, or even-” Lara stopped, realizing he’d moved back a couple of steps from her mad waving. “I’m not shutting up, again,” she muttered, embarrassed. Way to go, she chided herself. Poke the help in the eye with something sharp before he even gets to interview.
The man seemed to think, then sighed. “Here.” He held out a large hand, gesturing for the sticks. Happily, Lara pressed them into his open palm, and he moved one to his other hand, held them up, and moved one foot back until he was in a vaguely lunging-like stance. “Watch my feet,” he instructed.
She did watch his feet - and his legs, his arms, his shoulders, and the concentration on his face as he shifted through the motions. He started with a deferential tone, but it didn’t take long for his tone to take on an expectant, clipped quality. This was not a man used to taking orders, she realized, or at least not all the time; what in the world did he want with a job in domestic service? She judged Edmund Hillary was probably in his late twenties, and realized he reminded her a lot of some of the men her father had spent leisure time with when she was quite small - military, like he’d been at one time.
Lara was so busy dividing her thoughts between trying to solve this mini-mystery and mimicking Hillary’s moves that she missed him telling her to choke up on one of the batons. At least she figured that’s what had happened when he reached for her hand, pressing his thumb inside her palm and gently pushing her fingers around to grasp the stick differently. He was extremely close, eyes on her hand, explaining the importance of a proper grip, and a good half of her brain was occupied with what she guessed was cologne. She felt her face flush with heat, and wondered if he’d noticed, since he released her hand and stepped back - though maybe he’d just been moving anyway. It wasn’t an awkward step, and it dovetailed into his next demonstration. You fool, she chided herself. He’s got more things to worry about than noticing if some underage girl is checking him out. She felt a little stupid for zoning out like some kid, so she tried to prove she’d been thinking by asking, “What part of the service were you in?”
“Hmm?” He looked up at that. “Royal Marines.”
She’d been right about something! “Why aren’t you still there?” Only after she said it did she realize she’d stepped into a verbal minefield; Hillary’s jaw tightened and his greenish eyes briefly narrowed before he visibly tried to relax.
“I served for three years after university, then decided I wanted a civilian career.” It wasn’t an answer that invited a follow-up, but it would be a few years before Lara learned to read people better, so she pressed, “In domestic service?”
Now he looked entirely uncomfortable, brow furrowed, frowning as though he’d forgotten something - like leaving the gas on. “It’s an honorable profession,” he carefully, slowly answered.
Change the subject! she thought; she didn’t want to make him feel bad. Something was going on in his head that obviously wasn’t happy memories. “Well, I hope she hires you; maybe you could help me with this some more.” He looked uncertain, and Lara tried to think of a new topic. “And guns! You probably know about all kinds of guns and rifles!” Genius, really; a former marine ought to feel comfortable talking about weapons. “Father left me several, but I’ve only learned how to shoot two kinds of pistols so far, and I had to do that at a shooting range in the village. Winston’s hidden the rest, he’s afraid I’ll shoot an eye out.”
“It’s … good to be careful.”
He seemed to relax again, and Lara, relieved, decided to tackle their original topic. “So, what’s that?” Curious, she pointed to the cross he was making with the sticks, like a big X. “I shouldn’t have interrupted awhile ago, I apologize.”
Politely, he nodded. “It’s quite all right.” This time, she pretended she was in school, in class, and concentrated on paying attention and learning - she could always ask Aunt Henry later about this man, unless by some miracle she hired him, in which case she could work herself at getting information out of him.
She heard a door creak open behind her, and thought Speak of the devil … Honestly, she liked Father’s sister, but the woman intimidated her - she was so together and professional even doing something like playing cards.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one intimidated. Hillary’s eyes went wide and he blinked briefly at her before looking down at the batons in his hands. Lara nearly laughed; his expression was comical, even as he tried to reschool it into professionally cool disinterest, his hands locked around the sticks he clutched to his chest. Thinking quickly, she grabbed them from him and turned to face her aunt, whipping her arms behind her back, the sticks hidden against her body. She took a couple of steps back, standing beside him, surprised she’d been graceful enough not to wheel ‘round and whack Hillary in the head with one while hiding them.
Aunt Henry appraised her. “My dear, shouldn’t you be finishing your homework?”
“I … needed a break.” She determined to go on the offensive; Father had always told her to ask for what she wanted, because nobody read minds. “Besides, if you’re hiring someone who’ll be working for me someday, shouldn’t I get to talk to him, too?”
“Hmph.” Her aunt sounded distracted, and Lara noticed she’d turned her attention to inspecting her interviewee. Winston almost immediately hove into view next to her, also studying the younger man. Lara imagined she could hear Hillary anxiously grinding his teeth two feet away. “We are ready to speak, if you’ve enjoyed your tea and feel ready to interview?”
She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, ma'am, of course.”
Lara couldn’t help the unladylike snort she immediately stifled with a coughing fit, giving her aunt a helpless look as the woman glanced her way. “Come along, then.” The duchess turned and walked back toward the parlor. Winston lingered, looking between the two young people, and did that eyebrow-arch thing he was so good at before turning to trail after his temporary boss.
Hillary sighed and fiddled with his vest and jacket buttons, only glancing once at her before following. The look was filled with hope and hesitancy, and Lara remembered his small car, the way he’d fidgeted outside, how generally nervous he seemed - for whatever reason, he needed this job. He probably wasn’t suited to taking orders or overseeing a household, but he seemed to know how to give orders when necessary. Most important for her, he probably knew weapons and some martial arts. If she had any hope of picking up Father’s research in the way he’d done it - the way he’d indicated more than once that he hoped she would want to do - she needed someone she could influence to help her with the physical part of it. Aunt Henry would never let her hire those kinds of instructors before she came into her trust fund, but she wouldn’t be around all the time to know what the butler might be up to, now would she?
“Hillary!” she shouted in a whisper; he was a good twenty feet away or so. “HILLS!” she tried again, still as hushed as she could; this time, he turned and she gave him an impulsive thumbs-up. “Good luck!” He returned the gesture and flashed her a quick smile.
She was going to have to have a talk with Aunt Henry about their new butler.