by Jerry Cole
Theodore had somehow got the impression that any family with a tutor had to possess a certain amount of wealth. He wasn’t sure where he got this idea. After all, he'd had friends with less money who'd had tutors and governesses aplenty and friends with more money who kept beloved nannies until they became adults and never required a tutor. But he had never had a tutor. So he simply assumed his parents had not had quite enough money to hire one.
Therefore, hearing that the Elridges wanted to hire him and that they had seven children, Theodore had assumed they would be living basically in a palace to have enough room. Instead, it was a fairly moderately-sized manor. Still stately and elegant on the outside, but only just big enough to accommodate all family members and staff, with two large guest rooms at the far end of the East wing. Theodore wasn't exactly unimpressed. It was still a vast and beautiful house. But, it felt oddly cramped, for such a big place. It was clear that the Elridges simply would not be able to afford a larger house and all the trappings and care such an upgrade would require.
There was that same sense with everything. That same feeling that everything was good, but not great. That, it would be extravagant if it were not for the size of the family. Theodore was realizing that were the Elridges not blessed with so many children, they would most likely have more money to spend on the two children most families had, and would probably live in a bigger, better kept house, wear nicer clothes, and eat more extravagant meals. But he could also see precisely why they would not change their circumstances for the world.
Despite the children running about, Theodore somehow managed to finish getting dressed. All that had been left was his hair and sleeves. His attire complete, Theodore saw that it was time for him to head downstairs to have breakfast with the other higher members of staff, including the housekeeper and the butler. All of them breakfasted after the maids got to work, but before the family awoke. He was almost as excited for the breakfast table conversation as he was for playing and learning with the children.
And, just in time, the governess appeared. Miss Lisa Hubbard.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Smithe," she said with a heavy sigh, sweeping a toddler under each arm, leaving Lewis for Victor to carry. "I swear I try to keep them busy, but I turn my back for only a second and..." She did not finish her sentence, she only groaned as Mabel resisted leaving the room. "Please, Mabel, come along, you must be dressed for breakfast."
"It is no trouble. Do you require any help?" he asked.
"Not at all, you go and get breakfast. They'll be your problem soon enough," she replied with a cheery laugh.
"Indeed, they will. See you after breakfast, Miss Hubbard," he replied, watching, slightly anxiously, as she left the room.
Theodore had never seen a family with so many children before. He could not imagine how much she had on her plate, managing them all on her own. He was struggling enough as their tutor. But he was determined to succeed and he was already growing to love the children dearly. He finished tying his hair back tightly. Theodore had never been one to dress so sharply, being more a friend of loose shirts, absent cuff links, and his loose shoulder-length hair, but since looking after seven children he had learned the values of some of these more reserved fashions.
The ever so tight pony tail was less likely to come loose during playing. Theodore had too often found his hair brushing over his shoulders during playtime, to be filled with mud or paints or bits of paper. The black suit was rough yet didn't show dirty hand prints so much. It had not only a dark color, but a heavy wool texture which kept dirt less visible and made it warmer. It also meant that it was a bit less of a dilemma if it were to stain, unlike with finer linens or less coarse wool, which were far too expensive to stain with ink, mud, or blood from a thorn-pricked finger.
The simplicity of the suit stopped it from getting caught on toys and baskets and little fingers as Theodore attended to his daily duties. No frills, quite literally, and a minimal amount of lace and detail was not Theodore's usual style, but he could not help but appreciate how nice it was to move about the rooms without catching his shirt sleeves on a door handle or tearing one of Angelica's fast-growing and delicate little nails on an elaborate buttonhole.
The lack of wealth-displaying enhancement gave him a more natural, welcoming appearance in the children's eyes, reminiscent of their own mother and father, who were undecorated in most ways. This was not quite so vital for the older children, who saw Theodore as another servant in the house. But for the younger children it made all the difference in the world for Theodore to look so much more plain, youthful, and natural. They seemed more at ease.
As he walked into the small parlor off the side of the pantry, where the other members of higher staff were having breakfast, he was content. His life had not quite recovered to where it had once been. But it was good.
Chapter Three
Edmond was not particularly fond of receiving letters from other nobles. If there was anything guaranteed to throw a monkey in the works of his carefully organized day, it was having to put up a good impression for people whose sole job it seemed to be to judge him. He dreaded seeing those little monogrammed stamps, because he knew that most of the time what lay underneath them was just plain pointless, but incessantly tiring.
He opened the letter reluctantly, relieved to see who it was from but a touch disappointed to see the contents. It was from the Elridges, a couple from the ranks of lesser nobility, who were just popular enough to be friends with everyone, but nowhere near wealthy enough to make enemies. Naturally, even Edmond, who struggled with social settings, found them pleasant to deal with. But their letter was not just a casual and friendly message. It was a formal invitation.
Dear Lord Thanet,
We shall be holding a ball on the twenty-fifth of this month and could not overlook your person when compiling our guest list. We understand that your right honorable self is having some difficulties adjusting to the social demands of such an honorable position, and we hope that it will be possible to count on your attendance at the ball, which shall count with opportunity aplenty to speak and dance with other respectable peoples.
We would much appreciate your swift response so that we are able to accommodate someone of your standing.
Yours Sincerely,
Sir and Mrs. Elridge.
Edmond understood their intentions on inviting him. It was well known that he was not being quite so sociable as he ought to, and they no doubt feared that he was losing touch with high society. Which was, in a sense, his intention. He did not want to remain part of high society. He felt far too self-conscious, especially in such extravagant company as the Elridges' usual guests. He didn't know these people. Perhaps he had heard of them, or seen them, but he hardly knew anyone personally. And he didn't want to get to know them. He wanted them all to remain strangers.
The Elridges he knew well, of course. They were an important exception to his usual fear of contact. They had been close friends of his late adoptive father, and always so very kind to him. He was not sure if it was because they were gentle to everyone, or whether they saw him as closer to their equal due to their own slightly lesser social standing, but they had always made him feel comfortable in their company, and he was glad of it.
It hurt to have to do this, but he had to decline their invitation. The benefits of seeing his old friends and escaping his duties for a week or more were severely outweighed by his fear of being judged, harassed, or turned into gossip by the other guests. Not only would this hurt him, but it would put his friends, the Elridges, in a difficult position as well.
It was not as though he could make a good impression, make them look good. He was not that sort of a person. He was the sort of person who made others question why he had so much as been invited. The sort of person who was not truly welcome anywhere. He would only make his dear friends look bad in front of their other, far more respectable guests. They could lose so much social standing if they were to be found associating with someone from
such a common background as Edmond.
And yet something pulled him toward going. It was as though the fates had a mind of their own and were determined to draw him toward the Elridges' house and ball. It was an odd sensation, but one which Edmond could not shake himself free of. He was sure that some sort of beautiful adventure lay ahead if he were only to take the plunge.
His excitement left him daydreaming. After all, he was supposed to attempt to integrate into society, was he not? And what better way of cementing his place in high society than a ball, held by his dearest friends, where he would be able to show off his own positive attributes without fearing the hosts turning on him?
This was exactly the sort of opportunity his late adoptive father had spoken of. A rare chance to show his belonging in high society, to make sure they would see him for the man he was. It was not, after all, unheard of for lowly people to ascend through the ranks. And he was not exactly so low that he could not rise to his position... was he?
The more times he read their invitation, the more times he contemplated attending the ball, the better he felt about it. A strange confidence began to swell in his heart, a voice that told him all would be well and he would surely impress his friends and do them proud. He felt strangely confident as he considered the many ways this ball could go well, the many ways it would be rewarding for all involved.
All he would have to do would be reply. He had nothing to prove to his friends, after all. And they would not have invited him if he could potentially have hurt them. No, they were kindly offering him their outstretched hands, offering to lift him up beyond the ranks to which he had resigned himself, presenting an opportunity through which he might rejoin high society.
Reading their letter and pacing about the room, he felt more and more sure of himself by the second. He would attend. He would go there and see his friends, if nothing else. He would show gratitude and humility toward them for their kindness. And perhaps he would learn more about how to fulfill his role from the people around him. It was the only way he could attempt to fit in, after all.
Edmond sat before his writing desk, contemplating how he might reply, eagerly anticipating a ball held at his beloved friends' and mentors' house. As he wrote acceptance letter after acceptance letter, none of them felt right, honest, like himself. He felt as though he was speaking through another person's words, another man's pen.
As he cast aside yet another failed letter, he was wondering if he had enough paper to afford to make so many mistakes, or if he would need to send a servant into town to purchase some more. Or if there was even a point. He had always been the sort of man to not do any more than was necessary, and it was becoming painfully evident to Edmond that no matter how many letters he wrote, he would not send a single one of them. His fear began to gnaw at his heart like a hungry beast attempting to destroy any confidence he had left.
They did not send the invitation out of an honest desire or need to see him. They sent it because they had to. Or because they believed he could be helped. They either didn't know what would happen if he came, or they simply expected him not to. And he could not in good conscience go, for that very reason.
Edmond collapsed against the desk, burying his face in his arms and drawing a deep breath, feeling somewhat soothed by the shutting out of sound and sight. He needed to do this from time to time, to relieve himself of the stress that came from continually fretting over the risk of rejection.
Free to chase his own thoughts without worrying about the outside world, he knew he could make the right decision. But he was in even more conflict than ever. The clearer his thoughts became, the more they consumed him. All he wanted was to do what was right by others. To look after the people around him, his servants and subjects. And he did not trust he had the strength in himself to do so, the same strength that his adoptive father has possessed.
Hearing the door open, he looked up.
"Is everything well?" Mrs. Hubble, the housekeeper asked, peering in through the door with a weary yet slightly panicked expression.
"All is well," he said, forcing a smile.
Mrs. Hubble sighed, nodded, and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. She was used to Edmond's turns as of late, but she had not quite adjusted to it. She had known him before. The happy, confident, grateful young man who lived to please his father and the Earldom. The young man who spoke of wanting to marry and make his wife's life the most beautiful experience. The young man who still had hopes and dreams.
Perhaps that young man would someday return. Mrs. Hubble seemed to believe so, at least. And once he was done grieving, he might discover the confidence he needed in order to carry on his adoptive father's legacy. But for now, he felt chained by fear and confusion. He was grateful for his servants' patience with him. Especially poor old Mrs. Hubble, who could have a much easier life elsewhere.
The poor lady had played the part of his nanny, his tutor, and was now in charge of the keys of the manor. Even she deserved better in a master than what Edmond had to offer. At least for now. That was what he needed to remind himself. Perhaps he would learn how to do better, how to be better, with time. He hoped so. He hoped that one day Mrs. Hubble would be proud to call herself his housekeeper, the Elridges to call themselves his friends, and someday a lovely lady would be proud to call herself his wife and the mother to his child.
But not yet.
He had made up his mind. Whatever might lie ahead, good or bad, it was best avoided for now. He was not prepared to harm his friends or himself by attending a ball he was not ready for yet. It was vital that he made sure he was ready for something like this before he actually did it.
His father would have said that he ought to face trouble head on and relish the challenge, that only by trying could a man ever succeed. But Edmond knew another secret. If one were not to take any chances in the first place, then one could not possibly fail. That was the key to solving all of his troubles. He would stay away until he saw something he was sure he would be able to do.
When he found something within his abilities, he could use that to fuel himself, to build his reputation, to become a better Earl. And until then, he knew he had to just wait. His friends would understand, if they were true friends, that is. And those who did not understand would not be worthy of his time, much less his respect and care as an Earl. In many ways, he could learn of his position just as much by simply observing, could he not?
He tried to write another reply, a refusal. But then it hurt him to think of how his rejection might offend his dearest friends. They might have extended their invitation honestly, openly, without realizing how badly it could affect them. And his rejection would have to be very carefully phrased so as to not hurt them.
As he wrote out reply after reply, wasting the remaining paper on his desk, he realized that nothing made much sense to say. He was beginning to feel that even the simple act of rejecting their offer would be too much for him just yet. As he crumpled up the last sheet of paper, he realized he didn't need to write anything at all.
The best way was to pretend he had not received the letter in the first place. It was not as though it had been personally delivered. He could easily dispose of it and not attend. Then he would be forgiven his absence, and they would not feel bad about not inviting him. It was absolutely perfect.
He looked down at the piles of papers on the desk. If he wished to remain a hermit until he learned how to be a better Earl, he would first need to learn some sort of way of avoiding the duties of an Earl without making it evident that he had received correspondence. In a way, his first lesson would be to learn how to avoid his responsibilities. That way he could choose what duties he was able to handle. He had to discard the letters.
The fire burned, a cleansing glow at the far side of the room. Fire destroyed everything so perfectly, so without a trace. Although he could not recall his first home or his first family, he fancied that fire had something to do with it. Seeing those flames, even now, caused intens
e emotions of fear, passion, doubt and loss to flow forth. Even a controlled fire in his own home. He walked up to it, feeling its heat warm him to the bone. Fire represented everything in these parts of the world. It was life, for without fire people would starve and freeze to death. But it was also death by wildfire and arson, the disposal of unwanted goods, and the cremation of corpses. Fire had the power to give and the power to take away. And he needed it to take away.
It felt so very wrong to do so. After all, this was not some piece of garbage to discard. He started with his replies, so as to not smother the flame, gently dropping them, one by one, into the bright light, watching the fire consume them before sending in another and another. As each page blackened and curled, sending up specks of ash, he cast in another and another.
Before he could think about it too much, Edmond cast the Elridges' letter, along with his failed replies, into the yellow and amber tongues. Standing back, he observed the sheets turn gray, then black, then vanish into thin air. It was done. Now they would never know he had so much as received the letter.
As the papers turned to ash and smoke, he returned to his desk, the flames beginning to make him a little nervous. He wasn't sure why, but when he stood by a fire for too long, he always got that odd sensation, like when one stood on the edge of a crevasse, to jump in.
Chapter Four
A ball was such a wonderful prospect! From the moment that the Elridges had mentioned it, Theodore had felt his heart soar. He had assumed, from living with them a short while, that they would not have the time nor the energy to host many events. Not with seven children, and such a comparatively small property. Besides, the era of balls and grand parties seemed to be fading out, with the invention of the automobile, the widespread use of trains, and a thousand and one new forms of entertainment. Theodore would have thought that a family like the Elridges would welcome the opportunity to escape such social pressures.
