Unmannered and Impatient

ADDY

"I hope you ordered a good dinner for tomorrow, Jervais," Papa said. "We're expecting a guest."

"Of course, Lord Whistlewaite," Jervais said.

I looked across the table where tea and empty dishes remained as the only remnant of our breakfast. "Who are we expecting, might I ask?" I asked Papa.

"Just an old friend of yours," Papa said offhandedly, without looking up from his paper. Papa was often distracted in the mornings as he read the business, fashion, gossip, and news columns of England and abroad, but I rather wondered if he was teasing me at this moment by withholding information.

"Which friend?" I asked pointedly.

"Your cousin Thomas Wentworth, the heir to this estate."

"Thomas?" I asked incredulously. There was no news that could have surprised me more. "He hasn't been here in over a decade. I'd hardly call him an old friend at this point, perhaps more like a bratty distant cousin."

Papa laughed and finally looked up from his paper at my barb. Thomas Wentworth, heir apparent, was his nephew, the son of his younger brother. Papa had no natural children and the manor had to pass to a natural heir of the next generation, making Thomas next in line to inherit the Whistlewaite estate. Lord Whistlewaite is my father in spirit, but not in legacy, as he is my adopted father. He raised me by himself, when we both lost my mother and my last known relative when I was only nine years of age.

When my mother had announced her betrothal to a wealthy English gentleman, almost everyone, myself included, reacted with a surprise bordering on disbelief. She had been a widowed servant in a Lady Willoughby's house in Mumbai. She had no wealth, no status, no nearby relations, and there had even been unkind rumors from some that she was not a widow at all. My mother met Lord Whistlewaite at a ball where she rescued him from losing his favorite cravat after a guest spilled wine on it. They were engaged but a fortnight later. The shift from living in a servant's quarters to that of my own room in a large house was fraught with difficulty, but Lord Whistlewaite had been exceptionally kind to me. He was very funny, always joking around, and eventually I came to call him Papa. The three of us were happy all together for a few short years.

"Imagining you both as children takes me back," he chuckled, with a distant and slightly bemused look dancing in his eyes. "For two years you were quite close. Thick as thieves, you were."

Though a generous man in spirit, in thoughts he tended towards forgetfulness, more a man of books and less a man of tangible worldly concerns. "Three years," I corrected. Thomas and I were of similar age, and he arrived after I had just come to England at the age of 10. He left for boarding school after I had just turned 13. I suppose we had been close for a brief period, and I suppose he had been my first kiss when I was going through that awkward first romantic phase of youth, but I was sure Papa was confusing me with his other nephew. Papa's half-sister was also staying at the manor with her son for almost the same amount of time as Thomas. "You're thinking of Thomas and Jonathan," I corrected Papa. "They often got into trouble."

"They often got caught," he corrected, with a smile and a wink. It was true, if I veered a toe out of line, it was quite discreetly done.

"You said on the morrow?" I asked. "That's no time at all."

"Indeed it is not. It seems as if he is leaving town in some haste. His letter was light on details, it merely 'informed' me he would be taking me up on one of my previous invitations and joining me on the morrow. I believe he's already on his way by carriage."

"Informing you?" I asked. "That's quite rude."

He chuckled. "Indeed it is. Luckily, I have a bit of sympathy for him in this particular case. It seems he is in the midst of a scandal."

"A scandal?" I asked. "And he's coming here?"

"I don't have all the details. Thomas provided hardly any at all. Luckily your cousin Jonathan wrote me a gleeful report of the situation."

As far as family was concerned, Jonathan was someone I saw rather more often than Thomas. He visited at least once a year and often more, usually regaling us with his latest failed attempt at courtship and whatever recent brawl he had gotten into.

"Jonathan was probably just happy it was Thomas who caused the scandal for a change," I said.

"Supposedly Thomas got into a fight with an earl over a lady who has broken off her engagement with the earl in question. Said earl blames Thomas as the cause for the break and is talking of a duel. Thomas is attempting to quit the situation entirely."

"And what of the lady?" I asked. The lady is often a detail lost in such flashy scuffles, unless she has 'ruined' the man in question and herself in the process. I don't believe in ruin and am always sad to hear of its occurrence.

"Doesn't say," he said. "But she and Thomas are not engaged."

"That's better than most," I answered. "It must mean that she's not taking the blame for whatever has occurred between the two men. At least she escaped marriage with an earl who sounds like an overdramatic brute... and also Thomas."

"It's interesting how you so quickly take sides against your cousin in the matter. Is it possible he's been wronged by the young lady in question?"

"Not if we're to believe half the rumors of what he's been up to," I answered.

"And what of that young boy you knew?" he asked.

I pictured the little scrawny boy with the charming, impish face and the big, blue eyes. He pulled my pigtails and wrestled things away from me, but he had also had moments of being sweet. When he left, I remembered being distraught, and though I sent him many letters for a long time afterwards, he never wrote me back, so we ceased having any acquaintance. The portrait I had sketched of his character from all the stories Lord Whistlewaite and Jonathan had told me since then was of an obnoxious, obstinate, self-important man with no self-control, no moral center, and no judgment. "I don't know that he's really the same boy I knew back then. I find him so changed as to barely know him."

"Well," said Lord Whistlewaite, opening his paper again. "You should know him soon. I have already charged Jervais with putting together the room and Anusha has informed the kitchen staff we will have an extra guest staying with us indefinitely, so there should be little needed to further prepare for his stay."

"Indefinitely?" I said incredulously. "I still don't understand why he's coming here. His guardian as he was growing up, Lord Penry, lives somewhere far away from London as well."

"His relationship with Lord Penry has always been complicated at best. I'm his uncle and one of his few living relatives, certainly one of the only who was kind and understanding with him. I would think you of all people would have some empathy for his situation, being an orphan yourself with not as many relatives in the world as you'd like."

I felt as if Papa had just slapped me. I didn't know why he felt a need to remind me that Thomas and I were both orphans. I remembered that well enough on my own. Still, while I had had my life turned upside down, I had grown into a respectable lady. Thomas, from all I had been told, had definitively not matured one bit.

I attempted further protests, but Lord Whistlewaite was engaged in his paper again and could not be tempted to further conversation.

* * *

In the afternoon, I took my favorite stallion, who I had rightly named Untamed, out riding. As I was by myself, I eschewed the side saddle for my English saddle, riding astride as a gentleman might. In that manner, Untamed and I tackled one or two small jumps that felt quite comfortable. He was a wild beast at heart, and liked a little challenge and freedom in his jaunts, though I was always careful to rein him in.

As we approached a stream, I noticed a chestnut colored filly taking a drink of the cold, clean water and a rider right behind her. The filly adjusted her stance giving me a direct view of the man. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders with curly bright blond hair that came almost to his shoulders, perfectly capturing the afternoon sun. He looked up and noticed me. "Hello, there!" he shouted. "Is Lord Whistlewaite in?"

"What is your business with him?" I called back. I felt wary of strangers in general, but on Untamed I was nigh on untouchable and I wouldn't be intimidated on my own property. Besides, despite his large frame, he seemed harmless enough.

"Do I have to get through you first to see him, then?" he asked, starting to smile at me. His face seemed like it fell into a natural smirk.

"Yes, you do."

"What if I were to take off to the Manor and get there before you? Entirely circumventing you in the process?" His clothes were covered with dirt and mud, but they were fine clothes, such as might be expected from a similar or even higher rank to Lord Whistlewaite.

"That would not be very gentlemanly," I said.

"So, it sounds like a yes, I could do that instead of having to go through you," he said teasingly.

"You wouldn't get past me," I said firmly.

"I have a very good seat," he said. And the way he said it made me want to wipe that self-righteous smirk off his face.

"You're a big man and your horse is obviously tired. I'm a light woman riding the fastest horse in the stable and he's itching for me to unleash his full speed. You wouldn't get past me. I ask you again. What is your business here?"

The strange rider seemed to assess me for a second, his eyes searching my face, considering me. "Nothing of import," he said presently with a smile. It seemed as if he had some secret inner joke and I was growing weary of this conversation.

"As you wish then," I said finally. "You'd do well to take better care of your filly. The poor thing looks quite tired."

"She is. She's traveled quite a distance, though she's proved well up to the challenge," he said. "You know, I saw a carriage not too long ago. It appeared to be on the road to the Manor. Are you expecting anyone?"

"We are, but not for another day," I said. I started wondering if the carriage could include the young Mr Wentworth. I mentally checked myself. Yes, his name would be 'Mr Wentworth', for though he was not married or of sufficient age, with both parents passed, he had inherited the family name and would not be called 'Mr Thomas'. Since I barely knew him, it was appropriate and expected for me to call him 'Mr Wentworth' as well. "I hope it is not them," I said aloud. "We are barely ready."

"Well," he said. "It was not too long ago I left them. You could probably catch them up by the bridge, were you to hurry."

I panicked at the thought we might already have company and left the rider at the stream, heading in the direction of the road home to see if there was indeed a carriage. Barely a few minutes ride and I could see the outline of a black carriage moving through the woods. I dashed ahead to the Manor, leaving my stallion with the stablemaster. I found Jervais and let them know I thought our guest might be a day early. I then went to the kitchens and told the cooks to adjust the portions for tonight. Then I went, still in my riding clothes, to find Lord Whistlewaite.

In his study, I found him. And next to him, stood the rider from the stream.

"Addy," Lord Whistlewaite said delightedly. "Our guest is even earlier than expected! Surely you remember Thomas."

Thomas looked at me with a sheepish expression of utter delight. "Hello, Addy," he said.

Embarrassment came over me. I searched his face. While by the river I hadn't recognized him at all. Now that I was staring at him in earnest, I could see it. I could see a familiarity in the eyes and the shape of his face, and something in particular about the impish grin. My how he had changed. I'd been the taller of us before he left, but now I'd guess he stood more than a head taller than me. At the time of our parting he had been a skinny boy — strong, but still not so much stronger than myself. Now looking at him, I could well believe he won as many fights as he was purported to have done. "Addy is too informal for our relationship," I said.

"Surely, it's fine," Thomas said. "We are cousins."

"You know we are not," I said. We are not cousins and we are not friends. We are strangers who haven't seen each other in ten years, I thought.

Lord Whistlewaite looked at me at this point, "You are cousins, Addy. You even referred to him as a cousin yourself this morning."

"That is not quite what I said," I responded defensively.

"Mmm," Lord Whistlewaite murmured with a nod. He looked over at Thomas like they were the greatest of friends. "What she actually said was, 'bratty cousin'."

"Papa," I said indignantly. Thomas and Lord Whistlewaite shared a moment of merriment at my expense, much to my chagrin. I didn't understand how Papa could suddenly take to Thomas as a son when he hadn't visited for ages.

"So, cousin," Thomas said. "I see you rode. It's certainly a nice day for it. Anything interesting happen on your pleasant jaunt around the property?"

He was trying to rub it in my face that I didn't recognize him, and that he did in fact beat me back by directing me to the more winding road. "Nothing of import," I said through gritted teeth.

At Thomas's own words repeated back to him, he laughed mirthfully, and though Lord Whistlewaite didn't quite get the joke, he likewise smiled.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to change," I said. "I have alerted the kitchen staff that our guest has surprised us by a day."

I turned and quit the room, and returned back to my own.

He's even worse than I imagined, I thought. I saw barely a trace of the young, gentle boy I knew. Instead this man was all self-importance and childish games. He seemed to be one of those men who is ruined by growing up handsome. They think they can get away with anything and not have anyone call them on it. Well, that will not be the case here. I'll ensure it.

* * *

I left the lunchroom the next day glad of escape. Less than a day here, and I already felt like throttling Thomas. I counted it up and I had eaten only three meals with him, but it seemed like infinitely more.

During dinner he had proceeded to remind me in subtle ways of our encounter, until he told a story about the time he duped a random stranger into going the wrong direction and out of their way, and then it ceased to be subtle. The whole time he smiled, as if knowing he was handsome enough that the world at large would tolerate him and his antics.

At breakfast and lunch, he proceeded to ignore me except to occasionally call me 'Addy'. He and Papa, the latter of whom usually did not surface from his paper for more than a few moments for tea, carried on loudly and obnoxiously on subjects only pertaining to gossip about Town and stories of people that only Papa and him knew. And while I didn't mind people catching up on their own, I felt purposefully left out.

To top it all off, Papa informed me that we were to have guests tonight, a small set of folks to welcome Thomas, the prodigal heir returned. Papa told me I didn't need to do anything, and now I'm thinking I very much will not.

Right before I reached my door, I saw Arjun, the footman. "Adithi," he said. Like me, his parents had also been from India. Like me, his parents had been servants of British nobles. Like me, his parents had decided to uproot from their homeland to venture across the sea for a new country and a new life. Unlike me, his parents both survived the sickness and were able to make the journey.

Arjun was handsome and surprisingly erudite for a servant, as he often borrowed books from Lord Whistlewaite's library. For a while as a teenager, Arjun had been more to me than a friend, but now he was just a friend and a good one at that. He and his parents were the closest I had to family aside from Lord Whistlewaite.

"Arjun," I said. "Jervais was looking for you." When I last saw him, Jervais had been looking pained at all the new things to do to further accommodate the heir to the estate.

"I'll find him in a minute then. How's the new guest?" he asked.

"Tedious," I said honestly.

"He's roughly the same as I remember, with just as many jokes and smiles. He was telling me about London though. Seems amazing."

"I've never been curious. So many people."

"If Lord Whistlewaite bought a property in Town, I'd ask to join him in a second. I don't reckon it'll happen though," he said. He stared at me curiously, "Quite a few of the kitchen folk think he's handsome and charming, and a bit worldly — though I find that last bit funny since worldly in their minds is that he's been to France once."

I rolled my eyes. "Worldly indeed. Well, I doubt they find him nearly as handsome as he finds himself," I said, exasperatedly. "I'm finding a book to read in my room so I won't be distracted by his dazzling presence."

"Hopefully it'll be quiet and dark in there, and you'll be able to escape his shining light," he joked. "Until later," he said and we waved our goodbyes.

I opened the door to my safe haven: my bedroom. It never felt like a bedroom to me, it felt like an entertaining room. It held a wooden table and mismatched chairs, a white crushed velvet divan, a writing desk, and a small daybed at the end of the room right before a small walk-in closet. The furniture was old and eclectic, grabbed from many travels around the world. The writing desk was British, the daybed possibly Chinese, the chairs possibly French, the pillows made with fabrics from India.

I sat down on my divan, and took out a book I had been reading. It was a lovely cushioned bench that couldn't fit more than two people and it was by far my favorite piece of furniture. The cushion had been embroidered in green with pink birds and branches in a light brown. It awkwardly didn't have arms, which I figured was particular to my aunt Vera's functional use of the piece, as this was her divan, and it was her room until recently. I moved in after she had left the house on her own permanent excursion to India just a few years ago.

As it was an immensely comfy piece of furniture, and a rather dull book, and a rather lovely warm afternoon, I slowly but surely dozed off in the lazy afternoon.

Unfortunately, my peace was short-lived and I woke up to a pillow in my face. I had fallen asleep in the comfort of my solitude, only to be abruptly awoken to a pillow in my face and an intruder in my room.

I looked up to see our house guest relishing in my distress, a self-smug smile wide across his face. "You're wasting away the day," he said.

"It's mine to waste. Meanwhile this is not your room," I said annoyed. I didn't mind a man being in my room per se, as it was closer to an entertaining room converted into a bedroom, but I hadn't extended an invitation for him to be here and I minded greatly being woken up.

He shrugged, his round shoulders and general posture entirely unconcerned with my disapprobation. "It wasn't locked. Didn't even realize you were asleep in the chair until I came closer."

"And then you decided to wake me up? I'm not quite sure I understand your logic. It's incredibly bad manners, you know."

"Well, you already knew I had bad manners," he said with a grin, his curly blond hair falling in front of his eyes. Never had a smile annoyed me so greatly as his right now. I wished someone would just wipe it off his face.

"I miss Lady Vera sometimes," I said. I did. My aunt, Lord Whistlewaite's sister, had a force of character like no other. "Had the lady of the House been here she would not have put up with it."

"I can well believe it. I remember rumors. I also remember Lord Lippincott, who used to stay indefinitely, and who I later realized was her lover. He had a known reputation for behavior unbefitting a proper gentleman, but I could never believe it because he was so well behaved when I knew him. I always wondered if it was the effect of a feminine presence on him, though I heard rumors of secret potions."