All You Have Is All You Need
Jan. 1st, 2014 08:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: All You Have Is All You Need
Rating: PG.
Summary: Jake has a day.
7. heavenly choir
Jacob Foster awoke to the dulcet sounds of his two eldest daughters shrieking at each other. He wished that was an unusual occurrence.
It was more unusual to awake to the sounds—less dulcet—of his wife casting up her accounts in the basin near the bed. He ignored his daughters for the moment, rolled over, and stroked her back. "Morning sickness?"
Olivia heaved again, dry this time, then coughed. "Yes," she said. "Ugh. Could you get me some water? Your child is turning my stomach inside out."
They kept a ewer and a glass at the side of the bed for exactly this purpose. Jake got it and poured a glass, then came back and handed it to her. "Here. I'll go and deal with the girls. You lie down and rest a little longer."
She smiled faintly at him, and rinsed her mouth. "Thank you."
He kissed her brow. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said, then lunged suddenly for the basin again.
Jake would be very glad when her morning sickness ceased.
2. thou shalt not
By the time he got to the nursery, the screaming had denigrated into a hair-pulling match. The baby was standing up in her crib, crying to be held, while Vivian and Felicity yanked on each other's braids and used language Jake was sure they'd never learned from him.
"Felicity Jane," he snapped, as his oldest had used the last unacceptable word. Both girls flinched and backed away from each other, but Vivian looked flushed and triumphant, so he added a "Vivian Rose," for good measure.
Both girls looked suitably chastened, with lowered eyes and heads, so he detoured in his scolding to pick up the baby. She calmed immediately he got her in his arms, so she had probably been just frightened by her sisters.
"Young ladies," he said, turning to face the two eldest. "What, exactly, did you think you were doing?"
"Papa, Felicity stole my sash!" Vivian exclaimed, shooting her sister a venomous look.
Felicity rolled her eyes. "She took my bonnet! It's only fair, Papa."
And there, that was their mother's big-eyed charm in Felicity's small face. Fortunately, Jake was immune.
Immune enough, anyway.
"Girls," he said, sternly, and they hung their heads again. "You know your mother is not well. I don't care who took whose what, you must be very good and quiet while she is ill." He bent a stern look on the both of them. "You will give back each other's belongings, and then you will go and apologize to your mama for being so noisy, and you will be very good for the rest of the day, will you not?"
"Yes, Papa," they murmured, in ragged unison. He stood aside to let them get to the door.
At least the baby, gurgling on his hip, was in a good mood.
10. dearly departed
Olivia was out of bed by the time he had to leave, though she still looked slightly pale. In the half hour intervening, Jake had got the girls dressed, seen that the maid-of-all-work had arrived and got breakfast started, got himself put together, and brought her a cup of tea to settle her stomach. She took it with a grateful smile, and a hand to the growing child in her belly.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked quietly, and sat beside her on the bed while she sipped.
She leaned into his shoulder for a moment. "Yes. Less nauseous, at any rate."
"Good." He kissed her brow. "The girls are settled, and breakfast is ready."
She winced at the word. "I don't think I can manage that today."
He took her hand and pressed it in wordless sympathy. "The girls have promised to be very good," he said, rather than repeat the noxious word. "I think they mean it."
"They always do," she said, with a hint of exasperated affection. "They are good girls, really, only somewhat... tempestuous."
"I am sure you were never so difficult," he teased, and made her laugh.
"No," she said, "my father says I was an angel. Of course, this is my father, and you must be careful what you believe from him."
"He loves you," Jake said, and tipped her chin up. "I can sympathize." He kissed her then, and if her breath was somewhat sour, well, the pressure alone could sustain him. "I have to leave. Are you sure you will be all right, with the girls?"
She shook her head. "I will be fine, my dear. You forget I am their mother. Go to work, we shall all be well here."
He left her with great reluctance, but he left all the same.
6. judge not
"You're late, Mr. Foster!"
He was not late, as it happened, or if he was, it was only by a bare few minutes. Still, it made Lord Forrest feel better to complain about something, so Jake usually let him do it. "I apologize, sir," he said, shedding his greatcoat and hat. "It was rather hectic in my household this morning."
Lord Forrest squinted up at him from his comfortable seat at Jake's desk. "Your wife still out of sorts?"
"She's in the family way, sir, she'll be out of sorts for some time." At least his lordship had had the sense to move Jake's papers before putting his boots on his desk. That was three letters he would not have to rewrite.
Lord Forrest grunted, and swung his boots to the floor. "I wish you a son this time, Mr. Foster. So many plaguey girls—you've enough of them already."
Jake gritted his teeth. He adored his daughters and would be quite happy with another, but his lordship would neither believe that nor appreciate commentary. "Your good wishes are appreciated, sir. I shall pass them on to my wife."
"With my compliments!" his lordship said, genially, with an expansive wave of his hand. He slapped both hands on his thighs, then, and stood. "Now get to work, Mr. Foster. Today's correspondence is on the left. I shall need the top six replies out by this morning's post."
Of course he would. Jake stifled a sigh. "Certainly, my lord. Shall you be going to Parliament today?"
"No," my lord said, "but you will. I've messages for some of my colleagues. We will deal with that after lunch, though." He nodded at the desk. "The correspondence is more important. Get to it."
Jake waited until Lord Forrest had gone back into his office before he dusted off the seat of his chair.
3. doubt
Last night's work and the first six replies made it out by the morning post, barely, and only because Jake was on bowing terms with the postman. Still, they made it out, and the rest of the correspondence he could take more slowly.
A good thing, too. The third letter down needed some attention.
It was addressed to Lord Forrest, of course, and really it was almost nothing, a small short note from a woman who humbly begged his forgiveness for trespassing on his time, and hoped that he would recall her from some occasion or other. She lived now, she said, on his lands, and it was as her landlord that she wrote to him now.
So far, so very familiar. Lord Forrest's tenants wrote to him all the time, and it was always Jake who wrote back, giving orders for this or that to be done, reassuring or sternly-worded as needed. He had already pulled a fresh sheet of paper, already written out a clean salutation and dipped his pen for the rest when his eyes caught on a sentence.
"My daughter is so very ill, my lord, and I can hardly pay for our rent as it is."
Jake put his pen down and read on. The woman asked Lord Forrest to accept part payment for a time, until her daughter was well and the doctor's bills had been paid. She understood, she said, if he could not do this, and if so she asked only to be allowed to remain in the cottage until her daughter was out of danger.
His own little girls flashed before his mind's eye, young and difficult and so completely trusting, and his wife, struggling through her illnesses to educate and care for them, because she was their mother, and she loved them. He could all too easily imagine Olivia in this mother's position, forced to choose between housing and the all too real possibility of losing a child.
And yet, who was he to make this choice? He was not the landlord, and he had not been working for Lord Forrest for very long. For all he knew this woman was a habitual troublemaker, or a drunk, attempting to make up her shortfall with a sorrowful story. Perhaps her daughter existed only on paper, a grab for sympathy and kindness.
Troubled, Jake folded the letter and set it aside. He would think on it, and return later.
9. saintly
At one Jake took himself off to the local tavern for luncheon with his friend in the War Department, the aptly-named Mr. Warmind. He had actually been Olivia's friend (and somewhat haphazard suitor) first; he had more or less adopted Jake after their marriage, and now was godfather to their daughters and very likely to the new baby too, when it came.
He was also early, and waiting for Jake with a mug of ale and two plates of stew.
"There you are," Mr. Warmind said, and lifted his mug in mock salute. "My lord overworking you again?"
"When is he not?" Jake replied, taking his seat and eying the stew hungrily. "Is one of those for me?"
"No," he said, "they're both for me. My sister thinks I'm too thin." Jake blinked at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course one is for you. Olivia would do terrible things to me if I let you faint from hunger."
Jake pulled the second plate over to himself and set to it. Years of public service had taught him to eat quickly and neatly, and he spilled not a drop.
"I see it is a starving-wolf day," Mr. Warmind observed, before tucking into his own food.
Jake shrugged, and swallowed his current mouthful. "A difficult day, at any rate. The girls were fighting this morning, and of course Olivia is still unwell."
"Of course," Mr. Warmind murmured. "I shall have to send flowers. That can't be all."
He sighed. "Some little difficulty at work. One of my lord's tenants asking for help."
Mr. Warmind raised his eyebrows. "Surely that is not a difficulty. Send it."
"I need to know if it's genuine," he said, and sighed again. "And of course I have a thousand other things to do today."
"Good luck," Mr. Warmind said, and thankfully remained quiet for the rest of the meal.
4. the evidence of things not seen
Parliament was Parliament, as ever and always. Jake had messages for several different members, all of whom proved difficult to find, and a need to speak to Mr. Coffy, Lord Forrest's last secretary, who proved nearly impossible to find. He finally located the other man sitting in the galleries, watching a very boring member speak of very boring things while the other members in the house either napped or played at cards.
"He'll have them out to the track next," Mr. Coffy remarked, as Jake approached him. "Sit down. His lordship abusing you again?"
"No," Jake said. He was lying, and from the little snort of amusement Mr. Coffy gave, the other man knew it. Still, it was a kind lie, and Lord Forrest was not mistreating him all that much. "I had a question for you, actually, if you would be kind enough to answer it."
Mr. Coffy made a careless wave, and Jake grinned, sat down beside him. "Do you know of a Mrs. Fairfax? One of my lord's tenants. I believe she's before my time; I was hoping she was not after yours."
Mr. Coffy opened his mouth, then shut it, frowning. At last, he said, "I... believe I know of her, yes. Why do you ask?"
Jake shrugged, and leaned back against the gallery bench. "My lord received a letter from her today. I was merely wondering if any of it was true, or if she was simply creating a story to garner sympathy."
"It depends on the story," Mr. Coffy said, still frowning, "but from what I know of Mrs. Fairfax I doubt it. What did she say?"
"That her child is ill," Jake replied, and thought again of his daughters at home. "That she cannot afford both rent and doctor's fees. She asked very little, I thought, but you know his lordship. I did not wish to take it to him unless I knew it was not all a hum."
"Oh, no, it's true," Mr. Coffy replied absently. "There is certainly a child. I do not know if the rest is true but I can say this: I have never known Mrs. Fairfax to lie but once, and that once—I understand why she did."
Jake frowned, but no explanation was forthcoming, and in fact that seemed to be all that Mr. Coffy planned to say. Ah well—it was all the information he needed anyway. "Thank you," he said, and rose. "If you find yourself at loose ends some evening you must come to dinner."
"Thank you," Mr. Coffy replied absently, "I shall."
5. ineffable
Jake returned to the office at nearly four, to find his desk littered with correspondence both recent and old, a list of tasks in Lord Forrest's scattered handwriting, and no employer anywhere in sight. Of course.
Well, if Lord Forrest did not return by five, he would simply leave for home. His lordship was not quite so high in the instep that he would dismiss as good a secretary as Jake without some proof of high misconduct, and returning home at a natural time of day did not fall under that. He set to the list of tasks, and was through by half past four.
He sat back, glanced at the clock, and looked at his desk. He'd set the correspondence in order and put it back in its related folders, finished the tasks his lordship had set, and now...
He picked up the letter from Mrs. Fairfax and scanned it through again. What on earth was he to do?
8. the angels sing
Lord Forrest returned a bare minute later, and glanced briefly at Jake as he sailed toward his office, then paused. "What is that?"
"A letter from one of your tenants," Jake replied absently, caught up in the words, in the broken plea, in the images of his daughters. He shook himself, folded the letter, and turned to look up at his employer. "She writes to ask that you wait her rent until next quarter."
"Certainly not," his lordship said, but he sounded more confused than angry. "What on earth made her ask such a thing?" He took another step toward his office, then turned back. "Who was it?"
"Mrs. Fairfax." Jake hesitated, tapping the folded letter against his palm. "My lord, she says that her daughter is ill, and she cannot afford both the rent and the doctor's fees."
Lord Forrest stood on the doorstep of his office, still as a statue in the light of his candle. "Of course she cannot," he said, slowly. "That doctor is a robber and a drunkard. He can do nothing right."
There was an unexpected bitterness in his lordship's voice, but Jake did not think himself equal to questioning it; he kept silence instead, and merely watched.
All at once his lordship seemed to make up his mind. "Wait just a moment, Mr. Foster, and I will have a letter for you to take to the post on your way home. Two, I think, in fact." He vanished into his office.
Jake blinked, but rose slowly, put on his hat and greatcoat. His lordship did not take very long writing the letters, and reappeared in short order with two envelopes, one addressed to Mrs. Fairfax and the other to a name he did not recognize. He took the letters, and directed an inquiring look at Lord Forrest.
"One to my tenant," Lord Forrest said, with a strong tone of irony in his voice. "One to my physician here in London. He'll be well paid to make the trip, I assure you. Now go home, Mr. Foster, and kiss your children." He put his own hat back on his head and brushed past Jake, to the door. "And stop looking at me as if I have ascended to heaven! I hate that doctor, that is all."
The door slammed behind him.
Jake could not suppress the smile.
1. blessed
Olivia was waiting when he came home, a candle in her hand and her shawl tight about her shoulders. "Good evening," she said, and kissed his mouth when he offered it. "You're home early."
"I am home precisely on time," he told her, and kissed her again. "It's only that my lord is such a tyrant we're not used to it."
She giggled, and tucked her free arm in his. "The children were very good today. They want to see their father and tell him how very good they were before supper."
He laughed himself, tugged her closer. "I see. No fights or temper tantrums?"
"None at all." Olivia sounded almost gleeful. "Not even over their lessons. If only they could be like this every day."
Neither of them really wished their daughters sweet and compliant, Jake thought, no more than Mrs. Fairfax wished her daughter ill. They were good girls on the whole, and their fights, their irritating habits, they were only the signs of individuality, of spirit.
He would not wish his children, any of them, other than they were. He would not wish his life anything other than it was.
"If only," he said, and kissed Olivia again.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Jake has a day.
7. heavenly choir
Jacob Foster awoke to the dulcet sounds of his two eldest daughters shrieking at each other. He wished that was an unusual occurrence.
It was more unusual to awake to the sounds—less dulcet—of his wife casting up her accounts in the basin near the bed. He ignored his daughters for the moment, rolled over, and stroked her back. "Morning sickness?"
Olivia heaved again, dry this time, then coughed. "Yes," she said. "Ugh. Could you get me some water? Your child is turning my stomach inside out."
They kept a ewer and a glass at the side of the bed for exactly this purpose. Jake got it and poured a glass, then came back and handed it to her. "Here. I'll go and deal with the girls. You lie down and rest a little longer."
She smiled faintly at him, and rinsed her mouth. "Thank you."
He kissed her brow. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said, then lunged suddenly for the basin again.
Jake would be very glad when her morning sickness ceased.
2. thou shalt not
By the time he got to the nursery, the screaming had denigrated into a hair-pulling match. The baby was standing up in her crib, crying to be held, while Vivian and Felicity yanked on each other's braids and used language Jake was sure they'd never learned from him.
"Felicity Jane," he snapped, as his oldest had used the last unacceptable word. Both girls flinched and backed away from each other, but Vivian looked flushed and triumphant, so he added a "Vivian Rose," for good measure.
Both girls looked suitably chastened, with lowered eyes and heads, so he detoured in his scolding to pick up the baby. She calmed immediately he got her in his arms, so she had probably been just frightened by her sisters.
"Young ladies," he said, turning to face the two eldest. "What, exactly, did you think you were doing?"
"Papa, Felicity stole my sash!" Vivian exclaimed, shooting her sister a venomous look.
Felicity rolled her eyes. "She took my bonnet! It's only fair, Papa."
And there, that was their mother's big-eyed charm in Felicity's small face. Fortunately, Jake was immune.
Immune enough, anyway.
"Girls," he said, sternly, and they hung their heads again. "You know your mother is not well. I don't care who took whose what, you must be very good and quiet while she is ill." He bent a stern look on the both of them. "You will give back each other's belongings, and then you will go and apologize to your mama for being so noisy, and you will be very good for the rest of the day, will you not?"
"Yes, Papa," they murmured, in ragged unison. He stood aside to let them get to the door.
At least the baby, gurgling on his hip, was in a good mood.
10. dearly departed
Olivia was out of bed by the time he had to leave, though she still looked slightly pale. In the half hour intervening, Jake had got the girls dressed, seen that the maid-of-all-work had arrived and got breakfast started, got himself put together, and brought her a cup of tea to settle her stomach. She took it with a grateful smile, and a hand to the growing child in her belly.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked quietly, and sat beside her on the bed while she sipped.
She leaned into his shoulder for a moment. "Yes. Less nauseous, at any rate."
"Good." He kissed her brow. "The girls are settled, and breakfast is ready."
She winced at the word. "I don't think I can manage that today."
He took her hand and pressed it in wordless sympathy. "The girls have promised to be very good," he said, rather than repeat the noxious word. "I think they mean it."
"They always do," she said, with a hint of exasperated affection. "They are good girls, really, only somewhat... tempestuous."
"I am sure you were never so difficult," he teased, and made her laugh.
"No," she said, "my father says I was an angel. Of course, this is my father, and you must be careful what you believe from him."
"He loves you," Jake said, and tipped her chin up. "I can sympathize." He kissed her then, and if her breath was somewhat sour, well, the pressure alone could sustain him. "I have to leave. Are you sure you will be all right, with the girls?"
She shook her head. "I will be fine, my dear. You forget I am their mother. Go to work, we shall all be well here."
He left her with great reluctance, but he left all the same.
6. judge not
"You're late, Mr. Foster!"
He was not late, as it happened, or if he was, it was only by a bare few minutes. Still, it made Lord Forrest feel better to complain about something, so Jake usually let him do it. "I apologize, sir," he said, shedding his greatcoat and hat. "It was rather hectic in my household this morning."
Lord Forrest squinted up at him from his comfortable seat at Jake's desk. "Your wife still out of sorts?"
"She's in the family way, sir, she'll be out of sorts for some time." At least his lordship had had the sense to move Jake's papers before putting his boots on his desk. That was three letters he would not have to rewrite.
Lord Forrest grunted, and swung his boots to the floor. "I wish you a son this time, Mr. Foster. So many plaguey girls—you've enough of them already."
Jake gritted his teeth. He adored his daughters and would be quite happy with another, but his lordship would neither believe that nor appreciate commentary. "Your good wishes are appreciated, sir. I shall pass them on to my wife."
"With my compliments!" his lordship said, genially, with an expansive wave of his hand. He slapped both hands on his thighs, then, and stood. "Now get to work, Mr. Foster. Today's correspondence is on the left. I shall need the top six replies out by this morning's post."
Of course he would. Jake stifled a sigh. "Certainly, my lord. Shall you be going to Parliament today?"
"No," my lord said, "but you will. I've messages for some of my colleagues. We will deal with that after lunch, though." He nodded at the desk. "The correspondence is more important. Get to it."
Jake waited until Lord Forrest had gone back into his office before he dusted off the seat of his chair.
3. doubt
Last night's work and the first six replies made it out by the morning post, barely, and only because Jake was on bowing terms with the postman. Still, they made it out, and the rest of the correspondence he could take more slowly.
A good thing, too. The third letter down needed some attention.
It was addressed to Lord Forrest, of course, and really it was almost nothing, a small short note from a woman who humbly begged his forgiveness for trespassing on his time, and hoped that he would recall her from some occasion or other. She lived now, she said, on his lands, and it was as her landlord that she wrote to him now.
So far, so very familiar. Lord Forrest's tenants wrote to him all the time, and it was always Jake who wrote back, giving orders for this or that to be done, reassuring or sternly-worded as needed. He had already pulled a fresh sheet of paper, already written out a clean salutation and dipped his pen for the rest when his eyes caught on a sentence.
"My daughter is so very ill, my lord, and I can hardly pay for our rent as it is."
Jake put his pen down and read on. The woman asked Lord Forrest to accept part payment for a time, until her daughter was well and the doctor's bills had been paid. She understood, she said, if he could not do this, and if so she asked only to be allowed to remain in the cottage until her daughter was out of danger.
His own little girls flashed before his mind's eye, young and difficult and so completely trusting, and his wife, struggling through her illnesses to educate and care for them, because she was their mother, and she loved them. He could all too easily imagine Olivia in this mother's position, forced to choose between housing and the all too real possibility of losing a child.
And yet, who was he to make this choice? He was not the landlord, and he had not been working for Lord Forrest for very long. For all he knew this woman was a habitual troublemaker, or a drunk, attempting to make up her shortfall with a sorrowful story. Perhaps her daughter existed only on paper, a grab for sympathy and kindness.
Troubled, Jake folded the letter and set it aside. He would think on it, and return later.
9. saintly
At one Jake took himself off to the local tavern for luncheon with his friend in the War Department, the aptly-named Mr. Warmind. He had actually been Olivia's friend (and somewhat haphazard suitor) first; he had more or less adopted Jake after their marriage, and now was godfather to their daughters and very likely to the new baby too, when it came.
He was also early, and waiting for Jake with a mug of ale and two plates of stew.
"There you are," Mr. Warmind said, and lifted his mug in mock salute. "My lord overworking you again?"
"When is he not?" Jake replied, taking his seat and eying the stew hungrily. "Is one of those for me?"
"No," he said, "they're both for me. My sister thinks I'm too thin." Jake blinked at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course one is for you. Olivia would do terrible things to me if I let you faint from hunger."
Jake pulled the second plate over to himself and set to it. Years of public service had taught him to eat quickly and neatly, and he spilled not a drop.
"I see it is a starving-wolf day," Mr. Warmind observed, before tucking into his own food.
Jake shrugged, and swallowed his current mouthful. "A difficult day, at any rate. The girls were fighting this morning, and of course Olivia is still unwell."
"Of course," Mr. Warmind murmured. "I shall have to send flowers. That can't be all."
He sighed. "Some little difficulty at work. One of my lord's tenants asking for help."
Mr. Warmind raised his eyebrows. "Surely that is not a difficulty. Send it."
"I need to know if it's genuine," he said, and sighed again. "And of course I have a thousand other things to do today."
"Good luck," Mr. Warmind said, and thankfully remained quiet for the rest of the meal.
4. the evidence of things not seen
Parliament was Parliament, as ever and always. Jake had messages for several different members, all of whom proved difficult to find, and a need to speak to Mr. Coffy, Lord Forrest's last secretary, who proved nearly impossible to find. He finally located the other man sitting in the galleries, watching a very boring member speak of very boring things while the other members in the house either napped or played at cards.
"He'll have them out to the track next," Mr. Coffy remarked, as Jake approached him. "Sit down. His lordship abusing you again?"
"No," Jake said. He was lying, and from the little snort of amusement Mr. Coffy gave, the other man knew it. Still, it was a kind lie, and Lord Forrest was not mistreating him all that much. "I had a question for you, actually, if you would be kind enough to answer it."
Mr. Coffy made a careless wave, and Jake grinned, sat down beside him. "Do you know of a Mrs. Fairfax? One of my lord's tenants. I believe she's before my time; I was hoping she was not after yours."
Mr. Coffy opened his mouth, then shut it, frowning. At last, he said, "I... believe I know of her, yes. Why do you ask?"
Jake shrugged, and leaned back against the gallery bench. "My lord received a letter from her today. I was merely wondering if any of it was true, or if she was simply creating a story to garner sympathy."
"It depends on the story," Mr. Coffy said, still frowning, "but from what I know of Mrs. Fairfax I doubt it. What did she say?"
"That her child is ill," Jake replied, and thought again of his daughters at home. "That she cannot afford both rent and doctor's fees. She asked very little, I thought, but you know his lordship. I did not wish to take it to him unless I knew it was not all a hum."
"Oh, no, it's true," Mr. Coffy replied absently. "There is certainly a child. I do not know if the rest is true but I can say this: I have never known Mrs. Fairfax to lie but once, and that once—I understand why she did."
Jake frowned, but no explanation was forthcoming, and in fact that seemed to be all that Mr. Coffy planned to say. Ah well—it was all the information he needed anyway. "Thank you," he said, and rose. "If you find yourself at loose ends some evening you must come to dinner."
"Thank you," Mr. Coffy replied absently, "I shall."
5. ineffable
Jake returned to the office at nearly four, to find his desk littered with correspondence both recent and old, a list of tasks in Lord Forrest's scattered handwriting, and no employer anywhere in sight. Of course.
Well, if Lord Forrest did not return by five, he would simply leave for home. His lordship was not quite so high in the instep that he would dismiss as good a secretary as Jake without some proof of high misconduct, and returning home at a natural time of day did not fall under that. He set to the list of tasks, and was through by half past four.
He sat back, glanced at the clock, and looked at his desk. He'd set the correspondence in order and put it back in its related folders, finished the tasks his lordship had set, and now...
He picked up the letter from Mrs. Fairfax and scanned it through again. What on earth was he to do?
8. the angels sing
Lord Forrest returned a bare minute later, and glanced briefly at Jake as he sailed toward his office, then paused. "What is that?"
"A letter from one of your tenants," Jake replied absently, caught up in the words, in the broken plea, in the images of his daughters. He shook himself, folded the letter, and turned to look up at his employer. "She writes to ask that you wait her rent until next quarter."
"Certainly not," his lordship said, but he sounded more confused than angry. "What on earth made her ask such a thing?" He took another step toward his office, then turned back. "Who was it?"
"Mrs. Fairfax." Jake hesitated, tapping the folded letter against his palm. "My lord, she says that her daughter is ill, and she cannot afford both the rent and the doctor's fees."
Lord Forrest stood on the doorstep of his office, still as a statue in the light of his candle. "Of course she cannot," he said, slowly. "That doctor is a robber and a drunkard. He can do nothing right."
There was an unexpected bitterness in his lordship's voice, but Jake did not think himself equal to questioning it; he kept silence instead, and merely watched.
All at once his lordship seemed to make up his mind. "Wait just a moment, Mr. Foster, and I will have a letter for you to take to the post on your way home. Two, I think, in fact." He vanished into his office.
Jake blinked, but rose slowly, put on his hat and greatcoat. His lordship did not take very long writing the letters, and reappeared in short order with two envelopes, one addressed to Mrs. Fairfax and the other to a name he did not recognize. He took the letters, and directed an inquiring look at Lord Forrest.
"One to my tenant," Lord Forrest said, with a strong tone of irony in his voice. "One to my physician here in London. He'll be well paid to make the trip, I assure you. Now go home, Mr. Foster, and kiss your children." He put his own hat back on his head and brushed past Jake, to the door. "And stop looking at me as if I have ascended to heaven! I hate that doctor, that is all."
The door slammed behind him.
Jake could not suppress the smile.
1. blessed
Olivia was waiting when he came home, a candle in her hand and her shawl tight about her shoulders. "Good evening," she said, and kissed his mouth when he offered it. "You're home early."
"I am home precisely on time," he told her, and kissed her again. "It's only that my lord is such a tyrant we're not used to it."
She giggled, and tucked her free arm in his. "The children were very good today. They want to see their father and tell him how very good they were before supper."
He laughed himself, tugged her closer. "I see. No fights or temper tantrums?"
"None at all." Olivia sounded almost gleeful. "Not even over their lessons. If only they could be like this every day."
Neither of them really wished their daughters sweet and compliant, Jake thought, no more than Mrs. Fairfax wished her daughter ill. They were good girls on the whole, and their fights, their irritating habits, they were only the signs of individuality, of spirit.
He would not wish his children, any of them, other than they were. He would not wish his life anything other than it was.
"If only," he said, and kissed Olivia again.
