Chapter Text
Mr. Wooster and I returned to our separate bedrooms after our time in the garden. A certain nervous sensation, of which I had seldom been afflicted, precluded me from joining him in his room, by no means due to a lack of keenness for such activities. The following morning, some time after we parted ways, we departed from my Aunt’s, myself attained by a bittersweet emotion that plagued me along our journey as I bid farewell to my sister. However, having Mr. Wooster’s hand in my own provided a great ease of heart and mind, if not an incursion upon my feudal sensibilities.
Once safely back in London, some resemblance of that which is typical resumed, however in the place of a stolen glance, one might find a way to steal a kiss in its stead. Mr. Wooster reoccupied the seat by his piano shortly after our return, the space once again filled with the sound. While the tune in and of itself was not one I would find myself enjoying, I found myself greatly appreciating such pieces when it was the deft hands of my Bertram at the keys.
On the third night since our sojourn, I received a letter mailed from my Aunt’s address. I assumed it would be written by my sister, who had taken great care to assure that I “keep my chin up”, as she had put it when we parted company. Upon opening the letter, my eyes could not help but notice the script in which it was written, my Aunt’s.
“Dear Reggie,
You could have just told me, you silly boy. I saw you and your lovely Bertie in the garden. I was too bloody cross to sleep, I’m sorry to say… I apologize for giving you such a hard time near the end, give Bertie my regrets, most sincerely. Please return at any time, and do bring him along too, I would like to redeem myself in person. I look forward to seeing him again! He’s a good man, Reggie, as are you. Don’t let this pass you by.
Signed with hugs and kisses aplenty,
Your loving Aunt Ruby.
P.S. I believe your sister would like to add something, less hassle for the postman or so she tells me.
P.P.S. Finally, you should write some poetry that is less gloomy. Your letters ought to be much more exciting to receive, no offense intended, although you must admit letter after letter of hopeless (or not so hopeless) pining does not make for the freshest reading. Right then, good luck! Uncle Takeshi is asking for the pen, I believe he’s going to write something under my message.
P.P.P.S. I’m sure you must be appalled at this formatting, young man, though Rosalie tells me it makes less of a burden for the postman. In any case, do grant yourself permission to be comfortable around Mr. Bertie. He is a kinder man than your previous acquaintances, employers and friends alike, as I’m sure you know. ”
I folded the letter, returning it to its envelope and storing it in my vest. I delivered Mr. Wooster the pertinent extracts.
“Oh, Jeeves, tell her no redemption is necessary, I understand her posish. under the circs!” he said. “Good on her, I say, being a progressive sort of woman! And lucky we are, I feared I may never taste Mr. Takeshi’s cooking ever again and nearly wept!” he added, rising from his place at the piano after a moment, placing his head on my chest. Mr. Wooster’s hair is of the softest variety and most pleasant odor.
“Indeed, sir.” I replied, placing my hands with some hesitation on his slender sides, his delicate arms finding their way atop my shoulders.