Chapter Text
"Oh no."
"Oh no? What's oh no?"
Tim tilts his head slightly and Martin can't help but look over. "He's down here again. I wonder what he needs now."
The person in question is talking to Sasha, and running a hand though his hair. This is the second time he's been down here just today, but Martin's not sure he has a problem with it.
Maybe he should, the way Jonathan Sims treats him. Both Sasha and Tim seem to take enough offense on his behalf, though.
"I'd imagine that Miss Lukas is quite needy all the time. I mean, she is seven."
Tim nods at him. "Yes, but he's down here all the time. I know you think he's handsome, but we got better things to do than to cater to Mister Sims' whims all day, every day."
If arguing with Tim would do any good, Martin might point out that anyone can polish silverware or replace candles or mend stockings. It won't, though and so he takes one look back and Jonathan Sims and wonders how Tim knows that he thinks he's handsome.
He is, though. He holds himself with such prestige, every movement he makes is deliberate and precise. Jonathan Sims is graceful, in a way that Martin will never amount to.
As his conversation with Sasha goes on he gets increasingly more animated, which moves his arms up and down, which in turn shifts his waistcoat, and like times before Martin figures that he could likely wrap both his hands around Jonathan Sims waist.
Sims turns, and gives Martin a very angry glare, and Martin makes sure he's turned back around to the table where the silverware he's polishing is played out before he lets himself blush.
Thank the Lord he can't read minds, at least, even if that glare coupled with his train of thought fills Martin with unease.
Jon never thought he'd end up a tutor to a young girl, much less a young Lukas girl, but with Elias's marriage to the Viscount Lukas there had not been a place for him in his household other than to instruct the Viscount's young charge.
Not that his job was bad. Marjorie Lukas had been lucky enough to not end up like most of her family members, and still avoid some of her brothers worse qualities.
No, he had to say that the worst part of his job was how Martin Blackwood was staring at him, like Jon wouldn't notice.
How awfully rude. He was aware that Martin had not had the education he had, or the upbringing, for that matter, but surely everyone knew it was rude to stare.
He finishes working out the details of a picnic with Sasha, the housekeeper. "Do you mind if I send someone up with it when it's done?"
"Not at all. Thank you."
She just nods at him and turns back to the counter behind here where she appears to be making a list of household items, likely things they're in need of.
He exits the servants floor, then, climbing the stairs and being met with the elegance of the dining room, a stark contrast from the musty and too-dark bit of the house that houses the servants quarters, kitchen, and scullery.
The velvet curtains have been drawn back from the large windows to reveal the back garden and the grounds past it. Elias sits at the long table, farthest away from the curtains. He has papers spread all around, and his long legs out and crossed away from the table. He doesn't even look up when Jon passes him.
But, of course he speaks. "You're going out with your... Ah...charge?"
While Elias and Lukas had been courting (in their odd way) for a while, they hadn't yet been married for very long, and Marjorie had only been the Viscount's charge for a month or so before their union. Needless to say, Elias had not been looking to have children underfoot and though he hadn't been cruel to her, he had been rather distant.
Somehow, Jon would still suppose he was kinder to her than her own flesh and blood family was. Well, except Viscount Lukas.
"Yes. The weather is of a good sort, so we're going to picnic and then watercolor. Why do you ask?"
He still doesn't look up. "Do you expect lessons to take up the rest of the day?"
That doesn't answer his question. "Perhaps. We still have piano scales to run through. If you'd like me to occupy her, I'm certain that I can."
Elias shakes his head. "No, it's just that I was wondering if I might have your company this evening. Peter isn't here to discuss it, but I've just received word that my uncle and a few others of less consequence will be by in a few days, and obviously it is required that I hold an event while he's here," his face contorts. "And that bastard is too busy on his boat to even write me, answer me. I ought to divorce him, you know. "
"That seems a bit much," Jon tells him, knowing full well that from the outside their union does not appear to be a very well made one, but somehow they really do make each other happy. "But I will be happy to sit down and discuss any ideas for plans you might have this evening, if you think that would be proper."
"Thank you, Jon. I know I can always count on you."
Her offers a slight bow and wanders upstairs.
Cooking had taken longer than usual according to Georgie due to the intricate processes of having to kick both the Admiral and Tim out of the kitchen every other minute. If course she didn't need to apologize to martin, he was plenty content dragging out the experience of having to bring a picnic up to the lady of the house and her tudor.
Why had Sasha wanted him, of all people to do it? It wasn't like he didn't have other things to, in fact he really should be running errands and such.
"Alright!" Says Georgie. "Quick, get this upstairs before Mister Sims decides to come down here again and gripe."
Her offers her a mock salute before taking the tray in both hands and going up the two flights of stairs to the Miss Lukas's rooms.
The door seems to tower above him, but it doesnt, really because Martin is not small in any sense of the word. Everything up here just seems so much larger.
He raises his hand to the the door to knock. He's not even sure he goes through with it, but the door opens, and Mister Sims stands there.
"Ah," he says, looking mildly annoyed as usual. "So Ms. James didn't forget. I will take that, Mister Blackwood. Thank you." He doesn't sound sincere at all, and it sort of bothers Martin, but he offers a small dip of his head anyways and turns on his heel.
Mister Sims closes the door behind him, and Martin tries to not let his heart wilt when he hears him call for his charge behind closed doors.