Snippet #2192722

Jᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ Hᴀᴡᴛʜᴏʀɴᴇ: Tʜᴇ Dᴜᴋᴇ

Jeremiah marched through the halls of his home with a grim expression on his face, fuming silently as the only noised the accompanied him was the heavy clunk of the old dark wooden walking cane as it stopped him from having to hobble about. His mood was foul as sleep had all but evaded him the night before. An unpleasant mixture of guilt, anger and the usual pain his leg plagued him as he was denied even a moment's rest. The soft silk goose feather pillows and warm sheets imported from the east did nothing as the hours ticked on. Of course it all had to do with Stella again. She had forced his hand yet again despite all the warning he gave her. He'd left bruises this last time that he ordered her to keep covered up. As with every incident before now, it left him fighting off the urge to go and apologize, try and make everything better and swear he'd never do it again. His his ability to justify his actions won over yet again he concluded that it was her fault in the end. A good wife wouldn't give him reason to do such horrible things. He needn't raise a hand if she never stepped out of line to begin with. All he was doing was trying to make her what she needed to be.

The sound of wood hitting against wood was joined by the sound of hurried footsteps as someone approached Jeremiah from behind. He did not break stride of look over his shoulder as the figure approach; he knew who it was already. No other member of the household was so willing to approach him in this way besides.... "Walter, I take it all of my plans for the day are ready," he said in a low, bored sounding drone as the old figure kept up pace at his flank.

Walter was a very old and devoted member of the Hawthorne family's employees as he had been in service as far back as when his father took over as the head of the family. He was an elderly gentleman who wore his greying hair slicked back with a thick and well groomed mustache on his lip and a pair of thick glasses he kept propped up on his nose. Of all the men and women who served the family, he was by far the most efficient and unquestioning member of the lot. He understand his young master's demand for absolute perfection and followed it to a t without hesitation.

The old butler nodded as he adjusted his spectacles on his face as he began to give Jeremiah exactly what he wanted to hear in his light Irish accent. "Of course, sir. Lady Hawthorne is dressed and readied, waiting for you in the parlor as per your instructions. I believe the young master is being taken care of as we speak though it shouldn't be much longer. Your carriage is ready to take you to see Count and Countess Alderance. By the time you return, the house should be spotless and dinner will be served as soon as you request it."

Jeremiah lifted his free hand to adjust his collar as he listened to the butler's report. The old Irishman was absolutely flawless in his execution as usual. "Excellent," he said with a ghost on a smile on his lips. "Inform the chefs to avoid using too many exotic spices with Nicholas's food. He barely ate dinner last time before he swore his tongue was on fire."

The old man nodded. "Of course, sir," he said before giving a quick bow and walking off to complete the tasks at hand.

After another minute of walking, Jeremiah finally reached the parlor and found that Walter's information was good as always as he found Stella sitting there on a couch looking as radiant as ever. She was the purest form of loveliness, the patient and obedient wife she was despite the streak of unpleasantries since their marriage. He approached her with a smile on his face as he sat down next to her, using his cane for support as he lowered himself down. Being so close to her made it very easy to forget the misunderstandings from the night before. "Nicholas hasn't been too much of a handful this morning, has he, dear?" he asked brightly as his weak smile slowly began to widen. There was nothing wrong in the world right now and nothing could spoil his perfect little life.