Belonging To The Earl

8.

Jason awoke at the break of dawn, soaked in sweat with his heart racing wildly. His shirt clung to his chest, and his mouth was uncomfortably dry.

"Good God!" he swore loudly, shuffling off the bed. The floorboards were cold, and the drawn curtains made sure that he couldn’t see a thing. He groped his way around the room, however, pulling the curtains open with a yank. The faint purple light of dawn streamed into the room, illuminating the rumpled sheets, the tiny drawers and mirror, and his bag thrown carelessly on the armchair at the far end of the room.

Vivid images of the nightmare still swirled in his thoughts, and Jason had to look around the room to reassure himself that all was well. America was thousands of leagues away. His stepfather surely couldn’t hurt him now.

He almost laughed at the thought that the old devil could still affect him even here. Even now, when he stood over a foot taller than him. The entire notion seemed laughable to him.

He supposed he’d never quite get over it. One could never truly run away from their past. At the tender age of nine and three quarters, Jason had been robbed of his innocence, in the cruellest manner imaginable.

How he ever made it to adulthood without losing his sanity would forever astonish him.

But he’d had enough of it. The years were long gone now, and he had other things to worry about.

Sighing, he peeled off the soaked shirt, tossing it aside while he grabbed another clean and thankfully dry one. His throat was parched, and he needed a drink.

While he headed downstairs towards the kitchen, Jason thought about the plan he and his brother had laid out for the day. It was surely meant to be an eventful one. Should the lady Thornton notice any difference between him and his brother, he would have to resort to extreme measures. And he certainly didn’t want to have to go down that path.

His accent!

The realization caused him to stop dead in his tracks, nearly toppling over the floor-length mirror which leaned against the wall beside him. Methodically, Jason turned to study his face in the flickering light from the lamps. As expected, his brother’s face stared back at him, although not as smooth. The few oddities stuck out here and there, but otherwise, they could fool just about anyone if they so desired. But the one thing he couldn’t hide was his painfully American accent. Where the words rolled off his tongue easily, Jordon seemed to speak through the nose, his words crisp and well enunciated. He supposed they’d all been polite enough to not bring up the matter, damned English people and their cursed manners.

It certainly wouldn’t do. Taking a deep breath, Jason focused on the reflection and said "Hello. Good morning."

It sounded nothing like his brother. Even he could tell that it sounded all wrong. He tried again, this time slowing down his speech. Again, it sounded too rushed. And certainly not nasal enough.

He tried again, this time pronouncing the ‘Hello’ as "Hell-low". That sounded about right. He had to remember to break up the words whenever he spoke. That would make it seem like he was talking more slowly.

A few more practices and he was beginning to sound a little bit more like his brother. The progress made him smile immensely. Satisfied finally after a dozen more practices, he headed down to the kitchen with a new spring in his step.

He chuckled lightly at the thought of the woman from the ball. Who was she? There was something entirely amusing and catching about her, particularly her eyes, which had been the only thing he could see from her face, and also the most enthralling.

As it happened, lady Alyssa was leaving the kitchen just as he arrived.

"Good lord!" She jumped at the sight of him, placing a hand on her chest. "Jordon, you gave me a fright."

Hiding his smirk, Jason decided to test his progress.

"Forgive me," he said. "That wasn’t my intention."

Lady Alyssa straightened up, her breathing returning to normal.

"What are you doing so early in the morning? she asked.

"Thirst," he said, avoiding her scrutinizing gaze.

"I see," she sighed, taking a step towards him and reaching for his hand. "When your thirst is quenched, I should like to see you in my chambers please." Her smile was lush with a suggestion, "something you'd most definitely like to do. I don't even understand why you slept in your quarters today."

"What for?" Jason asked.

“Do you really need to ask me that?” she grinned mischievously, hugging his arm tightly. Jason was painfully aware of the fact that his forearm was nestled warmly between her bosom, and he had to pull away with a slight cough.

"Of course, My Lady," he said, failing to keep his accent in check.

"My lady?" Alyssa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her lips twitching as she stared at him seductively. “Don’t be preposterous Jordon. Since when do you and I have to act formally?”

"Beg your pardon?" He coughed once again, inching backwards as she took one forward.

"Jordon, is something wrong?" she asked, pulling a lock of her hair away and tucking it behind her ear. "You’re acting strange."

"I... I...," Jason muttered, his eyes darting this way and that. "Pardon me, if you may, I forgot to check on something."

He bolted then, forgetting the cup of water he’d come downstairs for. Lady Alyssa watched him hurrying up the stairs, perplex by his expression. As she watched him take the stairs two at a time however, she realized she’d been dabbled. The man hurrying away from her was certainly not Jordon. As far as she knew, Jordon never took the stairs two at a time. He thought it made one look unruly, and certainly ill-mannered.

It astounded her to realize that she could so easily be tricked. Jason must have been practising his accent, for he sounded just like his brother. Had the brothers been planning this all along? Was Jordon an accomplice in this attempt to hoodwink her? They’d spoken earlier about the was Jason spoke, and it had been decided that he would have to address his accent if he truly wished to fool people into thinking he really was the Earl. Had Jordon already gone behind her back to speak with him?

She laughed at the thought. Truly, she had been deluded. And she commended them for that. She would have to speak with Jordon about this, however. If that was how they planned to fool around all day, she most certainly wouldn’t be a part of it. Not when she had other plans she needed to set into motion.

She giggled to herself before heading up the stairs as well. For some reason, she felt giddy at the thought that she’d almost fallen for the trick. It would certainly be the last time. From now on, she would keep an eye out for both of them, the better to tell one from the other.

Curiosity flared in her momentarily, and lady Alyssa found herself walking towards the East wing, where Jason had taken up residence. Quietly, she tiptoed towards the door, which was thankfully open just a c***k.

Jason was pacing the length of the room, the shirt he’d worn earlier peeled off and thrown onto the bed. He really was messy, she decided. But her eyes were drawn instead to the deep muscles rippling across his torso as he moved, and the sharp cut of his jaw, so unlike his brother. Jordon really had let himself go, packing on a few extra pounds around the waist than his brother. It wasn’t a noticeable disparity unless one paid close attention, but lady Alyssa knew which one she preferred.

Feeling daring, she pushed the door open only an inch more and said: "A commendable performance, if I do say so myself."

Jason froze in his pacing, but she was long gone before he even moved towards the door.

*

Lady Emily Thornton awoke in a jovial mood, dancing about her room as the sun rose slowly over the English fields. Her red locks bounced about her as she did, but she didn’t even notice them. Something exciting was in the air, and she could feel it on the skin of her teeth. Perhaps, yesterday hadn't really been as bad as she had imagined.

The maid arrived shortly after daybreak, a clean set of towels on her hand as she entered the room.

"You seem to be in an awfully cheery mood, my lady," she said, smiling as Emily twirled around in the middle of the room. "Something on your mind?"

"Not particularly," Emily replied with a sheepish grin. "Today just seems so marvellous, don’t you think? Absolutely spectacular."

Tall and beautiful at two and one, the maid towered a little above her.

"I’d enjoy it a lot more if you got ready and came downstairs as soon as possible," she said. “Your mother will soon be awake. And she expects you to be in the drawing-room before her.”

“Of course,” Emily smiled, curtsying elegantly.

As it happened, her mother arrived at the green-and-cream drawing-room before her. The viscountess, Lady Georgina was also in a very good mood that morning. She buttered her muffin with a soft hum on her lips, eyeing her daughter over the top. Emily had worn a plain yellow dress, the many ruffles pooling around her. Lady Georgina eyed her plate of eggs, sausages, scones and muffins with a look of disdain.

"Your fiancé sent a message that he will be calling here at noon," she said, setting the table knife down carefully.

Emily frowned at the mention of Lord Brighton. There went her good mood.

"Will he be long?" she asked, stabbing her eggs viciously.

"He’ll be here as long as he needs to be," her mother replied. "And while he’s here, I expect you to be as civil as required. It appears you might not take into liking him that much, I suppose, although it's none of my business.

Emily snorted, the sound so unladylike that her mother glared at her as she took a bite of her muffin.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour," she said. "Remember, this marriage isn't for his own benefit alone. For a woman at your status, nothing suits you best than a man like Jordon," she paused a little, swallowing a mouthful of eggs, "You smile when he speaks to you, and answer all his questions correctly and properly. I will not have any of that ghastly nonsense you brought back from that... that...,"

"Mother, you can call it America. You won’t choke on the word." She smiled at her, "although it might possibly sound vague to your ears."

"Enough!" Georgina snapped. "If you mess this up, you’ll have to answer not just to me, but to your father as well."

Emily stabbed an innocent sausage angrily, cutting it slowly as she tried to remain calm. If she wanted her request to be considered, she has to tread carefully.

"Mother?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"May I please go for a walk around Green Park afterwards?" she asked sweetly. "I haven’t been in ages, and I heard the dandelions are blooming just now. I would very much like to see them, please. I promise to be on my best behaviour, I'll also ride a carriage rather than gallop a horse there."

"Hm," Lady Georgina pursed her lips. "I will consider it once I see your behaviour towards your fiancé," she said finally. "If he leaves here happy, I might just let you go."

"Thank you so much, dear mother," Emily smiled brilliantly, a rebellious thought crossing her mind. Why in the world should she care wasting her time for a man totally not worth it? Her mother wants her to behave right? She would, her own way. "My fiancé won’t know what hit him when he arrives."

If only she knew how right she was about that.