Thief of Hearts

Chapter 1-2

Jeremy Naylor hurried down the long corridor to the kitchens clutching a huge pile of serving platters. His heart was thumping and his ears burning. He tried not to think of the man with grey green eyes which seemed to see right through him and discern every one of his wicked thoughts. He’d met a lot of handsome men working for Sir Granville, and the man wasn’t the most striking, but he was certainly the most memorable. It felt as if he had, in one glance, discerned the very heart of him and not only that, understood. Which was utterly, utterly ridiculous.

He turned the corner and ran down the staircase on legs that felt oddly unsteady, balancing his load, and the household shifted from grandeur and formal elegance to stark functionality. The kitchens were immense at the Park, and as he drew closer the din became louder. He turned the corner and went past the scullery maids, elbow deep in steaming, greasy water, scrubbing at the dirty dishes whilst the chef yelled at everyone and clipped anybody who got too close or who answered back. The steam and heat were welcome given the chill in the corridors, but the smells of cooking food made Jeremy’s stomach groan uncomfortably. He sidestepped the kitchen maids, who were gathering all the pots up and scraping the leftovers for the pigs and plonked his pile of dirty dishes on the side with all the others.

More than anything, he wanted to take off his wig and uniform. The white wigs he had to wear as a footman were heavy, smelly, and unbearably itchy. He hated it. His feet were killing him, and his back ached from lugging all the heavy plates and serving platters miles to the dining room. On top of that, having to stand straight and silent as a statue for the entire evening, was nigh on torture. He scratched at his chest where his shirt was rough against his skin, and then slid one finger beneath the wig and scratched again. He was unspeakably grateful to his brother for securing him such a respectable job with a high-ranking family, so tried not to think about it too much.

The rest of the footmen followed him in, and he yelped when Donald Andrews pinched his arse as he went past. Jeremy’s heart thumped a little harder. Andrews was getting more and more familiar, and it was a worry. Andrews was taller and definitely more muscled that his own tall, but willowy and slender figure. He’d been overly familiar for a few weeks now, ever since Jeremy had joined the family, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he had to fend him off properly. He only hoped he could do it without drawing attention to himself. Most of the footmen were more interested in the maids, but it seemed Andrews shared something of his peculiarity. Not all of it, mind, but enough to be an annoyance.

The chef was barking instructions and the kitchen maids were lining up china cups and saucers with plates of sweet, mouth-watering pastries. There was a dreadful crash, followed by a moment’s silence, and then hell erupted. Everyone shouting at once, the maid who had dropped a plate of pastries received a vicious smack about the head and started crying loudly. It was hideous. He helped pick up the fallen treats, patted the girl on the shoulder, but wanted to run and hide somewhere quiet where he could take off the damned wig and wear something soft and comfortable. Somewhere he could simply be quiet. The butler grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into line, handing him a tray, and they sent off in train back to the parlour. The pastries smelled lovely. He’d snaffled the corner of a broken one earlier in the evening so knew they were divine. He sighed as he started the long trek back.