#2017-07-07

The steward, the man had introduced himself so poorly and quickly, and was of such an unpleasant countenance from the moment he appeared that Deaton had already forgotten his name, pulled his shoulders back further. “You say that you understand my predicament, sir, and yet you continue it by not agreeing with me as you should. My Mistress is the only Alpha in this house, and to have,” he stretched his neck sideways to look around and count, from their garb, just who was in the travelling party, “three! Three other Alphas here, all unwed and given to the ways that their designations bend them…” His nostrils flared as if he could scent out their inherent wickedness. “It will not do. No. The Countess will return on the morrow, and the entirety of your party will be more than welcome then. Until that time, however, the Lords and Lady Alpha must find other lodgings.”

Deaton sucked in a deep breath of his own, in an attempt to steady his tongue. “I have been in service to the Duke of Firthmoor since he was but a wish in his father’s and mother’s prayers. I have, never in all that time, met a man willing to go against his wishes. I have also never met one so brazen as to so outrageously accuse him of debauchery and licentiousness. The Duke is more than capable of acting as chaperone to his companions, and he most certainly will not allow any near to the Omegas you see.” He dropped his voice further, despite the fact that the Duke’s Alpha ears had heard every word spoken as yet and would hear the rest they’d utter. “The fairer skinned of the two young Omegas is the Duke’s intended. They are to be married in the autumn. The Marquine and his companione will be more than well protected by my Master’s presence.”

The steward stretched his neck again, around to Deaton’s other side this time, and a look of horror appeared on his face. He pulled his whole body back again and stood straighter than could be comfortable, even for a man of their station used to putting on such displays. His voice was barely above a murmur when he found the words he seemed to be searching for. “You stand before me, spinning a fine tale that would have me believe there could be nothing but righteousness in the house all the evening, and yet behind you, before me, your young Alpha Master is even now displaying his lack of rectitude.”

Deaton would, if he could, box the young Duke’s ears. Or, and he knew it to be true before he gave the steward the satisfaction of turning to see what the complaint was about, it would be more probable that he would desire to smack the back of the Marquine’s hand. The boy was grace and beauty until he was comfortable in your presence, and then he became a veritable menace. It was he who’d complained the most loudly and consistently at splitting the party into an Alpha and Omega carriage for the journey from London, and likely he now who was pushing the boundaries of propriety with his soon to be husband.

Deaton turned his head, and felt the steward follow the movement. It was as he’d feared and the steward had protested: the Duke and his soon to be Duchene were dancing, hands clasped in hands, though thankfully they were still wearing their gloves. There was barely a half a foot between their chests. Their smiles well breached the distance between them, and if expressions of happiness were considered salacious then the two would indeed be committing some form of indecency.

Deaton had no idea how he was to win this argument now, but he would. He always did. Omega Stiles, as his companione originally and now all of their party addressed him, was the perfect match to balance the stodgy young Alpha Derek, newly ascended to his title Earl of Firthmoor. There would indeed be rejoicing at their wedding. Deaton’s life, and the lives of all those in their service and social circles, would be far, far more simple once their union was made official.

♠

Separation: [n] an act or instance of separating or the state of being separated; a place, line, or point of parting