inevitable entanglements » a.i. + l.h.

1

"Where is Michael?"

The volume of Ashton's voice made everything in the room shake, including the servants that surrounded him. His fists were ruining the sides of the letter he was clutching in his hands.

Marie Beauregard.

Another name added to the list. His stomach churned at the simple thought of it. He'd already seen it coming. As soon as he was informed he'd gotten a letter from his father, he knew what was in store for him.

"Someone, please, get me Michael!"

Some of the younger servants flinched, but the elder ones knew better. They'd seen Ashton grow up and were used to his sudden fits of anger. Over the years they'd learned how to cope with it simply by keeping his usual smile in mind.

"He's in the kitchen, sir."

Without responding, Ashton took off running. Knocking one or two maids out of the way, he ran through the large corridors. People always said it was an honour to be a chambermaid, but Ashton thought the below-stairsmaids, who never saw the high society, were the lucky ones.

"Michael, Michael!"

He bellowed as soon as he was in hearing distance from the kitchen, tears rolling down his cheeks from the rage and frustration that boiled inside him.

Despite his anger, he came to a halt once he noticed Michael was busy with someone else. He was in the middle of a heated discussion with Stephen, one of his father's favourite maids. On his side stood a blond boy who seemed to be the opposite of what Ashton was right now. Even though Stephen's yelling was directed at him, god forbid someone yelled at Michael, he showed no anger whatsoever. He stood there tight-lipped, his eyes red and puffy, but no tears fell. He didn't even shrink.

Ashton wiped his cheeks with his sleeve when he felt a sudden pang of shame for his outburst.

"That's the end of it, Stephen. You're going to forget about all of this and never bother this lad again, okay?"

Michael's soothing voice brought him back to senses and he tried not to laugh at Stephen's annoyance. That man pretty much detested Michael, which was a rather rare phenomena.

He left without further comment, but you couldn't miss the way he clenched his fists. Michael seemed to have forgotten about him though, because he now turned his attention on the boy and within a moment, his whole attitude changed.

"Don't worry about him, if he ever bothers you again, come and tell me. My name's Michael Clifford, but I'm guessing you know that."

After nodding vigorously, the boy formed something that could hardly be seen as a response.

"I-I'm so sorry, I won't do it again. I-I-"

Michael shook his head with a small smile on his face, waving away the apologies with his hand.

"Here, take some more bread."

He took one of the loaves that laid on the table, handing it to the tight-lipped boy, who reached out for it with a shaking hand.

"I-I can't t-take this."

Despite his ability to hide his tears, he didn't seem able to control his nerves. He tried to push the loaf back to Michael, but he wouldn't have it.

"Just take it and go."

He simply said, taking both of the boy's hands and pushing the bread into them.

"Go."

He repeated, a little more briskly this time, when the boy, who quickly scurried away, had tried to protest. Michael watched him leave with a smile on his face.