Ella - [COMPLETE]

Chapter 56

Cecil had been avoiding Arthur since he moved into the guest room down the hall. In particular, he had been avoiding the thought of what his family might say when they discovered Arthur's true nature, as they were bound to do, if he was present during a formal dinner. If they asked, he had no association with the man--he was Ella's guest.

Then, one morning when Ella had gone off to compete in a jousting tourney, Cecil was faced with a breakfast conjured up from his nightmares. He sat at his usual place, enjoying a fine breakfast of hot tea, jam on toast, and a fried egg. The sunlight filtered through the ornate curtains. He had a beautiful melody swirling around in his head from last night's party. He was joyous and happy to live in his daydreams.

He was about five bites into his breakfast when Arthur came strutting in, all dressed up in fake finery. The man walked in the loudest possible fashion, pulled out a chair forcefully and sat down with a grunt. Cecil nearly dropped his toast.

"Good morning," Arthur said with a smile. "That looks nice." He looked down at the food in Cecil's plate.

A servant boy stepped up and asked, "My lord--"

Cecil coughed, gave a pointed glance to Arthur. But the poor boy couldn't be blamed for what he didn't know.

"What shall I get you for breakfast?" the servant asked.

Arthur nodded at the plate before him. "That," he said, "But with double the amount of food."

Cecil blinked. This was already turning into the worst breakfast of his life, and they hadn't even begun to explore the gigantic blunder of Arthur's attempts at civilized conversation.

The servant gave a nod, and stepped away.

Arthur rested his elbows on the table, surely his first mistake of many.

"So," Cecil said, his voice high-pitched and uncomfortable. "How are you finding everything at the estate? I'm sure it's an upgrade from your former life in the forest."

Arthur searched around a moment, as if he were truly comparing the crown molding and exquisite floral arrangements of the breakfast room to the dirt and dead leaves of the forest floor. "It's alright," he said, not hint of teasing to be found.

"Okay then," Cecil said, clearly offended. "If you're going to disrespect my home, then I will be happy to see you out of it."

"No disrespect meant, my lord," Arthur said. "It's just different folks have different tastes."

"Yes," Cecil said, stirring his tea. "Some people have taste, and some do not."

"If you're going to disrespect me, then I will happily see myself out," Arthur said, his eyebrows lowered. His posture reminded Cecil that, despite all of his fancy clothes and etiquette lessons, Arthur could throw him through that window behind them if he really wanted to.

Cecil swallowed nervously. "Right," he said, sitting a little lower in his seat. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"I didn't think you did."

Something about Arthur's posture and mannerisms irked him, something beyond his lack of class. It was the fact that he seemed to show no regard for class lines at all, no gratefulness to his hosts, no adoration for this lifestyle that Cecil and Ella had so graciously let him live in for a few days. Cecil just wanted to hear him once say thank you. Just once.

"Well," Cecil said. "While you are staying with us, perhaps you can take the opportunity to grow your knowledge of the world. I am sure that someone such as yourself would otherwise never have the chance to learn the etiquette and mannerisms of high society." He was trying to be generous. He was trying to be kind. "Perhaps, before you are forced to learn these things under fire, I could give you some lessons."

"On what exactly?"

"Well," Cecil smirked, standing up. He stood by the cabinet at the end of the dining area, opened a drawer and pulled out a small spoon. "Tell me, what is this used for?"

"It's a dessert spoon," Arthur said.

Cecil's eyes widened. "Very good," he said. He put it back, searching for something a bit more challenging. He pulled out a small knife with a dip in the top of it. "What about this?"

"A fish knife," Arthur said, looking bored.

Cecil went pale. This was not what he had expected at all. "How do you know all that?" he blurted.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, a wide smirk. "Unlike you--my lord--" he said. "I do not make assumptions about people based on the way they dress, or how they live. My name is Arthur Elmsworth, Baronet of Elmsworth Duchy."

Cecil couldn't have possibly gone paler.

"I suppose I should say ex-Baronet," he went on. "I gave up that life to live on my own wits, to learn how to survive. I hated being so separated from nature, separated from the very things that make us who we are. And I absolutely hated being forced to use all that fancy silverware, when I'm equipped with my own two hands."

Cecil wasn't sure which was worse, that this man was a baronet, or that this man had eaten a meal with his hands by choice.

"So, yes, your estate is fine," he said. "For you, and for Ella. But for me, I prefer the woods."Cecil didn't know what to say. His estate wasn't fine, it was grand, first of all. Second of all, what kind of person would be born into the life of a Baronet and run away from it? He hated Arthur. Hated him for this humiliation, and for everything he stood for.

He put the fish knife back in the drawer and closed it. He sat down, closed his eyes and gave an angry exhale. "I couldn't have possibly known you were a baronet from your mannerisms, dress, or speech, so please forgive my error," Cecil said. "However, it would do you right to tell Ella about this."

Arthur grew silent. "I know," he said. "I would like to tell her, very much. The moment's just--never been right."

Cecil raised his eyebrows. "Well, I will keep your secret," he said. "Since I think you should be the first to tell her."

Arthur nodded. "I appreciate that, Cecil," he said.

At the sound of his own name in Arthur's mouth, Cecil felt something strange wash over him. An incredible wave of excitement and adoration. No. No. He hated this. He would not allow himself to feel this way around such a social buffoon. What was there to adore or admire about Arthur? Absolutely nothing.

Cecil set down his silverware, nearly finished his breakfast. "Well, my baronet," Cecil said. He watched Arthur's face turn red. "What are your plans for today while my wife is gone?"

"With all due respect my lord, if you refer to me as a baronet again, I will march myself right into the town jail, rather than post up here," Arthur said. He was quite serious, a surprising shift of tone.

Cecil gave a strange smile. "The town jail?" he asked. He leaned in, whispered, "You're staying at my estate because you're on the run from the law?"

Arthur's face showed genuine surprise. "Ella didn't tell you that?"

Abruptly, Cecil stood. "No," he said, his voice high-pitched and frightened. "My God, what will happen to us if they--"

"Nothing is going to happen," the man across from him rolled his eyes. "You have more power than any lawman in this town."

Cecil put a hand on his chest, trying to regulate his breathing. "I feel faint," he said. "A criminal. In my own home."

"You and Ella truly are two different sides of the coin," Arthur muttered.

"If you'll excuse me," Cecil said, pushing in his chair. "I must retire. Ella and I will--discuss this."