It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from Taking the Body, Watkins Glen Gladiators #4.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
“Light food sounds good. Has Mr. Greco had afternoon tea? Perhaps he will be hungrier at seven than I will given I’ve had tea and treats?” Barnaby said something from the depths of my walk-in closet that I didn’t catch but emerged with light pink shirt, short sleeved, and a pair of beige slacks. I nodded. “Add the dark leather suspenders and that will suffice nicely.”
“Paired with the Ferragamo brown leather Oxfords?”
“Yes, that will be lovely.” I bit into a madeleine and sighed. No one baked like Madame. Each time I had one of her sweet treats I was a child again, stealing macarons from the platters at dinner parties and business meals sure that no one had seen me. Mama always had but her scolding had been as genteel as she was. She and Papa were sorely missed by their only living child.
“So, has he taken tea?” I asked and got a grunt from Barnaby.
“No sir, he has not. He said it’s too hot for tea but it’s the perfect weather for beer.”
“Mm, well, if you can, shout down to him and—”
“I’m sorry, sir. Shout down?” Barnaby asked, his handsome face awash in shock.
“No, not shout. Sorry, my head is still muzzy.” It wasn’t. The pain had subsided nicely. I had just forgotten that proper lords, ladies, and wealthy vintners did not shout. “Call down and ask Mr. Greco to allow the staff to work unhindered by alcohol. Then, if you would, invite him in for tea. Explain that we eat at seven most days. Perhaps he might be too hungry if he skips tea time.”
“I will relay the message, sir,” Barnaby said, laid my evening outfit out on the bed, pressed out the shirt with his hands, and then backed out of my room on silent feet.
I sighed, rose, and went to the window to spy. Pulling back the sun-blocking curtain made me wince, but after a moment my eyes adjusted. A few black spots wavered in front of me. They were constant companions now. Trying my best to ignore the dots, I found Philip and three of the gardening staff under the shade of a thick white birch, talking and laughing, drinking cold beers. Where did Philip even find beer here? I wasn’t aware we had any on the grounds but perhaps Barnaby kept some on-hand for when the Gladiators were here for Sunday brunches. I’d not seen many of the team drinking any beer but knowing my boutilier he would have some at hand just in case. Barnaby Fletcher was always a step ahead of me, as any good servant should be.
©Copyright V.L. Locey 2023
Love the British flavor of this piece. And, yes, a good servant doesn’t just serve, he anticipates! Great snippet!
Ah, yes. the servant knowing the need before it’s expressed. And I am worried about those spots!! Great job!
Hahaha love how his face is awash with shock at the idea of shouting down. Great snippet!
I love the banter between the two men, especially when he asked Barnaby to “shout down”. His reaction was amazing! Great job!