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01 May 2009 @ 08:43 pm
Jeeves and the Frantic Fiancee Part 1  
Title: Jeeves and the Frantic Fiancee
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Jeeves and Wooster belong to P.G. Wodehouse, not to me. They just want to go for a drive in the two-seater. They'll return home soon. And no, I'm not receiving any remuneration.
A/N: This is the third story in the Sleepwalking Wheeze series, all of which can be found on my journal if you really need something to read. I'd like to thank my beta, chaoticchaos13 , for editing this story and for allowing me to use the drabble that started the whole wheeze. All mistakes belong to me. I wish I knew how to make that thingie that goes over the top of the first 'e' in fiancee. Oh, yes. This story was too long to fit into one post.
I have no idea how I got three links to the cut. They're all the same. Sheesh



 “I have to say, Jeeves, it’s not very sporting of you to bring it up now while we’re basking in postcoital whatsit,” Bertie said as he plumped his pillows. He lay back on them, nicely cushioned, and regarded his valet. “Aunt Agatha and ‘no sir, we haven’t time for another round’ in the same breath? I mean to say, I’m not awfully braced by your attitude.”
     Jeeves turned on his side and slid his arm across Bertie’s waist, disregarding the stickiness there. “Mrs. Gregson will be here for lunch, sir, whether I mention it or not. We have precisely two hours to prepare.”
      Bertie chewed his lower lip. “What do you suppose she wants, Jeeves? It’s been a while since she’s forced me to meet some new beazel.      Perhaps that’s what it is.” He shuddered. “Can’t stick the idea, Jeeves, not at all.”
     Jeeves quirked his lip a fraction and pulled Bertie close against him. “I’m grateful to hear it, sir.”
     Bertie cupped Jeeves’ cheek in one warm palm. “In all seriousness, Jeeves, I can’t stand the thought of being with anyone but you.”
     “Let us not worry as yet, sir,” Jeeves said and bent low to kiss Bertie’s lips. Bertie opened his mouth and eagerly sought his valet’s tongue.  After a lengthy exploration of one another’s tonsils, Bertie broke the kiss, panting for air.
     “Jeeves,” Bertie said as he wound his arms around Jeeves’ neck. “How long does it take to make lunch?”
     “I had planned on thirty minutes.” Jeeves kissed Bertie’s cheek and went on to nibble his ear. “Why do you ask?”
     “Because,” Bertie said as he wrapped his leg around Jeeves’ waist. “I do think we have time for another round.”
Jeeves rolled on his back, bringing Bertie with him. Bertie stretched out on top of his man and sighed as he felt Jeeves’ hands cup his buttocks.
     “Very good, sir,” Jeeves said. “Now kiss me again. Harder this time.”
     “Wait,” Bertie said and laid a finger on Jeeves’ lips. “What did I get up to last night while sleepwalking? Have you thought of a good wheeze?”
     “Yes,” Jeeves said and pulled Bertie’s head down to his own.


     Bertie cursed his good nature and his genteel upbringing as he listened to his aunt upbraid him for his frivolous lifestyle, his sleepwalking, and his string of broken engagements. It was a speech he’d heard so often he knew the script.
     “Fortunately,” Mrs. Gregson said as Jeeves served dessert. “I have a solution to your problems, Bertie.”
     Here it comes, Bertie thought as he watched Jeeves pour the coffee.
     “A wife for you is what’s wanted, Bertie,” she said. “I’ve said it before and I’m convinced of it. Your Aunt Dahlia has fended off my attempts to introduce you to suitable young women for months now, but surely your condition has improved.”
     “I...” Bertie stuttered. “I...”
     “Stop blithering, Bertie. What do you have to say for yourself?”
     “I’ve still been sleepwalking,” Bertie said, his gaze properly downcast.
     “What has he done now?” Mrs. Gregson directed her question at Jeeves, looking at him as if he were something under a stone.
     Jeeves appeared unruffled by the question. “Mr. Wooster rearranged his entire wardrobe, madam,” Jeeves said. “He indicated a wish to see if shoes could fly and tried to toss several pairs out his bedroom window. Fortunately, madam, he did not succeed.”
     Mrs. Gregson narrowed her gaze. “I wish to see this cot you claim to be occupying at night, Jeeves. I want to assure myself that you’re not lying to me. I find this entire business to be quite suspect.”
     “I say, Aunt Agatha!” Bertie said, affronted at her tone. “Jeeves would never lie. He’s a...”
     “Sir,” Jeeves said. “Perhaps you would care to escort Mrs. Gregson to my quarters. There you will find the fold-up cot I employ each evening.”
     Bertie had no idea what he would find in Jeeves’ former room. But he had no time to wonder. His aunt had already risen from her chair, obviously ready to call Jeeves’ bluff. Bertie glanced at Jeeves, whose impassive face showed no sign of anger or apprehension.
     There was nothing else for it. Bertie led the way to his valet’s former room and, upon reaching it, opened the door.
     It looked as if someone still occupied the small space. Not a molecule of dust could be seen, the bed was neatly made up, books were on the nightstand, and a long, fold-up cot leaned against the far wall.
     Bertie wanted to sag against the door frame in relief. Once again, Jeeves had thought of everything.
     “There it is, Aunt Agatha,” Bertie said, pointing at the cot.
     “I have eyes, haven’t I?” Mrs. Gregson snapped. “Still,” she said as they made their way back to the table and took their seats once more. “I believe you must marry, Bertie. Having a valet look after you is not good enough. Fortunately, I have made the acquaintance of a suitable young woman whose parents are eager for her to make a match with you.”
     “An arranged marriage? You’ve got to be joking, Aunt Agatha,” Bertie said, staring at her. “What’s this girl got to say about it?”
     “I never joke,” Mrs. Gregson said and cut a small piece from her slice of cake, popped it into her mouth and grimaced. “Her name is Ellen Dewhurst, of the Southampton Dewhursts.”
     “As opposed to the Kent Dewhursts,” Bertie muttered under his breath.
     “That will do, Bertie.” Mrs. Gregson wiped her lips on her snowy white napkin. “I don’t care for this cake. When you’re married you can employ a proper cook.”
     Bertie gritted his teeth. Though he knew his aunt detested Jeeves, why did she have to make it so bally obvious, and with Jeeves standing at attention right there in the room? Aunts, he concluded once again, were not gentlemen.
     “Be at your Aunt Dahlia’s before luncheon on Saturday,” Mrs. Gregson was saying. “I trust your valet will keep you in your bedroom there and see to it that you don’t embarrass yourself.”
      Bertie frowned. “Not Steeple Bumpleigh?”
     “I’m redecorating,” she said. “Dahlia offered to host the Dewhursts as well as myself.”
     “Aunt Dahlia is in on this?”
     “In on this? Bertie, you make it sound like a conspiracy.”
     “Well, it is, isn’t it? You want to marry me off to some girl I’ve never met, never mind that the girl herself doesn’t seem to have been told. Sounds like a put-up job to me.”
     Mrs. Gregson slammed her fist on the table, causing Bertie to jump in his chair.
     “That’s quite enough. You will go to your aunt’s and you will make yourself pleasant to these people. If you do not, I shall ask Sir Roderick   Glossop to have a look at you. Perhaps a hospital stay will discover the reason for this sleepwalking.”
     “Aunt Agatha,” Bertie said, his voice a hoarse croak.
     “I shall see you on Saturday. Now please see me out.”
     Bertie got up and pulled out his aunt’s chair, wishing heartily that he could drop her on her backside. She continued to tick him off even as the flat’s door closed behind her. Bertie pressed his forehead against the cool wood.
     A hand squeezed his shoulder and Bertie reached back and covered it with his own fingers. “What a choice, eh Jeeves? Meet these people and marry their daughter or have my head examined in Colney Hatch.”
      He turned to face Jeeves. “What do we do? Leg it for France? No, south. We shall head for Spain. A sunny clime should restore our spirits, what?”
     Jeeves shook his head. “You will want to return one day, sir. And I fear if we make our escape in such a fashion, the truth will be known.”
Bertie leaned against the door. “Then let us bend our minds to the problem, Jeeves. Well, you bend yours, at any rate. Mine is stuffed with cotton wool at present.”
     Jeeves reached out to straighten Bertie’s tie, a thoughtful expression on his face. Bertie shivered a little at the featherlight touch and Jeeves quirked his lip in response.
     “Mrs. Gregson is an adroit conversationalist, sir.”
     “How so, Jeeves?” Bertie asked, finding himself more interested in staring at Jeeves’ mouth than in chatting about his aunt’s ability to chat.
     “She is skilled in avoidance, sir, which one notices if one listens carefully.”
     “I only noticed her bally rudeness to you, Jeeves. As far as I can tell, she didn’t avoid anything.”
     He reached out and traced Jeeves’ lower lip with his forefinger and said softly, “She was wrong about the dessert. The cake was quite good, my love. Very sweet.”
     Jeeves took Bertie’s hand, kissed each finger and then pressed the palm against his mouth. Still holding Bertie’s hand, he said, “Would you care to have me elucidate, sir, or is something else on your mind?”
     His gaze traveled down Bertie’s lanky frame, halting at the top of his thighs. “Or perhaps you have another problem that needs my attention first?”
     “What makes you say that, Jeeves?” Bertie asked, happy to put his aunt and her machinations behind them for the moment. “We have the flat to ourselves for the rest of the day. What problem could I possibly have?”
     “This one.”
     Bertie gasped as he felt his own hand clasped against the front of his trousers. Jeeves moulded his hand around Bertie’s fingers and squeezed. “I should think you would be very uncomfortable right now, sir.”
     Jeeves squeezed again and Bertie clutched the doorknob for support. “Then I should think my little problem would take precedence over everything.” He groaned as Jeeves began to kiss his neck.
      “Over everything?” Jeeves whispered into Bertie’s ear. “Even your aunt’s desire to wrest you from my arms forever?”
      Bertie whimpered as Jeeves’ tongue snaked out to taste his ear. “What aunt?”
      Jeeves struck a leisurely pose as he leaned against the door. “Your memory is faulty, sir. Perhaps you require some physical exertion to clear your mind.”
     “Let us exert ourselves in bed, Reggie.” Bertie gasped for air as Jeeves squeezed him again. “Now.”
     “With all due haste, Bertie?” Jeeves placed a gentle kiss on Bertie’s lips.
     “As long as we’re quick about it,” Bertie said, barely keeping his shaking knees from collapsing under him.
     “Then why wait?”
     Jeeves had Bertie’s braces unfastened, his flies unbuttoned and his trousers and pants around his ankles in seconds.
     “You are beautiful, Bertie,” Jeeves said as he stood back to gaze at his employer. “You are flushed and hard and your desire for me is quite obvious. Your skin is so warm and smooth,” he said as he took Bertie in hand. “And you moan so beautifully when I touch you like this.”
Bertie thrust against Jeeves’ hand and groaned, his fingers scrabbling at the door for purchase. “Reggie, please.”
      “Please, Bertie?” Jeeves began to stroke the swollen organ. “Tell me what you want. I am your servant, yours to command.”
      “Good Lord, Reggie,” Bertie groaned. “Do I have to ask?”
       Jeeves braced his free elbow against the door, next to Bertie’s head, and rested his head against his palm. “I recall an instance,” he said as he stroked Bertie’s hardness, “when I was requested to do the same. I was seated on your lap, if am not mistaken...”
      “All right, all right,” Bertie cried. “Suck me! Take me in your mouth and suck me!”
     Jeeves slid to his knees without waste of time and cupped his hands around the back of Bertie’s thighs. Bertie gazed down at his lover, breathless, and placed one hand on the back of his head.
     “Now, Reggie,” he pleaded, “before it’s too late.”
     Jeeves smirked at him. “Very good, Bertie,” he said, and then ran his tongue from the root of Bertie’s erection to the leaking tip.
     “Oh God, Reggie,” Bertie moaned. “Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”
     Bertie felt his knees buckle and it was all he could to stay upright as Jeeves took his length down his throat and swallowed around the tip. He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw and tried to hold himself back, not wanting to end this exquisite torture too soon. But Jeeves knew him too well. He knew what would drive Bertie over the edge. Bertie looked down again to see Jeeves’ head bobbing back and forth, and wondered for one baffling moment why this proud, brilliant man loved him as he did, why he would deign to offer Bertie this much agonizing pleasure.
      But then Jeeves pulled his mouth free, and Bertie groaned in disappointment. “Please,” he begged. “Please let me finish.”
      “Spread your legs for me, Bertie,” Jeeves whispered in a hypnotic voice. “Now.”
     Bertie did his best to comply and then whimpered in the back of his throat as Jeeves took his sac in hand.
     “A bit wider, Bertie, if you wouldn’t mind,” Jeeves said as if he were giving directions to the local shops. “Ah, that’s better.” Then he took       Bertie back into his mouth, all the while caressing his sac.
     Bertie couldn’t stop the moans that issued from his throat. He wanted to thrust into Jeeves’ mouth, but Jeeves managed to press him back against the door so that he couldn’t move.
     “Reggie, Reggie, so close. So close now...” Bertie could feel his climax building in the base of his spine. He was almost there; he was so close...
     Then he felt Jeeves reach backward with one long finger to tease his puckered opening. Bertie caught his breath and twisted his fingers in Jeeves’ hair as he came hard and fast.
     “Reggie!” he cried to the ceiling, over and over again, then slid to the floor in a panting heap.
     He lay there, his chest heaving, as Jeeves pulled off his shoes and socks, then divested him of his crumpled trousers and pants. Bertie shivered as Jeeves caressed his quivering thighs and somewhere in the recesses of his fuddled mind, remembered that Jeeves would also need a bit of relief.
     “Reggie,” he said when he could speak once more. “Let’s go to bed. I want...”
     “If you will pardon me for saying so, Bertie,” Jeeves said as he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “You have already had what you wanted. It is only fair for me to choose what I want.”
     “Anything, old fruit, anything at all,” Bertie said and sat up. “Just let me get the rest of these bally clothes off.” He looked down at himself and laughed. He was still wearing his coat, tie, waistcoat and shirt, but was naked from the waist down. He reached up to loosen his tie but stopped at the look on his valet’s face.
     “You do not need to remove your clothing, Bertie,” Jeeves said. He pulled Bertie to his feet, then reached behind him to squeeze his buttocks. “I only require access to one particular area. So if you please, Bertie, turn around and place your hands on the door.”
     Bertie stared at him, wide-eyed. “The door? Now?”
     Jeeves nodded. “The door. Now.”
     Bertie did as he was bidden. “Right ho, Reggie.”


     Bertie sat with his back propped against the flat’s front door, smoking a cigarette, and finding himself better able to clearly consider his aunt’s motives. He’d managed to shed his coat and tie, but his waistcoat and shirt, crumpled beyond hope, still adorned his frame. Jeeves reclined on his side next to Bertie, his dark hair mussed and his trousers undone, running one hand up and down Bertie’s trim calf.
     “I suppose, Jeeves, we had better give some thought to Aunt Agatha’s latest plot,” Bertie said. “Any ideas popping to the fore?”
    “Yes, sir.”
     Bertie grinned at him. “When did you get this idea, Jeeves? You’ve kept yourself quite busy attending the young master ever since luncheon.”
     “The idea occurred to me before Mrs. Gregson took her leave, sir.”
     “So you’d already thought of some wheeze to get me out of this even before you rogered me against the front door?”
     Jeeves placed a cigarette between his lips and leaned forward so that Bertie could light it. He inhaled deeply then expelled the smoke toward the ceiling.
     “Sir, if you will recall, I told you I had listened carefully to your aunt’s conversation and had reached several conclusions.”
     “I don’t recall any of this, Jeeves, and I was right here at the time.”
     “Your attention was occupied elsewhere, sir,” Jeeves said, gazing pointedly at Bertie’s naked hips.
     Bertie tugged his shirt down to preserve what was left of his modesty but then decided to give it up as a bad job. “Well then, Jeeves, let’s hear what you have to say. You give me your theory, and I’ll poke holes in it, see if it still holds water, as they say.”
     “Very good, sir.” Jeeves rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “Mrs. Gregson said Miss Dewhurst’s parents are eager for her to make a match with you. As you pointed out, sir, the young lady herself does not appear to have been consulted in the matter.”
     “I pointed this out?”
     “You did, sir.”
     “Quite.”
     “We can, with some assurance, believe this to be true as Mrs. Gregson sidestepped your question of whether or not Miss Dewhurst was in favor of the match. If she had been, Mrs. Gregson would no doubt have used that information to bolster her argument. From this I deduce two scenarios.”
     “I was hoping for a wider selection of scenarios, Jeeves. A bit like a scenario shop.”
     “Two should be sufficient, sir.” Jeeves took another puff of his cigarette. “Number one: Miss Dewhurst has no wish to marry, at least not at the present time. Number two: Her affections are already engaged elsewhere and this displeases her parents.”
Bertie felt like the snails and the larks had come out of hiding. “Well then, if she doesn’t want to marry, it’s all off. She’ll tell her parents and Bertram is off the hook.”
     Jeeves sat up and rested his forearms on his upraised knees. “I do not think the situation is as simple as it appears, sir.”
     “Why not, Jeeves? You must admit you have a tendency to overthink at times. Perhaps this is one of those times.”
     “I believe not, sir. The Southampton Dewhursts possess considerable wealth. Such a family should, in theory, have no trouble marrying off its daughters. The mystery lies in why they find themselves in circumstances that require them to seek a suitor for their daughter.”
     “Perhaps she’s selective, Jeeves.”
     Jeeves gave Bertie a sidelong glance and said nothing.
     “Jeeves, you’re not saying anything.” Bertie took a final pull on his cigarette, then coughed. “Oh. Rather.”
     “I am not disparaging your suitability for any young lady, sir.”
     Bertie coughed again. “I know, Jeeves. I’m barely a catch, if you want to use a fishing analogy. And it’s not like the Woosters are well-endowed in the brains department. I do have a bit of the ready but I don’t have millions.”
     “Precisely, sir. While you have adequate wealth of your own, your personal fortune is quite small compared to that of the Dewhursts.”
     Bertie ruminated for a moment. “Perhaps she’s not a looker or has thick ankles are something.”
     “Neither would be an impediment to marriage, sir.”
     “A fuzzy upper lip? Shoulders like Honoria Glossop’s? A scar down her cheek that suggests a former life as a highwaywoman?”
     “All possible, I suppose sir.”
    “We’ll have to wait and see. Though I dislike waiting to wait and see, if you see what I mean.”
     “Perfectly sir.” Jeeves got to his feet and straightened his clothing, then offered Bertie a hand and helped him to his feet. Bertie bent to gather up his clothes but jumped as Jeeves’ hand descended on his bare backside.
     “I say, Jeeves,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re ready for another round.”
     Jeeves slid his hand up Bertie’s back, underneath his waistcoat and shirt. Bertie arched into his valet’s touch and sighed.
     “I should think, Jeeves, that as gentlemen we should not loiter in the foyer any longer.”
    Jeeves pulled Bertie back against his chest and Bertie felt that warm, calloused palm trail around his flank to settle on his stomach.
     “Let us repair to the bedroom, sir. Your clothing is in a disreputable state,” Jeeves whispered in Bertie’s ear.
     Bertie dropped his trousers and jacket on the floor. “Lead on, Jeeves.”


      Bertie sprawled in an armchair in the rooms he and Jeeves shared at Brinkley Court and watched as Jeeves stowed clothing away in the large wardrobe.
     “How long do you suppose this will last, Jeeves?” Bertie asked, indicating the room at large.
     “I am not certain, sir,” Jeeves said and turned to look at Bertie. “Sooner or later, you shall have to be cured of your sleepwalking.”
     “Couldn’t this whole visit be viewed as a setback?” Bertie couldn’t keep the note of hope out of his voice. He’d become used to sharing the bedroom with Jeeves since the Christmas holidays.
     “It is possible, sir,” Jeeves said. He brushed his hand down the length of Bertie’s evening jacket and Bertie shivered as if that same hand had touched him.
     “Somehow, Jeeves, we will make it so.” He got up from his chair and slipped his arms around his valet’s waist. “You’re not on to help with luncheon, are you?”
     “No, sir. Mr. Seppings has asked for my assistance at dinner, however. I would be pleased to provide it unless you have objections.”
     “None from me, Jeeves. Can you be here after lunch so I can fill you in?”
     “I will await your news with bated breath, sir.”
     Bertie kissed the back of Jeeves’ neck. “Toodle pip, then.”


     Bertie managed to corner his Aunt Dahlia on his way toward the stairs. He hadn’t seen her since his arrival and demanded to know her role in this latest plan to get him to the altar.
      “It’s none of my doing, you fathead,” she said after drawing him into an unused bedroom. “Agatha asked me to host these people. I never knew you were coming until you arrived. You should have sent me a telegram or even used that newfangled thing called a telephone. I could have told you.”
     “Why would I have sent you a telegram, aged relation? Aunt Agatha ordered me to come here. I assumed she did so with your blessing.”
     “That’s what you get for assuming. Never assume. That’s my advice.”
     “Well then,” Bertie said. “I assume you’ll help me out of this mess.”
     “You never listen. That’s what I get for being generous with said advice.” She went to the door. “I don’t know why you’re worried. Just be your addled self and the girl will flee like the hounds of hell are snapping at her shoes. I’ve got to get downstairs. Mrs. Dewhurst has expressed an interest in Milady’s Boudoir. Perhaps I can sell the bloody thing to her.”
     Bertie shrugged his shoulders, then looked at himself in the room’s full-length mirror. Stand tall, Wooster, he ordered himself. Remember the Battle of Agincourt.

     Bertie arrived downstairs just in time for introductions and luncheon. Aunt Agatha hooked her talons into his arm as they entered the dining room.
     “Ellen Dewhurst is a very pleasant girl, Bertie.”
     “Oh. Rather.”
      “You should have arrived here earlier, Bertie, so that you could have spent some time with her before luncheon.”
     “Oh, quite. Well, sorry about that.” He winced as the talons bit into his skin.
     “Remember what I said.”
     As if I could forget, Bertie thought sourly.
     He found himself seated with Ellen on his right and some middle-aged woman he’d seen at Brinkley Court a time or two. Her name escaped him, but he remembered her as a festive sort who liked nothing better than organizing wagers of various types. He said a cheery ‘what ho’ to the festive sort and nodded at Ellen, who answered his effort with a scowl. He seated both women and settled himself, ready for the soup.
     He glanced around the table as the soup was being served. Aunt Dahlia was in close conversation with Mrs. Dewhurst, and Uncle Tom seemed quite taken with Mr. Dewhurst, a stern-faced old buzzard if ever there was one. Aunt Agatha sat across the table from Ellen and was looking at Bertie pointedly. Bertie decided he’d better at least make a show of engaging Ellen in a bit of chat.
     “So, Ellen,” he began in a clever fashion.
     “So, what?”
     Bertie cleared his throat. “So how do you like Brinkley Court?”
     “Charming.” She took a keen interest in her soup.
     Bertie chewed his lower lip. If this sparkling conversation continued, he dreaded to hear what Aunt Agatha would say about it. The aunt was sitting there with her ears pricked like a German shepherd that suspected the cat of stealing its bone.
    In contrast to himself and Ellen, everyone else seemed to be doing quite well in the conversation department. Uncle Tom, for whom taxes were a constant source of irritation, was commiserating with Mr. Dewhurst on the matter.
     “It’s a wonder a man can get ahead,” Mr. Dewhurst said between slurps. “You make money, put people to work and what’s your reward? More taxes!”
     Uncle Tom gazed at Mr. Dewhurst in abject worship. “True, true. Why just the other day I received a notice...”
     Bertie frowned a little. Something wasn’t right. If only Jeeves had been serving lunch. He’d have been able to pin down the problem and provide the solution in time for dessert. For a couple eager to marry off their daughter to a cove they’d never met, they seemed strangely disinterested in the last of the Woosters. There were no tricky questions, such as “what do you do for a living?” or “how much money do you have?”
     His luncheon partner answered all questions with as few words as possible. While Bertie knew many women found him lacking in the brains department, they’d never said anything about his conversational abilities.
     “Aunt Agatha, I tried,” Bertie said, trying to placate his annoyed relation after the meal. “You heard her. She can’t stand the sight of me. So that’s that.”
     “That is not that,” he said. “Take her for a stroll in the garden. Exert yourself for once. I am fast losing patience with you. If producing more Woosters for the family line is not your goal, then I don’t see that you have one.”
     “Aunt Agatha,” Bertie said, goggling at her. “This girl is obviously not keen. And her parents haven’t said a word to me.”
     “Time enough for that later, Bertie. They want to give you a chance to get to know one another without interference.” She gave him a push toward the drawing room. “Take her for a walk.”
     “I, uh, need to clean my teeth first,” Bertie said. “Wouldn’t want to breathe garlic all over the assemblage.”
     “Well, hurry up, do,” she said.
     Bertie raced up the stairs to his room to find Jeeves gazing out the window, his brows drawn together in concentration. He pulled the drapes back together as Bertie entered the room.
     “What ho, Jeeves,” Bertie said. “I only have a minute. I have to wheel Miss Dewhurst round the gardens.”
     Jeeves glanced at the door. Bertie nodded and locked it, then crossed the room to find himself in his valet’s welcoming arms. He kissed Jeeves on the cheek then disengaged himself and flopped on the bed.
     “How did the luncheon unfold, sir?”
     Bertie frowned. “As uncomfortable as a too-tight collar, Jeeves. The mister and missus never said a word to me beyond ‘pleased to meet you.’ As for the miss, well, Bertram could detect a distinct coldness in her aspect.”
     He lay back on the bed, his arms outstretched. “I wish you’d have been there, Jeeves, old thing. You would have figured out the wheeze.”
    Jeeves nodded. “No doubt we will uncover more information at dinner, sir.” He offered Bertie a hand and pulled him to his feet. “But now you should perhaps return to Miss Dewhurst.”
     “You’re right.” He kissed Jeeves on the cheek again. “I shall see you later, then?”
     “Of course, sir. I will be here to help you dress for dinner.” He reached out to straighten Bertie’s handkerchief. “The roses are looking especially lovely now.”
     Bertie grinned. “I’ll steer clear of them.” He walked to the door but paused before unlocking it. He turned to face Jeeves, his expression serious. “You do know, don’t you, that I would walk with you in a rose garden if I could?”
     “Perhaps someday that will be possible, sir,” Jeeves said, the corner of his mouth lifting just a fraction. “I look forward to it.”
 
     Bertie returned to the drawing room to find Ellen Dewhurst waiting for him just outside the doors.
     “Your Aunt Hagatha said you wanted to stroll the grounds with me.”
     “Hagatha?”
     “Yes,” Ellen said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Your aunt? Resembles a vulture?”
     “Ah,” Bertie said, liking the girl in spite of himself. “Actually, her name is Agatha. Though Hagatha does have a good ring to it. The vulture resemblance is incidental.”
     “I’m happy to have amused you,” she said. “Show me the blasted gardens, then, and look sharp about it.”
     “I say!” Bertie said as Ellen grabbed his arm and marched him toward the front door. This beazel, whose head barely reached his shoulder, was one of those forward, decisive girls who would want to mould him, Bertie thought. He could feel it. He dug in his heels and pulled them both to a halt.
     “Well, what is it?” Ellen asked.
     “If you don’t want to go skipping about in the gardens, then why are we going? I’d just as soon loiter in the drawing room.”
     “You’re an ass, Bertie.”
     Bertie stared at her. “I say. How do you know? We’ve only just met. Most people take an afternoon to reach that conclusion.”
     Ellen smiled a little, her expression reminding him of the one Jeeves used when Bertie said something ridiculous.
     “Perhaps we’d better walk. You need to have things spelled out for you, Bertie. I will try to simplify the matter as best I can.”
     “I might be an ass but I’m not an idiot,” Bertie said, giving her a superior look.
     “What’s the matter with your eyebrows?”
     Bertie lowered his brows. “Nothing.”
     She patted his arm in a sisterly fashion. “Let us go outdoors, Bertie. I fear these walls have ears.”
Bertie turned around and saw Ellen was right about the ears - and the eyes, as to that. Aunt Agatha was standing just outside the drawing room, smiling so that her teeth showed. Bertie shivered.
     “Lead on, Miss Dewhurst,” he said.
     Bertie didn’t speak again until they were well away from the house. “Lovely day, what?”
     He saw Ellen roll her eyes. “I didn’t come out here for a weather report, Bertie.”
     “Oh.”
     “And to think my parents want me to tie myself to you for the rest of my life,” Ellen said. “What are they thinking?”
     “What?”
     “Can you possibly converse in sentences of more than three words, Bertie?” Ellen pulled them both up short. “This is serious in case you haven’t got that through your thick skull.”
     Bertie decided to disregard the Wooster code and let her have it. “You’ve got more nerve than Stiffy Byng. First you deplore my conversational skills, then you tell me I’m thick. What next?”
     “Bertie, don’t take on so.” Ellen pointed at a bench. “Let’s do sit down.”
     They took a seat on the bench and Bertie pointed at her. “You have the floor. Or the grass, as it were.”
     “All right,” she said, taking a tone one might use when addressing an imbecile. “You do realize my parents and your aunt want us to marry.”
     “Of course I know that. She’s been bleating about it for days. And why else would you be here? You don’t know my Aunt Dahlia or Uncle Tom. But they seem to be getting quite matey with your parents. A bit sickening, really.”
     “But do you know why they want us to marry?” she asked.
     “No, I don’t. Aunt Agatha wants me to marry but she’s wanted that for years. Jeeves...” Bertie could have bitten his tongue.
     “Who’s Jeeves?”
      My lover, my friend, my reason for living, Bertie thought. “My man. My valet, I mean to say.”
     “You discussed this with your valet?” Ellen gave him a sharp look. “Why?”
     “Not discuss, as in chat about it for hours, if you see what I mean. I mentioned it in passing.”
     “Mother hated Father’s valet,” she said as if this were a well-known fact to everyone except Bertie. “When Clark retired she didn’t let him get another one. She told me Father discussed everything with Clark. Jealous, I suppose.
     “So,” she continued, obviously finished with her reminiscence. “You’ve discussed this at length with Jeeves. What does he have to say about it?”
     Bertie shook his head. “You first. Why do your parents want you to get hitched to the mentally negligible Bertie Wooster? You Dewhursts are rolling in it, aren’t you? Why aren’t you chasing after someone with a bit more scratch?”
     Ellen’s expression turned serious and for a moment Bertie thought she was going to cry. But she took a deep breath and turned away from him.
     “I say, I’m sorry, old thing. Didn’t mean to upset you and all,” Bertie said. He never knew what to do with crying women.
     “Have you ever been in love, Bertie?” she asked, ignoring his apology. “I mean, really in love. The forever kind?”
     “Well, I mean to say...what?” It was a trap, Bertie thought, a snare in which to trick him into admitting something he couldn’t very well admit to anyone.
     “It’s quite a simple question, Bertie, but I suppose you don’t have to answer.” Ellen leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs, then cupped her chin in her hands. “I’m in love. With the most wonderful man in the world.”
     “So marry him.” Bertie frowned at her, but she didn’t see it. “That would solve your problem and mine.”
     She turned her head to look at him. “I can’t, Bertie. My parents won’t allow it.”
     “Well, why not? Does he have an extra head or something?”
     She smiled a little. “He’s a schoolmaster.”
     “Ah. Poor, is he?”
     “Yes.”
     “And you don’t care a fig about that, do you?”
     Her smile widened. “I love him. What he has doesn’t matter to me.”
     Bertie plucked a blade of grass and wound it around his forefinger. “But it matters to the mater and the pater, doesn’t it?”
     “They’d rather have me marry you than him, if that means anything. I think they’re getting desperate.”
     He gave her a sidelong glance. “Thanks so much for the vote of confidence, old fruit.”
     She laughed. “I’m sorry, Bertie. I know that sounded awful. But they keep introducing me to man after man after man. They’re hoping I’ll just forget about him and marry someone else. As if I could forget him.”
     They were silent for a few moments. “So,” Bertie said, “how do they keep you from eloping with...uh, what’s the name of this saint?”
     “Howard. Howard Kenworthy.” She closed her eyes as if she were picturing the man in her mind. “He’s so sweet, a bit like you Bertie, only he’s so very, very intelligent.”
     Bertie rolled his eyes. “Well, let me stand for Parliament; I’m that braced.”
     Ellen giggled. “Sorry. That came out wrong, too.”
     “Are we done cataloging my faults?” Bertie asked. “You still haven’t answered my query. The one about how your parents keep you from marrying Saint Howard. Will they cut you off without a pence?”
     She nodded. “Among other things.”
     “If you don’t care about the ready, then what’s the problem? Run off with this cove, send mum and daddy a telegram and live happily ever after.”
     “It’s not as simple as that, Bertie. If it were, I’d have done it ages ago.” Her voice faltered for a moment and Bertie thought it best to let her work it out with no help from him.
     “I have two sisters, twins,” she finally said. “They’re fifteen. My parents have told me that if I elope, I can’t see them again.”
     Two tears tracked down her cheeks but she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
     Bertie tore the blade of grass in two. “Do your sisters know about this wheeze? I mean to say, do they know you won’t marry because of them?”
     Ellen pulled a well-worn piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Bertie. “They know.”
     Bertie opened the paper. It was a note, written in a round scrawl typical of young girls. His own sister’s handwriting had looked just like that at one time.



Dear Ellen,
      Go ahead and marry Howard. When we’re old enough, we’ll find you. We’ll send you our allowance, too, if you need it. We want you to be happy. And eloping will be so romantic. You simply must!
All our love,

Katie and Jane


     “Looks like you have their blessings,” Bertie said as he handed her the note. “Now what’s stopping you? Case of nerves?”
     “Bertie, I’m watched like a hawk. I can’t even get a letter to Howard. He’s probably frantic; he probably thinks I’ve gone off him. I haven’t talked to him in almost two weeks and he’s not even very far from here. In Swindon, actually. I can’t get away. I don’t know what to do.
     “And Bertie, we are really and truly engaged.” She reached into her dress pocket and retrieved a thin gold chain. An engagement ring sporting a modest diamond winked in the afternoon sun.
     “Well, that tears it,” Bertie said. He stood up and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “There’s only one thing to do, old dear.”
     “What’s that?”
     “We’ll leave it to Jeeves.”

Link to the second part
storyfan.livejournal.com/20171.html#cutid1
 
 
 
I say! I may be stupid, but I'm not clever!: Jeeves & Woostermxdp on May 2nd, 2009 08:55 am (UTC)
“You do know, don’t you, that I would walk with you in a rose garden if I could?”



*runs off to second part*
storyfanstoryfan on May 2nd, 2009 12:08 pm (UTC)
Just take a left through the rose garden.
I say! I may be stupid, but I'm not clever!: Jeeves & Woostermxdp on May 2nd, 2009 03:17 pm (UTC)
;)

OI, WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!

*two men, who's names we won't mention, are scrambling for their clothes*

Oh, please boys, don't mind me.
Salfeanix on May 2nd, 2009 01:24 pm (UTC)
Oh, God, there's just this little tinge of sadness in this one...Poor Bertie facing being married off all the time.

“You do know, don’t you, that I would walk with you in a rose garden if I could?”

And that line's a killer.
storyfanstoryfan on May 2nd, 2009 02:47 pm (UTC)
I can picture them frolicking in the roses. Minus thorns, of course. I'm glad you liked the line. I thought it might have been a shade too serious.
juliacarmenjuliacarmen on May 2nd, 2009 02:07 pm (UTC)
This story just keeps getting more and more exciting! I love your portrayal of Aunt Agatha!
storyfan: jeevesstoryfan on May 2nd, 2009 02:49 pm (UTC)
Despite the fact that she's a bat, I do admire her singleminded sense of purpose. Just wish she'd focus it on, say, Eustace.
Nonsensical Whatnotterist: JW - Bertie Jeeves Luvrandom_nexus on May 2nd, 2009 10:19 pm (UTC)
“You do know, don’t you, that I would walk with you in a rose garden if I could?”
“Perhaps someday that will be possible, sir,” Jeeves said, the corner of his mouth lifting just a fraction. “I look forward to it.”

Add me to the list of folks who adore that bit!
I am enjoying this immensely!
cue ominous musicellex42 on May 3rd, 2009 02:03 am (UTC)
I've just finished the first two stories in this lovely series and am about to start the third, which will no doubt be equally, if not more, lovely.

But I noticed that you have expressed your frustration at dealing with html coding for LJ several times, and I thought you might find this post helpful.
storyfanstoryfan on May 3rd, 2009 03:20 am (UTC)
Thanks for that great information. I've looked at some of it and what I've seen will help me a great deal. There are so many things I want to do and can't do because I don't understand the coding.

I'm glad you liked the first two stories. Thanks saying so.
cue ominous musicellex42 on May 3rd, 2009 05:57 pm (UTC)
I'm happy to be of help! And the third story was, indeed, even more lovely than the first two - which were wonderful.
storyfanstoryfan on May 3rd, 2009 06:19 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much.
emeraldreeveemeraldreeve on May 3rd, 2009 09:44 am (UTC)
Great plot, much like Wodehouse with enough difference to make it unique. Very hot, too! And I love the dialogue between Jeeves and Wooster. They sound in love. :)
storyfanstoryfan on May 3rd, 2009 06:28 pm (UTC)
Thanks for the dialogue comment. Sometimes I wonder if they sound too emotional. But they are in love, aren't they? I'm glad you liked the plot, too. I had fun with this one.
ironicbeesironicbees on May 4th, 2009 10:55 pm (UTC)
Count me as another person who loved the walk in the rose garden line. ♥

Well done with the heroine - she's a pretty typical Wodehousian woman in assuming Bertie's an idiot, but more sympathetic. And aww at her sisters' letter. :)
storyfanstoryfan on May 5th, 2009 01:25 am (UTC)
The good thing about Ellen is that she doesn't want to marry Bertie. He's a dear, but just a little dim, in her thinking. I thought the rose garden line might have been too soppy, but people seemed to like it.