#her governess was off duty that day so a maid sat her down & told her the basics of why that was happening to her

[cagesings]

also  since  it's  sunday,  i  can  say  that  johanna  received  one  of  the  worst  s/ex  educations  out  there  

[harshmallowffxv]

Gardenia Hall | a Gladnis Historical Romance AU

2.5k | Victorian-inspired

(Rated T)

When a case of mistaken identity results in Ignis taking on the role of tutor to young Iris Amicitia, things get off to a rocky — if amusing — start. After he makes the acquaintance of the hotheaded son of the lord of the manor, however, it becomes obvious that this posting may be more trouble than he had first bargained for.

To Ignis, Gladiolus is arrogant and ill-tempered, more interested in chasing skirts than in abiding by etiquette. To Gladiolus, Ignis is a prissy, insufferable city-slicker with a chip on his shoulder.

With time, they'll both come to learn that there is so much more to each other than meets the eye.

The carriage rocked uncomfortably, as it had all day. It had been bad enough on the cobblestones of Insomnia — now, on the rutted tracks of the countryside, it seemed to vibrate so badly that one of the wheels was likely to fall off at any moment.

The carriage went over a particularly violent bump, and Ignis Scientia clutched a gloved hand delicately to his mouth. It wouldn’t do to turn up to his new posting covered in his own ejecta.

The wave of nausea passed, mercifully, and he dared to part the voiles on the window beside him so that he could peek outside. He was pleased to see a reprieve from the dire, barren lands bordering Insomnia: now there were lush green fields and forests all around, mountains piercing the horizon in the distance. He couldn’t wait for that first breath of cool, crisp country air, away from the smog-ridden miasma that clung to the streets of the capital.

The carriage jostled again, sending him tumbling headfirst into the glass. A frantic check of his face told him that nothing had been damaged — particularly his spectacles, for which he was relieved.

The sooner this hellish ride was over, the better.

It was almost evening by the time the carriage drew to a halt at long last. Once the door was opened for him, Ignis hobbled down the steps on unsteady feet and sucked in lungful of fresh air. It helped him, somewhat; the nausea began to subside, the bitter taste fading from the back of his throat.

Other than his driver, the only person awaiting him was a young woman in an apron, her dark hair poorly pinned back such that it hung loose about her face.. Surely she couldn’t be the only one here to receive him — a maid of some sort. The housekeeper’s correspondence had implied that this family was of considerable means.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ the woman said, peering up at him expectantly.

Who was she waiting for, if she wasn’t here to receive him? Ignis gave an exasperated sigh and shot his driver a long-suffering glance; the man merely shrugged his shoulders and moved past him to retrieve his luggage.

‘I’m expected,’ Ignis said briskly.

The girl gave him a bemused look, raising her eyebrows almost comically, and she looked as if she might have questioned him on it had her attention not been drawn elsewhere.

Ignis followed the direction of her gaze to a young man, tall and bronzed, with long, dark hair tied at the base of his head. His skin had a sheen of sweat where it was visible above his collar and below the rolled sleeves of his shirt. Both clothes and skin were soiled, as though he’d taken a tumble in a flower bed.

‘You can leave those there,’ Ignis said to the driver. He turned his attention to the young man, ushering him over. ‘Excuse me. Excuse me. You can bring these in for me now.’

The man stopped feet away, watching him in cold silence. Ignis had the distinct feeling of being studied by those eyes, the colour of amber, as they ran up and down his form.

‘You got two arms, don’t you?’ the man said. ‘Why not put ‘em to good use?’

He didn’t wait for any sort of rebuke; side-stepping around Ignis, he headed straight through the front door of the manor without another word.

‘I’m afraid there must be some mistake.’

The lord of the manor did not look like the sort of man who made mistakes — yet here they both were, thoroughly at a loss.

‘Sir,’ Ignis said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. He could feel heat creeping up the collar of his already-crumpled shirt. ‘I assure you, I have all the correspondence with your housekeeper in my possession. If you’ll allow me to—’

Clarus Amicitia leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sigh he gave was so long and weary that Ignis genuinely feared the man might simply turn him out of the manor and send him all the way home.

‘Ms. Elshett?’ Mr. Amicitia said after a moment. ‘She’ll confirm this?’

Ignis nodded.

With another weary sigh, Mr. Amicitia stood from his seat, angled himself toward the door, and opened his mouth to give a shout.

‘Crowe!’ he bellowed, startling Ignis in the process.

It wasn’t long before the door tentatively opened behind Ignis and a young woman’s voice rang out from behind it.

‘Yes, sir?’ the voice said timidly. Ignis recognised it as the girl from earlier.

‘Crowe,’ Mr. Amicitia said, returning to his seat. ‘Where is Ms. Elshett?’

‘Don’t know, sir.’

Ignis flinched, watching the man’s jaw clench with annoyance.

‘Perhaps you might find her for me?’ the man said, his voice clipped.

‘Of course, sir.’

Ignis studied the room while he waited, taking great pains not to accidentally meet Mr. Amicitia’s eye along the way. There was a banner behind his desk — an eagle and a sword — and Ignis found himself wondering if this family were of any relation to the Amicitias that served as Shields to the royal line.

Before too long, the door opened once more and Ignis felt the air stir as a woman stepped up beside him.

‘Sir,’ the woman said.

‘Ms. Elshett,’ Mr. Amicitia said, clasping his fist with his other hand. ‘This gentleman tells me he’s Iris’s new tutor. I was under the impression you had hired a governess. ’

Ignis could barely resist the urge to turn to look at the housekeeper; from what little he could see of her in the periphery of his vision, she seemed remarkably composed in the face of the mixup.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re expecting Miss Scientia today.’

‘Master Scientia,’ Ignis interjected.

‘I don’t think so, sir,’ the woman replied curtly. ‘We’re expecting one Ignia Scientia.’

Cold dread filled Ignis’s veins, turning his limbs to ice where he sat. He understood, now — he wasn’t in the wrong place, nor had he somehow mistaken his position. The problem was that they were expecting a young woman , and they had received him.

A silence fell over the room, during which Ignis could only imagine the state of his future. He would be sent home, surely; a household seeking a governess had no room for a tutor. His uncle would certainly have a thing or two to say, particularly when he showed up empty-handed and out the handful of silver crowns for the privilege of a wasted journey.

Ignis waited, holding his breath, and then the unexpected happened.

The lord of the manor laughed.

If it was a surprising occurrence, Ms. Elshett made no show of it, merely standing with her hands clasped in front of her while she waited.

‘Master Scientia,’ the lord of the manor said. ‘Through circumstances that I don’t entirely understand, we find ourselves with a young man to carry out a governess’s duties, instead of a young woman. Tell me — you’re fully familiar with the three Rs, yes? Languages, history, geography as well?’

Ignis nodded.

‘And you are still comfortable with schooling my daughter in the etiquette that citizens of the capital are so widely regarded for, yes?’

Once more, Ignis nodded.

Mr. Amicitia rose suddenly, extending his hands palms-upward to either side of him. Ignis was pleased to find, as he looked up at the man’s face, that his eyes were warm with mirth.

‘Then I believe,’ the lord of the manor said, ‘that we have our governess.’

They supplied him with a modest enough room, although it more than suited Ignis’s needs. The wallpaper was a recurring motif of the gardenia for which the manor was named, and the dormer window had a perfect view of the gardens where the flowers bloomed in abundance, carefully cultivated along twisting walkways.

It was a beautiful place, if a little smaller than Ignis had envisioned, and he could see himself quite happily spending the foreseeable future here.

His first meeting with the lord of the manor had certainly been interesting, and getting a laugh out of his new employer was probably a good sign — even if it had been for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps he would grow to like it in this unusual place.

A quiet knock came at the door, and he was so lost in the view he scarcely heard it. It came again, more insistent, and a voice drifted through.

‘Master Scientia?’

He recognised Crowe from her voice and found himself convinced that he would be hearing much more of it in the months to come.

‘Yes?’ he replied, scarcely turning.

He heard the hinges creak as the door carefully opened; heard the floorboards ache beneath the girl’s weight. When she did not immediately speak, he sighed and turned to face her.

Something of her name seemed to suit her, he decided, as he had the first chance to study her in private. Her nose was prominent enough to be noteworthy, although it only seemed to add character to her face. Her lively brown eyes took him in keenly, and seemed to betray an intellect that she probably had very little chance to show.

‘The young miss is back from her visiting her cousins,’ Crowe said. ‘The sir thought you might like to meet her before dinner.’

Ignis sighed and inclined his head. He had rather been looking forward to making his new charge’s acquaintance, prior to his arrival; now, after all the confusion, he found himself a little less sure. At the very least, he hoped he’d like her. He’d heard tales enough of the children of the landed gentry, and how they were so often spoilt.

No different than him growing up, really.

Crowe led him down to the front hall, where Mr. Amicitia stood with a young girl. She was unusually tall, although in the lanky way he’d seen of girls who would grow no taller after their fourteenth birthday. Her dark hair was cropped at jaw-length, hanging in uneven strands.

Ms. Elshett was there too, tutting and tsking while she inspected the girl’s hair. From what Ignis could gather, the haircut had been an impromptu one.

‘Ah,’ Mr. Amicitia said, turning to Ignis. ‘And here he is. Iris, this is Ignis Scientia, your new tutor. Master Scientia, my daughter, Iris.’

Ignis watched the girl’s eyes narrow shrewdly, and he felt a flutter of fear go through him that this would be the precise moment at which he could mark the steady decline of his career. It was embarrassing enough that he had thought he’d been answering the post of a tutor, not a governess, without the sharp wit of a young lady in making to add insult to injury.

She took him quite by surprise when she suddenly crossed the room, tersely sticking her hand out for him to shake.

It was so bald-faced that Ignis almost didn’t take her hand in turn, but she seemed unwilling to accept any sort of refusal from him. Just beyond her, Ms. Elshett shook her head and exchanged an amused glance with the lord of the manor.

‘Papa told me you were supposed to be a girl,’ Iris said, once Ignis had let go of her hand. ‘You don’t look much like a girl.’

‘Iris!’

The interjection came from Mr. Amicitia himself, who covered his face with his hand.

In spite of himself, Ignis couldn’t help but smile.

‘Will you be eating with us tonight?’ the girl said, turning to Ignis.

Ms. Elshett had mentioned something about Iris being incorrigible in their correspondence — that their last governess had been able to do little about her impertinence and clear disregard for etiquette.

Truly, Ms. Elshett’s first letter had said, I believe at times that the young miss believes she’s one of the boys.

‘He shall,’ Mr. Amicitia replied. ‘But first you need to wash up, Iris. You still have have muck from the road all over your skirt.’

Iris didn’t even seem to hear her father’s words, instead spinning around as though searching for someone.

‘Is Gladdy home?’ she said, staring pointedly at her father.

‘Later,’ Mr. Amicitia said, with an impatient wave of his hands. ‘Go wash up, before I have Ms. Elshett carry you.’

As if to prove his words, the housekeeper took a sudden step toward Iris, which sent the girl running up the stairs, squealing in play-terror as she went.

‘Do you find your room to your liking, Master Scientia?’ Mr. Amicitia said, shortly after Iris had disappeared.

Ignis nodded politely.

‘It has a wonderful view, sir,’ he said. ‘The gardens are truly magnificent.’

‘My late wife’s influence,’ Mr. Amicitia replied. ‘I’m afraid I was quite at a loss when I inherited not only the estate, but the flowers that came with it. You can, of course, wander freely about the gardens as you please. Iris’s last governess used to take lessons with her outside, when the weather was fine.’

The exchange of pleasantries was an intimidating prospect for Ignis; he had been raised to make small talk with those of similar standing, but this was the first time he had ever really been in the company of someone who was now his social better. It was going to be quite an adjustment.

He was saved the anxiety of floundering for something polite to say as a young man stepped into the room. It was the one from earlier, who had been so rude on Ignis’s arrived. He looked a great deal cleaner and more put-together.

Ignis regarded him coolly, but the young man didn’t so much as bother returning his glance.

‘Gladiolus,’ Mr. Amicitia said. ‘Now is as good a time as any to introduce you to Iris’s new tutor, Ignis Scientia. Master Scientia, this is my son, Gladiolus.’

Ignis’s heart lurched. It couldn’t really be true — this man, who had arrived at the door all filthy and dishevelled, was Mr. Amicitia’s son?

Ignis could feel the colour drain from his face. He had addressed this young man as though he were a servant; no wonder he had been so curt in response.

‘We’ve met,’ Gladiolus said bluntly. ‘Iris home yet?’

His father seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, although Ms. Elshett’s eyes flicked from Ignis to Gladiolus and back again, as though she were somehow privy to the situation. Perhaps Crowe had filled her in.

‘Just arrived,’ Mr. Amicitia said. ‘Although—’ he put out a hand to stop Gladiolus here, with a stern look ‘—I had enough trouble sending her off to wash up without you distracting her all the more. You’ll see her at dinner. Master Scientia will be there, too.’

Gladiolus turned, and for the first time since their formal introduction, he met Ignis’s eye. His upbringing was plain to see now, in the way he held himself: the tilt of his jaw, the cut of his clothes. He had a labourer’s muscles hidden away, however, under his brocade vest and neatly-pressed shirt — and his skin was deeply tanned, as if from hours spent under the sun.

‘I guess I’ll see you then,’ the young man said, his eyes never leaving Ignis’s.

Ignis looked away first, his heart thudding, and Gladiolus passed him on the steps, knocking his shoulder ever so slightly as he went.