#i want a fancy old man to dote on me and make me elegant meals too WAHHHHH

[shojoboy]

why dont i have this in MY life

[hurt-care]

His Lordship’s Gardener - Part 3

This is part 3! If you haven’t read Part 1, you can find it here and you can find Part 2 here

Cowritten with @salamanderskin

And for the rest of the summer, Isaiah stays, careful to avoid the open windows and outdoors when he's able, and when he's not, Elder dotes on the young man, washing his afflicted eyes and showering him with kisses. Carefully avoiding the eyes of the serving staff, they spend nights together, take long baths in Elder's tub, and pass hours in the study reading side by side.

When late September nears and the English countryside begins to cool in anticipation of fall, Elder tells Cartwright that he plans to have a small social gathering at Woodhaven. Several members of his circle have written, saying they'd missed the Lord Elder at other local social events and the annual August lawn party at Lord Ambley's in London.

"It'll be nearly fall by then," Elder says as they lie in bed together in Cartwright's chambers. "Your nose seems to be behaving much more as the nights grow colder. If you would do me the honor, I'd love for you to attend."

He strokes Isaiah's hand affectionately.

"My tailor will be visiting this week to measure me for a new suit and I'd like to buy one for you too, if you'll accept it."

The gardener's eyes travel to the wardrobe, which contains the clothes he has recently had sent over from Tunbridge Wells in light of his stay at Woodhaven being rather longer than he had anticipated. They are certainly getting a little threadbare and are not in the latest fashion.

He gives Elder a mock-serious look from under his lashes. “Of course I shall attend, and I suppose I shall have to accept that offer as well. If you wish to show me off then I don't wish to be an embarrassment to you.”

"I've told you for months that you are no embarrassment," Elder says, poking Cartwright's side in an equally teasing fashion. "You could wear Bishop's serving uniform and I'd still want you there."

The plans for the party set the old manor house abuzz as it was in the days of Elder's marriage, when couples from across the county came to lounge on the lawns and eat extravagant meals. Even as a widower, Elder had hosted large gatherings, including a splendid summer lawn party, but this summer had been much devoted to his new dear friend than social events.

As Elder's tailor finished the measurements for Jacob's new suit and moved on to Cartwright, Bishop the butler pokes his head in to review plans for the seating arrangements. Elder meets him in the study to discuss the details.

"And the Winchesters have rung from Derby to say they'll be making a weekend of it," Bishop says as they sit at the long library table to look at the plans. "They'll be staying with relations in the town though, so the spare rooms are still available."

"I'd rather people not stay," Elder confesses. "We've only four spare suites and Mister Cartwright occupies one already."

"Forgive me, sir," Bishop says. "Is it proper for him to attend? I have not figured where he should sit on the plans. Perhaps next to Miss Parker? She is the eldest daughter of the Parkers and still unmarried. He could be a suitable companion."

"He will sit next to me," Elder replies. "He is my guest, so of course it is proper."

"The Grahams have asked that their daughter Helena sit next to you, sir," Bishop says. "You know she much fancied you at last fall's Autumn Ball. If you sit with two men, people will talk. Your social status, if I may be so bold, has slipped since you stopped attending the local parties."

Elder looks at the dinner table plan and sighs.

"Very well. Seat him with Eleanor Parker and I with Miss Graham."

The evening of the party arrives and as Elder greets guests downstairs, Isaiah waits in his room, gathering the confidence to join the crowd.

Mister Cartwright pauses at the top of the stairs to take a few deep breaths. He can hear the swell of excited chatter rising from below, muffled by the oak panels to a dull hum punctuated by the occasional polite laugh. He had though himself ready to go down, but a sudden fit of nerves keeps his feet anchored just outside the door of his room. He fidgets nervously with the constraining wing-collar which rises from beneath his new jacket. The suit was a generous gift and the flattering cut of it boosts his confidence for all that he finds it confining. The dark colour of it matches his favourite green waistcoat and the show handkerchief which peeks out of his breast pocket. During the summer months he had taken to carrying a useful one in there too, and one more in his inside pocket just in case, but he has foregone them tonight. They would spoil the cut of his suit and he won't need them.

The buzz in the room quiets when he enters. There are a few couples, a few of Elder's older friends and noticeably, a couple of young ladies visibly chaperoned by proud parents. And there is Jacob himself, looking magnificent in his own new suit. Isaiah wishes he could tell him so, to see him blush, but settles for a formal “Good evening, Lord Elder.”

He extends a hand, employing the title he rarely has any use for. Does Elder look nervous at his presence? Bishop certainly does. He is certain that the butler is watching him with distaste, but it's no concern of his. Instead he extends a winning smile to the company in general.

“Please do introduce me to your guests.”

"I'd be most delighted, Mister Cartwright," Elder says, giving Isaiah a firm handshake. His heart flip flops at the sight of the other man. The beautiful forest green of Cartwright's suit brings out the intense flecks of color in the gardener's eyes and highlights the broad expanse of his shoulders in proportion to his waist. He is all angles next to Elder's more slim and straight build.

Straightening his maroon silk ascot, Elder steps back from Isaiah to introduce his guests.

"May I present my dear friend, Mister Isaiah Cartwright," he tells the assembled crowd. "He's a most talented landscape architect and brilliant scholar who I have had the pleasure of hosting here at Woodhaven for some time. I'm most happy to finally introduce him to you all."

There was a soft buzzing of conversation amoung those gathered at this revelation. Though it was not entirely uncommon for the larger houses to have long term guests for the purpose of estate improvements or other business, it was unusual for them to be invited to a social event.

"Mister Cartwright," Jacob continued. "May I introduce Mister and Missus Oliver Graham and their daughter, Helena."

He indicated a couple in their late sixties accompanied by a young woman of twenty-three. They greeted Isaiah politely and Elder moved on to a man he introduced as Lord Inglewood, of Singleby Abbey, a fine house some fifty kilometers from Woodhaven. Then there was Lord and Lady Usher with their son, a young man of seventeen, as well as Lord Archer, Lord and Lady Craven, and Mister and Missus Peregrine.

"We are still expecting Lord and Lady Parker and their daughters Eleanor and Margaret. And Margaret's husband, Lord Harwell," he said to Cartwright. "Mister and Missus Winchester as well. Will you excuse me, Mister Cartwright? I must catch up with Lord Archer. I'm sure Mister and Missus Graham would be delighted to hear of your plans for my gardens for next season. Missus Graham here does adore roses, if I remember correctly."

“Then I am sure we shall get on splendidly.” Isaiah affirms and goes over to acquaint himself. He can be very charming when he wants to be and conversation flows easily enough. He is pleased to find that Missus Graham does indeed have a good, though rather hands-off, knowledge of horticulture. He had worried about interacting with Helena, but to his amusement her eyes are following Elder around the room and barely focusing on himself at all. He catches himself pinching the tip of his nose and quickly folds his hands behind his back to suppress his nervous habit. He owes it to Jacob to project confidence.

As Jacob chats briefly with Lord Archer, Bishop comes in to announce the arrival of both the Parker family and the Winchesters. With his best host smile, Jacob greets them all and encourages them to order a drink from the staff and enjoy the conversation.

Eleanor Parker looks elegant in a pale green gown, her chestnut hair swept up in the latest style and held in place with a jeweled comb in the shape of a fan. She'll be a nice dinner companion for his Isaiah, Elder thinks, until the company is all gone home and he can have the young gardener back to himself.

Elder rings the sash bell on the wall, indicating to the staff that he is ready for his guests to go through to dinner service. Clearing his throat, he calls attention to the room and the party guests go quiet.

"Good evening, everyone. I am most pleased you could join me this evening. Dinner is served if you will all follow me this way to the dining room."

He leads the party down the oak-paneled hall to the dining room where Bishop now stands at attention alongside several other members of the waitstaff. The men take their places at the ladies' chairs, pulling them out and helping the women sit. Elder is privy to a shy smile from Helena Graham as he takes his seat next to her. She is wearing a small nosegay of light pink roses for youth and desire coupled with baby's breath for innocence which she rests in her lap after conspicuously letting him see it.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Graham," he says to her as he glances along the table to see how Isaiah is faring with Eleanor.

The gardener seems to be doing well enough. Down the table it is possible to see him chatting away to Eleanor, wearing his most charming smile. As befits a man with several sisters, he is actually more at ease among women than he had been upon his first meeting with Elder. A few things, however, indicate his distress. He has his handkerchief out in his lap and is twisting it through his fingers as he talks. It might look like a nervous habit if it wasn't coupled with a wavering, distinctly itchy expression on his face. As Elder watches he rubs his nose once and then again harder.

They are not far enough away that Elder cannot catch their conversation. They are still on the subject of flowers and Eleanor indicates her own nosegay to point out the ostentatious lilies that form the centre of it. Where she got them in this season heaven only knows, and they must have cost a fortune, which somewhat takes the edge of their suggestion of innocence.

The moment that Eleanor raises her small bouquet of flowers revealing the large, offensive lilies, Elder's heart drops in his chest as he observes from the other end of the table, realizing the situation they're now in. It's bad enough that poor Cartwright is directly next to Eleanor and her lily-filled nosegay, but they've just sat down for dinner and it'd be terribly bad form for any of them to get up in the midst of it all, or switch seats.

Isaiah looks up and catches Elder's gaze with eyes that glint very green in the glow of the candles. He gestures the bouquet and gives a anxious little half smile as he mouths, “We might have a problem.”

Returning his attention to Eleanor he responds to her murmured question by shaking his head and leaning back slightly in his chair. “Indeed, I can smell them quite well from here, thank you.”

Undeterred, the hapless Eleanor raises her nosegay to allow him to sniff it. Isaiah can only shrug away from her to sneeze a tight, restrained “-idttsch-uh!”

He is epitome of politeness, cupping his mouth with his handkerchief and turning his head over his shoulder, swallowing the sound. “Excuse me.” He finishes, faintly.

Elder locks eyes with Cartwright as the people nearby bless him after he sneezes.

"I'm sorry," he mouths. "Try to hold it back. We'll eat fast."

He turns his attention back to his starter of soup with leeks, trying very hard not to stare down the table at Isaiah, though his mind will not focus anywhere else. His glass of port is drained in a single, long sip as he looks to Lady Helena for distraction.

It doesn't work. Elder's discussion with Helena is derailed when he realises that the lady is not looking at him at all but somewhere over his shoulder, her face a picture of polite concern.

“Goodness!” she exclaims.

It is easy to see what has attracted her attention- Mister Cartwright has his decorative handkerchief cupped over his face, recovering a fleeting fit of sneezes. After a moment he lowers it in relief, only to snatch it up again for another outburst.

“--idtssh!-ittssh!-idtsshuh! Hih-” A soft, questioning intake of breath, and- ““--idtssh! Hk'idtssh!”

“Please excuse me, Miss Parker,” Isaiah manages, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

Eleanor and her mother have both raised their eyebrows in identical expressions of incredulity, though the daughter's is the more sympathetic of the two. Isaiah is simply desperate to blow his nose but doesn't fancy doing so under the watchful eye of the whole table and settles instead for a sniffle and a shy wipe with his handkerchief. His attempt at politeness kept his sneezes too soft to offer him any real relief. Besides, the offending bouquet still rests between them on the table. Every breath brings it's sweet scent into his nose, settling his nostrils flickering. It takes a concerted effort to return to his food.

Elder crosses his ankles under the table, fidgeting in discomfort. He's torn between sympathy for the man, mortification at the situation they're all in, and that horrible little flame of arousal that always seems to come with poor Cartwright's sneezing. If he'd been seated nearer to the man, he'd've spilled his wine over their laps or some other clever excuse for leaving the dining room. But they are all glued to the table by the rules of propriety and leaving the dining room would be unthinkable, especially if they were to both leave.

"Please excuse my friend," he says to Helena, turning away from Cartwright again. He'll have some apologizing to do later. "He has a sensitive nose. Something must be irritating him. Now, do tell me more about your trip to France. Your mother said you enjoyed the south greatly."

“It was marvelous, the climate is quite something and the cathedrals are divine.” Helena begins, laughing prettily.

Meanwhile the main course is served and things seem to be settling down at Cartwright's end of the table. Isaiah allows himself to relax into Eleanor's company under the watchful eye of her parents, and conversations flows. Eleanor is indeed a lovely young woman though sheltered and girlish in her ways. She gives Isaiah her entire attention as they talk, turning in her chair to face him. To his dismay she even scoops her wretched nosegay into her lap and toys with it as she speaks. Isaiah can easily imagine the disturbed pollen dispersing through the air towards him and sure enough as the evening passes the ticklishness in his nose grows again to distracting levels.

He absolutely must sneeze, he is quite unable to think for fighting it, and as soon as Eleanor turns from him to address her parents he takes his chance. Simply allowing his carefully controlled breath to fan the tickle in his sinuses prompts him to one quick, relieving sneeze stifled to almost nothing.

“Hi'Knxt!”

Typically for him, the one allowance leads to several more and then to a unavoidable fit. He manages to keep them almost silent, clenching his features with only the barest bob of his head toward the back of his wrist, but his affliction does not escape the watchful eye of his companion.

“God bless you, Mister Cartwright!” Eleanor says. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine, I assure you.” He gives her his most charming smile in an attempt to distract her, but she will not be redirected and leans in to put a gentle hand on his arm. As she does so Isaiah receives a breath of her perfume which does not help matters at all. He barely has time to draw a shuddering, uncertain breath before he is overtaken again, and this time he is completely unable to stifle to sound.

“I merely- I- hh- hhhuh- tdssch! Tdsshuh!-TDSSCHuh!

“I do hope you're not catching a chill. Don't you think he sounds unwell, Mother?”

Missus Parker eyes the hot blush creeping over Isaiah's cheeks with obvious distaste. “He certainly looks a little peaky.” She says cooly. “Perhaps you should not sit so close, dear.”

Chagrinned, Eleanor sits back from him and Isaiah does the same, wiping his nose hard. He eyes are beginning to itch too and it takes all his willpower not to scratch them. He must look a mess, and fears he may get worse before he gets better.

Though Helena's charms are worthy, they aren't distraction enough to keep Elder from glancing Cartwright's way. Even the young lady notices his divided attentions and asks if everything is alright. Elder nods and smiles, feigning interest in their conversation. But soon, he hears a wretched sneeze from down the table and he very nearly loses his grip on his silverware, catching them before they rattle against his china plate.

He clenches his knife and fork until his fingers go red as the sneezing fit continues. From the burning feeling in his cheeks, he's sure his face is the same color. Taking a long, deep breath, he turns back to Helena and his food, knowing he cannot save Cartwright from this minor disaster.

Helena looks down the table and frowns, leaning into Elder as she whispers,

"Your handsome friend doesn't look very well at all."

Jacob is now positive that his face is the same crimson as the young lady's dress.

"He is sensitive, as I stated," he replies as evenly as his voice will allow. "If he's truly unwell, I'm sure he will excuse himself."

"I don't believe I've ever heard anyone sneeze so many times quite so rapidly," Helena says with a tone of genuine surprise.

Elder pops a piece of asparagus in his mouth and swallows hard. He knows that Isaiah will not last much longer alongside Eleanor, especially if they are to have dessert straightaway. Desperate times call for the fabled desperate measures.

"Pardon me," he says to Helena as he leans back and gestures to Bishop to get the butler's attentions.

"We'll move straight through for drinks after dinner," he whispers to the butler. "Tell the kitchen I'm sorry about the dessert preparations. We'll discuss what to do about that later."

Bishop nods and returns to his post at the buffet table alongside the nearly empty platters of food.

He takes another bite of asparagus, almost clearing his plate, and sneaks a glance at Isaiah, dismayed that he can see how red the man's eyes and nose have become even from this great distance.

There is a little murmur of surprise when Elder announces his plans, and Missus Parker exclaims “How Bohemian!” in a whisper quite loud enough to carry through the dining room. The room is filled with the soft rustle of chiffon as the Ladies allow themselves to be escorted through to the parlour. Isaiah stands, extending an arm for Eleanor as he tries to keep his persistent sniffling to a polite minimum.

In the parlour the air is close. Warm firelight plays on the heavy velvet drapes, making rainbows in the dark wood where the furniture has been polished to an impressive sheen. There is a little fuss about where they should be sitting, soon resolved as the guests settle themselves in the same approximate order from Elder's wing chair as they had been from his seat at head of table.

Helena Graham briefly departs Elder's side to join Eleanor and her parents. Apparently the young ladies know each other and there is much giggling and admiring one another's gowns. Isaiah is unnerved to notice their eyes darting in his direction more than once. They seem to be talking about him.

“Mister Cartwright, won't you come to sit with Helena and I?” Eleanor says, turning her doe-like gaze on him.

He tries to smile at her, but his hayfever is acting up again and the corners of his mouth twitch of their own accord as his features waver. Before he can answer her he sneezes a ticklish, throaty “hh'IDdtsh!-IDdtsh-ue!” that is very loud over the polite conversation in the parlour. He spins on his heels to shield his face from the two ladies, presenting them instead with a fine view of his shuddering shoulders.

When he turns back, Misses Graham narrows her eyes at his rudeness and one of the other guests, he doesn't catch who, tuts under their breath. He thinks he can see Lord Elder shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a sight that would please him if it were not for the circumstances. Really, this has gone on for quite long enough. With a decisive sniffle, he knows there is nothing else to be done here.

He addresses the girls loudly enough to include the room at large, with an apologetic glance to Elder in particular.

“As a matter of fact, I'm afraid you were right. I am feeling a little under the weather.”

This is an understatement by now, with his eyes itching madly, and so he doesn't feel as bad he might in telling this half-truth- they don't need to know that he could be fully recovered in a few hours, given some fresh air. His voice has taken on a suitably congested tone.

“Poor Mister Cartwright.” Eleanor says. She speaks with genuine concern and more than a little curiosity.

“Please, Miss Graham, don't -snf- don't let me spoil your evening.”

He is desperate to exit as swiftly as he may, before he can be taken by another fit of sneezing. He does not have long. The allergic tickling is mounting in the back of his nose and throat again and he must fight to keep his smile pleasant as he turns to face Lord Elder.

Isaiah's green eyes meet those of his lover in a meaningful stare which manages to encompass embarrassment, apology, and a certain knowing heat. Poor Jacob must be suffering with this worse than Isaiah himself. The very thought of Lord Elder's arousal is contagious, Isaiah finds himself getting hard in sympathy even as he sniffles miserably, pinching his nostrils against the pollen to buy himself time.

“Your Lordship, I'm afraid I'm... not feeling well.”

The gardener jerks his head very slightly to one side, indicating his desire to leave. He is held by propriety and a sudden fear that if Elder wanted, with his status and role as host the man could very well keep him in the parlour and sneezing uncontrollably all night.

Lord Elder would never dream of keeping Isaiah in such close quarters to the allergens which taunt the poor gardener's nose, though the ideal is certainly alluring. He'd removed them from the dining room in anticipation of these excuses being made, as it was very clear that Mister Cartwright wouldn't make it through dessert without causing a scene. Elder had seen his dear man in enough fits of hay fever to know that the symptoms were unlikely to lessen by simply leaving Eleanor's side. It doesn't stop him from taking a brief moment to imagine them in the parlour alone, however. He blinks and the guests vanish, leaving him with Cartwright in his arms, reclining on the long green sofa...

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mister Cartwright," Lord Elder says, returning to reality. He's careful to keep his voice even despite the rising heat in his cheeks as he locks eyes with his lover. "Please, rest and recover. We'll get on here fine. Do take care."

Cartwright's red-rimmed eyes lower from his gaze as the man gives a nod and a final round of apologies to the gathered crowd as he retreats from the parlour.

"Your poor friend," Eleanor says, wandering over with Helena. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

"I explained to Miss Graham," Elder says through gritted teeth. "He has a sensitive system. He can be taken by illness swiftly. He'll recover, I'm sure of it."

He reaches for his glass of sherry and takes a long sip, trying to quell the nervous, excited tension in his body, but he's been driven to distraction and is unable to return to pay the proper attentions to his guests.

"Will you ladies excuse me for just a few moments? I'm going to pop out and ask our footman to bring some things up to Mister Cartwright's chambers."

Swiftly, he stands and maneuvers to the door, taking the stairs up from the parlour double time until he catches up with Cartwright in the main hall, caught in the midst of a building sneeze.

"Wait," he says, grabbing the gardner by the waist and pulling him in close. "In here."

He pushes the door to the nearby study open.

Isaiah looks up at Elder over his handkerchief, surprise making the urge back off for a moment. “My Lord- ?” He manages. Then all he can do is cup the cloth over his nose as the sneezes he had been holding back in the parlour catch up with him in a rush.

“Idtssh!- IDTSh! hi' TSshhuh!-TSsch!-TSCsch!- ah... Jacob? What are you doing?”

Elder nearly corrects Isaiah at the title of 'My Lord'. In his mind, they're long past the use of titles in private company. But once the sneezing resumes and his Christian name is tagged onto the end of the allergic fit, he's gone weak in the knees again.

"I'm so sorry," he says, brushing a lock of hair tenderly from Isaiah's forehead. "I didn't even think about the nosegays. That's what I get for having visitors so infrequently. I'd forgotten the style whims of the modern woman."

He looks at Cartwright's reddened face intensely, the heat in his own body reaching a peak.

"I'm sorry for something else too," he admits. "You're driven me to distraction and I couldn't bear to sit in there and keep up appearances when all I want is to be with you. I'll stay just a moment before they'll notice my absence."

“You will?”

There is a shyness which sometimes comes upon Isaiah when Elder looks at him with such intensity. Out in the parlour, among the young women, he'd managed confidence at least until his hayfever had gotten the better of him. Here, he is suddenly demure. His gaze hovers somewhere around Lord Elder's collar, taking in the man's darting pulse, then dart up to meet Elder's eyes. Even after all these weeks there is an uncertainty, as though he can't quite believe his luck.

“And what is it you plan to do with me?”

If Cartwright can't believe his luck then Elder is beyond disbelief. It sometimes feels like he's taking advantage of the poor gardener's ailment, but if Isaiah's enthusiasm under the sheets is anything to go on, it seems like he doesn't mind much. And the hay-fever always seems lessened after a bit of lovemaking. And Elder doesn't reserve his affections for only when his dear gardener is red-nosed and sniffly.

Isaiah's teasing words make Elder shiver and he leans in close.

"First...there's this," he says, kissing the man's neck. "What...if...I...told them all....you...were....very....very....ill. And I sent them....all...home."

He kisses up Cartwright's neck and along his jaw with each word. He finishes at the man's lips, wrapping his hands around Cartwright's waist and gripping his bum, pulling their bodies against each other with a comforting pressure.

“Are you mad?” Isaiah is startled by the unexpectedness of the encounter but it doesn't stop him from biting his lip and squirming under Elder's insistent grip. His free hand slides down to grasp Elder's hardening cock through the cloth of his dress trousers and he gives his lover a calculating look. “Seriously, how long do you think we have? Five minutes? Ten minutes? I like a challenge.”

He draws his head away from the kiss to scrub his nose against Jacob's collarbone, murmuring “ah, it itches.”

He is only exaggerating a little, but he loves to make Jacob shiver.

"Christ," Elder groans, hips straining into Cartwright's touch. "Hold on a minute while I lock the door. We have seven minutes, for a good compromise, but more like five if we're to play it safe."

Reluctantly, he pulls away from the other man to secure the study door before returning to Isaiah's hold.

"You've grown a naughty streak, my love," he says as he tilts his head to kiss Isaiah's nose with a light, tender touch. "You weren't so bold those many months ago when you came here."

He turns their bodies, shrugging off his tailcoat and bracing the broader man against the bookcases. He can hear his own pulse hammering in his ears as the adrenaline of the moment courses through him. He imagines his guests in the room just down the hall, oblivious. The thought excites him.

"What will you do with five minutes?" he asks, eyes glinting devilishly.

“For a start, I would let you know about this.” The gardener's hand reaches into his jacket pocket and emerges holding a bundled napkin from the dinner table. It is unfolded to reveal a single lily dropped from Eleanor's nosegay. It is a little crushed from transit, the bud opened just enough to reveal heavy stamens within. “I was thinking to save it for later. It may not have any effect, but who knows?”

He is blushing boyishly, twisting the corner of the napkin in one finger. In one swift movement he kneels before Elder and fumbles with his fly, bringing his mouth to hover there. He looks up at his lordship and then to the lily in his hand.

“It d-does smell good.” He falters. He draws a deep breath of the scent which sets his already swollen nostrils twitching.

With clumsy hands, Jacob pushes his trousers down and fiddles with the button on his shorts. He is practically trembling with arousal and from his lips spills a soft, urgent whine.

"You're too indulgent of me," he growls, tugging his shorts down over his erection. He bristles at even the slightest brush of the fabric there. "Sweet boy."

His fingers run through Isaiah's thick hair and he pulls the man's head close, letting his cock just barely touch the gardner's swollen nose. He bites his own tongue to keep from crying out.

"Please," he begs. He glances down and sees the single lily lying on the carpet in the napkin, so small and delicate. It's a wonder such a simple thing can bring both men into fits of different kinds. He's not looked at a flower the same way since Isaiah came to live at Woodhaven.

The gardener takes Elder in his mouth for one hot, wet moment, and then withdraws, pressing the back of wrist against his nose to sniffle. He turns to blow his nose shyly, and then follows his lordship's gaze down to his stolen prize.

The napkin hovers just beneath his chin as he draws in a deep breath and then another. The petals actually shake in the slight suction, and Isaiah can almost see the motes of pollen being inhaled. At first there is no reaction save that his nostrils continue to flare sporadically. His green eyes flutter closed in concentration as he focuses all his attention on the sensation, then shrugs and brings the so close that pollen dusts the tip of his nose.

“I don't think it's workihnng- !” The last syllable gives him away.

He shakes his head like a horse bothered by flies. One hand is bunching the fabric of his trousers in his fight not to rub the offending tickle away and he squints helplessly towards the light for one tight, ticklish moment before-

“IihPtssh!-idtssh!-ttssh-u! --- huh-!” A shuddering breath. “I'kttsh!-ktdssh! -i'KTSchuh!” Only then does Isaiah allow himself to swipe a wrist across his wet nose, bringing the barest moment of relief as he squints up at Elder again. His hand finds the man's cock, moving in a fast, irresistible rhythm. He no longer has to coax the sneezes out with patient breaths; they tumble over each other as sudden and unstoppable as hiccups, all consonants and repressed force against the back of his throat.

His voice is a breathy, unstable whisper. “Someone might hear us- but I can't -tdssh!- can't st-! Hah'idtssh-Idtssh!”

Elder's head is tipping back in a silent cry and he doesn't care if anyone hears.

"Oh God," he moans as Cartwright's hand stokes him in rhythm with the persistent sneezes that spray from the man's nose. "I'll try to be quiet...oh god..."

His body trembles and goes rigid as he cums, gasping and writhing against the bookshelf. With a pleasured sigh, he relaxes, body humming in the afterglow of orgasm. As his waist, poor Isaiah is still snuffling. He crouches, coming face to face with his love, and kisses the man gently in a momentary break from the sneezing.

"You're a wonder," he says, tucking a stray curl of hair behind Isaiah's ear as he pulls back from the kiss to assess the other man's face. The gardener's eyes are swollen a familiar pink and his nose shines wetly. "Christ...I just want to come upstairs with you. Maybe I can send all the company home."

For all his dealings in 'polite society', he'd always preferred his time at home to duties of socializing. He'd thrown this particular dinner party to get several local acquaintances to stop asking after him. As much as he wished to spend the rest of the evening doting over Isaiah, he knew in his heart he had to see the party through.

Isaiah takes Jacob's hands in his own, bringing them both up to standing. He shakes his head, chiding.

“You've been gone long enough. They'll be suspicious. Just-” Isaiah fastens Elder's fly, runs a hand through his dark curls until they are settled neatly, tugs his cravat straight and finishes with a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “-there.”

His affliction does not come to an end with the cumulation of Elder's pleasure, and he is taken by another fit of sneezes.

“Idtssh-u! Hh'IIssch-u! ITDsh! ...ugh.”

They are taking on a drawn-out, congested quality and prompt a spike of pain through his temples that furrows his brow into a frown. He breathes out tiredly afterwards, giving a thoroughly useless snuffle.

“I won't be able to breathe for a while. I really could use a rest now.... Go on. I'll see myself upstairs.”

Heart melting at Isaiah's futile attempts to breathe through his nose, Jacob embraces the broader man, their faces resting cheek to cheek. He kisses the soft bit of skin at the edge of Cartwright's ear before pulling away.

"I suppose so," he says resignedly, smoothing his tailcoat. "Ring for a footman to draw you a bath if it'll help. If you'd prefer, you can rest in my bed or if you choose your own, I'll stay to my rooms tonight so you can get a proper sleep. Put a cool towel over those poor eyes, won't you?"

He reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve one of the two linen handkerchiefs he always carries with him now.

"And here," he says, gently putting the cloth to Isaiah's scarlet nose to wipe it briefly before pressing it into the man's hand. "Rest well, love."

With a final kiss to the gardener's brow, he straightens up and shakes out his limbs, returning himself to the right frame of mind with which to perform the social graces required of a dinner party.

"Wish me luck," he says. As he exhales a long breath he goes out the study door and down the hallway back to the parlour where the guests are now gathered with after dinner drinks in hand. Helena and Eleanor are at his side almost instantly, inquiring after dear Mister Cartwright.

"I'm terribly sorry I was gone so long," Elder says, barely containing a blush. "I'm afraid he's taken a bad turn and I've seen to him upstairs. He regrets he couldn't stay longer."

"Oh, I'm sad to hear it," Eleanor says, pouting girlishly. "I do hope he recovers quickly. I hope it isn't catching."

She raises her nosegay to sniff coyly and Elder can clearly see the spot missing the one lily. He nearly chokes on his own drink.

"I'm sure he'll recover," he says after a brief moment of sputtering.

Mister Graham comes to his rescue with conversation and he's able to shake off the two young ladies, distracting himself with the polite conversations of his company late into the evening until the last carriage has pulled away. As he stands on the front lawn of Woodhaven watching the Graham's carriage travel off into the night, he turns to look back up at the windows of the house, noting the lamp in both his and Cartwright's chambers are out. A smile crosses his lips as he thinks of his sweet gardener, now hopefully resting peacefully.

Cheered that the company is gone and all is well, he pops down to the kitchens where the servants nervously greet him (though they aren't unused to this rather eccentric behavior) and fetches a large helping of the dessert that went unserved.

"You may eat the rest, but do set aside the trifle for supper tomorrow. It is Mister Cartwright's favorite and I'll have it sent up with his dinner."

Plate of cake in hand, he goes up to the study and sits in the chair opposite the bookcase and eats with a satisfied grin.

A little while later comes the murmur of bare feet on the thick carpet, as of someone stealthily approaching. Stealth is not enough- he next thing Lord Elder hears is a highly audible gasp, followed by a stifled sneeze.

“hi-ksht!”

Elder turns around to see none other than Mister Cartwright silhouetted in the study door, dressed in his striped pyjamas and with one hand pinched sheepishly under his nose. He looks tousled and sleepy.

“I take it the guests got away alright? Now, won't you come to-- hhh-!” He stutters as the two remaining sneezes, never far away, double him damply into his hands- “t- kshtt!-idtssh!”

A pause, recovery. Isaiah approaches Elder's chair and stands behind him, reaching his arms around to embrace the man. His chest is warm against Elder's back.

“Jacob, come to bed?”

-

The End

For more, check out our follow-up fic, “His Lordship’s Visit”