Part 23

It had been six months since Sean had moved into the house of Old Lord Cronyn.
The old man still lived, and Sean tended to the house as a sort of Valet of the
old man, caring for Hume by his bedside as a nurse. He ordered the house about,
but with a caring tone. All of the servants respected him and heeded his word.
None complained that this man had come into their home and taken over 
leadership. Marton and Dom supposed it was Sean’s respect for the previous 
owner.

Sean liked Hume, the old man was quiet and lacked the spirit of Lord Lee but was
a good man. In the quiet of one lonely night, Sean had admitted to his past and
his intentions. Hume told Sean of a time many years ago when he had known Lord 
Mortensen I, and had met his infamous son when Viggo Mortensen was a boy of 
eight years old.

“We was a greedy boy,” Hume said. “That is all I recall of him. A greedy child.”

“That grew to a greedy man” Sean added. “Now my poor Orlando is married to him,
and I hate to think what that bastard has done to him.”

“The only way” Hume said slowly. “That you are going to get to him…is through 
wealth and prestige. You are going to need to build your image, get your name 
out.”

Sean nodded. I have the money…I have more money than I could spend…I just don’t
know how to make my entrance to make sure I really get at Mortensen the most…I 
need to hurt that bastard…”

“The man likes attention,” Hume wheezed. “From the gossip I have heard, he has 
been receiving it…so take it from him. Make a grand entrance that will have 
people talking.”

Sean liked that idea. He liked the idea of Mortensen’s precious spotlight being
taken from him. The blonde man was sickened that Mortensen would try and make a
mane for himself with Orlando, to make popularity off of his marriage to the 
young beauty.

“Didn’t you say that Christopher was going to change his will to leave his money
to you?” Hume asked, adjusting his head on the pillow slightly. “I think now
would be a good time to collect, make your name known, but don’t get to know 
anyone. Get them talking…keep them talking. With any luck, it will be Mortensen
that spreads the first word.”

Sean definitely liked the sound of that idea. Let Mortensen set about in 
beginning his own downfall. He thanked Lord Cronyn, and left the room, new plans
running through his head.

For the next two weeks, from his bed where he spent all of his days, Lord Cronyn
instructed Sean on all the proper table and greeting etiquettes. He made sure 
that Sean was completely immersed in all the ways to properly speak to the 
ladies and men of dinner parties and how to handle himself in formal situations.
He allowed Sean full use of his libraries, reminding Sean that when he passed it
would be his. 

Sean practiced everything in his spare time. He practiced his walk and his
posture. He practiced taking his tea and coffee, and how to properly sit. He 
practiced how to greet others when he went out on walks. There was a lot to
remember, but the teachings that Christopher had given him helped as well. He
passed his knowledge on to Marton and Dom as well. Christopher’s country house 
had been most relaxed, and Dom’s kitchen manners were not quite as refined as 
they would need to be in this new atmosphere. Marton knew very little of
etiquette, but tried his hardest to learn. 

They decided to tell others that Sean had found Marton while he was traveling 
through, and that he had stayed with the man and offered him employment in 
England. Marton liked the story very well, for it neglected to reference his 
illegal status in the country. 

Dom helped Marton with many of the household servant protocols. Marton turned 
out to be a quick study, and took to the new information easily. Sean never 
thought he could completely convey his gratitude to his friends for the help 
they were giving him. His confidence in their ability to succeed grew every day,
and he was confident that Orlando would be free and their revenge taken soon.

Two weeks later, Lord Cronyn died. The funeral affair was a small and private 
one. Everyone knew that it was only a mater of time before Hume died several 
months ago, and most were surprised that the old man had held on that long. As
requested, the old man was buried on the grounds of the house he had lived in 
for so long. Mr. Plummer, the old butler was quite upset at the passing of his 
old employer. It quite reminded Sean of the relationship between old Mrs. Dench
and Lord Lee. He understood how the man felt and gave him the time and space he
knew he needed. Mr. Plummer was entirely grateful at Sean’s understanding, and
at that moment decided he approved of the manor house’s new master.

That night Sean assembled the staff together. He clasped his hands behind his 
back and faced them all.

“As I am sure you all know, I have procured this house and contents from your 
late employer Lord Cronyn. I would like this to be a close household, and 
therefore, I would prefer that everyone voices any concerns or objections 
tonight. Anyone that wishes to leave will be generously compensated, and a 
position shall always be here for you.”

Sean began to pace as he spoke. “I intend to make some alterations to the house
and grounds, slight renovations and updates. I intend this house to be one of 
activity, and I shall be host to several important parties and dinner guests. I
also need to know that I can completely trust everyone on the staff, for I shall
require my privacy, and I cannot stress enough that I do not want any knowledge
or gossip about me spread. I do not enjoy others knowing the intimate details of
my life.” He looked around at the servants he spoke to and saw a mix of
emotions. Some were understanding, some indifferent, and some extremely puzzled.
He would weed them out and create his team.

“So now I request that any with questions or reservations, please step forward 
and state them. Do not worry for protocol. You all served your previous employer
well and went to ensure that your place of employment and for some home remains
a good environment.”

“What exactly do you intend to do to the house?” Mr. Plummer asked. 

“I intend to update it a little.” Sean said. “I will have the walls repainted 
and papered, I will have a few of the ceilings refinished, and have the ballroom
completely redone. I have certain reasons for making any restorations, reasons 
which I am not completely comfortable conveying in such a setting. Please 
forgive me but I do have my own reservations.” Sean locked eyes with the man to
see if he had any other reservations himself, but Mr. Plummer nodded. He did 
continue and ask one other question.

“I assume sir that you have your own belongings that you would like to see in 
the house…what are you intending to do with Lord Cronyn’s things?”

“I am very pleased you asked that, for it reminds me of another point I was to
make,” Sean said, placing his hands in his pockets. “As there are some things of
your late employer that I do not intend to keep, yet no relatives of his 
lordship to give them to, I turn them over to you. If there is anything that you
would like to keep, please do let me know and you have permission to collect 
it.” He walked before Mr. Plummer and leaned in to speak a little more 
intimately with the man. 

“I made sure to set aside Lord Cronyn’s sitting chair aside for you, I thought 
it was something you would wish to hold on to.”

Mr. Plummer’s eyes got a little misty. “Thank you sir,” he said, entirely 
grateful. The elderly servant maintained his composure though, and kept his 
hands clasped before him, his posture straight as he waited for further 
instructions. 

“If you would like, I could have the chair be sent to your rooms.” Sean offered.

“Very much sir,” Mr. Plummer said. “Your lordship need not worry for it 
thought…”

“No, no, no,” Sean insisted, raising a hand to silence the man. “Do not worry, I
shall have it taken care of.” He turned to Marton and flagged him down, 
whispering a few instructions in his ear. The large Russian nodded before 
leaving the room, Dom close behind him. 

Sean surveyed the ranks before them. “Are there any other reservations?” he 
asked. 

There was no response from anyone. All of the servants had gotten accustomed to
Sean and his valets in the months they had lived in the house, for it was not 
that drastic of an adjustment. Sean was pleased that there was to be no trouble
in the transfer of ownership, and dismissed everyone. 

He went to his rooms and gathered a few things together. He carefully dressed 
and looked over a few notes. They were lists of information that he had made in
lists to memorize concerning the background of Lord Lee’s son. He went over his
practiced story to ensure that he did not mix anything that would later seem 
suspicious. When he was completely ready, he went in search of Marton and Dom. 
If he was to be out in the town, he would need his driver and valet. Dom had 
earlier agreed to serve as the driver on most outings, as it could at times pay
to have an intimidating valet. 

Marton and Dom had placed a few of Lord Cronyn’s possessions in Mr. Plummer’s 
room, making sure they were arranged in a proper manner so that the old man 
would not need to adjust them and strain himself. He told them they were to go 
into the city, and the to immediately knew what was to transpire. They had 
talked of this moment for a long time, and gone over the proper etiquette that 
all three should follow.

Dom and Marton climbed atop the carriage, and Dom took the reigns. Once Sean was
inside, Dom signaled the horses to pull out. Dom and Marton did not speak much 
as they rode. This was the first real test of Sean’s new identity. If he could 
not pull this off, then their whole plan was completely shot out of the water.

They reached the city in a little under an hour. The Bank was easy enough to 
find, and when they were before it, Dom stopped the horses and kept them still.
Marton got down from his seat on the bench and walked back, opening the door of
the carriage and letting Sean get out. 

Sean stepped from the carriage and looked around, setting a firm cold look to 
his green eyes. Marton followed his employer, keeping a pace back and to the 
right as they went. Sean was greeted at the door by a teller who spoke to him 
with the utmost courtesy yet had the most jittery appearance. The man had very 
pale skin and quite large eyes that slightly bugged out. His hands were large as
he extended one in greeting to Sean. “Good afternoon sir, how may I be of 
service to you?”

“I require a wire to be sent for my accounts to be transferred here. My father 
passed away recently and I have not the time to travel back and settle them in 
person.”

“Many condolences to your loss, sir.” the man said in a naturally eccentric 
voice. “If you would please follow me I would be happy to set up a wire for your
accounts.”

Sean nodded and the man gestured the direction to him. He led Sean to his small
office away from the other business of the bank and informed Sean that his valet
could wait outside if he preferred. Sean nodded and whispered to Marton to wait
out in the hall. Marton nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind him. 

The man gestured to the chair before the marble desk. “Do have a seat my lord, 
and we can get started. Once Sean was seated, the teller extended a hand. “My 
name is Mr. Serkis,” he said. “I do hope that if you ever require anything else
financially you contact me. We at the Lewis and Gleeson Bank prefer to keep an 
intimate setting to better serve our clients.”

“Very good,” Sean said, settling back but making sure to keep his posture 
straight.

“Is there anything you would require at the moment sir? A beverage? Cigarette?”

Sean shook his head. “No thank you, I am quite fine.”

Mr. Serkis nodded and withdrew a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket. “Now
then sir, you said that you wished to transfer your funds?”

“Yes,” Sean said. “My father left my inheritance in the care of one Lord Viggo 
Mortensen II, and it believe it would be through his solicitor that my accounts
could be best located. I have been out of the country for many years abroad, and
I fear that I did not keep as close contact with my late father as I would have
preferred.”

“Not at all a problem sir,” Mr. Serkis assured him. “Everyone has their own 
personal troubles.” He made a few notes on his paper. “Very well sir, all I 
would need from you is your name and the name of your father as well as your 
father’s solicitor if you know it and I shall set up the transfer through the 
solicitor of Lord Mortensen.”

Sean nodded as he listened, pleased with ho smoothly things were going. 

“All that I am going to require from you sir is some sort of identification. It
is strictly procedure sir, and in no part reflects on any flaw on your part. Do
you have a birth certificate of any kind you could present…perhaps a passport?”

“Well,” Sean said, keeping his voice and eyes even and calm to not let anything
appear out of the ordinary. He was a lord after all…he normally would have no 
problem proving his identity and had never before needed to. He was secure in 
who he was and there was nothing that would prevent him from reaching his 
desires. “My father died in a fire on his estates. We lost everything, and I 
fear that my birth certificate may have been in the house as well. I shall 
arrange to have another made.”

Mr. Serkis nodded in understanding. “Well sir, once again you have my 
sympathies. For your specific case and a gentleman of such obvious upstanding 
character such as yourself I could make a few exceptions. Until you have the 
means to acquire alternative means of identification, I would be most willing to
accept a letter and the sworn testimony of a fellow that you are indeed whom you
say you are. And I trust that this will be no means be a difficult task.”

Sean smiled slightly. “I do thank you for your understanding Mr. Serkis. This 
Bank came to me highly recommended, but it has far surpassed my expectations.”

Mr. Serkis smiled in glowing pride. “I indeed thank you sir.” He handed Sean 
several documents that needed to be filled and signed. They asked his name, date
of Birth, city of birth and the like. As Sean filled them out, Mr. Serkis 
searched his desk for other forms which needed to be filled.

“May I ask the town in which you were born sir?” the solicitor asked, his brows
arched in sudden thought.

Sean gave the name of the town Lord Lee had lived. He knew from previous 
conversations with Lord Lee that his son had been born in that town and he had 
never moved since.

Mr. Serkis nodded. “I shall contact the city hall there and ask them to send a 
duplicate certificate if they have one, sir. That would certainly ease your 
process and mind a bit.”

“My thanks to you, sir.” Sean said with a slight nod. “I shall indeed be calling
on your specific services in the future. You are definitely a man who knows his
business, and takes pride in it. I look for that quality in those I associate 
with.”

“Why thank you sir,” Mr. Serkis said. “Your business is most appreciated.” Mr. 
Serkis looked over the forms to make sure they were in order, nodding a little 
when he had finished with each. “Very well sir, this seems to be all in order.
Now, would you like me to send a letter of notification to Lord Mortensen’s 
solicitor?”

“Actually,” Sean said, leaning forward slightly and resting his thumb and 
pointer finger against his freshly tailored beard. “I would rather send the 
letter myself. I have a few things of a more personal nature I would like to 
say.”

“Very good sir,” Mr. Serkis said in understanding. “I shall obtain the address 
and post it to you within the next three days.”

“Excellent,” Sean said, a pleased glimmer in his emerald eyes.

Everything was going so well.



Viggo sat on his sunny patio upon a cushioned settee. He relaxed in the warmth 
of the morning with a glass of cool lemonade beside him. Orlando had stepped 
inside for a moment to use the toilet, and Viggo waited for his return. He 
wanted his lovely little spouse back at his side so he could gaze upon him and 
caress his silken skin as he had the night before. 

Viggo through back on the previous night fondly, remembering how tight Orlando 
had been around him as he took a sip of his tart drink. 

“Orlando!” He called. “Hurry along love!”

He had what he wanted, now he just wanted Orlando’s returned affections. He 
would prefer that his darling dote upon him and treat him like a lord and master
out of adoration and not obligation. So far it had not been so. In the past 
almost seven months of their marriage Orlando had been sullen, obeying when he 
and not speaking unless addressed. Even then his responses were brief and 
dispassionate. Viggo did not want a pining spouse, he wanted a spouse active 
both in and out of the bedroom. 

It was almost a year now since Lord Lee’s passing…in fact the date was merely 
weeks away and Viggo was eagerly anticipating the collection of his inheritance.
He already knew what he was going to do with it…replace the marble floors of the
stairs and front hall and commission several portraits of himself and his 
darling. He would also renovate the library and buy those Turkish rugs he had 
long desired yet not felt obligated to purchase. 

He was just about to yell for Orlando again when the young man come out. He was
dressed in a white suit that hugged his slender frame and a yellow shirt 
beneath. Viggo liked the look of bright colors on his young spouse, and was 
constantly commissioning more clothes to be made for the boy. He kept every part
of Orlando’s life tailored.

“Where on earth have you been?” Viggo asked as Orlando sat rigidly upon the 
settee next to him.

“Forgive me, I lost track of time” Orlando said softly. 

Viggo paid him no mind and patted a spot closer on the large couch. He enjoyed 
stroking Orlando’s hair as he sat, and when the young man realized that this was
what his husband desired at the time, he leant his head down against Viggo’s 
thigh, so that he was reclining perpendicular to where the man sat. Viggo 
stroked Orlando as he would a prized dog and leisurely sipped his drink.

Orlando lay limp in his arms, staring out into the grassy acres of the back of 
their property. Well…Viggo’s property.

Viggo could hear the swift clicks of precise footsteps he knew to be Davenport’s
and turned to see his valet walking towards him carrying a letter in a crème 
envelope, sealed with crimson wax. He did not move from his relaxed position, 
but placed his glass down on a nearby table, holding out a hand to receive the 
letter.

“Thank you Davenport, you may go” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 
The valet did as he was told and left without a backward glance. Viggo leisurely
opened the letter and saw a note from his solicitor. There were two pieces of 
paper, and he looked at the top one first.

- My Lord Mortensen,

It was earlier this morning that this letter was posted to me, and I am 
following through the instruction to in turn post it to you. My apologies to you
sir, I had not anticipated this turn of events.

G. Oldman

Viggo furrowed his brows and picked up the second letter. 

- My dear sir,

Viggo’s eyes narrowed at the fine script and wondered who could possibly be 
writing to him.

- My dear sir,

I have had this message forwarded to you through your solicitor Mr. Oldman as I
wanted to address you directly and properly relay my gratitude to you over your
recent aid in the holding of my late father’s estates. 

The news came to me only a few months ago, and as I have spent many years away,
I honestly had no idea how my estates were to be handled. I am most pleased that
my late father had not lost his paternal grace through the years of our 
separation, though I do regret I missed an opportunity to see him before his
passing.

My solicitor Mr. Serkis informed me that you have been holding my inheritance 
for me since my father’s passing, and for that I am most grateful. I know my 
father would also offer his gratitude were he able. Perhaps in time we could 
meet, for I would like to properly thank you and your new husband.

My thanks again to you for holding my inheritance in safekeeping. I shall use my
father’s money as I am sure he would see fit, and am glad to keep our family 
legacy intact.

Sincerely,

~Alec Trevelyan Lee~


Viggo’s eyes darkened in rage as he crumpled the paper in his fist, crushing it
until his fingers burned. His money had been taken from him.


TBC…
please review. Next chapter coming very soon. It will involve Orlando and VIggo,
not for the feint of heart. kisskiss