Page 6 of Jonathon, After All

“Aunt Muriel will do,” she informed him and gestured for Jonathon to serve himself. “Tell me: do you have any talents or an aptitude for any particular subject?” she had asked, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in for a closer look.

“I…I like to read and I paint,” he managed.

“Too many people read,” Muriel complained with an impatient sniff. “Are you any good with your painting?”

Jonathon nodded jerkily. “I think so.” He had hoped so. His teachers at school seemed to think he had promise and he had won a few awards.

“We’ll see,” Muriel replied with a humph. “I’ll hire someone and they can sort you out or tell me which school to send you to if you’re any good.”

It turned out that Jonathon was very good. And thanks to Muriel’s support and influence, Jonathon had attended Townsend Harris for high school and an internship at MOMA. He had been accepted into the Royal College of Art and was headed to London after their month in Austria. Before she became fixated on finding Jonathon a husband, Muriel had kept an eye out for renowned artists Jonathon could learn from as they traveled across Europe.

Jonathon was supposed to have a tutor while he was at Schönbühel, but the gentleman had canceled at the last minute to have emergency eye surgery. At the time, Jonathon had been glad for the chance to study and create on his own. Everything he had touched in his efforts to get accepted into the Royal College had been created through nerve-wracking deliberation and then scrutinized and analyzed until he couldn’t stand to look at his work.

In hindsight, Jonathon would have been better served and his life would have followed a very different path if he had spent the month with an elderly artist instead of allowing Leo to bend him over every sofa and flat surface in Schönbühel.

Muriel, bless her heart, had been utterly oblivious and distracted with her own schemes. She had believed that Jonathon was too young to be interested in sex or looking for a husband, and too focused on painting to be tempted by a man like Leo. And she probably assumed that Jonathon was too young and unsophisticated to attract Leo’s attention.

She usually waited for Jonathon’s help down to breakfast and he often joined her for a short ramble in the garden when the weather was mild. But Muriel preferred to spend her days sitting under a blanket by the fire in the music room, reading a sexy romance or a mystery novel. They regularly traded books but she would shoo Jonathon away to go paint or read, knowing he preferred to sit or work in the sun.

But after Schönbühel, Jonathon had lost much of his passion for painting. His art had become more of a quiet refuge and his secret studio a place to meditate. Muriel didn’t know about the odd little door in Jonathon’s closet. It had been boarded and painted over, practically begging Jonathon to investigate when he first took possession of the room at the end of the hall.

A small landing and a set of stairs was hidden behind the door—a dingy, dusty New York Narnia. Prior to a remodel in the 1920’s, it had been a servants’ stairwell that used to go to the kitchen in the apartment downstairs. Now, portraits of Jonathon filled the forgotten stairwell—his fortress of decrepitude.

He had told Muriel that he’d given up painting, making it one more thing he wasn’t ready to explain, so he had covered the closet door. She hadn’t seen his bedroom in years and had no idea what was in most of the apartment’s other rooms. With the exception of their daily walks with Calista, Muriel rarely ventured out of her own suite and the sitting room off the kitchen when they were home.

An heiress of a shipping empire and a widow of a semi-infamous financier, Muriel was dedicated to her routine and swore that consistency was the key to a long life. Her days were spent reading and napping, and in the evenings, Muriel went to formal dinner parties, galas, the opera, or the ballet. Her days had followed a similar pattern at Schönbühel and while the parties were far smaller and there were less operas and ballets to attend, they dressed for dinner and met for cocktails in the larger sitting room.

Jonathon had grown accustomed to Muriel’s lifestyle and had attended several formal events at her side, but he was still intimidated by Leo’s and Sabine’s effortless grace and glamor. Both talked and carried themselves like aristocrats and dressed impeccably. The soon-to-be Margrave always wore a suit and tie, often selecting gray, brown, and dark green tweeds for the day and sleek black or dark gray for dinner. Sabine managed to make her white, fitted shirts and black pencil skirts chic and was a knockout in a simple sheath dress.

At first, Jonathon assumed they were a couple, but a brisk “debate” their second morning had put that notion to rest.

“I’m the one who wrote the initiative and assembled the team to present it,” Leo had said, his tone hard and clipped as he strode into the dining room with Sabine on his heels. “I should be there but I’m stranded here for the month. I’m checking in every few hours whether you like it or not,” he told her with quick nods for Muriel and Jonathon who were already seated and sipping their coffees.

“But, Leo—dearest—we promised the Foundation and your doctors that you would rest. As your assistant, I must insist—” Sabine attempted, then reared back when he turned and raised a brow, his expression severe.

“Ah ah!” he clicked his teeth and wagged a finger. “It is not your place to insist, as my assistant, is it?” he asked, causing her to blush and duck her head while Jonathon and Muriel exchanged wide-eyed looks.

“Of course, not. But it is my job to assist with your daily affairs and mind your health and safety,” Sabine reminded him delicately, then cleared her throat. “We both know I don’t give a damn about the Foundation. You need them if you want to save the world and you can’t do that if you have a stroke or a heart attack or a mental crisis or worse,” she added a touch more sternly.

“Fine,” Leo said, weary as he began preparing his plate at the sideboard. “I have compromised by being here, haven’t I? And a compromise requires the other party to adjust their expectations, does it not?” he asked while smacking bits of melon and cheese onto his plate. “The Foundation won’t like me if I start running around the castle with an ax yelling ‘here’s Leo!’”

A giggle chirped from Jonathon and he quickly smothered it with his napkin, pretending to cough.

“Why would you—?” Sabine frowned at Leo, giving her head a quick shake. “You would never.”

“Of course, not,” Leo said as he carried his plate to the table and sat. “Unless we get snowed in,” he added with a wink at Jonathon, startling him, but he smiled back and offered Leo a discreet wave.

“Whatever are you talking about, dearest?” Sabine asked him, then stopped to tell the butler how Leo took his eggs and to enquire about dinner. “Don’t let the housekeeper forget that she’ll need to include vegetarian options. Mr. von Hessen doesn’t eat meat,” she whispered, earning a faint nod.

“The cook will be preparing a light mushroom soup, cucumber salad, and ratatouille for Mr. von Hessen, and there will be an apple tart for dessert.”

“Very good,” Sabine said with a nod, dismissing him. “Perhaps a tour of the gardens or a hike?” she suggested as she sat next to Leo.

Muriel sat forward in her seat. “Jonathon and I were planning to take a walk in the garden after breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”

There was the slightest twisting of Leo’s features before he offered her a polite smile. “Probably not. I might hike—” He was interrupted by a crack of thunder.

“Looks like I’ll be spending my day in the music room with that mystery Jonathon insists I read,” Muriel decided with a humph at the windows.

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