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Reginald Jeeves had never been so nervous. He had been sent to see Mr. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, the heir to a vast fortune and the title of Lord Yaxley. A young man, who, according to the book at the Junior Ganymede Club was friendly and kind.
“I understand that you require a valet?” That would not do. “Sir, I am given to understand that you require the services of a valet?” He grimaced unhappily. Reggie longed for a long-term assignment. His first position as a valet, to Lord Worplesdon, had been horribly unpleasant. Reggie escaped when his employer insisted on wearing a plaid flannel shirt and a shooting jacket with his dress trousers. Lord Frederick Ranelagh was his next charge, a fractious invalid needing round-the-clock care. He had died suddenly, and surprisingly left a small legacy for the young valet. The next months had been a taste of freedom and ease.
Reggie would have been perfectly happy during those months, if it hadn’t been for his uncles trying to pull him into trade. And the need for money. Most of his savings were tied up in a Swiss bank account. The account he had begun, like his French lessons, when he realized that he preferred the company of men and wanted to retire to a place where such proclivities were legal. Everything hinged on this job. “Good afternoon, sir. I am given to understand that you require a valet.” That might do. “Or… I was sent by the agency, sir.” Yes. That would do.
Young Mr. Wooster opened the door, all blue eyes and vulnerability. “Ah, whatsit?” Anyone could forgive such a lovely man for being mentally negligible. The poor thing was clearly in considerable pain, and his book,Types of Ethical Theory, was certainly not soothing.
Of course, that horrifying checked suit would have to go. Reggie wondered how Mr. Wooster could bear it with his morning head. Otherwise, Mr. Wooster was perfect, simply perfect. And beautiful. Blonde and svelte and beautiful. No one had warned Reggie that Mr. Wooster would glow with a throbbing sensuality that nearly made the valet's knees buckle.
Reggie spoke in his most comforting tones and prepared the dark drink against hangovers. Mr. Wooster praised him immoderately. Reggie had a job. Later that day Mr. Wooster scolded him. Reggie felt his heart melt and ooze into a pool somewhere behind his navel. Mr. Wooster’s attempts at mastery were simply adorable, especially as the poor man was clearly looking for a firm hand and a clear head to guide and steady him. Reggie schooled his features, eager to hide his feelings from the man he knew he would love forever.
Three days later, Reggie had freed Mr. Wooster from an engagement to the acerbic and strong-willed Lady Florence Craye, and been sacked for his trouble. Reggie gave the hideous checked suit to an undergardener. It averted an exceedingly awkward situation. One of his friends, an underbutler, had teased him for his virginity. Apparently, they had been overheard. In an unguarded moment, Reg found the undergardener kissing him. He slapped the man off more roughly than he had intended, cementing his reputation as a mere virgin, even as a realization assaulted him. The undergardener was an attractive and robust lad, but Reggie only wanted Mr. Wooster. If only he knew the first thing about how such matters were done between men.
*****
Bertie Wooster sat in a turbulent beach chair. Jeeves had been in his service for over a year, and it had been a corking y. in many respects. The morning tea was always perfect, without a rattling saucer, which had soothed his aching head after many a cheerful supper. His clothes had never looked so splendid. Everything, down to the last shirt stud, was always clean, and the clothes impeccably pressed and mended. Jeeves had systematically improved the wardrobe, hairstyle, and the life, fishing the young master out of the mulligatawny with a comforting regularity.
The only problem had been that other thing. The bit the y.m. never spoke about, even with the chaps he’d been used to play about with at school.
The men.
When Jeeves had shimmered soundlessly into his life, there had been many ‘Bohemian revels’ a little light-hearted action with other chaps from time to time. Nothing tawdry. No strings attached, even with that lovely American poet. No real names exchanged, except with that lovely American poet. All for the good, the anonymity. But Jeeves had changed all that.
Bertie was no intellectual powerhouse, but he was also no fool, no matter what people thought. A man of his tastes in the matter of lovemaking could not make a commitment to his heart, even if he wanted to. Likely he would be expected to marry some day. The idea made the willowy frame shudder.
And Bertie had sworn off that idea after Florence. Or Pauline Stoker. Or definitely Bobbie Wickham. At first, he thought he could find a more clinging, prattling, drooping sort of girl. And then he realized that he was the clinging, prattling drooper.
He had sworn off more than marriage when Jeeves had, finally, figured out exactly how Bertie had been reveling. Bertie had assumed that the first look into his wardrobe would have told the man more than enough, but the discovery had come months later, during Jeeves’s first trip to Paris. It had been a French chap. Rather good-looking. But he’d gotten rougher than Bertie liked, and the getaway had not been smooth. No one else would have noticed, but Jeeves had instantly rallied round with soothing drinks and whisk brushes and a scented bath. A slight shift of a nostril, an infinitesimal widening of the eyes had signaled to Bertie three things:
- That Jeeves had never suspected the first thing about Bertie’s proclivities. That, in fact, Jeeves had been just as fooled as everyone else by Bertie’s declarations of love for Bobbie Wickham and Florence Craye and Gwladys Pendlebury.
- Or was it three? That Jeeves understood now exactly what those revels had been. That all the engagements had been a smokescreen.
- Or possibly four. No, five, dash it.
- Blast this counting!
- Even that the proposal to Pauline Stoker had covered up that affair with the deliciously naughty Rocky Todd?
- That Jeeves was angry and upset at his discovery.
- Even, if Bertie could credit it, hurt.
- Now that was interesting.
- Bally interesting.
- Jeeves was quite the looker, too.
- And clearly feeling scaly about the whole rummy mess.
- And his massive cranial endowments made him rather more attractive than not. Or had that been said already?
- All-in-all, Jeeves had manifold--if that was the right word--attractions.
- Rather.
- It was deuced lucky that Jeeves had gone to do the marketing so that Bertie could take his time with some matters related to those attractions in the bath wihtout worrying that Jeeves would hear him.
- He wished Jeeves could accompany him.
Bertram stopped the Bohemian revels. And after a few days of extreme stuffed froggedness and a shocking quarrel over a hat, things had gotten back to normal.
In Provence, Bertie discovered something else. Jeeves loved him. He would not have been able to explain how he knew. Something about the look in Jeeves’s eye when he thought Bertie could not see him, his gentle touch with shaving. And how he listened seriously to any silly twaddle that came from Bertie’s lips. Jeeves did not roll his eyes, even when he thought Bertie could not see him, even when Bertie scolded him for not sending both a telegram and a second telegram cancelling the first telegram. Yes, perhaps that. Bertie had done it on purpose once or twice, just to check.
The Code of the Woosters was fairly explicit on how to treat someone who fell in love with you. Kindly. Bertie did his best, at least when Jeeves was not bullying him about his clothes. The bullying was now revealed as the fear that Bertie would be outed and shunned or ruined and jealousy that Bertie had been with other men. It made it quite difficult to tick Jeeves off, even when he called his master mentally negligible or burned his pink ties. It should have been a sacking offense, but Jeeves was the best valet Bertie ever had. And, now that Jeeves was in love with Bertie, he began to be much more interesting.
Also, Jeeves was handsome. In a delectable way. All chiseled features and, after any outdoor travels, tanned and fit. Able to get on with the rough stuff and to bung studs into a shirt with delicate finesse. Bertie had been generous, almost suspiciously generous, in allowing Jeeves time to spend out of doors and extra pocket money to make sure he could use the nearer beaches in case he was needed. It had been a golden opportunity to check under the uniform. Bertie had not been disappointed. Quite the reverse. The sight of Jeeves in a wet, clinging swimsuit had rendered Bertie incoherent for days.
What to do was a quandary. A Wooster likes to take his time about the important things, like dressing and deciding whether or not to shag his valet, but Bertie found himself sitting in a dismal beach chair because something happened. Something luscious and wonderful and unsettling. Part of Bertie had never been so joyous. The rest of him was gripped by a cold fear that he had marred relations with Jeeves forever.
*****
Reggie could have died of shame. He had endangered his job, his freedom, his affluence and ease. Mr. Wooster was a splendid employer, easy to please, generous and kind. No one had ever praised and appreciated Reggie the way Mr. Wooster did. And the young valet earned more in tips than anyone else at the Junior Ganymede Club. Between that and bookmaking, he had nearly doubled his nest egg. He had even begun to learn about investments.
Reggie had been certain that Mr. Wooster preferred the love of women. Then the young master had returned early from his ‘Bohemian revels’ reeking with sex. Not his own sweet, musky smell, the scent Reggie would recognize anywhere, but another man. Another man who had upset Mr. Wooster quite deeply. Mr. Wooster had not even murmured when Reggie burned the suit he had come home in.
Reggie had lain awake all night feeling the simultaneous exultation that Mr. Wooster was a man of his proclivities and absolute heartbreak that he dabbled in the affections of others. Months passed and everything seemed back to normal.
A French man, rather good-looking, had caused the trouble. The man had seen Reggie on the beach and invited him for dinner. They had had drinks at the hotel over the preceding weeks and become friends of a sort. Reggie had declined politely, but the man had tried to convince him to make a visit to one of the bathing machines. Reggie felt almost ill at the thought.
The man would not take no for an answer. He wheedled, then grew angry. Reggie felt himself go cold as he realized the man was threatening him, describing in gleeful detail the way he would degrade the young valet. “I can telling your boss what kind of man you are. You will losing your job.” Reggie felt the blood drain from his face. His stomach flipped over in horror. Whatever was he going to do?
Then Mr. Wooster was there, looking terribly stern. Reggie thought he would swoon with shame and gratitude. “Ho there, my man,” he said, waving a piece of telegram paper. “Here. Take your things and get back to the hotel. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
The French man had laughed nastily and Reggie felt his insides turn to water. “You run from me, my so-called Ephraim Gadsby and now you take my new friend?”
Mr. Wooster looked at Reggie sternly. “Did you hear me?” Reggie scurried off, grateful for the rescue. He was washing up when Mr. Wooster came in a few minutes later. “Jeeves, I am terribly sorry about that blighter. He threatened you, and it is all my doing.”
Reggie nearly melted at the anxious look on his master’s young face. “It is no matter, sir.” He unfolded a towel to cover himself, suddenly conscious of how revealing his swimsuit was. “I will only be a few moments.”
“Take your time. But you’ll have to find somewhere for us to go. Cap d’Antibes is nice. Have you ever been there?” Reggie had not. He was twenty-seven years old and he’d hardly set foot out of England before coming to Mr. Wooster. He had gone to Monte Carlo with Lord Ranelegh and seen him robbed, but not much else.
“Sir?” Reggie did not understand.
Mr. Wooster flushed. “There wasn’t a telegram… I just wanted to get you away from that bally bloke.” The towel fell from Reggie’s hand. Mr. Wooster bent to pick it up. “He can cut up rough, and I simply couldn’t have him ....” He handed the towel to Reggie, and their fingers brushed.
Their eyes met.
And then they had been kissing.
Mr. Wooster cupped the back of Reggie’s head firmly yet tenderly, plundering Reggie’s virgin mouth with his skillful tongue. Reggie had never felt anything like the sweetness, the burning, the quivering desire. Mr. Wooster’s touch shot through him like a lance. His body and mind went incandescent with desire, and he felt his member harden and throb, almost painfully, in the thin, damp fabric of his swimsuit. Eventually, they paused, and Reggie leaned his head against Mr. Wooster, gasping for breath, while his master rubbed his back and kissed his cheeks and forehead.
Then something seemed to click into place in Mr. Wooster's mind. “You’ve never done this before?” The tone of surprise sent a ripple of fear through Reggie. He had done something wrong. Something displeasing.
“No, sir,” he gasped. As he began apologize, Mr. Wooster’s voice cut over him.
“Oh, Jeeves, I am sorry. I didn’t know. I am… please forgive me,” Mr. Wooster fled, leaving Reggie trembling and bereft. By the time Reggie followed, Mr. Wooster had locked himself in the bathroom.
*****
The morning was taken up with travel and the afternoon was tense, but fortunately they both had other acquaintance and the days passed. Jeeves seemed more stuffed frog than ever, but Bertie knew he was frightened. By the end of their fortnight, Bertie knew what to do. “Dinner in the rooms, tonight Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And order enough for yourself. I would speak with you.”
Bertie had taken an anxious walk while Jeeves prepared. The last-minute arrangements had meant that no servant rooms were free. Bertie had insisted that Jeeves stay in the spare room in the suite. It had been intended as a children's room and had a small bath.
The look on the valet’s face had told Bertie that Jeeves had never had such a pleasant space to himself. It was the same look he had had when Bertie showed him his lair for the first time. A look of gratitude and enjoyment.
*****
Reggie finished packing in record time. He wanted to indulge in a last bath before they left the hotel. The room had a view and it had been almost sinfully luxurious. Reggie shaved carefully with the old razor Mr. Wooster had given him and the ends of the sweet-smelling soap. How he would miss that kind generosity!
Mr. Wooster looked pale and anxious as Reggie laid out his plates. “Set out your own plates and have a seat, Reggie. I would speak with you.” This brought Reggie up short. He would have sworn that Mr. Wooster knew nothing about him, let alone his preferred nickname.
Trembling, Reggie did as his young master asked. “Yes, sir.” He waited for Mr. Wooster to begin and then tasted his soup. It was wonderful. Generally he ordered something simpler for himself. “Thank-you, sir. This is delicious.”
Mr. Wooster looked up in surprise. “There should be more than enough in the household budget for you to have soup.” He scolded further, and Reggie felt his heart melt.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Wooster nodded. “Are you done? Then let’s have the remove. Lovely.” Reggie thought he would be too nervous to eat, but the meal melted in his mouth. The feeling of sharing a table with Mr. Wooster nourished a part of his soul. He had never felt so happy in the whole course of his life.
*****
Bertie looked across the table at the chiseled features of his manservant, a man who had worked hard to achieve a position of respectability and trust. A man who, if Bertie’s senses were not deceiving him, simply glowed with gratitude and pleasure. Jeeves’s joy at the shared meal set Bertie more at his own ease, and as they worked at the entrée, he found himself finally able to speak.
“Jeeves,” the dark blue eyes looked up at him warmly. “I have been meaning to speak with you about that afternoon in Cannes.” The warm fuzzy feeling around the table suddenly froze over.
“Yes, sir?”
“I did not mean to take advantage of you,” Bertie paused and took a sip of wine to calm himself.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Jeeves. “I am also…”
Bertie could not bear to hear Jeeves apologize for such a lovely kiss, and his first kiss at that. The poor chap. “Enough of that, Jeeves.” Bertie held up a hand. “No apologizing.”
“Yes, sir.” Reggie looked at his plate miserably.
“It was my doing.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“And your effort was, if I may say so, most sound.” Bertie toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “In fact, topping. That is, corking. Positively delish.”
Bertie watched the blue eyes dilate in surprise and pleasure. “Sir?”
Warmth and fuzziness once again enveloped their little corner of the world. “Extremely good, Jeeves, and I, that is to say… Jeeves, you know the young master is not a man of many words.”
“No, sir.”
“But I, that is to say, ah… dash it! Jeeves, did you mean it? I, that is to say, there are feelings that are somewhat warmer than those of ordinary friendship, as you might say.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bertie’s heart leapt in his breast. “Did you say, ‘yes, sir’?”
Jeeves smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“And may I understand that you also enjoyed the pashing?”
“Very much so, sir. I have been most anxious, however, thinking that I may have given offense by being inept.”
Bertie gave a nervous laugh. “I say! Not at all, Jeeves. The sight of you in that wet swimsuit. It’s bally well kept the young master up nights.”
“If I might be so bold sir, I have long felt similarly. Although your amiable qualities and companionship are much richer attractions.”
The glass dropped from Bertie’s hand, but Jeeves caught it. “Reginald Jeeves, do you hint that the young master’s prattle is winning and endearing?”
“Very much so, sir. Although I would hardly use the word prattling.”
“What say we forego the rest of this repast and get down to some pashing?”
*****
Mr. Wooster came and took Reggie’s hand. Reggie felt himself begin to shake, almost violently. Kindly, Mr. Wooster squeezed his hand and used the backs of his fingers to stroke Reggie’s freshly shaven cheek. “Nervous?”
“Yes, sir,” Reggie heard his voice quiver.
“Me, too.” Mr. Wooster led him to the chaise. “Let’s take off our jackets.” Reggie moved to help him, but Mr. Wooster held up a hand. “No, Reggie, I know this will be strange. Let me help you?”
“Yes, sir.” Reggie felt his jacket slip from his quaking arms, watched Mr. Wooster drape both garments over the back of a chair.
“No more ‘sirs’ either,” said Bertie gently, slipping an arm around Reggie’s waist. “Can you do that?” Reggie nodded. “Good. Now what would you like to do?”
The aggressive man’s filthy words bubbled up in Reggie’s mind. “I… I don’t know.” But he leaned down and kissed Bertie Wooster.
Reggie woke, naked, in the thin light of dawn nestled warmly against Mr. Wooster’s shoulder. Every inch of his body felt newly born now that it had been caressed or kissed by this kind, tender man. Reggie stirred slightly, eager to rise and begin the day’s work, to ensure that Mr. Wooster had a perfect day.
“Reggie?” Mr. Wooster sounded confused, and his arms tightened around the valet. “Whatsit?”
“I need to make arrangements for your breakfast.” Mr. Wooster kissed the top of Reggie’s head and rubbed his bare back.
“No, no. It’s coming at 10. And yours. I said we had business to attend to and not to disturb us. If you’re hungry, we can pick at the bits left over from last night.”
Something like ice ran through Reggie’s insides. Had Mr. Wooster planned to seduce him? Mr. Wooster shifted and kissed Reggie’s forehead and each of his cheeks. “Sir?” Reggie closed his eyes as Mr. Wooster began to nibble at the side of his neck.
“You rushed out so early that last morning in Cannes. I wanted to be able to have a lie-in with you.”
“How did you know I would…?”
Bertie smiled and tousled Reggie’s hair. “I didn’t know, Reggie, but I did hope.” Reggie’s face widened into a glowing smile. “We can’t have the staff seeing that dial. You’re like a bally Roman candle. Where have you booked for tonight?” Reggie told him, apologizing because the more fashionable places were occupied, but Bertie grinned. “You genius. No one will bother us until we work this out of our systems,” he said smugly. “Good job. And now there is something else that is needful to be done.”
“Sir?”
“None of that when we’re naked, Reg.” Mr. Wooster cleared his throat. “I’d like to have a nice strapping sort of cuddle and have a bathe together and then… Reggie, I’d like to offer you even unto half my kingdom. You already have my whole heart.”
Reggie felt tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, dash it,” said Mr. Wooster, dabbing at Reggie’s face. “We can pash instead if you like.”
“I love you, Mr. Wooster,” said Reggie.
Mr. Wooster boggled for a moment. Then he smiled. “I love you, too. If that was a yes, I can show you how to make love…”
“I thought we had?” Mr. Wooster kissed Reggie gently, and cupped the side of his head in a soft, surprisingly firm hand.
“It was a start. There’s more, much more, to learn before we can consider you no longer the virgin valet. If you like?” Reggie returned the kiss, and felt his body flush with heat and passion. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”