Wings of a Dragonfly

Chapter One

Oliver turned his head, and looked at me moodily. "You are supposed to do what I tell you to do," he growled.

Finn, control yourself, I thought, as I felt my face warm. I cleared my throat and said, "No, sir, I am your personal servant, and I am supposed to do what is best for you."

"Don't want to," Oliver grumbled, burying his face in the pillow. My heart thumped, and I felt foolish for wishing I could see his face again. My 'lovesickness', as MJ referred to it, was on the verge of ridiculous. I saw Oliver daily, multiple times, spending hours in his company, privy to the most intimate aspects of his daily life, and somehow it was still never enough.

"I see," I replied, and sat down by the tea. "I suppose I should just enjoy this lovely tea by myself. It's the orange herbal concoction that MJ makes. It is so delicious."

Oliver's face reappeared as he looked at me in interest. I watched him sniff the air. "I love that tea."

"The tea, and conversation, is over here," I smiled, indicating the table.

Oliver sighed, and got out of the bed. I avoided looking at him, knowing he slept fully naked and that it would not be prudent for me to stare. No matter how much I wanted to. I waited until he had pulled on a robe and sat opposite me to look up.

He was frowning at me, inspecting my face. "You look tired," he commented, as I poured a cup of tea for him. "Were you up all night again? I thought I told you to get a proper amount of rest."

"There were a few jobs that didn't get finished," I lightly replied, trying to brighten my face. "I had worked the least amount yesterday, so I offered to finish them."

"Mary-Jane is supposed to be delegating the jobs evenly," Oliver frowned.

"Well, when she is rested she makes better tea," I tried to joke.

"Damn the tea," he sounded aggravated. "Finn, if there aren't enough people, you need to tell me so we can take on new servants. I don't want anyone overworking themselves, and I especially don't want you up all night."

I smiled a little. Oliver was a kind master. He paid us well, knew all of our names, and made sure we had good living conditions. Working for him was the closest I would ever get to having a family, and I was truly happy here. "I am sure it was merely one night of bad planning," I told him. "I do not think we need extra help, but I shall ask."

Oliver took my word on the subject, and sipped his tea, sighing in happiness. "She really does make wonderful tea," he said appreciatively.

"I shall pass on the compliment," I told him, and then gestured to the clothes I had selected for him the night before. "Shall you need assistance with dressing?"

"I am not completely dependent on you to live, Finn," he rolled his eyes, and then added, "Please do not list the ways in which I would be lost without you. What is my schedule like today?"

I smiled and took out my journal. It was a notebook that Oliver had gifted to me on my birthday, and I took prodigious care over it. He had taught me to read and write, although I seldom used English in written language. "You have breakfast with your father," I recited. "Your mother will not be joining you today, as she is with Mrs Cunningham until lunch. The races are at one until three, and then you have dinner with the treasury secretary. I would recommend an early night tonight, sir, as you have the gala tomorrow, and that will be a lengthy affair."

Oliver sighed. "Well, I appreciate your forethought." He eyed the notebook. "That doesn't look like English."

"It isn't," I replied.