He thanked the servants who had commenced chopping and lining up components of the day’s planned meal and then dismissed them. Cooking was always a task that he enjoyed and he relaxed and allowed his mind a brief respite from his present obligations as he prepared luncheon for the Royal Family.
Though an intelligent man, it wasn’t often that the Royal Butler reflected too deeply on his own life. He was pleased that his plan to get some form of help for the Lord’s grand-sons had borne fruit, and hoped that the American psychiatrist would be successful in treating them. Frankly, the idea of either of the boys developing mutant powers (at their age) combined with their tendency to get into sometimes excessive mischief was one that inspired feelings bordering on horror.
Not that Jarvis had problems with X-gene mutants in general, not as long as they exerted proper control of their powers. But, he recognized the potential for catastrophe when he saw it. And, as his duties required, it was his first concern to ensure that the lives of those in his Family ran smoothly.
This was not the first time the butler had rethought his decision to deflect from the services of the Stark heir (a post his father had held before him) and accept the position offered to him in Genosha. He’d considered his options at the time, the mutant-human war was lost or won – depending on one’s position – and he’d been realistic. Tony Stark had been a wreck and hadn’t shown much promise of improving. Jarvis had been offered an extraordinary opportunity, and he’d taken it, thrusting any doubts aside.
All in all, things had worked out well. He was thoroughly occupied with day-to-day responsibilities, the business that fell under his charge was ordered to his satisfaction, he was good at what he did. And what he did mattered a great deal. What more could he ask for? But yet, something had been bothering him of late. And he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Something beyond the odd behaviours of the young princes.
Jarvis pondered as he placed the lasagna into the oven, removing the crepes to a warming dish on the counter. He should really ring his mother, she’d be eager to tell him about the latest Knicks game. As the table was in order and luncheon was well on its way to completion, he settled down in the small sitting room that opened off the kitchen and placed the call.
((Open to the royal family))