Fic: A Most Brilliant Dance, Chapter 3
Full Headers [ here].
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77’000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5.
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A Most Brilliant Dance
Chapter 3
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When You Were Young - The Killers
The next day, Brendon bounces on Spencer’s bed after a sleep in to wake him up and says, “Right, you can’t confine me to any more bedrooms or I shall scream. Let’s go into town, okay? Mother says the girls are already in buying hats, and we can meet up with them before The Dreaded Cousin arrives?”
Spencer blinks sleepily up at him and mumbles, “You can’t just add adjectives to The Cousin.”
“Can if I want to,” Brendon challenges.
“Doesn’t feel right,” Spencer says, and rolls over to bury his head in his pillow.
“Spencer,” Brendon says, leaning over him so that Spencer can see his huge, somewhat mad grin. “Spencer, we can get new buttons for the ball. You’re going to look so smart, I will make sure of it if I have to line your pockets with new silk myself.”
Spencer says, “You’re ruining my first morning’s rest in my own bed in a week, I hope you know,” and then, “You’ll line my what? I don’t even - why would I want my pockets - what, Brendon? What does that mean?”
“You’re still asleep,” Brendon informs him solemnly, and then in a cruel, mean-spirited act he hops off the bed and strips Spencer’s blankets away from him. Spencer groans and curls up in a ball. “Spencer,” Brendon says firmly, and Spencer groans again before sitting up, pushing his hands through rumpled hair.
“All right,” he says. “All right. I’m up.”
Brendon crows with delight.
*
The walk into Meryton is a pleasant one, and Spencer feels himself brightening as they go. They take Anne with them, as she wants to pick up some new music that she has heard has come into the local store (“Why didn’t you go in with Marianne and Elinor?” Spencer asks, and Anne looks away shiftily; Brendon laughs) and it’s nice, all of it - to have Brendon back on his feet and cheerful, and Anne’s in one of her less dour moods, the kind where she’s actually fun to talk to.
Brendon keeps up well, Spencer is pleased to note, and he has no doubt that Brendon’s going to be able to keep his promise to Jon for dancing at the ball in two days time. Probably Brendon would keep that promise if he’d broken his leg that very afternoon though, Spencer thinks and then shakes his head dismissively when Brendon asks what he’s smiling at.
Meryton is bustling and busy already, and Spencer guesses the word of the ball at Netherfield has spread quickly, judging by how many young ladies are storming into dress and ribbon shops, looking for the perfect adornments to make the rich young bachelors notice them first. The ones who have been so lucky as to receive invitations, anyway; Spencer also catches sight of a few young people scowling as they make their way around town, obviously slighted.
They duck in quickly to buy Anne’s music, and then Brendon leads the way down to some of the slightly more expensive stores (“We can afford to spoil ourselves, just for this,” he says, “and it will cheer us up about The Cousin, at least.” He looks so hopeful that Spencer doesn’t have the heart to say no, they really can’t afford to, so he just nods and resolves to keep a firm eye on Brendon’s wallet).
The crowd is busy this afternoon, though, and Spencer is abruptly knocked off the path by an older woman in a hurry. He stumbles and slips onto the road, and then a firm hand is curling around his upper arm, pulling him back up to the pavement. He gapes at his rescuer in confusion, the whole thing too fast for his mind to quite catch up with the action, and flushes slightly when he realizes he’s staring stupidly at the man in front of him.
He’s small, shorter than Spencer, in a regimental coat, with slightly scruffy hair and dark, cheerful eyes. There is a certain easiness to the way he holds himself, and he is probably one of the most handsome men Spencer has ever seen. He’s also smiling, and as Spencer stands there, staring at him, he raises one hand and carefully dusts off Spencer’s coat, hand lingering slightly more than necessary.
“You ought to be warier,” he says, but his voice is slow and amused. “You would have gone straight into the path of that carthorse if I hadn’t caught you.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, meets the man’s gaze squarely and lets one corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile when he drawls, “My hero.”
The man laughs softly and bows, knocking his heels together. “If you’d like,” he says. “Or you could just call me Pete.”
“Well,” Spencer says. He tries to stop the answering laugh from escaping, but isn’t quite sure he succeeds. “I’m not quite sure Pete has the same melodramatic ring to it, but I suppose it’ll do.”
Pete grins, broad and bright. “I apologize for the shortcomings of my name. My only excuse is that I did not really have a say in the matter.”
A horse passes them, far too close, and it might be an indication of Spencer’s distraction that he only now notices how very much they’re still lingering right in the middle of a busy street. He moves off to the side a little, signaling for Pete to follow. Brendon, with an amused look at Spencer, goes to inspect the display in a shop window, feathered hats and gloves.
“How very inconsiderate of your parents,” Spencer says over his shoulder. “I’m sure you must have given them plenty of grief for their failure.”
“Indeed,” Pete says. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have as much time to make them regret their mistakes as I would have liked.”
Spencer waits for Pete to join him on the sidewalk, glancing at his now rather serene expression. “I’m sorry,” he offers, voice a little lower than before.
“Don’t be. I had a wonderful time while they were alive and was fortunate enough to be taken in by my father’s landlord after their deaths.” There’s a small pause, and Spencer is oddly reminded of Brendon. Pete is staring off at a gathering of excited middle-aged women, looking far away, before he abruptly smiles again and turns to face Spencer. “So, what name did your parents choose without asking your opinion first?”
It’s not usually Spencer’s style to forget about politely introducing himself. Maybe Netherfield and the constant judgment of Ross and Vanek has made him careless, now that he’s escaped their scrutiny.
“Forgive me,” Spencer says, giving Pete an apologetic look as he bows slightly. “Spencer Smith.”
“At least they chose well,” Pete says, bowing in return. “So, Spencer Smith…”
Spencer smiles. “Just Spencer, please.”
“Spencer,” Pete repeats, voice soft. “You seem like someone fairly familiar with Meryton and its inhabitants. Since we only ever get the tail-end of the town’s talk in the regiment, I did hear about that ball in two day’s time, but the excitement seems quite exaggerated for a simple ball.”
Spencer laughs, and he’s fairly certain he sees Pete’s eyes dart down to his mouth for just a moment at that. He can’t quite help the pleased flush that stains his cheeks. Even from a few feet away, Brendon’s snort is clearly audible, and Spencer vows to make him pay for it later.
“This ball is a dream come true for any mother with children at a marriageable age,” he tells Pete. “The host is wealthy and pleasing on the eyes, and his best friend even more so.”
“Wealthy or pleasing on the eyes?” Pete asks, quirking a brow.
“The former,” Spencer says, matter-of-fact.
Pete grins, quick and pleased. “I’m assuming you’re going, then?”
“Yes,” Spencer says. “I might find some of Netherfield’s occupants a little… tiring, but the host really is nice, and,” he raises his voice just slightly to make it carry over the bustle of the street, “very much in love with my best friend, as far as I can tell. Who seems to return the sentiment.”
Another carriage rushes past, wheels rattling on the uneven stones and covering the sound of Brendon’s indignant huff. Pete watches it pass before he grins at Spencer. “Thus dashing the hopes of your mother, I assume.”
“Not at all.” Spencer shakes his head and grins back. It is slightly inappropriate, maybe, but Pete does have that effect on him. “Since my best friend is also my adopted brother, the prospect of an advantageous marriage has my mother in a flurry of excitement.”
The sunlight brightens Pete’s eyes to a warm chocolate color as he laughs. “That’s certainly a reason for hope, then.”
“It is,” Spencer says. He pauses for a moment, squinting up at the light blue sky, streaks of feathery clouds stretching from one edge to the other. “So, did the regiment receive an invitation as well?”
“Actually, we did,” Pete says. “I wasn’t planning on attending, but I might have to reconsider that attitude.” He tilts his head, looking up at Spencer through his lashes, the corners of his mouth curled upwards. “If you promise to dance with me at least once, I think it would be worth the trouble.”
It’s foolish, the slight flutter in Spencer’s chest, and he tries to ignore it as he nods with a smile. “It would be a pleasure.”
“Pete!” Marianne’s voice interrupts the moment, and she hurries up to them with Elinor in her wake, reaching for Pete’s elbow before she notices Spencer. “Spencer,” she adds, “Brendon.” Her face is alive with exhilaration. “Spence, please, you have to lend me some money, I don’t have anything to wear for the ball, please?”
“I rather doubt that,” Pete says, grinning down at her. “I remember you mentioned buying some new ribbons just yesterday.”
“Pete,” Marianne protests. “Those were just normal, everyday ribbons! I need some for the ball, and maybe a new hat, and…”
Pete chuckles, sharing a glance with Spencer. “I’m afraid I’m not the best person to ask for advice in those matters. The obligation to wear a uniform makes one rather careless.”
Spencer laughs, then shakes his head at Marianne. “No, I’m sorry, you know we don’t have all that much money to spend on clothing.”
“Spencer,” Marianne begins, but just then, commotion arises at one end of the street, heads turning and people pausing in their conversations. Spencer turns towards the source of it, frowning in confusion.
Jon and Ross are riding up the street, as impressive and impeccably dressed as Spencer remembers from all his days at Netherfield. He realizes with a start that he never returned Ross’s clothes, and Ross never asked for them, either. Spencer will have to remember to have them washed and take them along to the ball; he’s not going to be indebted to Ross.
“Spencer,” Jon exclaims, smiling, bringing his horse to a halt as he notices him. Ross reins his horse in a few feet away, scowling darkly. It’s not until Spencer fully turns to look at him that he notices it’s not directed at him, but at Pete, still standing by his side. Pete, for his part, lifts his head, and while his expression is slightly mocking, his eyes are unsettled.
Spencer almost forgets to incline his head at Jon. “Jon, good morning,” he says, just as Brendon joins them, clutching at Spencer’s arm. Spencer doesn’t think Jon will notice from his point of view, but a glance at Ross proves that Ross did notice. He meets Spencer’s gaze with a blank expression, the earlier frown melted away.
“Jon,” Brendon says brightly, beaming up at him. It takes less than a second for Jon’s face to light up, and they’re just staring at each other for a moment, happy and enthralled. Spencer has to fight to keep the laughter inside, but it’s bubbling in his chest, making him blink rapidly. Beside him, Pete turns slightly, and Spencer can see that he’s smiling too, although he still looks vaguely uneasy.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, slowly and deliberately, and bows with a little exaggeration. Ross’s eyes narrow and he drags his attention reluctantly away from Pete.
“Good morning,” he says, and then, “Jon.”
Jon bites his lip, reaches out and curls his hand around Ross’s forearm, but Ross shrugs him off with unnecessary vehemence. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up and Ross looks away, across to the other side of the busy street.
“Sorry to be so rude,” Jon says, “But we’re in a bit of a rush this morning, and-”
“Not at all,” Brendon says, and inclines his head a little with grave courtesy. “I’ll see you at the ball, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” Jon says. “A pleasure, Spencer. I’ll-”
Ross makes an impatient noise and then spurs his horse into action, trotting it up the street as fast as the other traffic will allow, and Jon makes an apologetic face and follows him. Spencer turns to Brendon, eyes wide.
“Well,” he says. “What was all that about?”
“Uh,” Pete says, with a small, guilty smile. “That would be me. Ry- Mr Ross and I are not on the best of terms.”
Spencer gapes at him. “But he didn’t even acknowledge you! I knew he was impolite, but that-”
“Is par the course for our Mr Ross, I am afraid,” Pete says tightly. He opens his mouth, as if to say more, but then glances at the younger girls and shuts it again. He sighs and says, finally, “I hope I have not ruined any relationships with the two gentlemen.”
“Jon would like Brendon no matter what,” Spencer says firmly, “and none of us care to know Mr Ross any further than we already do.”
“An admirable goal,” Pete says, and then smiles brightly. “Shall we all go shopping? You must be ready for Mr Walker’s ball - if it is he that is hosting it, as I presume.”
“It is,” Brendon says, and Pete nods. He speaks with warmth and friendliness for the rest of the outing, but Spencer sees a certain distance in his eyes, an unhappiness that he doesn’t dare comment on in front of the twins. Walking home, though, he accepts Pete’s offer to dawdle along the riverbank for a while, sending Brendon and the twins home without him. Pete is charming company, and Spencer spends at least half the time blushing before he judges Pete in a good enough temper to raise the issue again.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he says, tentatively, “what is the… nature of your disagreement with Mr Ross?”
Pete takes in a sharp breath and then looks away.
“Sorry,” Spencer says, hastily. “Sorry, I’m being nosy. You shouldn’t have to talk-”
“Spencer,” Pete says, smiling, and lays a gentle hand on Spencer’s arm. “I don’t mind in the least telling you. It just… I didn’t expect to have such unpleasant memories of the past being brought up in this little town.” They walk along in silence for a while, and Pete clasps his hands behind his back, tilts his chin up to the sky as if musing where to begin. Finally, he says, “My parents died when I was very young, as I have said. My father, though, had been a most loyal groundskeeper for his landlord, and to pay him back the landlord took me in. This was, uh, Mr Ross, the senior.”
“Mr Ross’s father?” Spencer asks.
“Yes,” Pete says. “Ryan - Ross and I were raised together. We were best friends, but towards the time I was twenty, twenty-one, our relationship began to fray. Mr Ross, the father, he always. Thought a great deal of me, I suppose, loved me like a second son, and we were more alike in many ways than his true son and he were. Certainly we did not have half as many disagreements. Anyway, the current Mr Ross simply couldn’t stand it, so, when his father died, he refused to give over the property and inheritance his father had specified for me. I had no choice but to become a soldier.”
“But that’s awful!” Spencer gasps, staring at him. “God, I would never have thought!”
“Yes, he does a good job of playing the gentleman,” Pete says.
“No gentleman at all,” Spencer says. “Certainly not now.”
“Yes, well,” Pete says, looking down. “You will forgive me if I am forced to revoke my invitation for a dance at the upcoming ball. I doubt my company will be welcome there.”
Spencer touches his arm lightly, waits for Pete to meet his eyes. “You can make it up to me sometime,” he says, smiling, and tries to ignore the dizzy lurch of his heart when Pete smiles back.
*
Spencer gets home to find a flurry of servants and bags, and an unknown carriage standing in front of the house. Brendon tumbles out to find him, eyes bright. “Where have you been?” he hisses. “The Cousin arrived earlier than expected! Mother’s having a very loud attack of the nerves and has retired to her chamber and we’re to get him settled, because Father’s-”
“Yes, okay, slow down!” Spencer says, starting down through the court at a fast pace. “God, what is it about The Cousin - he’s a damned nuisance and I haven’t even met him yet! What’s he like, Bren?”
“Very short,” Brendon says, with a tiny, guilty giggle. “Like, shorter than me short. I think the twins are torn between the urge to kill him on principle and the desire to keep him under their bed as some kind of adorable pet.”
“Which means you’ve adopted him already, right?” Spencer shoots a narrow glance at Brendon and Brendon grins.
“He seems okay,” he says. “A little awkward, and maybe a little unsure of how to behave with strangers, but okay. He performed a magic trick for Anne just now and actually made her smile, which takes some doing, you know.”
“Yes,” Spencer says, and they enter the house together. In the living room, there is a - wow, really, really short man with dark hair that curls softly over his collar and warm, brown eyes. He looks, as Brendon suggested, incredibly nervous, but Spencer can also see why the family have taken a liking to him despite what he is to inherit.
“Good afternoon,” Spencer says, stepping forward and smiling. The Cousin almost falls over, he whirls around so fast, and Spencer swallows back a laugh. “I’m Spencer Smith. It’s so wonderful to meet you at last.”
“Frank Iero,” The Cousin says, and just as Spencer goes to bow, Iero steps forward, grabs his hand and shakes it, resulting in an awkward stumble and two bumped heads. Iero flushes bright red and Spencer can see Brendon shaking with silent laughter in the corner.
“Welcome to Longbourn,” Spencer says, dryly.
*
The thing about Frank Iero is that it’s impossible to begrudge him his inheritance as he’s quite possibly the one who feels the most guilty about it. When Mrs Smith mentions the unfortunate circumstances, as she calls it, of Iero coming to assess his future property, Iero blushes and shifts in his seat, staring down at his food as he seems incapable of looking any one of them in the eye.
“Mother,” Spencer says sharply.
“No, it is true.” Iero smiles sheepishly at him. “Not, I mean, I didn’t come to here to walk around and consider everything mine. As far as I’m concerned, this is your house for as long as you care to live in it.”
“Is that so?” Mrs Smith asks, her eyes narrowed as if she’s trying to figure out his hidden intentions.
“Of course,” Iero assures her. “I would not even dream of forcing any one of you to move out. That wouldn’t be right, would it?”
The emphasis he places on the simple word, ‘right’, along with his genuine expression and the hand-waving gestures that accompany his statement, is enough to make Spencer forgive him right there and then. He shares a brief look with Brendon, and Brendon shakes his head and smiles a little, quite obviously as endeared as Spencer is.
“No,” Spencer says, “I suppose it wouldn’t be right. But thank you for seeing it this way.”
Iero looks surprised, blinking at him. “It’s only natural, isn’t it?”
“Some people would consider the financial aspects as more important than human ones,” Spencer says, and he’s briefly thinking of Ross and his entanglement with Pete. Some people would, indeed.
“Oh,” Iero says, his eyes wide. “Oh, no, I certainly wouldn’t, not ever.”
Spencer can’t help but smile at him, and after a moment of confusion, Iero smiles back, bright and startlingly sweet.
*
From the moment they enter the stables, Iero relaxes, his posture less awkward, his shoulders no longer tightly drawn. Spencer assumes it makes sense that he’d be more at ease away from unfriendly eyes; Spencer remembers his own days at Netherfield well enough to sympathize.
It’s what propels him to say, “Please, don’t believe we dislike you.”
Iero glances at him, his expression serious in the twilight of the stables. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did. The circumstances are unfortunate.”
Spencer lifts his shoulders and inhales deeply, the scent of hay and warm horse bodies always a comfort. Muffled noises reach his ears, Brendon’s mare snorting softly while Mr Smith’s mare is shifting from hoof to hoof. “They are, but we’re aware that you’re not personally responsible.”
“I’m not entirely certain your mother is,” Iero says. He steps up to the box that holds Spencer’s stallion, offering the flat of his palm until the horse comes to him, nosing at his chest.
Spencer feels guilty all of a sudden. “Don’t concern yourself with my mother’s remarks,” he says. “She has a tendency to act and speak on impulse, but you should take it with a grain of salt. She rarely manages to sustain her ill feelings. Your visit just took her by surprise, is all.”
“Yes, of course.” Iero nods but doesn’t elaborate, his concentration trained on the horse that is currently searching his pockets for sugar. He doesn’t look up even as he asks, “So, Mr Smith, would you… maybe care for a ride?”
“Spencer, please,” Spencer corrects him, smiling despite himself. It’s hard not to, given Iero’s small stature and the way the horse has to lower its head and stretch its neck to examine his sleeves. “And yes, I would.”
“Thank you,” Iero says, sounding inordinately relieved. “And also, it’s Frank, please.”
“Frank,” Spencer repeats. He laughs softly, just because he feels like it, and nods. “All right, Frank. It seems you’ve taken quite a liking to my horse, but as he’s a little particular when it comes to carrying strangers, could I convince you of giving my father’s mare a try?”
“Of course,” Frank exclaims, stepping back and looking crestfallen. “Please forgive me, I did not mean to impose on…”
“I didn’t think you were,” Spencer says. In all honesty, he can see where the twins’ desire to keep Frank as a pet is coming from. He steps up beside Frank, offering his hand to the horse to find it nuzzled by a fuzzy snout almost immediately.
“Oh, good.” Frank nods hurriedly, eagerly. “Because I honestly don’t want to make you uncomfortable by… Please believe me when I says that I don’t consider everything here mine, not at all.”
Spencer smiles at him, as bright and warm as he can. He hopes it will be enough to convince Frank. “I do believe you,” he says. “Really, I do.”
Frank blinks and smiles back shyly. When he turns to look at the other boxes, he stumbles slightly over an errant ball of hay, and Spencer steadies him with a hand on the elbow. Apparently, he has found a companion in his long history of unsteady footing incidents.
*
Spencer must admit that he was just the slightest bit worried that Frank’s horse skills wouldn’t be sufficient to keep him from sliding to the ground. His worries were unfounded, though. Frank holds himself with the careless ease born from plenty of practice during one’s youth.
When Spencer remarks on it, Frank blushes a pleased red. “Gerard and I used to spend a lot of time exploring Rosings Park when we were younger,” he explains. “He had regular riding lessons, so I really owe everything I know about horses to him.”
Spencer remembers a few of the stories told about Rosings Park, a vast estate situated near Frank’s hometown in Kent. If word is to be trusted, Jon’s Netherfield would look like a beggar’s home next to Rosings.
“Gerard?” Spencer asks absently, shielding his eyes against the low-standing sun. Two men on are riding across the fields, their horses in full gallop as they seem to compete with each other for the leading position. If they don’t change directions, their path should lead them straight towards Frank and Spencer.
“He’s the grandson of Lady Helena Way of Rosings Park,” Frank says. It’s hard to tell, but Spencer thinks there might be the slightest hint of mockery to Frank’s voice. “His parents died young, and so Lady Helena raised him. Due to my close friendship with Gerard, I was fortunate enough to attract her personal interest in my affairs.”
“How fortunate, indeed,” Spencer offers, watching Frank’s face for any clues. Out of the corners of his eyes, he notices the rapid approach of the two riders.
Franks lips twitch. “Very much so,” he says, his tone dry.
“Spencer,” one of the riders calls out at that moment, and he’s close enough now that Spencer can recognize Jon’s face. Ross is maybe half a horse’s length ahead, but at the sound of Jon’s voice, he turns his head and brings his horse to a clean halt a few feet away from Spencer and Frank.
“Jon,” Spencer greets, adding a reluctant, “Mr Ross,” a moment later.
Ross lifts his hat but remains silent. His cheeks are flushed with the exertion, eyes bright, and something that resembles a smile is still lingering around his mouth while his chest rises and falls rapidly, breaths coming out a little sharper than usual. Spencer averts his eyes to find that Jon has come to a halt as well, his horse prancing slightly, butting Ross’s horse in the side.
Ross’s horse, clearly as well bred as its master, tolerates the contact with a faint snort.
“Hullo, Spencer,” Jon says, slightly out of breath himself. “Where are you off to?”
“I’m showing my cousin the grounds,” Spencer answers. “Frank, this is Mr Walker and Mr Ross. This is my cousin, Mr Iero.”
“A pleasure,” Jon says. “Feel free to stray onto Netherfield if you want, Spencer. The grounds are nice and I feel like I’m wasting them most days.”
“Thank you,” Spencer says, and glances at Frank by habit only to realize that he is staring at Ross with something akin to dislike in his eyes. He blinks and catches Frank’s gaze, raises an eyebrow. The tips of Frank’s ears go slightly red, but he turns back to Ross.
“Excuse me,” he says, and Ross looks at him with surprise. “Are you by any chance Lady Helena Way’s nephew?”
“Uh,” Ross says, brow furrowed. “Yes. Well, great-nephew, really. She was my grandmother’s sister.”
“Hmmn,” Frank says noncommittally, still watching Ross with a hard, straight gaze. “She’s mentioned you, once or twice.”
“Ah,” Ross says, clearly confused, and he turns slightly in his saddle to look at Jon, blinking. Spencer smothers a laugh; Frank is better company than he had previously thought if he can knock Ross off-balance this early in a conversation. Jon looks amused, too, and he nods at Spencer.
“Seems we can only manage flyby conversations at the moment,” he says. “I guess we’ll see you two at the ball. It would be a pleasure to see you there too, Mr Iero.”
“Thank you,” Frank says. “I’ll be sure to attend.”
“Goodbye, then,” Spencer says, and follows Frank’s example to wheel his horse around and head towards the open fields.
“Mr Smith,” Ross calls unexpectedly and, when Spencer turns slightly, Ross looks a little abashed for a second. He looks down and then says, finally, “It’s getting dark.”
“Yes,” Spencer says icily. “Well, I’ll be sure not to get lost in the fields I’ve walked over my whole life.”
Ross looks back up at him, eyes dark, mouth set in a harsh line, and nods once, coolly. “See that you don’t,” he says, and then he turns his horse around and gallops towards Netherfield. Jon shrugs apologetically and turns after him; Spencer hears him shout Ross’s name once, and he keeps his horse still and watches them, Frank hovering awkwardly behind him, until they are just dark blurs in the growing twilight.
*
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so,” Spencer says cautiously as they unsaddle their horses, “you seemed a little… cold towards Mr Ross this evening.”
Frank scowls and says, “I know.” He adds, quickly, “I hope it didn’t inconvenience you in any way-”
“No,” Spencer says quickly, unwilling to go through yet another explanation today about the fact that he has no kind feelings towards Mr Ross. “No, I was just curious.”
Frank combs a brush through his horse’s mane and mutters, somewhat ungraciously, “Lady Helena seems to have an understanding that Mr Ross will marry her grandson.”
Spencer searches for a name, coming up with, “Gerard?” Frank nods, eyes downcast, and Spencer bites his lip against a laugh - so that’s the way it is.
“Maybe,” he says kindly, “It’s less of an understanding and more of a vain hope. You know how elderly people can get, these days. Possibly it will never even come to be entertained as a notion in Ross’s head.”
“Possibly,” Frank says, and keeps his gaze fixed on the ground. His hands are smooth and capable as they push the brush through the horse’s tangles, and there is something quiet about the simple movements. He shifts a little, reaching for the higher part of the horse, and his shirt sleeve slides down, enough that Spencer can see a smudge of charcoal on the pale skin of Frank’s wrist.
“We should go in to eat,” he says quietly, and Frank nods and turns around, adjusts his sleeves so that the stain is out of sight.
*
The next day is a quiet affair. They offer to take Frank into town to see the sights and in case he should like to buy anything for the upcoming ball, but he seems perfectly content to simply stay around Longbourn. “I haven’t much time to stay,” he says, explaining that he only has time to stay for one more day after the ball itself. “And I feel like I should take advantage of having cousins to talk to.” With anyone else, it would be a false sentiment, but Frank smiles wide and bright and touches Spencer’s hand, and it’s impossible not to grin back.
Spencer enjoys Frank’s company far more than he had expected, and most of the time he doesn’t even remember Frank’s dreaded position in his grandfather’s will. Frank seems happy to talk about whatever Spencer wants to talk about, and occasionally he’ll tell stories about life back in Rosings, and the things he and Gerard have done, or will do. Gerard, Frank tells Spencer with a grin, is in a constant state of being told off by his grandmother, who finds him to be not at all a gentleman.
“Is he impolite?” Spencer enquires, and Frank shakes his head vehemently.
“Not in the least!” he says. “Lady Helena is - well, she’s very, uh, kind and she gave me my parsonage, and all, but she just. She doesn’t really understand Gerard, I suppose. He’s very shy, you know, doesn’t like talking to new people that much. People mistake it for snobbishness. I hate that.”
“An unfortunate thing,” Spencer agrees, nodding sympathetically.
“Gerard’s great once you get to know him,” Frank says firmly. “He’s very funny, and very talented, and very loyal.” Frank’s eyes are bright the way they always are when he’s talking about Gerard, the corner of his mouth lifted up in a smile, and Spencer has to excuse himself so he can go and giggle about it to Brendon.
At around four, one of the maids enters and says, “A Mr Wentz here to see you, Spencer.”
Spencer looks up, eyes huge, and Brendon laughs softly from where he’s reading on the couch, setting his book aside. Spencer suspects Brendon’s nervous about the ball tomorrow - he’s been quiet and withdrawn all day, though he refuses to acknowledge such a thing.
“Let me entertain you for a while, Frank,” Brendon says. “We must both of us be abandoned for the handsome Mr Wentz.”
“Ah,” Frank says, eyes mischievous. “Of course. Is he a worthy opponent to lose out to, Brendon?”
“Very much so,” Brendon tells him dramatically. “Dark hair, dark eyes, like the hero of some long-forgotten fairytale, a prince come to seize our Spence out of his dreary surroundings! A mythical adventurer-”
“All right, then,” Spencer interrupts, because Brendon can go on for days when he feels like it. He levels a glare at Brendon and says, “I honestly don’t know why I put up with you.” Brendon and Frank both burst out laughing and Spencer can’t help smiling when he goes out to meet Pete.
Pete’s waiting by the door, staring up at the house. When Spencer comes out, he turns and smiles brightly and sweeps a courteous bow, saying, “Spencer, you look almost unfairly handsome this afternoon. How do you do it?”
Spencer looks down pointedly at his creased shirt and slightly dusty trousers (he and Frank had lit the fire a little while ago), but he can feel his cheeks going pink and all he says is, “Thank you.” He pauses, but when Pete just stands there smiling at him he ventures, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“Just the first part,” Pete says. “It’s a lovely day, and I wondered if you might enjoy a stroll.” He pauses, and then adds, “Besides, as I don’t get a dance tomorrow night, I figure you owe me some form of company.”
“I don’t think I owe you anything,” Spencer says, laughing. “But I’ll give you my company with pleasure. Did you have anywhere in mind to walk to?”
“The opposite direction to Netherfield?” Pete suggests dryly, and Spencer laughs again, slides his arm through Pete’s when Pete offers it and ducks his head to hide what feels like a decidedly goofy smile.
They ramble towards the woodland, almost all the way down to the stream, and Pete is very stimulating company; funny and clever and attentive, almost constantly reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind Spencer’s ear or adjust his collar, and by the time they reach Longbourn again it’s almost dark and Spencer feels almost breathless with quiet laughter.
“You’re good company, for a soldier,” he says when they’re standing on the porch again, and Pete grins, baring white teeth.
“I must pass the compliment onto my superiors,” he says. “Certainly it should be an adequate reason to promote me.” He smiles and then leans forward and touches Spencer’s cheek, says quietly, “You’re good company too, Spencer Smith. I’m almost sorry I must return you to your family.”
“Unfortunately they would probably require me after a while,” Spencer says softly, throat strangely tight. “Brendon might launch a rescue mission, otherwise.”
“Every house needs its master,” Pete says sadly, and shrugs a little.
Spencer laughs shortly. “Actually, he’s already at home. Longbourn passes straight to my cousin, who’s over visiting from Kent.”
“Ah,” Pete says smoothly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Pete,” Spencer says in a low voice, and puts his hand on Pete’s arm. “Please.”
Pete looks at him for a long moment in the dark and then nods, moves backwards slightly. “I suppose we’re a little beyond niceties,” he says, and there is the flash of white teeth in the dark again. “I’m awfully sorry I won’t be coming to the ball,” he says finally.
“Me too,” Spencer says, and then Pete bows a little and backs away, striding away into the dark.
*
The next morning dawns bright and sunny, very different to the last time they had a ball, and Spencer can already hear the twins shrieking at each other in the next room. He groans and rolls over to see Brendon lying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling.
“You’ll be fine,” Spencer says firmly, and leans over to jostle Brendon a little. “Jon’s more than half in love with you, I’d say.” Brendon laughs weakly and Spencer climbs out of the bed, yawns and stretches.
He turns around to find that Brendon has hardly moved from his spot on the bed. He’s sitting unnaturally still, frowning down at his hands as they pick at the bedspread.
“Maybe,” Brendon says quietly, gaze fixed on the sheets, unwilling or unable to look at Spencer. “He’s just - altogether perfect, you know.” He glances up quickly and Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Brendon is enthusiastic about many things, but to see him this caught up in someone is new. “Very nice and funny, and I’m sure he could discuss politics at the drop of a hat should the need arise. He’s - well-mannered and good-looking and I think that he does like me a lot, but. I’m not exactly husband material in comparison.”
Spencer doesn’t really feel like smiling anymore. He sits down on the bed beside Brendon. “I think that’s a decision that you’ll have to leave to Jon, isn’t it? And I actually think he might have made it already.”
“Spencer,” Brendon says, his tone patient as if Spencer is the one who needs to wake up from a state of delusions. “We’re. Don’t get me wrong, I love this family, and we’re perfectly respectable and all. It’s just, we don’t really belong into Jon’s social circle.”
“You really think he cares?” Spencer asks, serious.
“He might not,” Brendon says. Silence briefly settles around them, eased only marginally by the twins’ excited chatter and Anne practicing a mellow piece on the pianoforte downstairs. “He might not,” Brendon repeats, very quietly. “But I think that some of his friends and relatives might.”
“You’ll win them over with your charm,” Spencer says lightly, but something in his chest tightens at the thought of anyone disapproving of Brendon merely because of illusions of superiority. He refuses to believe that anyone would stoop so low.
Brendon pulls a feather from his pillow, fingers light and absently plucking at the sheets. “If you say so,” he says.
“I do,” Spencer says. He hesitates for a moment and then puts an arm around Brendon’s thin shoulders, tightening his grip slightly. “And I’m utterly certain in saying so.”
“Thank you,” Brendon mutters.
Spencer shrugs slightly, jostling Brendon as he grins down at him. “At least one of us should be mature about this. That task would usually fall to you, but since you’ve never been particularly gifted with maturity…”
“You’re so transparent when you try to cheer me up by insulting me,” Brendon complains, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face now, and the earlier tension in his shoulders has receded.
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>> Chapter 4