A Most Brilliant Dance, Chapter 6
Full Headers [ here].
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77’000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5v2.
Linger - The Cranberries
Spencer loves Hertfordshire; the fields and the trees that are scattered seemingly at random around the river, lower boughs dipping into the water, the small, rolling hills and the horizon that seems to stretch on forever beyond them. He has always considered it one of the most beautiful places in the world - despite his definite lack of experiencing other places in the world - and certainly his most favourite place.
Kent, he begins to realise very quickly, is an entirely different form of beautiful.
It rains quite frequently (indeed, his first full day is spent inside playing cards by the fire) and there are few farms, with the result that the grass is the purest shade of green Spencer has ever seen. It’s the beginning of steeper, rockier country (“Leading on towards Derbyshire,” Frank informs Spencer when he marvels upon how quickly out of breath he gets climbing the hills) and the hills seem to climb up onwards and towards the furthest mountains. Only a few miles away from Frank’s house is a forest, an old, wild one like the kind you hear stories off (Brendon and Spencer’s hero, growing up, was Robin Hood). Kent seems closer to nature somehow, and Spencer half expects to wake up and find the trees have closed in around the house, tapping on the windows with gingerly outstretched branches, reclaiming old territory.
He tells Frank so and Frank laughs, saying, “It does have that effect on you at first, I suppose. I’ve grown up here, so I’m used to it. I’m afraid it is my duty to inform you that thus far there have been no cases of walking trees.”
They are expected to go over to Rosings Park the evening after Spencer arrives, but just as they are about to get ready Gerard arrives at the door with the news that his grandmother’s rheumatism is playing up again, and that she begs leave to defer their visit for a few days (although, judging by the face Gerard makes when he says ‘begs’, Spencer doubts she does any such thing). Frank nods and smiles, but Gerard makes no move to go, lingers a little guiltily at the door and in the end Frank laughs and steps aside to let him in.
“My grandmother’s rheumatism is, apparently, much worse when I am there to annoy her with my talk,” Gerard informs Spencer. They spend the evening instead gambling with honey glazed nuts and swapping stories. (Gerard has a nearly endless supply of tales about embarrassing things Frank or Mikey - Gerard’s somewhat shyer younger brother - have done in their life, a lot of which involve falling off horses/out of trees/getting humiliated by the Lady Helena, and all of which make Spencer laugh and Frank turn red; Spencer pays them back with stories about the various exploits he and Brendon have gotten up to.)
Spencer goes to bed before either of them, and when he wakes up in the morning Gerard is already in the kitchen eating breakfast. Spencer blinks at him and Gerard turns a little pink in the cheek, says, “Oh, it was too late to go home last night.”
“I thought I was in the only guest room?” Spencer asks, and Gerard shrugs.
“Frankie has a sofa in his bedroom, it’s not too uncomfortable,” he explains and Spencer turns around so Gerard can’t see him bite his lip to withhold a giggle.
They spend the next few days in a pleasant state of exploring the land outside, when the weather permits, and talking. Gerard spends a lot of time with them, but Frank doesn’t seem to find it that unusual, doesn’t excuse it in the least, and Spencer begins to harbour some suspicions about Frank’s supposed one-sided feelings, which are only made greater when Gerard brings his younger brother with him one time. Michael - Mikey - seems to get on with Frank very well, but he’s quiet during his visit which Spencer thinks is probably down to a stranger being in their midst. When he’s not offering quiet, dry comments up to the room, though, he’s watching Frank and his brother with an exasperated sort of affection that makes Spencer have to disguise laughter with coughing.
Wonderful as it is to have pleasant company that Spencer can be himself with, it is clear that it cannot last. Four days after his arrival, a letter, delivered by a young servant, arrives in the late afternoon inviting Frank and Spencer to dine at Rosings Park that evening.
“Why didn’t Gerard come over and ask?” Spencer asks that night as he buttons up his shirt, and Frank rolls his eyes.
“Sometimes Lady Helena decides she wants him to impress guests,” he says. “Usually if it’s just me she won’t bother - she already thinks it’s my fault Gerard is… well, Gerard - but you’re new company. You’ll be under scrutiny tonight and in case you should measure up to what she expects in people, she’ll want Gerard to look his best.”
“I can’t wait,” Spencer says grimly, and Frank laughs.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
“A few hours,” Spencer repeats, and Frank grins and steps forward to straighten his collar.
*
Mikey meets them at the door when they arrive, and he grimaces at them, looking intensely uncomfortable in his boots and starched shirt. “It’s going to be hell, tonight,” he says dismally. “Ryan’s here. Gerard’s been trapped in all afternoon. I don’t know if he’s still alive, actually.”
Frank and Spencer exchange looks and Spencer’s heart sinks a little - as if this night wasn’t going to be bad enough already. All Frank says, though, is, “You couldn’t go in and keep him company? Mikey, where’s the brotherly affection?”
Mikey shrugs apathetically. “He’s not completely alone,” he says. “He’s got Ryan.”
“Poor old Gerard,” Spencer murmurs, and Frank giggles nervously. Mikey shoots him a curious look, but then apparently decides to ignore him.
“Anyway,” he continues blithely, “I’m not going to sacrifice myself up to Grandma, too. She’s family and I love her and all, but sometimes I wish she would just stay quiet for a while.”
“Come on, then,” Frank says. “Into the den of the lion. Look cheerful, Smith, she’ll attack you much quicker if she suspects for a second you don’t want to be here.”
Spencer forces a smile and Frank grins at him, but his eyes look tired and a little sad. Spencer wants to say, I don’t think Gerard spends every hour he can with Ross or tells stories about when he was young or shares his bedroom whenever possible, but Mikey is leading them up the stairs so Spencer keeps his mouth shut.
Mikey leaves them waiting outside the door and then walks in; through the crack, Spencer can just see him lean over an older, imposing looking woman and murmur in her ear. She says, “Oh, Mr Iero and his friend?” in a cold, strident voice, as though she hasn’t been expecting them. “Fine. Send them in.”
Mikey comes back for them and makes a face that makes Spencer have to smother a laugh, and they walk in together and bow politely. Lady Helena is sitting closest to the fire, with a miserable looking Gerard next to her. And in the tall-backed armchair, with his face turned towards the flickering flames, is the unmistakable form of Ross.
Ross looks up, meets Spencer’s eyes, and his hand jerks, slopping wine from his glass onto the carpet.
“Oh!” Lady Helena says, surprised. “Mr Ross, what have you-”
“My apologies, Aunt,” Ross says, and he looks embarrassed after all, cheeks red in the glow of the fire. He slips from the chair onto his knees, setting the glass upright on a small table, and mops at the carpet with his handkerchief. Spencer blinks at him in disbelief.
“Get up, sir,” Lady Helena says sweetly. “A simple accident - no harm done - a servant can clean it up-”
Ross stands up awkwardly and looks at Spencer and Frank, bows slightly. “Mr Iero,” he says. “Mr Smith. I didn’t realise you were in Kent.”
“I’m visiting Frank,” Spencer says dumbly, and Ross nods, looks away.
“So you’re Mr Smith,” Lady Helena says, standing up and looking him up and down. “Well, well. My grandson seems to most value your companionship.”
“And I his,” Spencer replies, casting a nervous glance at Gerard. Gerard nods with a small jerk of his head and gives Spencer a secretive thumbs up. “Thank you for your kind invitation to dinner.”
“Hmmph,” Lady Helena says. Her hair is piled high on her head, gray strands that frame a delicate face. Spencer assumes she was beautiful once. “Well,” she says, her tone impatient. “Do sit down, then.”
Spencer waits for Frank to assume the place closer to Gerard (and, initially, Lady Helena) before he sits down as well. He takes note of the near-imperceptible shift of Gerard’s stance, towards Frank and away from his aunt. Spencer glances at Ross, just quickly.
Ross has gone back to watching the flames with a dark expression in his eyes. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything, though. Even if he had, Spencer rather doubts he’d care; Ross doesn’t seem the type to get jealous. Mostly because he doesn’t seem the type to care enough to be jealous in the first place. Spencer wonders how upset he’d be if Gerard were to break the engagement off. He nearly snorts at the thought; Ross’s only cause of offence would probably be losing out to someone of considerably lower social rank.
Ross turns his head very suddenly, and Spencer looks away a split second too late. He can feel his cheeks starting to colour.
“I suppose you do have fairly remarkable eyes,” Lady Helena says right into his embarrassment, sounding reluctant to allow for even that much. Spencer’s gaze flies to her, and he can’t quite hide his surprise.
“Excuse me?” he says.
“Well, dear.” She lifts her brow in a perfect arch. “You are quite a handsome young man, but the bone structure of your face is in no way exceptional, surely you must be aware of that.” Spencer opens his mouth and is about to say something when she continues, smiling blithely. “Nothing like my nephew here, for example. His bone structure is truly extraordinary.”
“Dear Aunt,” Ross interjects smoothly. “I rather doubt Mr Smith is in any way interested in my bone structure.”
Well. Now there’s one thing Spencer and Ross can finally agree on. Who would have thought.
Lady Helena turns towards Ross, shaking her head. “You can’t begrudge me for looking out for Mr Iero. He does need a suitable partner, given his position as a teacher.”
Spencer manages to disguise his rather undignified sound of astonishment as a cough. Next to him, Frank shifts uncomfortably while Gerard looks even paler than before. Ross, holding himself perfectly straight, is staring hard into the flames, no emotion discernible in his expression.
“I hope your ladyship will forgive me,” Spencer says carefully. “But Frank and I are by no means intending to enter into a relationship of that sort.”
Frank nods quickly, but remains silent - a rather unusual occurrence for him. Maybe the combined presences of Ross and Lady Helena robbed him of his capacity of speech.
“Oh?” She sounds disappointed. “I was under the impression that finding yourself a suitable partner was the sole purpose of your visit to Hertfordshire, Mr Iero.”
Frank shrugs and stares down at the carpet. Next to him, Gerard holds himself very still, and for the first time, Spencer can see where some people’s misperception of him as withdrawn and shy would originate.
Also, this is pathetic. Spencer’s not about to put his parents to shame, but that certainly doesn’t mean that he’s going to let himself be intimidated by an old scarecrow.
“Finding a suitable partner isn’t an easy feat,” he says, keeping his tone pleasant. He folds his hands on his thighs and raises his head, smiling at Lady Helena. “Surely your Ladyship wouldn’t want Frank to choose someone he could never actually love.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you a romantic, Mr Smith?”
“A pragmatic romantic, perhaps,” Spencer says, and he keeps smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt from it. “The thought of a lifetime of misery due to an imprudent marriage holds no appeal to me.” He glances to the side to meet Frank’s gaze, grateful and slightly amazed, and the polite smile is much easier to uphold after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer catches Ross turning to look at him with a thoughtful expression.
“You certainly state your opinions quite forcefully for someone so young,” Lady Helena says, and it’s clearly not a compliment. Spencer lowers his gaze, but he can’t quite bring himself to feel ashamed of speaking up.
“I do have three younger sisters and an older brother,” he says. “It teaches you rather a lot about taking a stand.”
“Is that so,” she says. Her right hand is playing with a golden bracelet wound around her left wrist, the gleaming metal catching some of the flames’ brightness. She turns her gaze on Frank. “Well, be that as it may. Considering Mr Smith’s rather… convincing assurance that you are not engaged. Mr Iero, given your position, do you consider it wise for the two of you to live under one roof, unsupervised? It is only a matter of time for rumours to spread.”
Spencer glances down to see Frank’s left hand, resting in between them on the upholstery, curl into a fist. “I did not invite Spencer here to make him stay at an inn,” Frank says, a faint note of defiance to his tone. “He’s family. People would have more reason to point their finger if I denied him hospitality.”
Mikey, seated in an armchair slightly out of Lady Helena’s line of sight, looks up to grin brightly at Frank. Gerard looks pleased while trying to melt into the couch, and Spencer has to hide a grin of his own. Ross is the only one who doesn’t bat an eye. There might be the faintest curl to the corners of his mouth.
*
In what Spencer interprets as punishment for his disrespectful behaviour, Lady Helena requests (although ‘demands’ might be a more fitting expression, really) that he play the piano for them. The moment he sits down, she proceeds to raise her voice and talk right over Spencer’s hands torturing a simple, light-hearted piece of melody that Brendon wrote a while ago.
Spencer blocks her voice out and concentrates on his finger work. He hasn’t heard from Brendon since that first letter, but he supposes it’s not all that surprising given the many distractions London has to offer, particularly if Jon came to his senses.
If, Spencer repeats disdainfully. He doesn’t feel quite confident enough to replace it with a since, though.
After a few minutes, Ross seems to grow bored with Lady Helena questioning Frank on the next school year’s curriculum. He wanders over to Spencer, wine glass in one hand, and leans against the side of the piano. The sunlight slants into the room at a steep angle, outlining Ross’s profile.
“If you think you can scare me into messing up the melody,” Spencer raises his eyes for a quick, amused glance, “I must disappoint you. I’d mess it up even without your assistance. And also, you’re not half as intimidating as your aunt.”
“You find me intimidating?” Ross asks. He sounds puzzled.
Spencer bares his teeth in a sarcastic grin and tries to keep his fingers from stumbling over a more challenging part of the melody. “Incredibly so,” he says.
Ross shakes his head, a light smirk playing around his mouth. “You don’t appear too intimidated to me.”
“I hide it well,” Spencer says. “I have the natural skill of a liar, keeping the world guessing as to my true intentions. Believe me on that.”
“What a lovely antagonism.” Ross chuckles and sips at his wine. His lips glitter before he licks them dry, and Spencer focuses hard on his hands. “But really,” Ross continues. “I’ve known you but for a few short weeks, and yet I can already tell that you have a hard time disguising your true opinion of… anything at all. I’m afraid you might be the worst liar I know.”
“You must find me rather boring, then,” Spencer says, glancing up for a faint smirk.
“Quite the opposite,” Ross says. “I find it rather refreshing.”
It’s obvious that Ross is mocking. Not that Spencer cares, though. He allows Brendon’s melody to fade before he starts in on another song, something sweet and slow that Brendon sometimes plays as a bedtime song.
“Either way,” Spencer says, “your aunt clearly exceeds whichever amount of intimidation you manage to achieve.”
“To be fair, I don’t even try,” Ross interjects.
Spencer grins and nods his chin towards where Frank is answering Lady Helena’s questions quite dutifully. “Maybe you should. After all, isn’t this where… how was it phrased? Isn’t this where comes in the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved? And yes, it might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both, but since love and fear can hardly exist together…” Spencer hits a wrong key and tries not to cringe when he adds, “Your aunt made her choice.”
Ross looks surprised, but only briefly. His eyes are fixed on Spencer’s face, and for all that Spencer claims not to be intimidated, he still has to lower his gaze on the pretence of watching what his hands are doing.
“Well,” Ross says, after a pause. “My aunt might have been one of Machiavelli’s case studies, for all I know. Personally, I wouldn’t say that it is always better to be feared than loved.”
“You wouldn’t?” Spencer asks, allowing for just a hint of doubt to show through.
Ross is about to answer when he’s interrupted by Lady Helena. “What are you discussing so intently, Mr Ross?” she calls over, leaning forward in her seat. “Please do share. You know how much I love a good conversation.”
“We were actually discussing whether French wine really is superior to Spanish one,” Ross replies without even a moment’s hesitance. “I hold it with the French, but Mr Smith here does have a point when he says that Spanish wine tends to have a better body.”
Spencer nods and tries not to make it too obvious that he said no such thing. It is, apparently, a good enough reason to leave the piano, anyway. Spencer sidles back to Frank’s side and sticks close to him, unwilling to be drawn into yet more conversation with Ross.
It can be no more than a few minutes later that a servant announces that dinner is served and they are all led into yet another richly furnished room. There are wooden panels with ornate carvings going around the wall, and the ceiling has white plaster cherubs lurking in the corners. It’s a little overdone for Spencer’s tastes, but he certainly can’t complain about the quality of the food.
He sits next to Frank, with Gerard on Frank’s left side. Gerard, who has retreated even further into himself as the evening goes on, gives Frank a small smile when Frank knocks their feet together under the table, but Lady Helena casts a suspicious look at him and shakes her head.
“Mr Iero,” she says, “Come sit beside Michael. He has missed you during your absence. Mr Ross, if you would like to take Mr Iero’s place?”
Ross’s mouth twitches slightly in the corner but he stands up politely and takes Frank’s seat. Spencer tries not to scowl too openly at his plate; when he looks up, Frank’s expression is one of equal parts annoyance and slight amusement at Spencer’s plight, so Spencer makes a face at him back. Mikey giggles feebly into his soup and Lady Helena glares at them all.
It is clear, though, how much she favours her nephew; she spends most of the meal addressing him, and despite her wealth is not much more subtle than Spencer’s mother. (“Why, you like hounds?” she cries at one point in the evening. “Gerard loves hounds! Don’t you, Gerard?” Ross looks directly at her and says, face straight, “Gerard, as I seem to recall, spends a lot of time running away from dogs,” and Spencer has to stifle a laugh despite himself.)
Ross seems completely disinterested in her, however; he answers her inquiries mostly with typical monosyllabic responses and spends most of the meal talking quietly to Gerard. Frank watches them with a poorly concealed frown and even Spencer wonders at how Gerard - who had seemed so kind and friendly and uncaring when it comes to manners and social status - could possibly find anything remotely likeable in Ross. He seems perfectly content to talk to him, though, even loosens up enough to start smiling a little, and when Spencer glances over at Frank he sees that his friend is concentrating on cutting up his food into very small pieces, offering just enough contributions to Mikey and Lady Helena’s conversation so as not to be rude.
Just as the desert is served, though, and Spencer thinks he’s managed to make it through an uncomfortably placed meal, Ross turns to him and says, “Are you enjoying Kent, Mr Smith?”
“Uh,” Spencer says cleverly, and blinks at him for a moment before clearing his throat a little. “Yes, very much so.”
“It is beautiful countryside,” Ross says, half-smiling and Spencer tries not to stare.
“Indeed,” he agrees guardedly, and wonders if blurting out why have you decided to make conversation all of a sudden? would be too unsubtle. Ross just turns back to his meal, though, and in the next few moments Lady Helena demands his attention for conversation again, and that’s the end of that.
*
The next morning, Spencer sleeps in. He wakes up to the sound of Gerard’s voice in the next room and grins, pulling his coat on over his pajamas so as not to get too cold, and then shuffles out into the parlour. He has a split second in the doorway to see Frank making frantic gestures at him and then he steps into the room.
Ross - impeccably dressed, of course - turns around and stares at him.
Spencer has never been more aware of his threadbare pajamas and rumpled hair in his life. He can feel his cheeks going red and he likes Gerard, he really does, but at that moment he would be perfectly happy to murder the man in cold blood. Who else would be quite happy to spring Ross on them this early in the morning with no warning whatsoever? Previously Spencer has thought Gerard’s obliviousness to those around him to be somewhat adorable, but now - as Gerard looks up and beams at him, apparently ignorant of the tension in the room - he decides that it is not only a poor character trait but a curse on Spencer’s life.
“Spencer!” Gerard says. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Fine, thank you,” Spencer says. “Excuse me, I’ll just - I wasn’t expecting company this early.”
“Clearly not,” Ross says, and Spencer has the uncomfortable feeling that the man is laughing at him.
By the time he has gone, gotten dressed and returned to the small group, Ross and Gerard are preparing to leave. Gerard says, “I’ll probably stop by a little later, Frankie. Don’t bother seeing us out, I should think I know the way by now - oh, hello again, Spencer. We didn’t wake you just now, did we?”
“No,” Spencer says.
“Good,” Ross says, and then he bows gravely and leads the way out of the room, Gerard trailing behind him. Spencer waits for the sound of the front door shutting before he rounds on Frank, who has thrown his hands up, laughing.
“Don’t!” Frank says. “I didn’t know how to slip out of the room and warn you, and then you barged right in… oh God, Spence, your face, I thought I would die. In your pajamas!”
“I was - Frank!” Spencer stammers. “God, I really didn’t need to give him another reason to think me an idiot, I’m so sick of him looking down his stupid nose at me, I can’t-”
“I actually thought Ross was going to laugh aloud,” Frank agrees sympathetically. “Sorry, Spencer. Just, don’t worry about him. The man’s a pompous fool.”
“And my personal curse,” Spencer agrees, sinking into a chair. “He seems to crop up everywhere I go.”
“I’m afraid that’s a trend not likely to cease anytime soon,” Frank says. “Gerard is still… strangely fond of him. He seems determined to inflict Ross upon our company as much as possible during his stay.”
“Can’t we say something to him?” Spencer asks, desperate. “Frank, much as I enjoy your company, much of my purpose in coming to Kent was to escape from Ross’s like in Hertfordshire.”
“No, I understand,” Frank says. “We’ll talk to Gerard. He might understand. He’s always been - I don’t understand why he likes Ross, but it’s clear that he… anyhow.” He looks down and Spencer reaches over, touches his hand lightly. Frank smiles up at him. “We’ll talk to Gerard,” he repeats.
That afternoon, though, when Gerard returns (mercifully alone) Frank tries to raise the issue as nicely as possible, but all Gerard does is blink at them in disbelief. “Ryan’s nice,” he protests. “He’s clever and funny and a good friend, I don’t understand-”
“Maybe for you,” Frank says awkwardly, while Spencer gapes at Gerard in disbelief. “But he’s certainly more… concerned with social status than you, and-”
“No,” Gerard says obstinately, shaking his head. “No, Frankie, you’re being unfair. You don’t even know him! Besides, he’s always been very… understanding towards me, and I like him. Ryan’s loyal towards his friends. I’m going to offer him the same honour.”
“Loyal,” Spencer snorts doubtfully, and Gerard swings around, looks at him unhappily.
“He is,” Gerard protests. “You two don’t know him. He - okay, for example? He was in another town with his best friend, recently, and his friend had the misfortune of being cornered into a love affair, of sorts. Motivated mostly by the gentleman in question’s family, I believe. I suspect they were very much like my grandmother. Anyhow, Ryan realised that his friend was being trapped into an unsuitable marriage, and he quickly managed to convince his friend of the stupidity of his love, and how it was all a matter of lies, and such.”
A matter of lies.
Spencer feels dizzy, hollow and shocked. He’d suspected, of course, but he’d no idea that-
Frank looks at him, biting his lip, and Spencer takes a deep breath. “What was the friend’s name?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay even.
“Jonathan Walker,” Gerard says. “They’ve been friends since Ryan was at school.”
Spencer nods meaninglessly, staring at the carpet. His voice feels very small when he asks, “So Ro- Mr Ross separated the two?”
“Talked Walker out of it, apparently,” Gerard tells him. “And got them out of the county as quickly as possible, before Walker could change his mind.”
“Okay,” Spencer says. “Okay.”
*
“Spencer,” Frank says the moment Gerard has made it out of earshot, his horse ambling along the path leading towards Rosings.
“Yes,” Spencer says - rather grimly, he’s aware.
“It’s probably not-”
“Like hell it’s not,” Spencer explodes, rounding on Frank when he’s really only looking for someone, anyone to take his anger out on with Ross sadly unavailable. Rather ironic, isn’t it, that the one time he wants the man to be there, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Frank’s eyes narrow. “Don’t yell at me, Spencer. This isn’t my fault.”
“Oh, now you suddenly manage to stand up for yourself?” Spencer raises a brow, and he feels sick to the stomach and taking his anger out on Frank doesn’t make it better, not at all, and yet he can’t seem to stop. “Because you didn’t seem quite so willing to do that when Lady Helena was questioning you.”
“That’s because I don’t care what her Ladyship throws at me, just as long as she doesn’t ban me from seeing Gerard,” Frank retorts. He pauses and takes a step forward, closer. “With you, I do care.”
Spencer deflates and turns away. “Sorry,” he mutters, suddenly ashamed of himself.
“I know where it came from.” Frank’s tone is more gentle than Spencer thinks he probably deserves, but he’s not about to complain.
“Yes, but still. It really wasn’t… I shouldn’t have.” He leans back against the wall of Frank’s house and tries to think clearly. All his brain comes up with is the sad image of Brendon clutching a letter.
“Well, it is true that I let Lady Helena talk me into proposing to someone not Gerard. So, you know. You may have had a point.” Frank shrugs and leans close to Spencer, shoulders brushing as if he were offering unspoken comfort. “Just my luck that it was you.”
“Don’t belittle it,” Spencer says, vainly striving for a humorous tone. “It might be the only offer of marriage that I’ll ever get. It is very special to me.”
Frank turns to look at him, his eyes sympathetic. “Spence…”
Spencer looks down and scuffs one shoe over the gravel. “Could I,” he asks quietly, “maybe borrow your horse?”
“So you can hunt down Ross?”
Spencer snorts. “My parents taught me better than that. No.” He glances at Frank. “Just. I think I need some fresh air right now, and I need to move and clear my head. I promise, when I return, I’ll be perfectly polite to Ross whenever he crosses my path.”
“What a shame,” Frank says thoughtfully. “I would have loved watching you spit fire at the man. He certainly deserves it.”
“He does,” Spencer says. “But I’m not about to confirm his prejudices against my family by treating him with anything less than courteous respect. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose it does,” Frank says. He sounds wistful about it.
*
Spencer bits Frank’s horse at the rim of an open field, lush green that is framed by a stretch of forest. Above the trees, light grey clouds come together to build mountains. There’s a tear in the cover, though, and through it, sunlight floods the sky, brightening the edge of one cloud to a sharp silhouette.
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Under him, the horse’s body expands with a breath.
All right, then.
Rosings is a dot in the distance, a speck made of weathered stones and windows that reflect the light even from a distance. Spencer stares at the spot for a while, considering his options. But when it comes down to it, there really aren’t that many. Yelling at Ross is only going to prove him right, and flat-out avoiding him will be hardly possible since Gerard insists on being a loyal friend.
As loyal as Ross was, apparently, to him. Maybe Ross talked Gerard out of marrying Frank, then.
Spencer sighs and slowly turns the horse around, back towards Frank’s place. It’s the time of long days and short nights, but since Lady Helena will most likely demand the company of Gerard, Mikey and Ross, chances are that Frank will be rather bored. And Spencer did come here to spend time with him.
He’s not going to let Ross ruin this vacation. And the question of whether or not to tell Brendon about the whole thing... Well. It's an answer that can wait for a few days longer.
*
To no one's surprise, Ross is very skilled at poker. To Spencer's surprise, Ross is incredibly bad at chess. He messes up which figure moves in what way, misses even the most obvious dangers to his king, and through it all, he chuckles whenever Spencer takes one of his figures out.
“Planning ahead has never been one of my talents,” Ross admits easily when Spencer doesn't manage to bite down on a comment anymore. “Poker is perfectly fine; it allows me to act on a step-by-step basis. Chess is too much of a challenge for my nonexistent strategy skills.”
Spencer is vaguely aware that he's staring at Ross as if the man had just renounced his title and transferred his estate to Pete. Well. At least Pete wouldn't use the weight of his wealth to prevent other people's marriages.
“What?” Ross asks, amused.
Spencer shakes his head and looks away, moving his queen two fields to the right. “Nothing,” he says. “And check.”
Gerard returns from the kitchen to hear the last part of Spencer's sentence. He sets a plate piled high with biscuits down on the table next to the chessboard and laughs, sounding delighted and relaxed. “You are so incredibly bad at this,” he tells Ross.
“No need to sound so pleased about it,” Ross says, a smile in his eyes as he glances up at Gerard.
“Oh, but there is need,” Gerard replies. “Very much so. You are such a bad loser, after all.” He sits down on the armrest of Ross’s chair, and Spencer can't help but cringe a little at their effortless interaction. Not that Gerard is physically distant with Frank, but, still. Spencer is rather glad that Frank is still in the kitchen to prepare another round of tea.
“I am not a bad loser,” Ross protests.
“You refused to play another game with me ever again after you lost to me in our first letter-guided game, remember?”
“Well,” Ross says. “Contrary to popular opinion, I did mature somewhat since then. I'm perfectly content to lose to Mr Smith right now, see?”
“You didn't mature,” Gerard says. He leans forward to move a figure in Ross’s place before he continues. “You grew jaded.” His tone is teasing, but there's a solemn edge to the words.
Ross turns to him, apparently forgetting about Spencer's presence for the time being. Which is a change that Spencer can live with, in all honesty. “I learned not to misplace my trust,” Ross says, quite seriously. “That's a whole different matter.”
“All right,” Gerard says, shaking his head with a small smile. “Have it your way, then. You always do, after all.”
“Thank you,” Ross says, his tone pleasant.
With their private conversation apparently finished, Spencer moves his knight and flattens his palms against the tabletop. “It was a brave move,” he tells Gerard. “A nice try to save your friend. Still, though. Checkmate.”
Ross glances at the board, then at Spencer’s face. “Well played,” he compliments, and his lips curve into an astonishingly sweet smile that has Spencer smiling back before he remembers all the reasons not to.
He turns away and mutters a curt, “Thank you.” The sensation of Ross’s dark, intent gaze lingering on his face stays with him for a few moments longer.
*
Frank wakes Spencer early two days later, the light that trickles through the curtains still dark grey. “Get up,” he announces as he comes barging into Spencer’s room. “We’re watching the sun rise. From up on the hill. It’ll be beautiful.”
Spencer wraps the blankets tighter around himself. “I hope that’s the royal we,” he mumbles, tongue sleep-heavy.
“That’s a you and me we,” Frank corrects. He moves across the room to draw the curtains opens abruptly, and yes, the glimpse of sky Spencer spies through the window is of a dark grey, morning barely more than a faint possibility. Frank turns, hands on his hips. “Come on,” he says. “I did this many times with Gerard, and trust me, it’s never not stunning when the sky is as cloudless as it is today. We should take the chance. The weather never stays this beautiful for long here in Kent.”
Spencer sighs and pushes the blanket down to his shoulders. “If you did this so many times with Gerard already, why don’t you just go and get him?”
Frank frowns. “For all I know, he’s going to watch the sunrise with Ross. I’d rather not be around for that.”
“I doubt that,” Spencer says. He’s awake now, though, so he sits up with a long sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “All right, then. I suppose you wouldn’t let me go back to sleep anyway.”
Frank’s grin is bright in the twilight. “Not a chance,” he says pleasantly.
Spencer gets dressed as quickly as possible - Frank turns his back, disgustingly wide awake and chatty about how beautiful it is up on the hill and so on and so forth - and pushes a hand through his hair uselessly. He doesn’t think he can be bothered combing it right now, so they set off into the cold morning air.
Even with his coat, it’s freezing this early and Spencer’s teeth start chattering, hunching back into his shoulders. The cold air seems to suit Frank, Spencer thinks dourly; he looks bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, and Spencer is not surprised that Gerard enjoys going up to watch the sunrise with him. Really, Spencer is not entirely sure just how Frank could be so oblivious to Gerard’s obvious attentions, but he doubts Frank would believe him should he mention the matter to him.
They reach the top of the hill just as the first rays of sun begin to peek out over the horizon, a little out of breath, faint mists hanging in the air every time they exhale. The grass is frosty and damp, so Spencer resists the urge to sit down and instead leans on Frank’s shoulder, blinking sleepily. Frank talks quietly, plans of what to do today, something about a dance in town in a week’s time that maybe they could sneak Gerard out for, and Spencer is content to simply sit and listen, humming contented responses now and then.
The sun does not rise spectacularly; there is no sudden burst of light, but the tentative rays seem to highlight different parts of the landscape and make them glow in the cold morning, and Spencer is glad that Frank dragged him up here. It’s weird, he thinks, how the sun takes ages to rise properly, and then all of a sudden it’s just there, and you don’t know how you could have missed that crucial moment. This morning is the same - Spencer mumbles, without further elaboration, “I don’t know how, but I always seem to blink right as it…”
Frank nods, getting it without explanation. “Me too,” he says. Spencer grins and turns his face against the harsh material of Frank’s coat. He thinks, I’m glad you’re my friend but doesn’t say it aloud; thinks it would be just a little too cliché, out here in the early morning. Nevertheless, Frank turns his head and smiles down at him, so maybe he doesn’t need to say it after all.
After a while, when the light on the landscape below them has stopped changing so frequently (albeit minutely) and they are both blinking into the glare, Frank sighs and says, “Anyway, it’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Spencer agrees, and stretches. “The mornings out here are very lovely. Almost worth getting me out of bed for.”
Frank laughs, and then his stomach growls and it’s Spencer’s turn to laugh. “I’m starving,” Frank admits a little guiltily. “Come on, let’s head back to the house. I thinks Mrs Jenkins said she was going to make eggs this morning. Possibly some cocoa, too.”
“Actually,” Spencer says thoughtfully, “The morning is so nice - would you mind if I wandered for a little while? I’ll come join you later.”
“If you like,” Frank says cheerfully, and then casts a dubious glance up at the sky. “I’d be careful, though. Look, the clouds are already starting to gather. We’d have no fun if you got sick.”
“What,” Spencer says, faux-affronted, “You wouldn’t read me stories by my bedside? For shame, Frank.”
Frank laughs and they turn in opposite directions. Spencer walks onwards, up towards the steeper hills, while Frank heads back to the house. Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets and hums softly to himself. The morning really is beautiful, despite the cold.
He gets distracted from the surroundings, though, wondering how Brendon is doing in London - resolving to write to him when he returns to Frank’s house, and actually demand a response this time - and how the girls are at home. He hopes Marianne’s hopes of visiting Kensington with the militia have been dashed, feeling a little bit guilty at wishing unhappiness on her, but ultimately righteous. He doubts all the soldiers will lose interest in someone as quickly as Pete did.
He ends up so distracted that he doesn’t even notice the impending rain until a particularly loud clap of thunder; then he looks up, spots the sky, and swears loudly just as the clouds open up and the rain starts to fall. It’s no light drizzle that slowly intensifies; it feels as if someone’s dumped a bucket of water on Spencer’s head, almost, and he starts running - through the blur of rain he can see a shelter up on top of the next hill.
He makes it up to the shelter breathless and soaked through, and he leans against the stone wall to catch his breath, looking dismally out into the rain. He wonders how long it will take to ease, and how far he’s actually wandered from Frank’s house. He’s in such a state of annoyance, calculating various things in his head and shivering in his wet clothes, that he barely notices the other figure advancing towards him until it is only a few paces away.
Ross is not hurrying through the rain; he moves with a fast, intent purpose to his strides, and when he gets close enough to distinguish properly Spencer can see that his eyes are huge and dark in his white face, and he looks almost desperate in the falling rain. He too is soaked through. When he reaches the shelter, though, he doesn’t attempt to dry off in any way, just stares at Spencer with his fists clenched by his side. His hair is plastered to the side of his face and his coat is open, letting Spencer see how his shirt clings to his skin.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, bowing and hating his luck - who else would he get caught with in a storm, really.
“Mr Smith,” Ross says tightly, and moves in under the shelter, shakes his head like a wet dog. Droplets fly out and Spencer wipes them off his face a little impatiently.
He says, “You got caught in the rain too, I see,” striving for lightness, but Ross just nods. He turns around and paces away from Spencer, back drawn up straight and tall, chin tilted up in some strange gesture of defiance.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, tentatively, and Ross turns around, stares at Spencer as though at a ghost. He asks, “Are you well?” and Ross explodes into action, slamming an outstretched palm against the stone wall of the shelter.
“Damn it!” Ross says, and strides closer to him, fast and purposeful until they are only inches apart. Spencer blinks at him, unsure what to say or how to react but it appears he doesn’t need to worry - Ross is already talking.
“Enough,” he says, eyes fixed on Spencer’s face, sounding almost breathless. “I’ve had - enough, damn it. I’ve tried to be quiet. I’m not going to - these past weeks have been more than I can bear. I can’t conceive how to explain to you about the conflict within me - the expectations of my friends and family, the nature of your family, our respective rank, your unfortunate dalliances with officers, not to mention my own better judgment and still, and still-”
“Mr Ross,” Spencer interrupts, bewildered and a little furious, “I don’t know why you’re throwing such things at me with no-”
“I love you,” Ross says, and his voice cracks.
Spencer stays very still.
Ross reaches out a hand almost unconsciously, goes to touch the side of Spencer’s face, but Spencer jolts back minutely and he drops it again. He closes his eyes; Spencer can see the swell of his chest as he takes in a breath and says, again, “I love you. Every moment we’ve been in the same room since - since Netherfield and I cannot bear it anymore. I - I saw you walking up here and I couldn’t stand by and remain silent anymore. I am begging you to please - to please relieve me of my agony and accept my hand in marriage.”
Spencer looks down, head reeling. There’s an overwhelming need to sit down somewhere and think, or find Frank or Brendon or someone so he can rail against the impossible Ross and the things he has just said. It takes him a moment to realise that Ross is waiting for an answer.
Spencer tilts his head up and answers, as calmly as he can, “I… cannot say I am not astonished at this turn of events. Your behaviour in the past weeks certainly has not led me to expect any such regard and I hope it is clear to you that I have, in no way, tried to solicit it.”
Ross opens his mouth, but Spencer holds up a hand. “Please,” he says, and takes a breath. “As it is, I can only apologise for whatever feelings I have unconsciously roused in you, and hope that the objections you mentioned that stand between our union will overcome your desire for the thing itself.”
For a moment, there is only the sound of the pounding rain; then Ross says, voice strained, “Are you - is that a no?”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer says softly, and Ross’s mouth tightens, white lines forming around the edges.
“I cannot understand,” he says, quietly, “how you would find it within you to laugh at-”
“I am not laughing,” Spencer says.
“You have done nothing but,” Ross tells him, voice getting louder. “Your blatant disrespect for me and all that I-”
“Oh, God, I wonder why!” Spencer yells, temper finally getting the better of him. “First of all, as you’ve been proud, disagreeable and most impolite in nearly every instant I’ve had the honour of sharing your company I see no particular responsibility on my part to be polite in responding to you at all! But if my behaviour has been a poorly conceived response to nothing but courtesy from you, well, shall we examine it for a moment, Mr Ross? Do you truly think I could in any way show any sign of respect, let alone kindly feelings towards someone who has so completely destroyed the happiness of my best friend and most beloved brother? You split them up! Because Brendon was not good enough for you, you ruined any chances of his happiness-”
“No!” Ross interrupts, voice harsh. “No, believe me, it was not motivated entirely by his social rank-”
“Oh, entirely,” Spencer says, voice thick with sarcasm. “Then certainly you are in the right, how stupid of me-”
“I believed him indifferent!” Ross says. “Your whole family made it quite clear what Jon’s importance was to you and Mr Urie made no attempt to show any sort of special affection to Jon at all-”
“Like you would know,” Spencer seethes. “Like you have the insight to understand a single thing beyond your own selfish nature! Don’t you dare try and tell me what Brendon did or did not feel.” Ross says nothing, only stares at him, and Spencer closes his eyes, steeling himself. “And what of Pete?” he asks.
Ross takes a step closer; meets Spencer’s eyes. “Pete,” he hisses, and Spencer nods.
“How would you explain your abominable treatment of Mr Wentz?” he half-shouts. “Your treatment of him is beyond cruel, it is - robbing him of his rightful property and inheritance for mere jealousy! And wreaking such an influence on him that you would deny him his right to even attend a ball with good humour for the threat of seeing you there!”
“Oh, please,” Ross says, and he sounds equal parts disgusted and furious. “Don’t try and fool yourself that Pete’s flirtation with you was anything but a method at getting back at me. He doesn’t deserve your respect anymore than you believe I do-”
“Pete’s a gentleman,” Spencer says, “which is more than I can say for you-”
“Pete is no such thing,” Ross says. “Believe me, I know Pete better than you could ever hope to - certainly he is not always so fond of stopping at kisses on the cheek.” He stops suddenly and looks slightly annoyed at himself. Spencer only blinks at him, trying to comprehend what has just been admitted.
Finally he breathes out and says, “In any case-”
“You needn’t continue,” Ross says, bitterly. “I have the finest sense of clarity about my place in your esteem now, thank you.” He takes a breath and looks away, out into the rain; Spencer watches him, can’t help it, and when Ross turns back their eyes meet and Ross looks suddenly young. He sways forward almost helplessly and then pulls himself straight again, jaw set.
“I will not trouble you again,” Ross says quietly, all the fight apparently gone from him. “I must return to Pemberley tomorrow at any rate. Thank you for your time, Mr Smith.”
Then he turns away and strides back out into the rain, leaving Spencer gaping after him.
*
Frank comes out to meet him when he’s halfway across the front yard, holding his cloak above his head for shelter against the rain. “Where were you?” he asks, the words almost swallowed by the curtain of water.
Spencer blinks and allows Frank to take his elbow, shield both of them with his cloak as they make their way to the door. “Somewhere,” Spencer says vaguely. “I don’t really know.”
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Frank says, glancing at him.
Spencer laughs, can’t help it. It might come out just slightly hysterical. “Something like that,” he says, and then the house envelopes him in its warmth. He didn’t even notice he was shivering before.
“All right,” Frank says brusquely. “You need to change into something dry, and then you tell me about your ghost, yes? I’ll make us some tea.”
“Tea sounds good,” Spencer says. To be perfectly honest, he’s not sure he wants to tell Frank about that strange encounter in the rain, about Ross-about Ross proposing to him, the mere thought still enough to make him choke on his surprise. Maybe he dreamed it up; a nightmare conjured by a sense of disorientation and the rush of falling rain.
“Camomile?” Frank asks.
“Perfect.” Spencer gives him a brief smile, but it feels slippery, hard to hold on to, so he turns away quickly and disappears into his room. He keeps his hands busy sorting through his suitcase, laying out dry clothes that match, but in the end, he just puts on his pyjama and towels his hair off roughly.
Frank raises a brow when he comes into the kitchen and sits down at the table, drawing one leg up onto the chair. “It’s not even noon, and already you’re in your bed clothes?” Frank asks. As if to underline the question, the kettle on the stove whistles its pride at getting the water to boil.
Spencer lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “They’re comfortable.”
A soft, drawn-out humming sound. Frank spoons herbs into a pot and fills it up with hot water, the scent of camomile and warmth immediately filling the room. “So,” he asks without looking away from his task. “What happened?”
Spencer studies Frank’s profile - the sharp cut of his nose, the friendly tilt of his mouth - and makes a decision. “I ran into Ross,” he says.
Frank looks up. “Oh?” he says.
“Yes, oh,” Spencer says. “It was… a remarkable encounter.”
There’s a soft clink as Frank sets the pot down on the table between then, taking the chair opposite Spencer. “How so?” he asks.
“Well.” Spencer clears his throat. “The conversation basically began with him insulting my family and my social status. And my virtue, if I remember correctly.”
“I would have thought Ross had more tact than that,” Frank comments dryly. “Although I cannot say that the general idea behind it comes as much of a surprise.”
“Considering it was followed by a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage…” Spencer trails off and shakes his head, watches his hands as barely noticeable shivers run through them. Maybe it’s just the remnants of cold.
For a few seconds, Frank sits entirely still. Then he says, tone disbelieving, “Ross proposed to you.”
“Yes,” Spencer says.
Frank jumps to his feet, hands clenched into fists by his side. “The bastard,” he hisses. “How dare he propose to-He’s engaged to Gerard, how dare he even consider proposing to anyone else when he already has Gerard, how dare he play Gerard like this when Gerard obviously-” He cuts himself off.
“Likes Ross?” Spencer finishes the thought.
Frank sits back down, small and miserable. “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t seen any expression of affection that goes beyond friendship,” Spencer says, and how did he end up being the voice of reason here, bringing his friend’s jealous surges down when he himself actually needs someone to calm him, how? It doesn’t seem fair.
“I’m sorry,” Frank says in that moment, as if he’d caught an edge of Spencer’s thoughts. “You just had a proposal thrown at you by Ross, of all people, and I’m thinking about all the reasons why Ross isn’t worthy of Gerard.”
“An understandable reaction,” Spencer admits.
“Yes, but not one that sheds a good light on my skills as a friend,” Frank says, grinning slightly even though Spencer can tell it takes some effort.
“You are a good friend,” Spencer says. “I’d never doubt it.”
Frank grins, more honest now, and leans forward with his hands laced on the table. “Then tell me about your reaction.”
“I, um.” Spencer taps a knuckle against the teapot and avoids Frank’s eyes. “I told him all the reasons why I would never even consider a marriage with him. Brendon and Jon, and-You remember that conversation we overheard that day at the river, Ross and Pete? Although Ross said something that made me doubt whether I…”
“Since when has Ross been the most reliable source of information?” Frank asks sharply.
“Well, no.” Spencer shakes his head slightly, then nods. Even if Ross insinuated what Spencer thinks he did, it was revealed in a moment of high tension, and it’s not Spencer’s place to spread rumours.
Although it is fairly ironic that Ross thought to question Spencer’s virtue, when he himself really seems to be the one with a past that is less than clean.
*
The rain lets up sometime during the night, and when morning breaks, it is to the timid light of the sun filtering in through the curtains of Spencer’s room. He slept fitfully most of the night, for the first time desperately missing the reassuring warmth of Brendon by his side, despite Brendon’s tendency to claim much more than his share of the mattress.
Spencer pads down to the kitchen before he hears any sign of movement from Frank’s room, grabbing an apple on his way into the garden. He’s still in his pyjamas, but with a coat thrown over it he doubts it will be obvious to any passer-by. Not that there even are that many; the path going past Frank’s house serves the sole purpose of connecting Rosings to the town.
There’s a small wooden bench cowering against the wall, and Spencer sits down and closes his eyes against the sun that’s still clinging to the horizon, golden and blinding. He pulls the cloak tighter around himself and inhales the scent of wet grass and summer.
The sound of hooves makes him slit his eyes open, then wish he hadn’t. Ross dismounts his horse, graceful as ever. He ties it to the fence surrounding Frank’s house and approaches.
“Good morning,” he says, voice cool and distant. If he’s nervous, nothing about his posture gives him away.
Spencer suppresses a sigh and rises to his feet. The bottom of his pyjamas is just visible, and he doubts Ross will miss it. Well. At least it will strengthen his belief that Spencer is an unsuitable match for him. “Good morning,” Spencer says, with a marginal delay.
Ross nods and reaches into the pocket of his coat. His shoulder is partly blocking the sun, highlighting his left cheek and ear. “Here,” he says, holding out his hand.
Spencer glances at the envelope. “I,” he begins, but Ross interrupts him. Ross’s gaze is fixed on a spot above Spencer’s head.
“Please do me the honour of at least reading this,” he says softly. “I promise, they don’t contain a renewal of my misjudged offer from yesterday. Nothing that should make you uncomfortable.”
Spencer swallows and accepts the letter, trying not to jump when Ross’s fingers brush over his palm. “Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly.
Ross inclines his head, then turns briskly and strides away to his horse. Spencer watches him depart with a mixture of relief and dread weighing heavy in his stomach. Only when Ross has disappeared from sight does he sit back down, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The envelope is made of heavy, expensive paper, and Spencer turns it over a few times in his hand, studying the carefully drafted ‘Mr Spencer Smith’ before he finally opens it. Three sheets fall out, folded twice.
Spencer smoothes them out on his thighs and finishes the apple. He throws the apple core as far as he can, watches it land in deep grass, and then, running out of excuses, he finally starts to read.
_______________
>> Chapter 7
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77’000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5v2.
Linger - The Cranberries
Spencer loves Hertfordshire; the fields and the trees that are scattered seemingly at random around the river, lower boughs dipping into the water, the small, rolling hills and the horizon that seems to stretch on forever beyond them. He has always considered it one of the most beautiful places in the world - despite his definite lack of experiencing other places in the world - and certainly his most favourite place.
Kent, he begins to realise very quickly, is an entirely different form of beautiful.
It rains quite frequently (indeed, his first full day is spent inside playing cards by the fire) and there are few farms, with the result that the grass is the purest shade of green Spencer has ever seen. It’s the beginning of steeper, rockier country (“Leading on towards Derbyshire,” Frank informs Spencer when he marvels upon how quickly out of breath he gets climbing the hills) and the hills seem to climb up onwards and towards the furthest mountains. Only a few miles away from Frank’s house is a forest, an old, wild one like the kind you hear stories off (Brendon and Spencer’s hero, growing up, was Robin Hood). Kent seems closer to nature somehow, and Spencer half expects to wake up and find the trees have closed in around the house, tapping on the windows with gingerly outstretched branches, reclaiming old territory.
He tells Frank so and Frank laughs, saying, “It does have that effect on you at first, I suppose. I’ve grown up here, so I’m used to it. I’m afraid it is my duty to inform you that thus far there have been no cases of walking trees.”
They are expected to go over to Rosings Park the evening after Spencer arrives, but just as they are about to get ready Gerard arrives at the door with the news that his grandmother’s rheumatism is playing up again, and that she begs leave to defer their visit for a few days (although, judging by the face Gerard makes when he says ‘begs’, Spencer doubts she does any such thing). Frank nods and smiles, but Gerard makes no move to go, lingers a little guiltily at the door and in the end Frank laughs and steps aside to let him in.
“My grandmother’s rheumatism is, apparently, much worse when I am there to annoy her with my talk,” Gerard informs Spencer. They spend the evening instead gambling with honey glazed nuts and swapping stories. (Gerard has a nearly endless supply of tales about embarrassing things Frank or Mikey - Gerard’s somewhat shyer younger brother - have done in their life, a lot of which involve falling off horses/out of trees/getting humiliated by the Lady Helena, and all of which make Spencer laugh and Frank turn red; Spencer pays them back with stories about the various exploits he and Brendon have gotten up to.)
Spencer goes to bed before either of them, and when he wakes up in the morning Gerard is already in the kitchen eating breakfast. Spencer blinks at him and Gerard turns a little pink in the cheek, says, “Oh, it was too late to go home last night.”
“I thought I was in the only guest room?” Spencer asks, and Gerard shrugs.
“Frankie has a sofa in his bedroom, it’s not too uncomfortable,” he explains and Spencer turns around so Gerard can’t see him bite his lip to withhold a giggle.
They spend the next few days in a pleasant state of exploring the land outside, when the weather permits, and talking. Gerard spends a lot of time with them, but Frank doesn’t seem to find it that unusual, doesn’t excuse it in the least, and Spencer begins to harbour some suspicions about Frank’s supposed one-sided feelings, which are only made greater when Gerard brings his younger brother with him one time. Michael - Mikey - seems to get on with Frank very well, but he’s quiet during his visit which Spencer thinks is probably down to a stranger being in their midst. When he’s not offering quiet, dry comments up to the room, though, he’s watching Frank and his brother with an exasperated sort of affection that makes Spencer have to disguise laughter with coughing.
Wonderful as it is to have pleasant company that Spencer can be himself with, it is clear that it cannot last. Four days after his arrival, a letter, delivered by a young servant, arrives in the late afternoon inviting Frank and Spencer to dine at Rosings Park that evening.
“Why didn’t Gerard come over and ask?” Spencer asks that night as he buttons up his shirt, and Frank rolls his eyes.
“Sometimes Lady Helena decides she wants him to impress guests,” he says. “Usually if it’s just me she won’t bother - she already thinks it’s my fault Gerard is… well, Gerard - but you’re new company. You’ll be under scrutiny tonight and in case you should measure up to what she expects in people, she’ll want Gerard to look his best.”
“I can’t wait,” Spencer says grimly, and Frank laughs.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
“A few hours,” Spencer repeats, and Frank grins and steps forward to straighten his collar.
*
Mikey meets them at the door when they arrive, and he grimaces at them, looking intensely uncomfortable in his boots and starched shirt. “It’s going to be hell, tonight,” he says dismally. “Ryan’s here. Gerard’s been trapped in all afternoon. I don’t know if he’s still alive, actually.”
Frank and Spencer exchange looks and Spencer’s heart sinks a little - as if this night wasn’t going to be bad enough already. All Frank says, though, is, “You couldn’t go in and keep him company? Mikey, where’s the brotherly affection?”
Mikey shrugs apathetically. “He’s not completely alone,” he says. “He’s got Ryan.”
“Poor old Gerard,” Spencer murmurs, and Frank giggles nervously. Mikey shoots him a curious look, but then apparently decides to ignore him.
“Anyway,” he continues blithely, “I’m not going to sacrifice myself up to Grandma, too. She’s family and I love her and all, but sometimes I wish she would just stay quiet for a while.”
“Come on, then,” Frank says. “Into the den of the lion. Look cheerful, Smith, she’ll attack you much quicker if she suspects for a second you don’t want to be here.”
Spencer forces a smile and Frank grins at him, but his eyes look tired and a little sad. Spencer wants to say, I don’t think Gerard spends every hour he can with Ross or tells stories about when he was young or shares his bedroom whenever possible, but Mikey is leading them up the stairs so Spencer keeps his mouth shut.
Mikey leaves them waiting outside the door and then walks in; through the crack, Spencer can just see him lean over an older, imposing looking woman and murmur in her ear. She says, “Oh, Mr Iero and his friend?” in a cold, strident voice, as though she hasn’t been expecting them. “Fine. Send them in.”
Mikey comes back for them and makes a face that makes Spencer have to smother a laugh, and they walk in together and bow politely. Lady Helena is sitting closest to the fire, with a miserable looking Gerard next to her. And in the tall-backed armchair, with his face turned towards the flickering flames, is the unmistakable form of Ross.
Ross looks up, meets Spencer’s eyes, and his hand jerks, slopping wine from his glass onto the carpet.
“Oh!” Lady Helena says, surprised. “Mr Ross, what have you-”
“My apologies, Aunt,” Ross says, and he looks embarrassed after all, cheeks red in the glow of the fire. He slips from the chair onto his knees, setting the glass upright on a small table, and mops at the carpet with his handkerchief. Spencer blinks at him in disbelief.
“Get up, sir,” Lady Helena says sweetly. “A simple accident - no harm done - a servant can clean it up-”
Ross stands up awkwardly and looks at Spencer and Frank, bows slightly. “Mr Iero,” he says. “Mr Smith. I didn’t realise you were in Kent.”
“I’m visiting Frank,” Spencer says dumbly, and Ross nods, looks away.
“So you’re Mr Smith,” Lady Helena says, standing up and looking him up and down. “Well, well. My grandson seems to most value your companionship.”
“And I his,” Spencer replies, casting a nervous glance at Gerard. Gerard nods with a small jerk of his head and gives Spencer a secretive thumbs up. “Thank you for your kind invitation to dinner.”
“Hmmph,” Lady Helena says. Her hair is piled high on her head, gray strands that frame a delicate face. Spencer assumes she was beautiful once. “Well,” she says, her tone impatient. “Do sit down, then.”
Spencer waits for Frank to assume the place closer to Gerard (and, initially, Lady Helena) before he sits down as well. He takes note of the near-imperceptible shift of Gerard’s stance, towards Frank and away from his aunt. Spencer glances at Ross, just quickly.
Ross has gone back to watching the flames with a dark expression in his eyes. He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything, though. Even if he had, Spencer rather doubts he’d care; Ross doesn’t seem the type to get jealous. Mostly because he doesn’t seem the type to care enough to be jealous in the first place. Spencer wonders how upset he’d be if Gerard were to break the engagement off. He nearly snorts at the thought; Ross’s only cause of offence would probably be losing out to someone of considerably lower social rank.
Ross turns his head very suddenly, and Spencer looks away a split second too late. He can feel his cheeks starting to colour.
“I suppose you do have fairly remarkable eyes,” Lady Helena says right into his embarrassment, sounding reluctant to allow for even that much. Spencer’s gaze flies to her, and he can’t quite hide his surprise.
“Excuse me?” he says.
“Well, dear.” She lifts her brow in a perfect arch. “You are quite a handsome young man, but the bone structure of your face is in no way exceptional, surely you must be aware of that.” Spencer opens his mouth and is about to say something when she continues, smiling blithely. “Nothing like my nephew here, for example. His bone structure is truly extraordinary.”
“Dear Aunt,” Ross interjects smoothly. “I rather doubt Mr Smith is in any way interested in my bone structure.”
Well. Now there’s one thing Spencer and Ross can finally agree on. Who would have thought.
Lady Helena turns towards Ross, shaking her head. “You can’t begrudge me for looking out for Mr Iero. He does need a suitable partner, given his position as a teacher.”
Spencer manages to disguise his rather undignified sound of astonishment as a cough. Next to him, Frank shifts uncomfortably while Gerard looks even paler than before. Ross, holding himself perfectly straight, is staring hard into the flames, no emotion discernible in his expression.
“I hope your ladyship will forgive me,” Spencer says carefully. “But Frank and I are by no means intending to enter into a relationship of that sort.”
Frank nods quickly, but remains silent - a rather unusual occurrence for him. Maybe the combined presences of Ross and Lady Helena robbed him of his capacity of speech.
“Oh?” She sounds disappointed. “I was under the impression that finding yourself a suitable partner was the sole purpose of your visit to Hertfordshire, Mr Iero.”
Frank shrugs and stares down at the carpet. Next to him, Gerard holds himself very still, and for the first time, Spencer can see where some people’s misperception of him as withdrawn and shy would originate.
Also, this is pathetic. Spencer’s not about to put his parents to shame, but that certainly doesn’t mean that he’s going to let himself be intimidated by an old scarecrow.
“Finding a suitable partner isn’t an easy feat,” he says, keeping his tone pleasant. He folds his hands on his thighs and raises his head, smiling at Lady Helena. “Surely your Ladyship wouldn’t want Frank to choose someone he could never actually love.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you a romantic, Mr Smith?”
“A pragmatic romantic, perhaps,” Spencer says, and he keeps smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt from it. “The thought of a lifetime of misery due to an imprudent marriage holds no appeal to me.” He glances to the side to meet Frank’s gaze, grateful and slightly amazed, and the polite smile is much easier to uphold after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer catches Ross turning to look at him with a thoughtful expression.
“You certainly state your opinions quite forcefully for someone so young,” Lady Helena says, and it’s clearly not a compliment. Spencer lowers his gaze, but he can’t quite bring himself to feel ashamed of speaking up.
“I do have three younger sisters and an older brother,” he says. “It teaches you rather a lot about taking a stand.”
“Is that so,” she says. Her right hand is playing with a golden bracelet wound around her left wrist, the gleaming metal catching some of the flames’ brightness. She turns her gaze on Frank. “Well, be that as it may. Considering Mr Smith’s rather… convincing assurance that you are not engaged. Mr Iero, given your position, do you consider it wise for the two of you to live under one roof, unsupervised? It is only a matter of time for rumours to spread.”
Spencer glances down to see Frank’s left hand, resting in between them on the upholstery, curl into a fist. “I did not invite Spencer here to make him stay at an inn,” Frank says, a faint note of defiance to his tone. “He’s family. People would have more reason to point their finger if I denied him hospitality.”
Mikey, seated in an armchair slightly out of Lady Helena’s line of sight, looks up to grin brightly at Frank. Gerard looks pleased while trying to melt into the couch, and Spencer has to hide a grin of his own. Ross is the only one who doesn’t bat an eye. There might be the faintest curl to the corners of his mouth.
*
In what Spencer interprets as punishment for his disrespectful behaviour, Lady Helena requests (although ‘demands’ might be a more fitting expression, really) that he play the piano for them. The moment he sits down, she proceeds to raise her voice and talk right over Spencer’s hands torturing a simple, light-hearted piece of melody that Brendon wrote a while ago.
Spencer blocks her voice out and concentrates on his finger work. He hasn’t heard from Brendon since that first letter, but he supposes it’s not all that surprising given the many distractions London has to offer, particularly if Jon came to his senses.
If, Spencer repeats disdainfully. He doesn’t feel quite confident enough to replace it with a since, though.
After a few minutes, Ross seems to grow bored with Lady Helena questioning Frank on the next school year’s curriculum. He wanders over to Spencer, wine glass in one hand, and leans against the side of the piano. The sunlight slants into the room at a steep angle, outlining Ross’s profile.
“If you think you can scare me into messing up the melody,” Spencer raises his eyes for a quick, amused glance, “I must disappoint you. I’d mess it up even without your assistance. And also, you’re not half as intimidating as your aunt.”
“You find me intimidating?” Ross asks. He sounds puzzled.
Spencer bares his teeth in a sarcastic grin and tries to keep his fingers from stumbling over a more challenging part of the melody. “Incredibly so,” he says.
Ross shakes his head, a light smirk playing around his mouth. “You don’t appear too intimidated to me.”
“I hide it well,” Spencer says. “I have the natural skill of a liar, keeping the world guessing as to my true intentions. Believe me on that.”
“What a lovely antagonism.” Ross chuckles and sips at his wine. His lips glitter before he licks them dry, and Spencer focuses hard on his hands. “But really,” Ross continues. “I’ve known you but for a few short weeks, and yet I can already tell that you have a hard time disguising your true opinion of… anything at all. I’m afraid you might be the worst liar I know.”
“You must find me rather boring, then,” Spencer says, glancing up for a faint smirk.
“Quite the opposite,” Ross says. “I find it rather refreshing.”
It’s obvious that Ross is mocking. Not that Spencer cares, though. He allows Brendon’s melody to fade before he starts in on another song, something sweet and slow that Brendon sometimes plays as a bedtime song.
“Either way,” Spencer says, “your aunt clearly exceeds whichever amount of intimidation you manage to achieve.”
“To be fair, I don’t even try,” Ross interjects.
Spencer grins and nods his chin towards where Frank is answering Lady Helena’s questions quite dutifully. “Maybe you should. After all, isn’t this where… how was it phrased? Isn’t this where comes in the question whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved? And yes, it might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both, but since love and fear can hardly exist together…” Spencer hits a wrong key and tries not to cringe when he adds, “Your aunt made her choice.”
Ross looks surprised, but only briefly. His eyes are fixed on Spencer’s face, and for all that Spencer claims not to be intimidated, he still has to lower his gaze on the pretence of watching what his hands are doing.
“Well,” Ross says, after a pause. “My aunt might have been one of Machiavelli’s case studies, for all I know. Personally, I wouldn’t say that it is always better to be feared than loved.”
“You wouldn’t?” Spencer asks, allowing for just a hint of doubt to show through.
Ross is about to answer when he’s interrupted by Lady Helena. “What are you discussing so intently, Mr Ross?” she calls over, leaning forward in her seat. “Please do share. You know how much I love a good conversation.”
“We were actually discussing whether French wine really is superior to Spanish one,” Ross replies without even a moment’s hesitance. “I hold it with the French, but Mr Smith here does have a point when he says that Spanish wine tends to have a better body.”
Spencer nods and tries not to make it too obvious that he said no such thing. It is, apparently, a good enough reason to leave the piano, anyway. Spencer sidles back to Frank’s side and sticks close to him, unwilling to be drawn into yet more conversation with Ross.
It can be no more than a few minutes later that a servant announces that dinner is served and they are all led into yet another richly furnished room. There are wooden panels with ornate carvings going around the wall, and the ceiling has white plaster cherubs lurking in the corners. It’s a little overdone for Spencer’s tastes, but he certainly can’t complain about the quality of the food.
He sits next to Frank, with Gerard on Frank’s left side. Gerard, who has retreated even further into himself as the evening goes on, gives Frank a small smile when Frank knocks their feet together under the table, but Lady Helena casts a suspicious look at him and shakes her head.
“Mr Iero,” she says, “Come sit beside Michael. He has missed you during your absence. Mr Ross, if you would like to take Mr Iero’s place?”
Ross’s mouth twitches slightly in the corner but he stands up politely and takes Frank’s seat. Spencer tries not to scowl too openly at his plate; when he looks up, Frank’s expression is one of equal parts annoyance and slight amusement at Spencer’s plight, so Spencer makes a face at him back. Mikey giggles feebly into his soup and Lady Helena glares at them all.
It is clear, though, how much she favours her nephew; she spends most of the meal addressing him, and despite her wealth is not much more subtle than Spencer’s mother. (“Why, you like hounds?” she cries at one point in the evening. “Gerard loves hounds! Don’t you, Gerard?” Ross looks directly at her and says, face straight, “Gerard, as I seem to recall, spends a lot of time running away from dogs,” and Spencer has to stifle a laugh despite himself.)
Ross seems completely disinterested in her, however; he answers her inquiries mostly with typical monosyllabic responses and spends most of the meal talking quietly to Gerard. Frank watches them with a poorly concealed frown and even Spencer wonders at how Gerard - who had seemed so kind and friendly and uncaring when it comes to manners and social status - could possibly find anything remotely likeable in Ross. He seems perfectly content to talk to him, though, even loosens up enough to start smiling a little, and when Spencer glances over at Frank he sees that his friend is concentrating on cutting up his food into very small pieces, offering just enough contributions to Mikey and Lady Helena’s conversation so as not to be rude.
Just as the desert is served, though, and Spencer thinks he’s managed to make it through an uncomfortably placed meal, Ross turns to him and says, “Are you enjoying Kent, Mr Smith?”
“Uh,” Spencer says cleverly, and blinks at him for a moment before clearing his throat a little. “Yes, very much so.”
“It is beautiful countryside,” Ross says, half-smiling and Spencer tries not to stare.
“Indeed,” he agrees guardedly, and wonders if blurting out why have you decided to make conversation all of a sudden? would be too unsubtle. Ross just turns back to his meal, though, and in the next few moments Lady Helena demands his attention for conversation again, and that’s the end of that.
*
The next morning, Spencer sleeps in. He wakes up to the sound of Gerard’s voice in the next room and grins, pulling his coat on over his pajamas so as not to get too cold, and then shuffles out into the parlour. He has a split second in the doorway to see Frank making frantic gestures at him and then he steps into the room.
Ross - impeccably dressed, of course - turns around and stares at him.
Spencer has never been more aware of his threadbare pajamas and rumpled hair in his life. He can feel his cheeks going red and he likes Gerard, he really does, but at that moment he would be perfectly happy to murder the man in cold blood. Who else would be quite happy to spring Ross on them this early in the morning with no warning whatsoever? Previously Spencer has thought Gerard’s obliviousness to those around him to be somewhat adorable, but now - as Gerard looks up and beams at him, apparently ignorant of the tension in the room - he decides that it is not only a poor character trait but a curse on Spencer’s life.
“Spencer!” Gerard says. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Fine, thank you,” Spencer says. “Excuse me, I’ll just - I wasn’t expecting company this early.”
“Clearly not,” Ross says, and Spencer has the uncomfortable feeling that the man is laughing at him.
By the time he has gone, gotten dressed and returned to the small group, Ross and Gerard are preparing to leave. Gerard says, “I’ll probably stop by a little later, Frankie. Don’t bother seeing us out, I should think I know the way by now - oh, hello again, Spencer. We didn’t wake you just now, did we?”
“No,” Spencer says.
“Good,” Ross says, and then he bows gravely and leads the way out of the room, Gerard trailing behind him. Spencer waits for the sound of the front door shutting before he rounds on Frank, who has thrown his hands up, laughing.
“Don’t!” Frank says. “I didn’t know how to slip out of the room and warn you, and then you barged right in… oh God, Spence, your face, I thought I would die. In your pajamas!”
“I was - Frank!” Spencer stammers. “God, I really didn’t need to give him another reason to think me an idiot, I’m so sick of him looking down his stupid nose at me, I can’t-”
“I actually thought Ross was going to laugh aloud,” Frank agrees sympathetically. “Sorry, Spencer. Just, don’t worry about him. The man’s a pompous fool.”
“And my personal curse,” Spencer agrees, sinking into a chair. “He seems to crop up everywhere I go.”
“I’m afraid that’s a trend not likely to cease anytime soon,” Frank says. “Gerard is still… strangely fond of him. He seems determined to inflict Ross upon our company as much as possible during his stay.”
“Can’t we say something to him?” Spencer asks, desperate. “Frank, much as I enjoy your company, much of my purpose in coming to Kent was to escape from Ross’s like in Hertfordshire.”
“No, I understand,” Frank says. “We’ll talk to Gerard. He might understand. He’s always been - I don’t understand why he likes Ross, but it’s clear that he… anyhow.” He looks down and Spencer reaches over, touches his hand lightly. Frank smiles up at him. “We’ll talk to Gerard,” he repeats.
That afternoon, though, when Gerard returns (mercifully alone) Frank tries to raise the issue as nicely as possible, but all Gerard does is blink at them in disbelief. “Ryan’s nice,” he protests. “He’s clever and funny and a good friend, I don’t understand-”
“Maybe for you,” Frank says awkwardly, while Spencer gapes at Gerard in disbelief. “But he’s certainly more… concerned with social status than you, and-”
“No,” Gerard says obstinately, shaking his head. “No, Frankie, you’re being unfair. You don’t even know him! Besides, he’s always been very… understanding towards me, and I like him. Ryan’s loyal towards his friends. I’m going to offer him the same honour.”
“Loyal,” Spencer snorts doubtfully, and Gerard swings around, looks at him unhappily.
“He is,” Gerard protests. “You two don’t know him. He - okay, for example? He was in another town with his best friend, recently, and his friend had the misfortune of being cornered into a love affair, of sorts. Motivated mostly by the gentleman in question’s family, I believe. I suspect they were very much like my grandmother. Anyhow, Ryan realised that his friend was being trapped into an unsuitable marriage, and he quickly managed to convince his friend of the stupidity of his love, and how it was all a matter of lies, and such.”
A matter of lies.
Spencer feels dizzy, hollow and shocked. He’d suspected, of course, but he’d no idea that-
Frank looks at him, biting his lip, and Spencer takes a deep breath. “What was the friend’s name?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay even.
“Jonathan Walker,” Gerard says. “They’ve been friends since Ryan was at school.”
Spencer nods meaninglessly, staring at the carpet. His voice feels very small when he asks, “So Ro- Mr Ross separated the two?”
“Talked Walker out of it, apparently,” Gerard tells him. “And got them out of the county as quickly as possible, before Walker could change his mind.”
“Okay,” Spencer says. “Okay.”
*
“Spencer,” Frank says the moment Gerard has made it out of earshot, his horse ambling along the path leading towards Rosings.
“Yes,” Spencer says - rather grimly, he’s aware.
“It’s probably not-”
“Like hell it’s not,” Spencer explodes, rounding on Frank when he’s really only looking for someone, anyone to take his anger out on with Ross sadly unavailable. Rather ironic, isn’t it, that the one time he wants the man to be there, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Frank’s eyes narrow. “Don’t yell at me, Spencer. This isn’t my fault.”
“Oh, now you suddenly manage to stand up for yourself?” Spencer raises a brow, and he feels sick to the stomach and taking his anger out on Frank doesn’t make it better, not at all, and yet he can’t seem to stop. “Because you didn’t seem quite so willing to do that when Lady Helena was questioning you.”
“That’s because I don’t care what her Ladyship throws at me, just as long as she doesn’t ban me from seeing Gerard,” Frank retorts. He pauses and takes a step forward, closer. “With you, I do care.”
Spencer deflates and turns away. “Sorry,” he mutters, suddenly ashamed of himself.
“I know where it came from.” Frank’s tone is more gentle than Spencer thinks he probably deserves, but he’s not about to complain.
“Yes, but still. It really wasn’t… I shouldn’t have.” He leans back against the wall of Frank’s house and tries to think clearly. All his brain comes up with is the sad image of Brendon clutching a letter.
“Well, it is true that I let Lady Helena talk me into proposing to someone not Gerard. So, you know. You may have had a point.” Frank shrugs and leans close to Spencer, shoulders brushing as if he were offering unspoken comfort. “Just my luck that it was you.”
“Don’t belittle it,” Spencer says, vainly striving for a humorous tone. “It might be the only offer of marriage that I’ll ever get. It is very special to me.”
Frank turns to look at him, his eyes sympathetic. “Spence…”
Spencer looks down and scuffs one shoe over the gravel. “Could I,” he asks quietly, “maybe borrow your horse?”
“So you can hunt down Ross?”
Spencer snorts. “My parents taught me better than that. No.” He glances at Frank. “Just. I think I need some fresh air right now, and I need to move and clear my head. I promise, when I return, I’ll be perfectly polite to Ross whenever he crosses my path.”
“What a shame,” Frank says thoughtfully. “I would have loved watching you spit fire at the man. He certainly deserves it.”
“He does,” Spencer says. “But I’m not about to confirm his prejudices against my family by treating him with anything less than courteous respect. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose it does,” Frank says. He sounds wistful about it.
*
Spencer bits Frank’s horse at the rim of an open field, lush green that is framed by a stretch of forest. Above the trees, light grey clouds come together to build mountains. There’s a tear in the cover, though, and through it, sunlight floods the sky, brightening the edge of one cloud to a sharp silhouette.
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Under him, the horse’s body expands with a breath.
All right, then.
Rosings is a dot in the distance, a speck made of weathered stones and windows that reflect the light even from a distance. Spencer stares at the spot for a while, considering his options. But when it comes down to it, there really aren’t that many. Yelling at Ross is only going to prove him right, and flat-out avoiding him will be hardly possible since Gerard insists on being a loyal friend.
As loyal as Ross was, apparently, to him. Maybe Ross talked Gerard out of marrying Frank, then.
Spencer sighs and slowly turns the horse around, back towards Frank’s place. It’s the time of long days and short nights, but since Lady Helena will most likely demand the company of Gerard, Mikey and Ross, chances are that Frank will be rather bored. And Spencer did come here to spend time with him.
He’s not going to let Ross ruin this vacation. And the question of whether or not to tell Brendon about the whole thing... Well. It's an answer that can wait for a few days longer.
*
To no one's surprise, Ross is very skilled at poker. To Spencer's surprise, Ross is incredibly bad at chess. He messes up which figure moves in what way, misses even the most obvious dangers to his king, and through it all, he chuckles whenever Spencer takes one of his figures out.
“Planning ahead has never been one of my talents,” Ross admits easily when Spencer doesn't manage to bite down on a comment anymore. “Poker is perfectly fine; it allows me to act on a step-by-step basis. Chess is too much of a challenge for my nonexistent strategy skills.”
Spencer is vaguely aware that he's staring at Ross as if the man had just renounced his title and transferred his estate to Pete. Well. At least Pete wouldn't use the weight of his wealth to prevent other people's marriages.
“What?” Ross asks, amused.
Spencer shakes his head and looks away, moving his queen two fields to the right. “Nothing,” he says. “And check.”
Gerard returns from the kitchen to hear the last part of Spencer's sentence. He sets a plate piled high with biscuits down on the table next to the chessboard and laughs, sounding delighted and relaxed. “You are so incredibly bad at this,” he tells Ross.
“No need to sound so pleased about it,” Ross says, a smile in his eyes as he glances up at Gerard.
“Oh, but there is need,” Gerard replies. “Very much so. You are such a bad loser, after all.” He sits down on the armrest of Ross’s chair, and Spencer can't help but cringe a little at their effortless interaction. Not that Gerard is physically distant with Frank, but, still. Spencer is rather glad that Frank is still in the kitchen to prepare another round of tea.
“I am not a bad loser,” Ross protests.
“You refused to play another game with me ever again after you lost to me in our first letter-guided game, remember?”
“Well,” Ross says. “Contrary to popular opinion, I did mature somewhat since then. I'm perfectly content to lose to Mr Smith right now, see?”
“You didn't mature,” Gerard says. He leans forward to move a figure in Ross’s place before he continues. “You grew jaded.” His tone is teasing, but there's a solemn edge to the words.
Ross turns to him, apparently forgetting about Spencer's presence for the time being. Which is a change that Spencer can live with, in all honesty. “I learned not to misplace my trust,” Ross says, quite seriously. “That's a whole different matter.”
“All right,” Gerard says, shaking his head with a small smile. “Have it your way, then. You always do, after all.”
“Thank you,” Ross says, his tone pleasant.
With their private conversation apparently finished, Spencer moves his knight and flattens his palms against the tabletop. “It was a brave move,” he tells Gerard. “A nice try to save your friend. Still, though. Checkmate.”
Ross glances at the board, then at Spencer’s face. “Well played,” he compliments, and his lips curve into an astonishingly sweet smile that has Spencer smiling back before he remembers all the reasons not to.
He turns away and mutters a curt, “Thank you.” The sensation of Ross’s dark, intent gaze lingering on his face stays with him for a few moments longer.
*
Frank wakes Spencer early two days later, the light that trickles through the curtains still dark grey. “Get up,” he announces as he comes barging into Spencer’s room. “We’re watching the sun rise. From up on the hill. It’ll be beautiful.”
Spencer wraps the blankets tighter around himself. “I hope that’s the royal we,” he mumbles, tongue sleep-heavy.
“That’s a you and me we,” Frank corrects. He moves across the room to draw the curtains opens abruptly, and yes, the glimpse of sky Spencer spies through the window is of a dark grey, morning barely more than a faint possibility. Frank turns, hands on his hips. “Come on,” he says. “I did this many times with Gerard, and trust me, it’s never not stunning when the sky is as cloudless as it is today. We should take the chance. The weather never stays this beautiful for long here in Kent.”
Spencer sighs and pushes the blanket down to his shoulders. “If you did this so many times with Gerard already, why don’t you just go and get him?”
Frank frowns. “For all I know, he’s going to watch the sunrise with Ross. I’d rather not be around for that.”
“I doubt that,” Spencer says. He’s awake now, though, so he sits up with a long sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “All right, then. I suppose you wouldn’t let me go back to sleep anyway.”
Frank’s grin is bright in the twilight. “Not a chance,” he says pleasantly.
Spencer gets dressed as quickly as possible - Frank turns his back, disgustingly wide awake and chatty about how beautiful it is up on the hill and so on and so forth - and pushes a hand through his hair uselessly. He doesn’t think he can be bothered combing it right now, so they set off into the cold morning air.
Even with his coat, it’s freezing this early and Spencer’s teeth start chattering, hunching back into his shoulders. The cold air seems to suit Frank, Spencer thinks dourly; he looks bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, and Spencer is not surprised that Gerard enjoys going up to watch the sunrise with him. Really, Spencer is not entirely sure just how Frank could be so oblivious to Gerard’s obvious attentions, but he doubts Frank would believe him should he mention the matter to him.
They reach the top of the hill just as the first rays of sun begin to peek out over the horizon, a little out of breath, faint mists hanging in the air every time they exhale. The grass is frosty and damp, so Spencer resists the urge to sit down and instead leans on Frank’s shoulder, blinking sleepily. Frank talks quietly, plans of what to do today, something about a dance in town in a week’s time that maybe they could sneak Gerard out for, and Spencer is content to simply sit and listen, humming contented responses now and then.
The sun does not rise spectacularly; there is no sudden burst of light, but the tentative rays seem to highlight different parts of the landscape and make them glow in the cold morning, and Spencer is glad that Frank dragged him up here. It’s weird, he thinks, how the sun takes ages to rise properly, and then all of a sudden it’s just there, and you don’t know how you could have missed that crucial moment. This morning is the same - Spencer mumbles, without further elaboration, “I don’t know how, but I always seem to blink right as it…”
Frank nods, getting it without explanation. “Me too,” he says. Spencer grins and turns his face against the harsh material of Frank’s coat. He thinks, I’m glad you’re my friend but doesn’t say it aloud; thinks it would be just a little too cliché, out here in the early morning. Nevertheless, Frank turns his head and smiles down at him, so maybe he doesn’t need to say it after all.
After a while, when the light on the landscape below them has stopped changing so frequently (albeit minutely) and they are both blinking into the glare, Frank sighs and says, “Anyway, it’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Spencer agrees, and stretches. “The mornings out here are very lovely. Almost worth getting me out of bed for.”
Frank laughs, and then his stomach growls and it’s Spencer’s turn to laugh. “I’m starving,” Frank admits a little guiltily. “Come on, let’s head back to the house. I thinks Mrs Jenkins said she was going to make eggs this morning. Possibly some cocoa, too.”
“Actually,” Spencer says thoughtfully, “The morning is so nice - would you mind if I wandered for a little while? I’ll come join you later.”
“If you like,” Frank says cheerfully, and then casts a dubious glance up at the sky. “I’d be careful, though. Look, the clouds are already starting to gather. We’d have no fun if you got sick.”
“What,” Spencer says, faux-affronted, “You wouldn’t read me stories by my bedside? For shame, Frank.”
Frank laughs and they turn in opposite directions. Spencer walks onwards, up towards the steeper hills, while Frank heads back to the house. Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets and hums softly to himself. The morning really is beautiful, despite the cold.
He gets distracted from the surroundings, though, wondering how Brendon is doing in London - resolving to write to him when he returns to Frank’s house, and actually demand a response this time - and how the girls are at home. He hopes Marianne’s hopes of visiting Kensington with the militia have been dashed, feeling a little bit guilty at wishing unhappiness on her, but ultimately righteous. He doubts all the soldiers will lose interest in someone as quickly as Pete did.
He ends up so distracted that he doesn’t even notice the impending rain until a particularly loud clap of thunder; then he looks up, spots the sky, and swears loudly just as the clouds open up and the rain starts to fall. It’s no light drizzle that slowly intensifies; it feels as if someone’s dumped a bucket of water on Spencer’s head, almost, and he starts running - through the blur of rain he can see a shelter up on top of the next hill.
He makes it up to the shelter breathless and soaked through, and he leans against the stone wall to catch his breath, looking dismally out into the rain. He wonders how long it will take to ease, and how far he’s actually wandered from Frank’s house. He’s in such a state of annoyance, calculating various things in his head and shivering in his wet clothes, that he barely notices the other figure advancing towards him until it is only a few paces away.
Ross is not hurrying through the rain; he moves with a fast, intent purpose to his strides, and when he gets close enough to distinguish properly Spencer can see that his eyes are huge and dark in his white face, and he looks almost desperate in the falling rain. He too is soaked through. When he reaches the shelter, though, he doesn’t attempt to dry off in any way, just stares at Spencer with his fists clenched by his side. His hair is plastered to the side of his face and his coat is open, letting Spencer see how his shirt clings to his skin.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, bowing and hating his luck - who else would he get caught with in a storm, really.
“Mr Smith,” Ross says tightly, and moves in under the shelter, shakes his head like a wet dog. Droplets fly out and Spencer wipes them off his face a little impatiently.
He says, “You got caught in the rain too, I see,” striving for lightness, but Ross just nods. He turns around and paces away from Spencer, back drawn up straight and tall, chin tilted up in some strange gesture of defiance.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, tentatively, and Ross turns around, stares at Spencer as though at a ghost. He asks, “Are you well?” and Ross explodes into action, slamming an outstretched palm against the stone wall of the shelter.
“Damn it!” Ross says, and strides closer to him, fast and purposeful until they are only inches apart. Spencer blinks at him, unsure what to say or how to react but it appears he doesn’t need to worry - Ross is already talking.
“Enough,” he says, eyes fixed on Spencer’s face, sounding almost breathless. “I’ve had - enough, damn it. I’ve tried to be quiet. I’m not going to - these past weeks have been more than I can bear. I can’t conceive how to explain to you about the conflict within me - the expectations of my friends and family, the nature of your family, our respective rank, your unfortunate dalliances with officers, not to mention my own better judgment and still, and still-”
“Mr Ross,” Spencer interrupts, bewildered and a little furious, “I don’t know why you’re throwing such things at me with no-”
“I love you,” Ross says, and his voice cracks.
Spencer stays very still.
Ross reaches out a hand almost unconsciously, goes to touch the side of Spencer’s face, but Spencer jolts back minutely and he drops it again. He closes his eyes; Spencer can see the swell of his chest as he takes in a breath and says, again, “I love you. Every moment we’ve been in the same room since - since Netherfield and I cannot bear it anymore. I - I saw you walking up here and I couldn’t stand by and remain silent anymore. I am begging you to please - to please relieve me of my agony and accept my hand in marriage.”
Spencer looks down, head reeling. There’s an overwhelming need to sit down somewhere and think, or find Frank or Brendon or someone so he can rail against the impossible Ross and the things he has just said. It takes him a moment to realise that Ross is waiting for an answer.
Spencer tilts his head up and answers, as calmly as he can, “I… cannot say I am not astonished at this turn of events. Your behaviour in the past weeks certainly has not led me to expect any such regard and I hope it is clear to you that I have, in no way, tried to solicit it.”
Ross opens his mouth, but Spencer holds up a hand. “Please,” he says, and takes a breath. “As it is, I can only apologise for whatever feelings I have unconsciously roused in you, and hope that the objections you mentioned that stand between our union will overcome your desire for the thing itself.”
For a moment, there is only the sound of the pounding rain; then Ross says, voice strained, “Are you - is that a no?”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer says softly, and Ross’s mouth tightens, white lines forming around the edges.
“I cannot understand,” he says, quietly, “how you would find it within you to laugh at-”
“I am not laughing,” Spencer says.
“You have done nothing but,” Ross tells him, voice getting louder. “Your blatant disrespect for me and all that I-”
“Oh, God, I wonder why!” Spencer yells, temper finally getting the better of him. “First of all, as you’ve been proud, disagreeable and most impolite in nearly every instant I’ve had the honour of sharing your company I see no particular responsibility on my part to be polite in responding to you at all! But if my behaviour has been a poorly conceived response to nothing but courtesy from you, well, shall we examine it for a moment, Mr Ross? Do you truly think I could in any way show any sign of respect, let alone kindly feelings towards someone who has so completely destroyed the happiness of my best friend and most beloved brother? You split them up! Because Brendon was not good enough for you, you ruined any chances of his happiness-”
“No!” Ross interrupts, voice harsh. “No, believe me, it was not motivated entirely by his social rank-”
“Oh, entirely,” Spencer says, voice thick with sarcasm. “Then certainly you are in the right, how stupid of me-”
“I believed him indifferent!” Ross says. “Your whole family made it quite clear what Jon’s importance was to you and Mr Urie made no attempt to show any sort of special affection to Jon at all-”
“Like you would know,” Spencer seethes. “Like you have the insight to understand a single thing beyond your own selfish nature! Don’t you dare try and tell me what Brendon did or did not feel.” Ross says nothing, only stares at him, and Spencer closes his eyes, steeling himself. “And what of Pete?” he asks.
Ross takes a step closer; meets Spencer’s eyes. “Pete,” he hisses, and Spencer nods.
“How would you explain your abominable treatment of Mr Wentz?” he half-shouts. “Your treatment of him is beyond cruel, it is - robbing him of his rightful property and inheritance for mere jealousy! And wreaking such an influence on him that you would deny him his right to even attend a ball with good humour for the threat of seeing you there!”
“Oh, please,” Ross says, and he sounds equal parts disgusted and furious. “Don’t try and fool yourself that Pete’s flirtation with you was anything but a method at getting back at me. He doesn’t deserve your respect anymore than you believe I do-”
“Pete’s a gentleman,” Spencer says, “which is more than I can say for you-”
“Pete is no such thing,” Ross says. “Believe me, I know Pete better than you could ever hope to - certainly he is not always so fond of stopping at kisses on the cheek.” He stops suddenly and looks slightly annoyed at himself. Spencer only blinks at him, trying to comprehend what has just been admitted.
Finally he breathes out and says, “In any case-”
“You needn’t continue,” Ross says, bitterly. “I have the finest sense of clarity about my place in your esteem now, thank you.” He takes a breath and looks away, out into the rain; Spencer watches him, can’t help it, and when Ross turns back their eyes meet and Ross looks suddenly young. He sways forward almost helplessly and then pulls himself straight again, jaw set.
“I will not trouble you again,” Ross says quietly, all the fight apparently gone from him. “I must return to Pemberley tomorrow at any rate. Thank you for your time, Mr Smith.”
Then he turns away and strides back out into the rain, leaving Spencer gaping after him.
*
Frank comes out to meet him when he’s halfway across the front yard, holding his cloak above his head for shelter against the rain. “Where were you?” he asks, the words almost swallowed by the curtain of water.
Spencer blinks and allows Frank to take his elbow, shield both of them with his cloak as they make their way to the door. “Somewhere,” Spencer says vaguely. “I don’t really know.”
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Frank says, glancing at him.
Spencer laughs, can’t help it. It might come out just slightly hysterical. “Something like that,” he says, and then the house envelopes him in its warmth. He didn’t even notice he was shivering before.
“All right,” Frank says brusquely. “You need to change into something dry, and then you tell me about your ghost, yes? I’ll make us some tea.”
“Tea sounds good,” Spencer says. To be perfectly honest, he’s not sure he wants to tell Frank about that strange encounter in the rain, about Ross-about Ross proposing to him, the mere thought still enough to make him choke on his surprise. Maybe he dreamed it up; a nightmare conjured by a sense of disorientation and the rush of falling rain.
“Camomile?” Frank asks.
“Perfect.” Spencer gives him a brief smile, but it feels slippery, hard to hold on to, so he turns away quickly and disappears into his room. He keeps his hands busy sorting through his suitcase, laying out dry clothes that match, but in the end, he just puts on his pyjama and towels his hair off roughly.
Frank raises a brow when he comes into the kitchen and sits down at the table, drawing one leg up onto the chair. “It’s not even noon, and already you’re in your bed clothes?” Frank asks. As if to underline the question, the kettle on the stove whistles its pride at getting the water to boil.
Spencer lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “They’re comfortable.”
A soft, drawn-out humming sound. Frank spoons herbs into a pot and fills it up with hot water, the scent of camomile and warmth immediately filling the room. “So,” he asks without looking away from his task. “What happened?”
Spencer studies Frank’s profile - the sharp cut of his nose, the friendly tilt of his mouth - and makes a decision. “I ran into Ross,” he says.
Frank looks up. “Oh?” he says.
“Yes, oh,” Spencer says. “It was… a remarkable encounter.”
There’s a soft clink as Frank sets the pot down on the table between then, taking the chair opposite Spencer. “How so?” he asks.
“Well.” Spencer clears his throat. “The conversation basically began with him insulting my family and my social status. And my virtue, if I remember correctly.”
“I would have thought Ross had more tact than that,” Frank comments dryly. “Although I cannot say that the general idea behind it comes as much of a surprise.”
“Considering it was followed by a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage…” Spencer trails off and shakes his head, watches his hands as barely noticeable shivers run through them. Maybe it’s just the remnants of cold.
For a few seconds, Frank sits entirely still. Then he says, tone disbelieving, “Ross proposed to you.”
“Yes,” Spencer says.
Frank jumps to his feet, hands clenched into fists by his side. “The bastard,” he hisses. “How dare he propose to-He’s engaged to Gerard, how dare he even consider proposing to anyone else when he already has Gerard, how dare he play Gerard like this when Gerard obviously-” He cuts himself off.
“Likes Ross?” Spencer finishes the thought.
Frank sits back down, small and miserable. “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t seen any expression of affection that goes beyond friendship,” Spencer says, and how did he end up being the voice of reason here, bringing his friend’s jealous surges down when he himself actually needs someone to calm him, how? It doesn’t seem fair.
“I’m sorry,” Frank says in that moment, as if he’d caught an edge of Spencer’s thoughts. “You just had a proposal thrown at you by Ross, of all people, and I’m thinking about all the reasons why Ross isn’t worthy of Gerard.”
“An understandable reaction,” Spencer admits.
“Yes, but not one that sheds a good light on my skills as a friend,” Frank says, grinning slightly even though Spencer can tell it takes some effort.
“You are a good friend,” Spencer says. “I’d never doubt it.”
Frank grins, more honest now, and leans forward with his hands laced on the table. “Then tell me about your reaction.”
“I, um.” Spencer taps a knuckle against the teapot and avoids Frank’s eyes. “I told him all the reasons why I would never even consider a marriage with him. Brendon and Jon, and-You remember that conversation we overheard that day at the river, Ross and Pete? Although Ross said something that made me doubt whether I…”
“Since when has Ross been the most reliable source of information?” Frank asks sharply.
“Well, no.” Spencer shakes his head slightly, then nods. Even if Ross insinuated what Spencer thinks he did, it was revealed in a moment of high tension, and it’s not Spencer’s place to spread rumours.
Although it is fairly ironic that Ross thought to question Spencer’s virtue, when he himself really seems to be the one with a past that is less than clean.
*
The rain lets up sometime during the night, and when morning breaks, it is to the timid light of the sun filtering in through the curtains of Spencer’s room. He slept fitfully most of the night, for the first time desperately missing the reassuring warmth of Brendon by his side, despite Brendon’s tendency to claim much more than his share of the mattress.
Spencer pads down to the kitchen before he hears any sign of movement from Frank’s room, grabbing an apple on his way into the garden. He’s still in his pyjamas, but with a coat thrown over it he doubts it will be obvious to any passer-by. Not that there even are that many; the path going past Frank’s house serves the sole purpose of connecting Rosings to the town.
There’s a small wooden bench cowering against the wall, and Spencer sits down and closes his eyes against the sun that’s still clinging to the horizon, golden and blinding. He pulls the cloak tighter around himself and inhales the scent of wet grass and summer.
The sound of hooves makes him slit his eyes open, then wish he hadn’t. Ross dismounts his horse, graceful as ever. He ties it to the fence surrounding Frank’s house and approaches.
“Good morning,” he says, voice cool and distant. If he’s nervous, nothing about his posture gives him away.
Spencer suppresses a sigh and rises to his feet. The bottom of his pyjamas is just visible, and he doubts Ross will miss it. Well. At least it will strengthen his belief that Spencer is an unsuitable match for him. “Good morning,” Spencer says, with a marginal delay.
Ross nods and reaches into the pocket of his coat. His shoulder is partly blocking the sun, highlighting his left cheek and ear. “Here,” he says, holding out his hand.
Spencer glances at the envelope. “I,” he begins, but Ross interrupts him. Ross’s gaze is fixed on a spot above Spencer’s head.
“Please do me the honour of at least reading this,” he says softly. “I promise, they don’t contain a renewal of my misjudged offer from yesterday. Nothing that should make you uncomfortable.”
Spencer swallows and accepts the letter, trying not to jump when Ross’s fingers brush over his palm. “Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly.
Ross inclines his head, then turns briskly and strides away to his horse. Spencer watches him depart with a mixture of relief and dread weighing heavy in his stomach. Only when Ross has disappeared from sight does he sit back down, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The envelope is made of heavy, expensive paper, and Spencer turns it over a few times in his hand, studying the carefully drafted ‘Mr Spencer Smith’ before he finally opens it. Three sheets fall out, folded twice.
Spencer smoothes them out on his thighs and finishes the apple. He throws the apple core as far as he can, watches it land in deep grass, and then, running out of excuses, he finally starts to read.
_______________
>> Chapter 7