A Most Brilliant Dance, Chapter 10
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77'000 words.
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5.
Jesusland - Ben Folds
The dinner served is delicious, as expected, and fun, which Spencer didn’t expect. Amanda and Ryan are good at talking to each other in a way that opens up conversation around the table, and Spencer takes twice as long to eat his meal, he’s laughing so hard at times. His aunt and uncle look surprised and delighted at the turn of events that has them eating and being treated like favoured friends by the famous Ryan Ross, and Spencer tries not to feel too bewildered by the whole thing as well.
Dinner stretches into dessert, which changes to a fruit and cheese platter, and then wine and chocolate, and finally coffee, and it’s getting very late (and Spencer feels full to bursting) by the time Mr Gardiner sighs regretfully and says, “Well, it is time we bid our farewells,” and rises to his feet. Something uneasy clutches at Spencer’s stomach, and he realises with a start that it is very likely this is the last time he will ever see Ryan. They leave early tomorrow morning, and Spencer expects he’ll never travel as much as these past few weeks for the rest of his life.
He looks at Ryan involuntarily; Ryan’s talking to his aunt, hand on her arm and voice cheerful. Spencer shifts and turns away, swallows hard, and finds that Amanda is standing in front of him, face thoughtful.
“What I don’t understand,” she says in a low voice, “is why, if you hate him so much, you look at him the way you do.”
Spencer starts, and then Ryan announces that he and Amanda will see them out to the carriage, and Spencer has an excuse for turning away. They all troop out together, and Spencer is glad for the cool night air to soothe his hot skin. The fire in the parlour was making his cheeks burn.
They get outside, though, and Mr Gardiner exchanges a few words with the coachman who should be bringing the horses out to hook them up with the carriage, and looks dismayed. “Not again,” he says, and Mrs Gardiner sighs, turns to Ryan.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Our carriage has been rather… temperamental on our journey so far. It shouldn’t take too long to fix it up.”
“No problem at all,” Ryan says easily. “But I have a better idea - Amanda and I will accompany you three back to the inn in one of my carriages. We’ll have yours sent over as soon as it is fixed, and this way you might get a little more rest before your journey tomorrow. Spencer is practically asleep on his feet,” he adds as an afterthought, glancing at him. Spencer grins a little foolishly.
“That’s very kind of you,” Mrs Gardiner says, and a carriage is promptly brought and hooked up to two horses. Spencer finds himself being herded into a seat between Ryan and Amanda before he knows what he’s doing, and he struggles to sit upright. Having had it pointed out to him how tired he is, Spencer starts having trouble staying awake even a little bit, and the gentle rattle of the carriage over the road is as soothing as ever. He closes his eyes and yawns, starts to drift to the side.
“Oh, dear,” his aunt’s voice says, out of the darkness. “I’m so sorry, he must really be tired-”
“It’s fine, please,” someone replies, and then Spencer is asleep.
He wakes up when the carriage jolts to a halt, with his face pressed against the warm skin of someone’s neck and an arm hooked securely around his shoulders to stop him from slipping off the seat. He yawns and feels the arm around him tense, and then he shifts slowly and sits upright, in time to see Amanda slipping out of the carriage on his other side.
“Oh,” he says, voice rough with sleep, and Ryan blinks back at him, face hard to read in the dark. Spencer’s cheeks burn crimson. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay,” Ryan says, and they’re close enough in the dark that Spencer can feel the swell of his lungs as he takes a deep breath. “Come on. I’ll see you inside.”
Spencer stumbles out of the carriage and hears Ryan’s footsteps behind him, but doesn’t turn around or stop and wait. He’s so embarrassed, and his head is still reeling slightly with it when his aunt pokes her head out from the well-lit interior of the inn and says, “Spencer? There’s a letter come for you from Brendon. He’s written urgent on the front.”
In his sleepy stupor, Spencer needs a moment to comprehend. Then he quickens his steps, and behind him, he can hear that Ryan does the same. The inn welcomes them with laughter and brightness and the noise of conversations, shaking Spencer fully out of his drowsiness.
Brendon’s not the type to write the note ‘urgent’ onto a letter unless something really bad had- Spencer cuts the thought off before it can lead to what-if scenarios.
Distantly, he’s aware that his aunt and uncle invite Ryan and Amanda to a nightcap (“something for the road, allow us to repay for at least some of your kindness”), but he barely manages to utter an excuse, grab the letter and retreat to a quiet corner of the room. He thinks that Ryan’s gaze might be resting on him, but he doesn’t turn around to make sure.
The armchair placed at a small single table is an old one. It gives beneath Spencer’s weight when he sinks into it, creaking softly, a faint scent of dust rising from the cushions. Oddly enough, it’s calming.
Spencer takes a deep breath, then exhales carefully and opens Brendon’s letter.
Dear Spencer, Brendon writes. Unfortunately, there is no right way to bring grave news such as these, so I’m going to jump straight into it by stating that Longbourn is in an uproar right now. Mother hasn’t left the bedroom since the letter from the Colonel came, Father has locked himself in his library. Anne is practicing a funeral march on the piano, and Elinor… Well.
I am probably going at this the wrong way, because the actual truth is hard to say. But, here it is: Marianne has run away. We got her first letter that she arrived in Kensington perfectly all right, that the Militia was wonderful to her - you know how she is. And then we heard nothing else, until that letter from the Colonel came to say that she had run away with-with Pete Wentz, of all people. Can you believe it?
What’s worse, it seems that no ceremony has taken place. I’m not losing hope just yet, but Spencer, if this turns out to be the truth, you know as well as I do what this means for all of us. For our family.
I hate to beg you to cut your trip short - you’re probably having fun and all, exploring the country - but I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it here without at least one sane person around. Please, do come home and help me hold on to whatever shreds of sanity I managed to salvage.
- Brendon
For long seconds, or possibly minutes, Spencer doesn’t move. He keeps the letter clenched in his hand, wrinkled from the tightness of his grip, but no discernible thoughts run through his head. It’s a vague string of half-formed ideas, consequences for all of their lives, images and impressions rather than anything definable.
He startles when warm fingers close around his wrist and press a steaming cup into the hand not holding on to the letter. When he looks up, Ryan is studying him carefully. “Are you all right?” he asks, voice so soft it barely reaches Spencer over the sound of other voices.
Spencer looks away, down at the tea in his hand. Instead of a reply, he holds the letter out for Ryan to read. It’s distantly funny to think that Ryan might be the only person to truly grasp the full meaning of it.
While Ryan reads silently, Spencer blows over the surface of his tea, steam dampening his face. He doesn’t raise his eyes to see Ryan’s expression - anger at Pete perhaps, or belated relief at the fact that there is nothing to tie Spencer’s family to the Ross name.
Maybe, if Spencer gets used to the reactions, the rebuttal right here and now, it won’t be so hard later on. Ryan has been silent for a long time.
When he does speak, eventually, it’s not to say what Spencer is already expecting. “This is my fault,” Ryan says, voice low, and when Spencer turns to look at him, Ryan’s face is clouded, a slightly haunted look in his eyes. “This is my fault. If only I’d exposed him for who he was when I had the chance, but I didn’t want-This is probably just another way for him to get back at me through you, anyway, and God, Spencer, I’m sorry.”
If Spencer didn’t know it would be mistaken for hysteria, he’d be laughing now, laughing at himself and his own stupidity, laughing at how it took Ryan’s words to make him see his own mistakes.
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and sips at his tea, burning his tongue in the process. He can’t help but feel as if he deserves that, and much worse. “It is a way for Pete to get back at you,” he says slowly. “Just, not quite the way you probably think.” He swallows and opens his eyes, glancing at Ryan before he lowers his gaze. “I met Pete in London, just before we left for our trip through the country. I told him I was engaged to you.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, and then nothing else.
On the other side of the room, Spencer can see Amanda and his aunt and uncle watching, their faces worried. They turn away quickly when they notice him looking. Spencer takes another sip of his tea. Everything about him feels numb. “I just, I wanted to rile him up,” he tries to explain. “I wanted to see for myself how he’d react. He’s still in love with you, did you know?”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeats quietly. He places the letter on the table, smoothes it out with his palm and stands for a moment longer, wavering. Then he leans down quickly to place a light kiss on Spencer’s cheekbone.
Spencer gives him a smile, but he knows it’s faint, more the ghost of a smile than an actual one. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. It’s true, and if this is the last time they see each other, then at least Spencer didn’t miss his chance to apologize.
Ryan’s answering smile is sad and breathtakingly beautiful. Spencer tries not to think about how much it looks like a goodbye.
*
They leave early the next morning, paying what feels like an exuberant sum for a coachman to take them all the way back to Longbourn as fast as possible. Spencer sleeps a little way of the journey, exhausted from a night of restless slumber, but most of the time he sits wide awake and stares out the window, willing the miles to pass faster.
By the time they get to Longbourn it is near nightfall, and Spencer is tired again, swaying on his feet with a headache from the constant rattle of the wheels and fretting about what he might find at home. Brendon has evidently spied the carriage before it pulls up in front of Longbourn, because he’s waiting out for them, and Spencer tumbles out breathlessly to stand in front of him.
“Spencer,” Brendon says, and smiles a little bit. There are dark circles under his eyes and Spencer guesses that he’s been mostly running the household, the past few days. Spencer seizes him in the biggest hug he can manage, and Brendon hugs him back tight, fingers digging hard into Spencer’s back. When they break away, Brendon makes an honorable attempt at a grin, the tips of his ears slightly red.
“We’ve had more news,” he says, and Spencer’s happiness at seeing Brendon again goes away from him abruptly. “They were sighted in London, apparently. Your father plans to head out there early tomorrow morning.”
“Our father,” Spencer corrects automatically, because he doesn’t like it when Brendon feels the need to distance himself from them. Brendon nods tiredly and turns to Mr Gardiner.
“I think he was hoping for your help,” Brendon says. “We know you must be exhausted from your travelling, and we’re sorry to cut short your holiday so early-”
“I will be delighted to help,” Mr Gardiner says firmly. “Mary and I will spend a night here and then return to London tomorrow morning with your father. We will find them, Brendon.”
“It looks like you’ve done a marvellous job looking after things here,” Mrs Gardiner says, stepping up in front of them. They’ve not yet been inside and she can hardly have any real way of knowing the truth of such a statement, but Brendon slumps forward, letting the tension melt away from his rigid back, and he looks relieved and grateful, so Spencer can hardly begrudge the falsehood. “But you can relax now, dear. Things will be fine, you’ll see.”
“Have you slept at all?” Spencer asks, and Brendon laughs a little weakly, leans into Spencer as a heavy weight.
“You’re one to talk,” Brendon says. “I’d half expected you to arrive in the middle of the night, not content to wait until morning to start out.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Spencer says.
*
The house is a hubbub the moment he enters it. His father is barking orders in an unusually brusque manner, turning to snap at anyone for the slightest offence, his mother still locked in her bedroom (“Sobbing,” Brendon tells Spencer, and Spencer bites back a nasty comment at how utterly useless she is sometimes) and Elinor clings to Spencer in floods of tears. Anne is unusually subdued, quiet and unwilling to offer an opinion about anything, and Spencer guesses that she’s terrified of what the future holds.
Spencer has never been so grateful to his aunt and uncle in his life; his uncle drags his father away to the library to discuss a plan of action, his aunt soothes Elinor, remarks upon how pretty Anne is looking, making the girl smile a little, and then takes a tea tray up to coax his mother into eating something. Brendon watches with eyes that are equally bewildered and relieved, and Spencer feels another rush of guilt at leaving Brendon all on his own to deal with the mess.
He ushers Brendon up to bed directly after dinner for a full night’s sleep. Brendon protests for a while, saying that he should help their father prepare and talk to Elinor again for a little while - “She’s been having nightmares,” he says, “where Wentz steals her away too or some rubbish, I don’t know, I think he’s becoming the monster under the stairs or something,” - but Spencer tugs him up the stairs and after the first flight he meekly allows himself to be led into their bedroom.
“You’ve done an amazing job of keeping the household together,” Spencer tells him firmly as he blows the candles out. “But I’m not entirely unconvinced that you’re going to make it through another hour without collapsing unless you get some proper sleep. Things will be fine, Brendon-”
“Liar,” Brendon says, and Spencer looks away and swallows hard.
“Okay,” he admits quietly. “I have no idea what’s going to happen. But you can’t fix it by being constantly attentive to everyone. No one else is going to run away.” Brendon flinches and Spencer reaches out, gives his shoulder a tight squeeze.
“Sorry,” Brendon mumbles.
“Not your fault,” Spencer says.
“But I-”
“Not your fault,” Spencer repeats, firmer this time. “If it was anyone’s fault besides Marianne’s damn stupidity, it was mine.” He closes his eyes briefly, knowing that the turn of events is due more to his behaviour than Marianne’s immaturity - there was no ‘if’ about it. “I should have told everyone about Pete’s behaviour in the past, not just you.”
“You couldn’t have known it would happen again,” Brendon says sleepily, burrowing into his pillow a little. “You can’t blame yourself, Spence.”
Spencer rolls onto his back and then says, softly, “I kind of can.”
“Spencer-”
“Brendon,” Spencer whispers, stomach clenching into a tiny ball, “Brendon, this is my fault. I - I met Pete in London-”
Brendon is suddenly wide awake, propping himself up on one elbow and staring at Spencer. “I didn’t know that,” he says unnecessarily, voice careful. “What happened there?”
“I was - I was thinking about Mr Ross’s letter,” Spencer says. “About, what he said about him and Pete having had a… thing, in the past. And I wasn’t sure if I believed him, so I told him I was engaged. To Mr Ross.” Brendon stares at him, silent and blank faced and Spencer adds, stupidly, “This is Pete getting back at Ry- at Mr Ross. Through me. Again.”
“Spencer,” Brendon says finally. “Spencer, that was-”
“Stupid, I know.” Spencer takes a breath and releases it, opens his mouth to ask - childishly - for Brendon’s forgiveness and then closes it again. They lie in uncomfortable silence, Brendon shifting just enough that his warmth at Spencer’s side disappears.
Finally, Brendon says, “Yes. It was - God, Spence, that was really, really foolish.” Spencer sucks in a breath and Brendon sits up slightly, lips pressed tightly together like he’s trying not to yell. He drags in a breath and says, “Not just because of what happened with Marianne, but - why would you stoop to manipulate people’s emotions like that? Say whatever you’d like about trying to discover the truth about Pete and Ross, but you’re a liar if you don’t admit it has something to do with getting back at Pete, and Ross too. Can you imagine if Ross found out? You basically used his affections as a tool to salvage your own pride when it comes to Pete snubbing you, and I doubt even Ross is unfeeling enough not to care about that.”
Brendon’s voice gets louder until he’s practically yelling by the end of it, and Spencer stares at him, white-faced. He says, “Brendon-”
“I’m really tired,” Brendon says, eyes dark and angry. “I’ve been trying to look after everyone here while you gallivant around the countryside and toy with people’s emotions.”
“Brendon,” Spencer says, and swallows hard. “Listen, when we were in Derbyshire, we visited-”
“Forgive me,” Brendon says quietly, “if I don’t particularly feel like talking to you anymore.” Spencer blinks at him and tries not to say anything too pathetic, knowing that the quieter Brendon gets, the angrier he is, the crueller he can be. Brendon lies back down and rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, and Spencer sits very still for what feels like hours.
Brendon falls asleep eventually, breathing evenly into his pillow, and Spencer sits there with his knees drawn up to his chest and hates how angry Brendon is with him, wishes that he hadn’t ruined so many things in so many ways. The silent night outside the window is broken by an owl’s hoot and Spencer sighs and lies back down on his side, watches the line of Brendon’s back.
“Brendon,” Spencer whispers to his sleeping friend, “I think I made a mistake.”
*
Longer That I’m Out Here - Kevin Devine
*
Brendon's side of the bed is empty by the time Spencer wakes up after a night of restless sleep. It's a rare occurrence; Brendon is hardly ever up before Spencer is. The empty stretch of mattress leaves Spencer with a feeling of unease. He probably deserves it - for his stupidity, blindness, thoughtlessness and quite a few other nouns that would fit nicely into that category.
It's still early, and when Spencer makes his way down the stairs, he hears no sign of movement. Brendon isn't seated at the piano, so Spencer sets off for the stables. The grass under his bare feet is wet with dew.
Brendon is cleaning out the stall of his mare, a tedious manual task that he rarely takes upon himself. It’s a good distraction, though; there’s something calming about the sweet scent of the hay, the heavy musk of animals and the recurrent effort of lifting the pitchfork and tossing the dirty hay aside. Spencer picks up a second pitchfork and quietly joins Brendon.
For a while, they work in silence, only the sound of their slightly accelerated breathing, the rustle of hay and the soft snorts of drowsing horses. Then Brendon exhales in a loud rush and turns his head a little towards Spencer. “Okay,” he says. “Talk.”
“I didn’t plan it,” Spencer says immediately. He grips the pitchfork more tightly, feels a splinter of wood press into his palm. “It was an impulse, a moment’s decision, and I didn’t think about consequences or anything at all. I just wanted to see Pete’s reaction, and.” He pauses and adds, reluctant. “And maybe I did want to hurt him?”
“Are you asking me?” Brendon replies, voice low.
Spencer shrugs and glances up at the dirt-caked window above the stall. Dust is dancing in the dim light. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was stupid and rash, and I’ll be paying the price for it.” For just a moment, the memory of a regretful smile and warm fingertips against the back of his hand flashes behind Spencer’s lids. He blinks them away and adds, very quietly, “I just wish the rest of you wouldn’t have to do the same.”
“So do I,” Brendon says. He’s silent for a few seconds. “Just, you know what this means. No respectable family will want their name tarnished by a too close connection to one of us.” When he turns to face Spencer, his eyes are tired in the shadowy illumination, and all Spencer hears is, Jon won’t want his name tarnished by a too close connection to me. The realization that some part of Brendon, however small, is still hoping for Jon to come to his senses robs Spencer of any words he might have pulled out to defend himself.
He should have known.
He should have known, but he didn’t want to, and now his foolish actions have deprived Brendon of any lingering hope that remained. Spencer didn’t think he could feel any worse than he already did. Apparently, he was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more fervent this time, and then he steps forward and pulls Brendon into a tight embrace. For a few short moments, Brendon tries to resist, coiled tense and angry against Spencer, and all Spencer can do is hold on and hope.
Then Brendon goes boneless in Spencer’s arms, his hands coming up to clutch at Spencer’s shirt. Spencer exhales carefully, and when he draws some air back into his lungs, his chest doesn’t feel quite as tight as before. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, lips moving against Brendon’s hair.
“It’s just,” Brendon begins, only to trail off.
“I know,” Spencer says, and he bites the inside of his cheek so as not to tell Brendon just how well he knows. He doesn’t think Brendon wants to hear any of it right now. “I’m… Really, I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” Brendon whispers. “Yes, well.”
It’s hard to tell for just how long they’re standing in there, just holding on to each other while Spencer observes the dancing particles of dust with a single-minded focus intended to block any thoughts. For the most part, it works.
Eventually, Brendon straightens, and Spencer loosens his arms so as to allow Brendon to move back. Brendon’s eyes are still tired, but the lines of his frown are less prominent now.
“We’re okay?” Spencer asks softly.
“Getting there,” Brendon says. “Just, give me a bit of time, yes?”
It’s maybe not quite the answer Spencer was hoping for, but it’s possibly still so much more than he deserves. “Of course,” he says.
“Good.” Brendon smiles, and while it’s not one of his full, real smiles, it’s a start. “Then how about we finish up here and then get the carriage ready for father and Mr Gardiner?”
Spencer nods and finally drops his hand from Brendon’s shoulder. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, let’s do that.”
Things are so far from all right that they may never be the same again, but Spencer supposes that as long as he can fix at least a small slice of everything that’s wrong here in Longbourn, it’s worth a shot. And while the thought of asking his father to take him along to London crosses his mind, he knows he won’t voice it.
The chances of finding Pete and Marianne in London are slim to none. It’s time for Spencer to deal with the mess he created.
*
It takes five days for their father’s first letter to arrive, five days filled with tense silences at dinner and their mother’s occasional burst of tears, with Anne silently studying the Bible, curled up in an armchair, with Elinor’s moods swinging back and forth between jealousy and desperation, with Brendon quiet and capable and everywhere at once while Spencer tries to keep them all from falling apart.
Five days, and all the letter tells them is that yes, their father and Mr Gardiner did manage to trace Pete and Marianne’s path from Kensington to London; they changed horses halfway, and a landlord claims to have hosted them for a night. After that, they seem to have vanished. There’s no guarantee they didn’t already leave London again.
After Brendon read the letter out loud, their mother retreats to her bedchamber and asks to be left alone for the day. Brendon sits down at the piano, and Spencer watches him for a while before he escapes in the direction of the river.
For once, the peace and silence of the open fields do nothing to soothe his mind.
*
The second letter takes another week to reach them. It brings no further news, other than that a vendor might have sold Marianne a trinket, some days ago.
By the time the third letter arrives, Spencer doesn’t even hope anymore. As it doesn’t add to their knowledge, he’s glad that he didn’t expect anything. At least this way, he won’t be disappointed.
When he explains the logic of it to Brendon, Brendon glares at him and states tightly that, “There’s always hope, Spence. Don’t you dare give up, now. I won’t let you.”
Spencer keeps his thoughts to himself, after that. He knows that Brendon is mostly trying to convince himself.
*
Their father returns without alerting them to his arrival. His carriage pulls up sometime after noon, almost three weeks after his departure, and when he gets out, his face looks worn and he seems to have aged considerably over the short time.
He greets them all curtly, but waves away their mother’s insistent inquiries as to whether there are any news, any news at all.
“There was nothing I could do,” Mr Smith says sharply, exhaustion tingeing his tone. “Your uncle knows London much better than I do, anyway, and we haven’t had any new insights for a week. There was no point in trespassing on their hospitality any longer.”
It’s only because Spencer is watching Brendon carefully that he notices the desperation flit through Brendon’s eyes. Their father excuses himself to his study, and Brendon turns and walks away without glancing back.
*
The official information in Hertfordshire is that Marianne is still on holiday with the Colonel and his wife, as Spencer’s father and the Colonel agreed that it would be for the best to keep the whole affair covered up as long as is feasible. Of course, rumours start to spread fairly quickly anyway.
The family stays at Longbourn more often than they have in years, but at church Spencer is uncomfortably aware of the congregation paying more attention to their family than they do the service. After every service they leave as quickly as possible, no longer stopping to mill around and gossip, and that coupled with Marianne’s continuing absence and Mr Smith’s for three Sundays, along with the girls’ wan faces, is more than enough to make Marianne’s disappearance Hertfordshire’s worst kept secret.
“We’re going to have to acknowledge it soon,” Brendon murmurs in Spencer’s ear one Sunday morning as the family walks back, and Spencer startles without meaning to. Brendon is doing his customary act of insisting that he’s forgiven someone while barely speaking to them and certainly never touching, and Spencer is ridiculously grateful for the bump of Brendon’s shoulder against his. “Make an announcement, or something.”
“An announcement?” Spencer echoes. “Shall we rent a full page in the newspaper, then, or do you think a ball at which we could proclaim it would suffice?”
“You know what I mean,” Brendon says. Spencer sighs and looks down, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wants to say, what about not giving up? But Brendon looks unhappy, and Spencer doesn’t quite dare to throw words back at him.
“Let’s give our uncle a little longer,” he says instead, and Brendon looks away impatiently. Spencer keeps his eyes on the road, at a loss - as always, these days - for what to say or do.
*
The letter comes the next morning. Spencer, Brendon and their father have taken up the habit of wandering up to the gate to wait for the post at the customary time, and Brendon snatches it straight from the messenger’s hands, shoving it at Mr Smith anxiously. Their father sighs and opens it slowly, shoulders slumped already for the bad news that he considers inevitable, but as Spencer watches, Mr Smith begins to read, straightening slightly as he reaches the end of the letter. His face is blank but no longer glum.
Spencer and Brendon wait and Mr Smith looks up, watches them for a moment, and then says evenly, “Your uncle has found them. Marianne and Mr Wentz were married yesterday. They will arrive at Longbourn in two days, stay for a short while, and then depart to Mr Wentz’s lodgings in the north.”
“Oh, thank God,” Brendon says fervently, and Spencer sighs out the breath he might have been holding for a month, tension uncurling from his muscles. Their father, though, looks slightly unhappy, and Spencer blinks at him.
“What is it?” he asks tentatively. “Surely this calls for celebration?”
His father hands him the letter, a very brief missive in Mr Gardiner’s handwriting. “There’s absolutely no reason for Mr Wentz to marry Marianne,” he tells them resignedly. “Certainly he would never have agreed without a large sum to sweeten the deal. Your uncle must have been very generous.” He smiles, small and tight. “Excuse me, boys. I must go and break the good news to your mother.”
Brendon looks at Spencer as their father heads down the path. “How much?” he asks quietly.
Spencer swallows hard. “Marianne is hardly a prize to be won,” he says lowly. “Pete would be a fool to take less than ten thousand pounds-”
“Ten thousand!” Brendon hisses. “We’ll never repay that to the Gardiner’s!”
“I know,” Spencer says. “We are very much in their debt. And always will be, I suspect.” They look at each other for a moment and then turn back to the house and their mother’s jubilation.
*
As is expected, Mrs Smith is so excited by the prospect of one of her children finally, finally being married that she completely forgets the circumstances in which the marriage has come about. She spends most of the day the letter arrived cleaning the household, dressing up and proclaiming the news at the top of her lungs to anyone who will listen. To Spencer’s horror, she uses the following day to make calls on her friends to tell them the news, and by the day Marianne and Pete are due to arrive she has convinced herself that they eloped in a “fit of youthful romance” and are to be praised and welcomed as honoured guests.
Elinor joins in with her mother’s glee, but the rest of the household remains in almost the same state of quietness from the past month, the desperation dulled to a steady anxiety. The morning of Marianne and Pete’s arrival Spencer wakes up feeling sick, not quite sure how he’s going to force himself to talk to either of them, and Brendon takes one look at his face and then asks, with real concern, “You’re not going to attack Wentz, are you?”
“I’ll do my best,” Spencer says grimly and crawls out of bed.
The newlyweds arrive an hour or so before the midday meal. Marianne steps out of the coach in a flurry of cloth, and Spencer has just enough time to see that she’s pinned her hair up in what she probably fancies to be an adult fashion and is clearly torn between beaming and looking self-important before she’s smothered in an embrace by Elinor and Mrs Smith. Behind her, Pete stands up. He looks more than a little nervous and Spencer is coldly pleased. Pete meets his eyes and opens his mouth and Spencer turns around and walks back into the house, Brendon following him.
At lunch, he’s dismayed to find Pete sitting next to his customary place, but Brendon meets his eyes and smiles crookedly at him, going to sit next to Pete and leaving Spencer to sit next to Marianne on the other side of the table. Mr Smith seems unwilling to let the two sit together, despite their relationship; Spencer would normally find it a little ridiculous, but now he’s viciously glad at whatever might bring Pete a sense of discomfort.
Marianne is chattering to Elinor and Mrs Smith, relating the details of the wedding (“Very small,” she says forlornly, and Mrs Smith makes disapproving sounds, “But then, Pete did look ever so handsome, and it was such a pleasure to know that I was all his,”) and Spencer concentrates on eating his dinner, trying to block out the conversation.
It’s hard not to catch at least some of it though, and Spencer can feel his anger rising. Marianne turns her attention on him as a potential audience when Mrs Smith and Elinor get distracted, and by the time she says, confidingly, “Gosh, our aunt is a complete bore, you know, Spencer. She gave me the most tedious lecture before the wedding and almost ruined my whole morning,” Spencer is ready to snap.
“God, Marianne,” he says sharply. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? Our aunt did the right thing in telling you off, and if it had been up to me you would have gotten more than a lecture!”
“Oh, don’t, Spence,” Marianne says airily, sipping at a glass of wine. “I’m so tired of being told off when really everything is just wonderful.”
“Everyone knows what happened,” Spencer says tightly. “In the town, everyone is looking down at us-”
“For what? For me getting married?” Marianne laughs. “How stuck up they are, and so old. Pete is a romantic. He swept me off my feet.” She flutters her eyelashes at Spencer and says, slyly, “You’d know. Are you sure you’re not just jealous that he liked me better than you?”
Spencer looks down at his plate so as not to yell at her, breathes in and out a few times. Marianne is giggling beside him and he struggles for a moment before settling on safer conversation. “Why are you leaving so soon?” he asks.
“Oh,” Marianne says, making a pouting face. “I’m quite sad about that, really. I wanted to stay here for a while, maybe even live for a year or two? I shall miss you all dreadfully, I’m sure. But Pete says we can’t afford to live here, and he doesn’t want to holiday here for too long on account of Ryan coming down soon, so-”
“What?” Spencer interrupts. There’s a roaring sound in his ears, and he swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. When he looks up, Brendon is watching him and looking concerned and Spencer shakes his head, mouths nothing at Brendon, who looks unconvinced. Spencer turns back to Marianne and says, “Did you - Ryan Ross, do you mean?”
“Oh!” Marianne says, and covers her mouth with a hand, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “I wasn’t meant to say. Goodness, you must put it out of your mind completely, Spencer. I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”
“But he’s - when did you speak to him?” Spencer demands. “How could you possibly - how, Marianne?”
“He’s the one who found us,” Marianne confides, voice low. “He spoke to Pete, found a priest, paid for the wedding - everything! I think he might even have arranged for Pete to get that house in Cornwall, actually. Oh, but you mustn’t tell anyone! I promised him I wouldn’t even say he’d been there. Oh, I just have the biggest mouth!” She giggles, and Spencer blinks at her.
“But he’s coming to Hertfordshire?” Spencer prompts. “Why? And you shouldn’t call him Ryan, Marianne, you don’t know him-”
“Pete calls him Ryan,” she says proudly. “And certainly any acquaintance of my husband can be called an acquaintance of mi-oh, all right then,” she says grumpily, when Spencer glares at her. “I don’t think Pete likes him much, anyway, though certainly he won’t hear me talk ill of the rude, stuck-up thing-”
“Marianne,” Spencer bites out.
“Sorry!” she says hastily. “Yes, he’s coming to Hertfordshire. Only for a few days, though, and I’m not even meant to know - I overheard him talking to Pete. Apparently a friend of his has business down here? I don’t know.”
“Oh,” Spencer says, staring at his lunch. “Oh.”
*
Watch Me Fall Apart - Hard-Fi
*
It’s not that Spencer didn’t expect the confrontation. It’s just that he didn’t expect it here, now, didn’t notice Pete following him from Longbourn down to the river. Pete doesn’t ask for permission, just sinks onto the rock next to where Spencer is perched.
“You were never engaged to Ryan,” he says, and the river rushes in Spencer’s ears.
“No,” Spencer says. He glances at Pete’s tired, withdrawn face, thinks about how Pete manoeuvred himself into a situation that left marriage to a girl he didn’t love as the only honourable option. Spencer can only hope that at the very least, Pete likes Marianne enough to prevent the worst.
“You lied to me, when we met in London.” Apparently, Pete feels a need to state the obvious.
Spencer inclines his head. “Yes. And you lied to me when we first met here, in Hertfordshire. I would say that makes us even, if it weren’t for your impulsive actions.” He pauses, then adds, somewhat more quietly, “I didn’t realize you were still in love with him.”
Pete exhales in a rush. “Yes, well. You wouldn’t know, I guess.”
“How would you know?” Spencer replies, angry, inexplicably defensive. “How would you know anything about what I might or might not be feeling for him? I don’t think it’s any of your concern anymore. You’re a married man, now.”
“Yes,” Pete says, drawing the word out into a sigh. He’s silent for a while, his eyes narrowed at the sky, and Spencer thinks about getting up and leaving. He doesn’t owe Pete anything. He doesn’t. They’re even.
“Ryan,” Pete suddenly says, “can be pretty convincing, when he sets his mind to it. I didn’t marry your sister for the money he offered me. Although I admit that it was a side benefit of what at least he thought was the only right thing to do, the only thing that would keep me from sinking even lower in his esteem than I had already.” A wry smile. “Personally, I never cared much about right and wrong, you see?”
“You’re addicted,” Spencer says, and what he really wants to say is, How can you care so much and still act the way you do? It might make sense, in the context of a mind bent out of shape by the thrill of gambling, the adrenaline and foolish hope that this time, just this once, the cards will obey the player’s wishes. It might make sense in that context, but that doesn’t mean that Spencer understands.
“I paid the price,” Pete says slowly. Spencer studies him - the way his shoulders are hunched, the lost expression in his eyes - and yes. Yes, maybe Pete did.
It’s hard to believe that Pete, just like Brendon, had a small slice of hope that he clung to no matter his words. There’s a certain irony to the fact that Pete’s agreement to marry Marianne, while given so as not to lose Ryan entirely, also cost him any hopes of another chance with him.
Spencer tries to make sense of his own feelings at that, but all he comes up with is confusion and a deep, almost guilty sense of sympathy for Pete.
_______________
>> Chapter 11
PG-13
~77'000 words.
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5.
Jesusland - Ben Folds
The dinner served is delicious, as expected, and fun, which Spencer didn’t expect. Amanda and Ryan are good at talking to each other in a way that opens up conversation around the table, and Spencer takes twice as long to eat his meal, he’s laughing so hard at times. His aunt and uncle look surprised and delighted at the turn of events that has them eating and being treated like favoured friends by the famous Ryan Ross, and Spencer tries not to feel too bewildered by the whole thing as well.
Dinner stretches into dessert, which changes to a fruit and cheese platter, and then wine and chocolate, and finally coffee, and it’s getting very late (and Spencer feels full to bursting) by the time Mr Gardiner sighs regretfully and says, “Well, it is time we bid our farewells,” and rises to his feet. Something uneasy clutches at Spencer’s stomach, and he realises with a start that it is very likely this is the last time he will ever see Ryan. They leave early tomorrow morning, and Spencer expects he’ll never travel as much as these past few weeks for the rest of his life.
He looks at Ryan involuntarily; Ryan’s talking to his aunt, hand on her arm and voice cheerful. Spencer shifts and turns away, swallows hard, and finds that Amanda is standing in front of him, face thoughtful.
“What I don’t understand,” she says in a low voice, “is why, if you hate him so much, you look at him the way you do.”
Spencer starts, and then Ryan announces that he and Amanda will see them out to the carriage, and Spencer has an excuse for turning away. They all troop out together, and Spencer is glad for the cool night air to soothe his hot skin. The fire in the parlour was making his cheeks burn.
They get outside, though, and Mr Gardiner exchanges a few words with the coachman who should be bringing the horses out to hook them up with the carriage, and looks dismayed. “Not again,” he says, and Mrs Gardiner sighs, turns to Ryan.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Our carriage has been rather… temperamental on our journey so far. It shouldn’t take too long to fix it up.”
“No problem at all,” Ryan says easily. “But I have a better idea - Amanda and I will accompany you three back to the inn in one of my carriages. We’ll have yours sent over as soon as it is fixed, and this way you might get a little more rest before your journey tomorrow. Spencer is practically asleep on his feet,” he adds as an afterthought, glancing at him. Spencer grins a little foolishly.
“That’s very kind of you,” Mrs Gardiner says, and a carriage is promptly brought and hooked up to two horses. Spencer finds himself being herded into a seat between Ryan and Amanda before he knows what he’s doing, and he struggles to sit upright. Having had it pointed out to him how tired he is, Spencer starts having trouble staying awake even a little bit, and the gentle rattle of the carriage over the road is as soothing as ever. He closes his eyes and yawns, starts to drift to the side.
“Oh, dear,” his aunt’s voice says, out of the darkness. “I’m so sorry, he must really be tired-”
“It’s fine, please,” someone replies, and then Spencer is asleep.
He wakes up when the carriage jolts to a halt, with his face pressed against the warm skin of someone’s neck and an arm hooked securely around his shoulders to stop him from slipping off the seat. He yawns and feels the arm around him tense, and then he shifts slowly and sits upright, in time to see Amanda slipping out of the carriage on his other side.
“Oh,” he says, voice rough with sleep, and Ryan blinks back at him, face hard to read in the dark. Spencer’s cheeks burn crimson. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay,” Ryan says, and they’re close enough in the dark that Spencer can feel the swell of his lungs as he takes a deep breath. “Come on. I’ll see you inside.”
Spencer stumbles out of the carriage and hears Ryan’s footsteps behind him, but doesn’t turn around or stop and wait. He’s so embarrassed, and his head is still reeling slightly with it when his aunt pokes her head out from the well-lit interior of the inn and says, “Spencer? There’s a letter come for you from Brendon. He’s written urgent on the front.”
In his sleepy stupor, Spencer needs a moment to comprehend. Then he quickens his steps, and behind him, he can hear that Ryan does the same. The inn welcomes them with laughter and brightness and the noise of conversations, shaking Spencer fully out of his drowsiness.
Brendon’s not the type to write the note ‘urgent’ onto a letter unless something really bad had- Spencer cuts the thought off before it can lead to what-if scenarios.
Distantly, he’s aware that his aunt and uncle invite Ryan and Amanda to a nightcap (“something for the road, allow us to repay for at least some of your kindness”), but he barely manages to utter an excuse, grab the letter and retreat to a quiet corner of the room. He thinks that Ryan’s gaze might be resting on him, but he doesn’t turn around to make sure.
The armchair placed at a small single table is an old one. It gives beneath Spencer’s weight when he sinks into it, creaking softly, a faint scent of dust rising from the cushions. Oddly enough, it’s calming.
Spencer takes a deep breath, then exhales carefully and opens Brendon’s letter.
Dear Spencer, Brendon writes. Unfortunately, there is no right way to bring grave news such as these, so I’m going to jump straight into it by stating that Longbourn is in an uproar right now. Mother hasn’t left the bedroom since the letter from the Colonel came, Father has locked himself in his library. Anne is practicing a funeral march on the piano, and Elinor… Well.
I am probably going at this the wrong way, because the actual truth is hard to say. But, here it is: Marianne has run away. We got her first letter that she arrived in Kensington perfectly all right, that the Militia was wonderful to her - you know how she is. And then we heard nothing else, until that letter from the Colonel came to say that she had run away with-with Pete Wentz, of all people. Can you believe it?
What’s worse, it seems that no ceremony has taken place. I’m not losing hope just yet, but Spencer, if this turns out to be the truth, you know as well as I do what this means for all of us. For our family.
I hate to beg you to cut your trip short - you’re probably having fun and all, exploring the country - but I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it here without at least one sane person around. Please, do come home and help me hold on to whatever shreds of sanity I managed to salvage.
- Brendon
For long seconds, or possibly minutes, Spencer doesn’t move. He keeps the letter clenched in his hand, wrinkled from the tightness of his grip, but no discernible thoughts run through his head. It’s a vague string of half-formed ideas, consequences for all of their lives, images and impressions rather than anything definable.
He startles when warm fingers close around his wrist and press a steaming cup into the hand not holding on to the letter. When he looks up, Ryan is studying him carefully. “Are you all right?” he asks, voice so soft it barely reaches Spencer over the sound of other voices.
Spencer looks away, down at the tea in his hand. Instead of a reply, he holds the letter out for Ryan to read. It’s distantly funny to think that Ryan might be the only person to truly grasp the full meaning of it.
While Ryan reads silently, Spencer blows over the surface of his tea, steam dampening his face. He doesn’t raise his eyes to see Ryan’s expression - anger at Pete perhaps, or belated relief at the fact that there is nothing to tie Spencer’s family to the Ross name.
Maybe, if Spencer gets used to the reactions, the rebuttal right here and now, it won’t be so hard later on. Ryan has been silent for a long time.
When he does speak, eventually, it’s not to say what Spencer is already expecting. “This is my fault,” Ryan says, voice low, and when Spencer turns to look at him, Ryan’s face is clouded, a slightly haunted look in his eyes. “This is my fault. If only I’d exposed him for who he was when I had the chance, but I didn’t want-This is probably just another way for him to get back at me through you, anyway, and God, Spencer, I’m sorry.”
If Spencer didn’t know it would be mistaken for hysteria, he’d be laughing now, laughing at himself and his own stupidity, laughing at how it took Ryan’s words to make him see his own mistakes.
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and sips at his tea, burning his tongue in the process. He can’t help but feel as if he deserves that, and much worse. “It is a way for Pete to get back at you,” he says slowly. “Just, not quite the way you probably think.” He swallows and opens his eyes, glancing at Ryan before he lowers his gaze. “I met Pete in London, just before we left for our trip through the country. I told him I was engaged to you.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, and then nothing else.
On the other side of the room, Spencer can see Amanda and his aunt and uncle watching, their faces worried. They turn away quickly when they notice him looking. Spencer takes another sip of his tea. Everything about him feels numb. “I just, I wanted to rile him up,” he tries to explain. “I wanted to see for myself how he’d react. He’s still in love with you, did you know?”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeats quietly. He places the letter on the table, smoothes it out with his palm and stands for a moment longer, wavering. Then he leans down quickly to place a light kiss on Spencer’s cheekbone.
Spencer gives him a smile, but he knows it’s faint, more the ghost of a smile than an actual one. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. It’s true, and if this is the last time they see each other, then at least Spencer didn’t miss his chance to apologize.
Ryan’s answering smile is sad and breathtakingly beautiful. Spencer tries not to think about how much it looks like a goodbye.
*
They leave early the next morning, paying what feels like an exuberant sum for a coachman to take them all the way back to Longbourn as fast as possible. Spencer sleeps a little way of the journey, exhausted from a night of restless slumber, but most of the time he sits wide awake and stares out the window, willing the miles to pass faster.
By the time they get to Longbourn it is near nightfall, and Spencer is tired again, swaying on his feet with a headache from the constant rattle of the wheels and fretting about what he might find at home. Brendon has evidently spied the carriage before it pulls up in front of Longbourn, because he’s waiting out for them, and Spencer tumbles out breathlessly to stand in front of him.
“Spencer,” Brendon says, and smiles a little bit. There are dark circles under his eyes and Spencer guesses that he’s been mostly running the household, the past few days. Spencer seizes him in the biggest hug he can manage, and Brendon hugs him back tight, fingers digging hard into Spencer’s back. When they break away, Brendon makes an honorable attempt at a grin, the tips of his ears slightly red.
“We’ve had more news,” he says, and Spencer’s happiness at seeing Brendon again goes away from him abruptly. “They were sighted in London, apparently. Your father plans to head out there early tomorrow morning.”
“Our father,” Spencer corrects automatically, because he doesn’t like it when Brendon feels the need to distance himself from them. Brendon nods tiredly and turns to Mr Gardiner.
“I think he was hoping for your help,” Brendon says. “We know you must be exhausted from your travelling, and we’re sorry to cut short your holiday so early-”
“I will be delighted to help,” Mr Gardiner says firmly. “Mary and I will spend a night here and then return to London tomorrow morning with your father. We will find them, Brendon.”
“It looks like you’ve done a marvellous job looking after things here,” Mrs Gardiner says, stepping up in front of them. They’ve not yet been inside and she can hardly have any real way of knowing the truth of such a statement, but Brendon slumps forward, letting the tension melt away from his rigid back, and he looks relieved and grateful, so Spencer can hardly begrudge the falsehood. “But you can relax now, dear. Things will be fine, you’ll see.”
“Have you slept at all?” Spencer asks, and Brendon laughs a little weakly, leans into Spencer as a heavy weight.
“You’re one to talk,” Brendon says. “I’d half expected you to arrive in the middle of the night, not content to wait until morning to start out.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Spencer says.
*
The house is a hubbub the moment he enters it. His father is barking orders in an unusually brusque manner, turning to snap at anyone for the slightest offence, his mother still locked in her bedroom (“Sobbing,” Brendon tells Spencer, and Spencer bites back a nasty comment at how utterly useless she is sometimes) and Elinor clings to Spencer in floods of tears. Anne is unusually subdued, quiet and unwilling to offer an opinion about anything, and Spencer guesses that she’s terrified of what the future holds.
Spencer has never been so grateful to his aunt and uncle in his life; his uncle drags his father away to the library to discuss a plan of action, his aunt soothes Elinor, remarks upon how pretty Anne is looking, making the girl smile a little, and then takes a tea tray up to coax his mother into eating something. Brendon watches with eyes that are equally bewildered and relieved, and Spencer feels another rush of guilt at leaving Brendon all on his own to deal with the mess.
He ushers Brendon up to bed directly after dinner for a full night’s sleep. Brendon protests for a while, saying that he should help their father prepare and talk to Elinor again for a little while - “She’s been having nightmares,” he says, “where Wentz steals her away too or some rubbish, I don’t know, I think he’s becoming the monster under the stairs or something,” - but Spencer tugs him up the stairs and after the first flight he meekly allows himself to be led into their bedroom.
“You’ve done an amazing job of keeping the household together,” Spencer tells him firmly as he blows the candles out. “But I’m not entirely unconvinced that you’re going to make it through another hour without collapsing unless you get some proper sleep. Things will be fine, Brendon-”
“Liar,” Brendon says, and Spencer looks away and swallows hard.
“Okay,” he admits quietly. “I have no idea what’s going to happen. But you can’t fix it by being constantly attentive to everyone. No one else is going to run away.” Brendon flinches and Spencer reaches out, gives his shoulder a tight squeeze.
“Sorry,” Brendon mumbles.
“Not your fault,” Spencer says.
“But I-”
“Not your fault,” Spencer repeats, firmer this time. “If it was anyone’s fault besides Marianne’s damn stupidity, it was mine.” He closes his eyes briefly, knowing that the turn of events is due more to his behaviour than Marianne’s immaturity - there was no ‘if’ about it. “I should have told everyone about Pete’s behaviour in the past, not just you.”
“You couldn’t have known it would happen again,” Brendon says sleepily, burrowing into his pillow a little. “You can’t blame yourself, Spence.”
Spencer rolls onto his back and then says, softly, “I kind of can.”
“Spencer-”
“Brendon,” Spencer whispers, stomach clenching into a tiny ball, “Brendon, this is my fault. I - I met Pete in London-”
Brendon is suddenly wide awake, propping himself up on one elbow and staring at Spencer. “I didn’t know that,” he says unnecessarily, voice careful. “What happened there?”
“I was - I was thinking about Mr Ross’s letter,” Spencer says. “About, what he said about him and Pete having had a… thing, in the past. And I wasn’t sure if I believed him, so I told him I was engaged. To Mr Ross.” Brendon stares at him, silent and blank faced and Spencer adds, stupidly, “This is Pete getting back at Ry- at Mr Ross. Through me. Again.”
“Spencer,” Brendon says finally. “Spencer, that was-”
“Stupid, I know.” Spencer takes a breath and releases it, opens his mouth to ask - childishly - for Brendon’s forgiveness and then closes it again. They lie in uncomfortable silence, Brendon shifting just enough that his warmth at Spencer’s side disappears.
Finally, Brendon says, “Yes. It was - God, Spence, that was really, really foolish.” Spencer sucks in a breath and Brendon sits up slightly, lips pressed tightly together like he’s trying not to yell. He drags in a breath and says, “Not just because of what happened with Marianne, but - why would you stoop to manipulate people’s emotions like that? Say whatever you’d like about trying to discover the truth about Pete and Ross, but you’re a liar if you don’t admit it has something to do with getting back at Pete, and Ross too. Can you imagine if Ross found out? You basically used his affections as a tool to salvage your own pride when it comes to Pete snubbing you, and I doubt even Ross is unfeeling enough not to care about that.”
Brendon’s voice gets louder until he’s practically yelling by the end of it, and Spencer stares at him, white-faced. He says, “Brendon-”
“I’m really tired,” Brendon says, eyes dark and angry. “I’ve been trying to look after everyone here while you gallivant around the countryside and toy with people’s emotions.”
“Brendon,” Spencer says, and swallows hard. “Listen, when we were in Derbyshire, we visited-”
“Forgive me,” Brendon says quietly, “if I don’t particularly feel like talking to you anymore.” Spencer blinks at him and tries not to say anything too pathetic, knowing that the quieter Brendon gets, the angrier he is, the crueller he can be. Brendon lies back down and rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, and Spencer sits very still for what feels like hours.
Brendon falls asleep eventually, breathing evenly into his pillow, and Spencer sits there with his knees drawn up to his chest and hates how angry Brendon is with him, wishes that he hadn’t ruined so many things in so many ways. The silent night outside the window is broken by an owl’s hoot and Spencer sighs and lies back down on his side, watches the line of Brendon’s back.
“Brendon,” Spencer whispers to his sleeping friend, “I think I made a mistake.”
*
Longer That I’m Out Here - Kevin Devine
*
Brendon's side of the bed is empty by the time Spencer wakes up after a night of restless sleep. It's a rare occurrence; Brendon is hardly ever up before Spencer is. The empty stretch of mattress leaves Spencer with a feeling of unease. He probably deserves it - for his stupidity, blindness, thoughtlessness and quite a few other nouns that would fit nicely into that category.
It's still early, and when Spencer makes his way down the stairs, he hears no sign of movement. Brendon isn't seated at the piano, so Spencer sets off for the stables. The grass under his bare feet is wet with dew.
Brendon is cleaning out the stall of his mare, a tedious manual task that he rarely takes upon himself. It’s a good distraction, though; there’s something calming about the sweet scent of the hay, the heavy musk of animals and the recurrent effort of lifting the pitchfork and tossing the dirty hay aside. Spencer picks up a second pitchfork and quietly joins Brendon.
For a while, they work in silence, only the sound of their slightly accelerated breathing, the rustle of hay and the soft snorts of drowsing horses. Then Brendon exhales in a loud rush and turns his head a little towards Spencer. “Okay,” he says. “Talk.”
“I didn’t plan it,” Spencer says immediately. He grips the pitchfork more tightly, feels a splinter of wood press into his palm. “It was an impulse, a moment’s decision, and I didn’t think about consequences or anything at all. I just wanted to see Pete’s reaction, and.” He pauses and adds, reluctant. “And maybe I did want to hurt him?”
“Are you asking me?” Brendon replies, voice low.
Spencer shrugs and glances up at the dirt-caked window above the stall. Dust is dancing in the dim light. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was stupid and rash, and I’ll be paying the price for it.” For just a moment, the memory of a regretful smile and warm fingertips against the back of his hand flashes behind Spencer’s lids. He blinks them away and adds, very quietly, “I just wish the rest of you wouldn’t have to do the same.”
“So do I,” Brendon says. He’s silent for a few seconds. “Just, you know what this means. No respectable family will want their name tarnished by a too close connection to one of us.” When he turns to face Spencer, his eyes are tired in the shadowy illumination, and all Spencer hears is, Jon won’t want his name tarnished by a too close connection to me. The realization that some part of Brendon, however small, is still hoping for Jon to come to his senses robs Spencer of any words he might have pulled out to defend himself.
He should have known.
He should have known, but he didn’t want to, and now his foolish actions have deprived Brendon of any lingering hope that remained. Spencer didn’t think he could feel any worse than he already did. Apparently, he was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more fervent this time, and then he steps forward and pulls Brendon into a tight embrace. For a few short moments, Brendon tries to resist, coiled tense and angry against Spencer, and all Spencer can do is hold on and hope.
Then Brendon goes boneless in Spencer’s arms, his hands coming up to clutch at Spencer’s shirt. Spencer exhales carefully, and when he draws some air back into his lungs, his chest doesn’t feel quite as tight as before. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, lips moving against Brendon’s hair.
“It’s just,” Brendon begins, only to trail off.
“I know,” Spencer says, and he bites the inside of his cheek so as not to tell Brendon just how well he knows. He doesn’t think Brendon wants to hear any of it right now. “I’m… Really, I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” Brendon whispers. “Yes, well.”
It’s hard to tell for just how long they’re standing in there, just holding on to each other while Spencer observes the dancing particles of dust with a single-minded focus intended to block any thoughts. For the most part, it works.
Eventually, Brendon straightens, and Spencer loosens his arms so as to allow Brendon to move back. Brendon’s eyes are still tired, but the lines of his frown are less prominent now.
“We’re okay?” Spencer asks softly.
“Getting there,” Brendon says. “Just, give me a bit of time, yes?”
It’s maybe not quite the answer Spencer was hoping for, but it’s possibly still so much more than he deserves. “Of course,” he says.
“Good.” Brendon smiles, and while it’s not one of his full, real smiles, it’s a start. “Then how about we finish up here and then get the carriage ready for father and Mr Gardiner?”
Spencer nods and finally drops his hand from Brendon’s shoulder. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, let’s do that.”
Things are so far from all right that they may never be the same again, but Spencer supposes that as long as he can fix at least a small slice of everything that’s wrong here in Longbourn, it’s worth a shot. And while the thought of asking his father to take him along to London crosses his mind, he knows he won’t voice it.
The chances of finding Pete and Marianne in London are slim to none. It’s time for Spencer to deal with the mess he created.
*
It takes five days for their father’s first letter to arrive, five days filled with tense silences at dinner and their mother’s occasional burst of tears, with Anne silently studying the Bible, curled up in an armchair, with Elinor’s moods swinging back and forth between jealousy and desperation, with Brendon quiet and capable and everywhere at once while Spencer tries to keep them all from falling apart.
Five days, and all the letter tells them is that yes, their father and Mr Gardiner did manage to trace Pete and Marianne’s path from Kensington to London; they changed horses halfway, and a landlord claims to have hosted them for a night. After that, they seem to have vanished. There’s no guarantee they didn’t already leave London again.
After Brendon read the letter out loud, their mother retreats to her bedchamber and asks to be left alone for the day. Brendon sits down at the piano, and Spencer watches him for a while before he escapes in the direction of the river.
For once, the peace and silence of the open fields do nothing to soothe his mind.
*
The second letter takes another week to reach them. It brings no further news, other than that a vendor might have sold Marianne a trinket, some days ago.
By the time the third letter arrives, Spencer doesn’t even hope anymore. As it doesn’t add to their knowledge, he’s glad that he didn’t expect anything. At least this way, he won’t be disappointed.
When he explains the logic of it to Brendon, Brendon glares at him and states tightly that, “There’s always hope, Spence. Don’t you dare give up, now. I won’t let you.”
Spencer keeps his thoughts to himself, after that. He knows that Brendon is mostly trying to convince himself.
*
Their father returns without alerting them to his arrival. His carriage pulls up sometime after noon, almost three weeks after his departure, and when he gets out, his face looks worn and he seems to have aged considerably over the short time.
He greets them all curtly, but waves away their mother’s insistent inquiries as to whether there are any news, any news at all.
“There was nothing I could do,” Mr Smith says sharply, exhaustion tingeing his tone. “Your uncle knows London much better than I do, anyway, and we haven’t had any new insights for a week. There was no point in trespassing on their hospitality any longer.”
It’s only because Spencer is watching Brendon carefully that he notices the desperation flit through Brendon’s eyes. Their father excuses himself to his study, and Brendon turns and walks away without glancing back.
*
The official information in Hertfordshire is that Marianne is still on holiday with the Colonel and his wife, as Spencer’s father and the Colonel agreed that it would be for the best to keep the whole affair covered up as long as is feasible. Of course, rumours start to spread fairly quickly anyway.
The family stays at Longbourn more often than they have in years, but at church Spencer is uncomfortably aware of the congregation paying more attention to their family than they do the service. After every service they leave as quickly as possible, no longer stopping to mill around and gossip, and that coupled with Marianne’s continuing absence and Mr Smith’s for three Sundays, along with the girls’ wan faces, is more than enough to make Marianne’s disappearance Hertfordshire’s worst kept secret.
“We’re going to have to acknowledge it soon,” Brendon murmurs in Spencer’s ear one Sunday morning as the family walks back, and Spencer startles without meaning to. Brendon is doing his customary act of insisting that he’s forgiven someone while barely speaking to them and certainly never touching, and Spencer is ridiculously grateful for the bump of Brendon’s shoulder against his. “Make an announcement, or something.”
“An announcement?” Spencer echoes. “Shall we rent a full page in the newspaper, then, or do you think a ball at which we could proclaim it would suffice?”
“You know what I mean,” Brendon says. Spencer sighs and looks down, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wants to say, what about not giving up? But Brendon looks unhappy, and Spencer doesn’t quite dare to throw words back at him.
“Let’s give our uncle a little longer,” he says instead, and Brendon looks away impatiently. Spencer keeps his eyes on the road, at a loss - as always, these days - for what to say or do.
*
The letter comes the next morning. Spencer, Brendon and their father have taken up the habit of wandering up to the gate to wait for the post at the customary time, and Brendon snatches it straight from the messenger’s hands, shoving it at Mr Smith anxiously. Their father sighs and opens it slowly, shoulders slumped already for the bad news that he considers inevitable, but as Spencer watches, Mr Smith begins to read, straightening slightly as he reaches the end of the letter. His face is blank but no longer glum.
Spencer and Brendon wait and Mr Smith looks up, watches them for a moment, and then says evenly, “Your uncle has found them. Marianne and Mr Wentz were married yesterday. They will arrive at Longbourn in two days, stay for a short while, and then depart to Mr Wentz’s lodgings in the north.”
“Oh, thank God,” Brendon says fervently, and Spencer sighs out the breath he might have been holding for a month, tension uncurling from his muscles. Their father, though, looks slightly unhappy, and Spencer blinks at him.
“What is it?” he asks tentatively. “Surely this calls for celebration?”
His father hands him the letter, a very brief missive in Mr Gardiner’s handwriting. “There’s absolutely no reason for Mr Wentz to marry Marianne,” he tells them resignedly. “Certainly he would never have agreed without a large sum to sweeten the deal. Your uncle must have been very generous.” He smiles, small and tight. “Excuse me, boys. I must go and break the good news to your mother.”
Brendon looks at Spencer as their father heads down the path. “How much?” he asks quietly.
Spencer swallows hard. “Marianne is hardly a prize to be won,” he says lowly. “Pete would be a fool to take less than ten thousand pounds-”
“Ten thousand!” Brendon hisses. “We’ll never repay that to the Gardiner’s!”
“I know,” Spencer says. “We are very much in their debt. And always will be, I suspect.” They look at each other for a moment and then turn back to the house and their mother’s jubilation.
*
As is expected, Mrs Smith is so excited by the prospect of one of her children finally, finally being married that she completely forgets the circumstances in which the marriage has come about. She spends most of the day the letter arrived cleaning the household, dressing up and proclaiming the news at the top of her lungs to anyone who will listen. To Spencer’s horror, she uses the following day to make calls on her friends to tell them the news, and by the day Marianne and Pete are due to arrive she has convinced herself that they eloped in a “fit of youthful romance” and are to be praised and welcomed as honoured guests.
Elinor joins in with her mother’s glee, but the rest of the household remains in almost the same state of quietness from the past month, the desperation dulled to a steady anxiety. The morning of Marianne and Pete’s arrival Spencer wakes up feeling sick, not quite sure how he’s going to force himself to talk to either of them, and Brendon takes one look at his face and then asks, with real concern, “You’re not going to attack Wentz, are you?”
“I’ll do my best,” Spencer says grimly and crawls out of bed.
The newlyweds arrive an hour or so before the midday meal. Marianne steps out of the coach in a flurry of cloth, and Spencer has just enough time to see that she’s pinned her hair up in what she probably fancies to be an adult fashion and is clearly torn between beaming and looking self-important before she’s smothered in an embrace by Elinor and Mrs Smith. Behind her, Pete stands up. He looks more than a little nervous and Spencer is coldly pleased. Pete meets his eyes and opens his mouth and Spencer turns around and walks back into the house, Brendon following him.
At lunch, he’s dismayed to find Pete sitting next to his customary place, but Brendon meets his eyes and smiles crookedly at him, going to sit next to Pete and leaving Spencer to sit next to Marianne on the other side of the table. Mr Smith seems unwilling to let the two sit together, despite their relationship; Spencer would normally find it a little ridiculous, but now he’s viciously glad at whatever might bring Pete a sense of discomfort.
Marianne is chattering to Elinor and Mrs Smith, relating the details of the wedding (“Very small,” she says forlornly, and Mrs Smith makes disapproving sounds, “But then, Pete did look ever so handsome, and it was such a pleasure to know that I was all his,”) and Spencer concentrates on eating his dinner, trying to block out the conversation.
It’s hard not to catch at least some of it though, and Spencer can feel his anger rising. Marianne turns her attention on him as a potential audience when Mrs Smith and Elinor get distracted, and by the time she says, confidingly, “Gosh, our aunt is a complete bore, you know, Spencer. She gave me the most tedious lecture before the wedding and almost ruined my whole morning,” Spencer is ready to snap.
“God, Marianne,” he says sharply. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? Our aunt did the right thing in telling you off, and if it had been up to me you would have gotten more than a lecture!”
“Oh, don’t, Spence,” Marianne says airily, sipping at a glass of wine. “I’m so tired of being told off when really everything is just wonderful.”
“Everyone knows what happened,” Spencer says tightly. “In the town, everyone is looking down at us-”
“For what? For me getting married?” Marianne laughs. “How stuck up they are, and so old. Pete is a romantic. He swept me off my feet.” She flutters her eyelashes at Spencer and says, slyly, “You’d know. Are you sure you’re not just jealous that he liked me better than you?”
Spencer looks down at his plate so as not to yell at her, breathes in and out a few times. Marianne is giggling beside him and he struggles for a moment before settling on safer conversation. “Why are you leaving so soon?” he asks.
“Oh,” Marianne says, making a pouting face. “I’m quite sad about that, really. I wanted to stay here for a while, maybe even live for a year or two? I shall miss you all dreadfully, I’m sure. But Pete says we can’t afford to live here, and he doesn’t want to holiday here for too long on account of Ryan coming down soon, so-”
“What?” Spencer interrupts. There’s a roaring sound in his ears, and he swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. When he looks up, Brendon is watching him and looking concerned and Spencer shakes his head, mouths nothing at Brendon, who looks unconvinced. Spencer turns back to Marianne and says, “Did you - Ryan Ross, do you mean?”
“Oh!” Marianne says, and covers her mouth with a hand, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “I wasn’t meant to say. Goodness, you must put it out of your mind completely, Spencer. I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”
“But he’s - when did you speak to him?” Spencer demands. “How could you possibly - how, Marianne?”
“He’s the one who found us,” Marianne confides, voice low. “He spoke to Pete, found a priest, paid for the wedding - everything! I think he might even have arranged for Pete to get that house in Cornwall, actually. Oh, but you mustn’t tell anyone! I promised him I wouldn’t even say he’d been there. Oh, I just have the biggest mouth!” She giggles, and Spencer blinks at her.
“But he’s coming to Hertfordshire?” Spencer prompts. “Why? And you shouldn’t call him Ryan, Marianne, you don’t know him-”
“Pete calls him Ryan,” she says proudly. “And certainly any acquaintance of my husband can be called an acquaintance of mi-oh, all right then,” she says grumpily, when Spencer glares at her. “I don’t think Pete likes him much, anyway, though certainly he won’t hear me talk ill of the rude, stuck-up thing-”
“Marianne,” Spencer bites out.
“Sorry!” she says hastily. “Yes, he’s coming to Hertfordshire. Only for a few days, though, and I’m not even meant to know - I overheard him talking to Pete. Apparently a friend of his has business down here? I don’t know.”
“Oh,” Spencer says, staring at his lunch. “Oh.”
*
Watch Me Fall Apart - Hard-Fi
*
It’s not that Spencer didn’t expect the confrontation. It’s just that he didn’t expect it here, now, didn’t notice Pete following him from Longbourn down to the river. Pete doesn’t ask for permission, just sinks onto the rock next to where Spencer is perched.
“You were never engaged to Ryan,” he says, and the river rushes in Spencer’s ears.
“No,” Spencer says. He glances at Pete’s tired, withdrawn face, thinks about how Pete manoeuvred himself into a situation that left marriage to a girl he didn’t love as the only honourable option. Spencer can only hope that at the very least, Pete likes Marianne enough to prevent the worst.
“You lied to me, when we met in London.” Apparently, Pete feels a need to state the obvious.
Spencer inclines his head. “Yes. And you lied to me when we first met here, in Hertfordshire. I would say that makes us even, if it weren’t for your impulsive actions.” He pauses, then adds, somewhat more quietly, “I didn’t realize you were still in love with him.”
Pete exhales in a rush. “Yes, well. You wouldn’t know, I guess.”
“How would you know?” Spencer replies, angry, inexplicably defensive. “How would you know anything about what I might or might not be feeling for him? I don’t think it’s any of your concern anymore. You’re a married man, now.”
“Yes,” Pete says, drawing the word out into a sigh. He’s silent for a while, his eyes narrowed at the sky, and Spencer thinks about getting up and leaving. He doesn’t owe Pete anything. He doesn’t. They’re even.
“Ryan,” Pete suddenly says, “can be pretty convincing, when he sets his mind to it. I didn’t marry your sister for the money he offered me. Although I admit that it was a side benefit of what at least he thought was the only right thing to do, the only thing that would keep me from sinking even lower in his esteem than I had already.” A wry smile. “Personally, I never cared much about right and wrong, you see?”
“You’re addicted,” Spencer says, and what he really wants to say is, How can you care so much and still act the way you do? It might make sense, in the context of a mind bent out of shape by the thrill of gambling, the adrenaline and foolish hope that this time, just this once, the cards will obey the player’s wishes. It might make sense in that context, but that doesn’t mean that Spencer understands.
“I paid the price,” Pete says slowly. Spencer studies him - the way his shoulders are hunched, the lost expression in his eyes - and yes. Yes, maybe Pete did.
It’s hard to believe that Pete, just like Brendon, had a small slice of hope that he clung to no matter his words. There’s a certain irony to the fact that Pete’s agreement to marry Marianne, while given so as not to lose Ryan entirely, also cost him any hopes of another chance with him.
Spencer tries to make sense of his own feelings at that, but all he comes up with is confusion and a deep, almost guilty sense of sympathy for Pete.
_______________
>> Chapter 11