Fic: 'Dalton Abbey' [Glee, Kurt/Blaine, 8.2/?]
Chapter 08 Continued
* * *
It was every bit as grand as Kurt had imagined it would be. More so, in fact, given that he’d really had very little idea of what to expect. Ladies in every color of dress he could think of, gentlemen clad in tails and top hats, each family to enter through the grand doors seemingly grander than the last. When Kurt’s mother had last witnessed a ball, the guests would have arrived by horse and carriage; she had made a point of telling Kurt how the sound of hooves clip-clopping towards the manor had been cause for fresh excitement as the maids had tried to guess who was arriving next. It was the only thing Kurt felt was missing from the ball; the guests arrived at the entrance accompanied by the sputtering and unnatural sound of the motorcar.
Nevertheless, he reveled in the atmosphere, enjoying his work, moving from group to group of people, able to listen in to their conversations inconspicuously. Much of their gossip meant little to him - names of people and scandals he’d heard nothing of - but it was amusing to realize that they were just like the servants in that respect; gossiping was human nature, and they were all susceptible to it.
Kurt looked in Blaine’s direction often, though of course the man was too busy to return his glances. Kurt was able to see how easily Blaine masked his emotions, how he was able to greet his guests, talk to them, with no hint of revealing the turmoil he’d experienced before, when he’d fretted about the evening. Kurt supposed that was something he’d been taught to do as a member of the upper class; heaven forbid anybody should know what he was really feeling.
Kurt gazed around the room once more, finding Blaine leading a young lady over to the floor and taking their positions ready for the next dance. Blaine looked up at him at last, just as he took the lady’s gloved hand into his own, and Kurt’s breath hitched in his throat as Blaine grinned at him. Kurt averted his gaze instantly, looking around to make sure nobody had seen their fleeting interaction. They hadn’t, of course. The guests were far too involved in themselves.
Music began to play, and Blaine led the lady through the same steps he and Kurt had danced together. It was more professionally done, naturally, with the flair of having been raised to know it by heart. With so many other couples dancing around Blaine in an almost perfect synchronization, Kurt could have watched them forever in awe as the scene unfolded before him. A man behind Kurt snapped his fingers, alerting Kurt to the absence of any alcohol in his glass, and Kurt jumped to refill it, before the man - the Duke of Carmel, he had discovered - could rebuke him.
He moved around the room, watching Blaine and the lady as he served. Blaine seemed to find her entertaining, smiling and laughing as she spoke to him. Kurt wondered if it was an act; if she was, like Miss Berry, only to become a friend of Blaine’s. Kurt hoped that he was merely pretending, that perhaps he’d consider that she wasn’t right to marry, too. If Blaine married Miss Fabray, he would likely find himself splitting his time between Dalton Abbey and the Crawfords’ family estate, until Dalton was passed to him. Kurt could, of course, find himself hired personally by Blaine, go with him no matter where Blaine spent his time. But Blaine was so blasé about things that there was a part of Kurt that wouldn’t be at all surprised if Blaine kept Kurt for his time at Dalton and used another footman for his time at Crawford. It could mean days, weeks, months even between their meetings, and the realization hit him hard. He bit the inside of his mouth until he could taste blood on this tongue, hating himself for the thought.
“She’s far too superior for you, Kurt.”
Kurt was startled out of his daze by Sam’s voice, and he realized that Sam had followed his gaze over to Blaine.
“You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” Kurt joked, thankful that Sam had assumed that Kurt was staring at the lady. Of course, that’s what Sam assumed. It would be unnatural to assume anything otherwise. “Who is she?”
“I think she’s a Marquess’s daughter. Lord Crawford’s,” Sam said, nodding his head in the direction of the girl’s father. “Miss Fabray is the name I heard.”
Kurt nodded, looking back over to Blaine and Miss Fabray.
“I know. She’s stunning,” Sam said, patting Kurt on the shoulder. “But she is completely out of your league.”
“Shut up,” Kurt said, playfully shrugging off Sam’s hand. Sam grinned at him and went back into the crowd, leaving Kurt where he was. The worst part was that Sam was right; Miss Fabray was out of his league, the two of them separated by etiquette, fortune and class. Yet he knew he’d have more chance having a love affair with her than he would ever have with Blaine - and suddenly the idea of that filled Kurt’s entire consciousness. He rebuked himself, feeling his insides contort almost painfully as he hoped to God that nobody had seen the thought flash across his eyes.
* * *
“You’re more forward than I was expecting,” Blaine admitted as the two of them danced a steady one-step routine, back and forth across the dance floor.
“I believe it’s traditional, at a ball, to dance. Is it not?” Miss Fabray said, innocently. “A lady has every right to dance with the host, no?”
“I don’t believe I’m the host,” Blaine pointed out, inclining his head toward his father.
Miss Fabray let out a sigh that appeared somewhere between exasperation and humor. “I didn’t think I could endure much more of Lady McKinley’s chit chat.”
“Then we are already on the same page, Miss Fabray,” Blaine said with a smile, looking toward where Kurt was standing as he danced. Kurt smiled before turning quickly away, and the sudden loss of his attention made Blaine feel empty somehow. “You look beautiful, if I may say so.”
“Thank you,” she said, her smile telling Blaine that she already knew that about herself. Blaine wondered, for a fleeting second, how many other gentlemen she had managed to coerce into dancing with her throughout her life.
“I understand this ball is for you,” she said as their dance continued. She twirled once, her hand remaining in Blaine’s as he held it above her head and bought it back down as they resumed the regular one-step.
Blaine raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t any idea what you mean, Miss Fabray.”
“You needn’t be so bashful, Master Anderson. Your parents want you married, I expect. Your guest list includes all of the usual families, but I’ve noticed particularly high numbers of eligible ladies. Miss Berry, Miss Cohen, Miss Jackson-” she pointed them out with her eyes as she noted them, all of the ladies scattered about the room in the midst of their conversations, their dances, “-Miss Zizes, Miss Pepper, Miss Corazon, Miss Pearce... myself.”
“We also have a good amount of eligible bachelors,” Blaine said, hoping to draw her focus away from a conversation he had no intention of entering into. “See: the Duke of Carmel, Flanagan, Hart...”
“Oh, of course. Every successful ball needs a single gentleman to every single lady - and I suspect your mother knows how to draw up a suitable guest list. But every private ball is designed with one person in mind, and tonight, that person is you. So tell me, Master Anderson,” she purred as the song closed, holding the final note for a long moment. “Has any lady taken your fancy tonight?”
Blaine’s stomach churned with nerves. Miss Fabray was teasing him, he knew, and he had no idea what he was expected to reply. As the final note dropped into quiet, Blaine released Miss Fabray’s hand and bowed courteously. “If you’ll excuse me, I - I have to...” Blaine said. He left his sentence unfinished, stepping away from Miss Fabray and heading toward the nearest footman, Evans, for a drink. He might have imagined it, but Blaine thought he saw a smile on the girl’s lips.
*
“Master Anderson,” a cheerful voice rang from behind Blaine. He swallowed down the last of his wine, before turning to see Miss Berry and smiling. “You look well.”
“I am, Miss Berry, thank you. How have you been?”
“Very well. I’m so pleased to see you again. I’ve missed your company a great deal.”
Blaine raised his eyebrows in disbelief, and chuckled at the thought. “Surely not? What on Earth is there to miss about my company?”
She looked as though she were considering something, questioning whether she ought to say something or not, before smiling and settling with, “Your intellect. I so rarely have the opportunity to talk with somebody as clever and well-read as yourself.”
Blaine smiled. “I suspect my musical talent was missed a great deal, too?” he joked.
She laughed, and Blaine found himself laughing, too, the sound of it comfortable and infectious.
“Not as much as I missed your humor,” she said.
Blaine looked the girl over; her dress was black, decorated with patterns of luxurious pink silk and embellishments. Her hair had been curled tightly and pinned up with meticulous care by her lady’s maid. She looked every bit as lovely as she had months before, and again Blaine wondered if perhaps it would be easier to simply ask Miss Berry to marry him. Their marriage needn’t be one of two strangers, but of two people who could talk easily together, who didn’t feel the need to dance around topics that other people did. He might not love his wife in the way that he previously thought that he was supposed to - but he wouldn’t detest her, either.
“Master Anderson, you seem to have been occupying the time of two of the most beautiful girls in the room all evening. I beg an introduction.”
The Duke smiled in Miss Berry’s direction, and she blushed in return, turning her face away bashfully and smiling. He persisted with his gaze.
“This is Miss Berry, your Grace. Miss Berry, this is the Duke of Carmel, Mr St. James.”
Miss Berry extended her hand and the Duke made a point of kissing her gloved knuckles.
“Whilst I’m sure your discussion here is riveting, might I ask permission to steal her, Anderson? For the next dance? If the lady will agree, of course,” he said.
“Certainly,” Blaine said with a smile, accepting another drink from a passing footman.
“I’ll be sure to return her in one piece,” the Duke promised, as he took Miss Berry’s hand and lead her toward the dance floor.
Blaine watched them for a while, the two of them talking and laughing happily together as they danced, the Duke, naturally, the most elegant dancer Blaine had seen. He scolded himself, not for the first time, for entertaining the idea of asking Miss Berry to marry him. Seeing her happy as she danced with another gentleman, he remembered why he had refused to marry her in the first place; she deserved to marry somebody who could love her. If that person happened to be the Duke of Carmel, all the better for her.
He scanned the room, his eyes passing across every footman before he fixed his gaze on Kurt once again. His attention was occupied, serving one of the families Blaine had been introduced to but had long since forgotten the name of. Blaine smiled at the thought of the evening finally drawing to an end, and Kurt being there to help him wind down. He looked forward to Kurt’s easy ability to involve him in a conversation that didn’t make him feel completely out of his depth.
Just as Kurt turned around and almost looked in Blaine’s direction, Blaine’s mother caught his arm in her grip and ushered him toward the hall again to introduce him to yet more strangers Blaine would probably never see again.
*
“You look flush, Miss Berry,” Blaine said in a hushed voice close into the girl’s ear. “It’s very telling.”
“Hush,” the girl replied with a smile, playfully batting Blaine’s arm. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, no?” Blaine raised his eyebrows and his grin was nothing if not ridiculously over-the-top.
Miss Berry giggled, her cheeks turning pink to match her dress. “He’s such a good conversationalist.”
“Miss Berry, I do believe that I am quite a good conversationalist, yet you do not blush under my gaze. What you mean is that he knows how to flatter you.”
The girl gasped, mock offended, although she retained her girlish smile. “He can dance. Far better than you can.”
“Oh, at that I simply take offense. How could you know? We’ve never danced together,” Blaine teased.
“He’s a Duke, Master Anderson. You’re merely an Earl’s son.”
“Oh, he’s a Duke, is he? Aren’t you setting your sights a tad high? For a Baron’s daughter?”
The two laughed at one another, alcohol having lowered their inhibitions enough for slightly risque conversation.
“There’s always room to set the bar a little higher,” she informed, playfully. “I couldn’t marry you - your social status is far too low.”
“Why, Miss Berry, I don’t believe that I ever expressed a desire to marry you. Am I such an open book?”
Miss Berry looked over toward Blaine’s parents, the two of them excellent hosts, walking from group to group of people with bright smiles on their faces. “No, Master Anderson. They I can read like an open book. You, sir? I cannot read you at all.”
Blaine had nothing to say in reply, and sipped his drink with purpose. Miss Berry’s gaze fell on Lord Carmel once again, and he winked at her, inclining his head to suggest she should join him.
“You don’t mind?”
“No, of course not,” Blaine said in earnest, smiling.
“I’m glad we’re such good friends,” she told him, before she made her way over to Lord Carmel and he led her toward the dance floor again.
“So it’s Miss Berry you’ve taken a liking to, then, Master Anderson?” The sound of Miss Fabray’s voice filled Blaine’s ears. “And you’ve some competition I see.”
“Not at all, Miss Fabray. Miss Berry and I are merely good friends.”
Blaine looked at the girl beside him. Her face was expertly controlled, showing no trace of her emotions; she seemed focused on everything around her, as though she knew every detail of what was going on. Blaine wasn’t sure whether it was the blur in his mind that the alcohol had created, or if, on some level, he simply knew he had to, but he offered his hand out to her.
“The next dance, my lady?” he asked.
She appeared surprised by the invitation, but took his hand nonetheless.
“Why not?”
Just as the string quartet began to play the opening notes of the song, Blaine caught the eye of his mother, standing a short distance away, nodding her approval. He withdrew his glance, avoiding her gaze as he had done for the majority of the evening, and looked toward the grandfather clock. The night was still young, and he supposed he might as well attempt to enjoy it.
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