Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Eight
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Eight (Prologue+8/?)
Media: Fic
Author:
a_glass_parade
Beta:
mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 44,900+ This Chapter: 5900+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know. If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3
Kurt lay on the bed in his temporary quarters at Crawford Keep, boots on the coverlet in a way that he was sure Lady Crawford would deeply disapprove of were she to see it. He didn't care; couldn't muster up the wherewithal to do so. He had much too much on his mind to sort through, and it was keeping him awake long past the time he should have been sleeping. He hadn't even bothered to undress when he lay down.
The last two days had been something like a whirlwind. After his curious yet successful audience with Lady Amelia and the surprising Viscount Dalton, he'd returned to his Oxford inn to find Jesse St. James sitting in his room, impatience tracing every line of his body. “Well?” the Steward had demanded, glaring. “Did it go well?”
“Yes,” Kurt replied, short and brusque. He'd begun gathering his belongings together, not wanting to look at the other man. “Lord Crawford has asked me to move in tomorrow.”
Jesse had jumped to his feet and punched the air in triumph. “Yes,” he'd said with a hiss, beginning to pace the small room. “Excellent, excellent, excellent. Did you meet Viscount Dalton?”
Kurt had felt fortunate that St. James' back was to him in that moment, because his hands stilled briefly before he answered, and he was sure that would have given him away. “No.”
He didn't know why he lied. Instinct had been screaming that he needed to. He didn't fight it because for the first time since this whole misadventure had begun, there was something he could control: exactly how much he would tell St. James.
It seemed important.
“Well, that would have almost been too much luck,” Jesse had mused, continuing to pace as Kurt exhaled his tension. “You must keep me abreast of matters. Puckerman is your contact. When you need to get information to me or need anything at all, you go to him. That shouldn't be too hard, my people tell me that Lady Amelia visits his shop quite frequently. You'll be expected to accompany her.”
“Fine.” Kurt had elected then to also keep back the information that he would be moving into Dalton House within the next month. There would be time to reveal that to St. James as well. It was nothing the Steward needed to know immediately. More information, more control.
To his great relief, the Steward had left then to go have dinner. The two of them had been careful to avoid being seen together since that first night in Oxford - it wouldn't do to have anyone link them together and then trace it back to Huntingdon, potentially spoiling Jesse's plan. This suited Kurt just fine. He liked being able to ramble through the town, finding his own places to go and things to do. He didn't imagine he'd have much free time, but at least he had ideas for how to spend it if it did come along.
And of course, it was always a bonus to not be within five yards of Jesse St. James. It was like Christmas all over again, really.
They hadn't seen each other again, in fact, until the next morning. St. James had come to Kurt's room as he was packing the last of his things. “Your carriage is waiting to take you to Crawford,” the Steward had begun, his steady cold gaze locked onto Kurt's. “Remember - you must keep me informed of everything. I can be ready to move my men into place at any time. And if I even suspect something is out of order, remember that I have your father within arm's reach.”
Kurt swallowed. “Understood.”
“Good.” They stood looking at each other for long moments, each man taking the measure of the other for the four thousandth time in their lifetimes and still coming up with nothing they liked seeing. “I suppose this is goodbye, then,” St. James shrugged, expressionless.
“I suppose so.”
When Kurt said nothing more, Jesse headed for the doorway. “Remember, I can have your father killed with a snap of my fingers.”
“If I hadn't met your lovely sainted mother,” Kurt had countered, “I'd swear that you were the son of a whore.”
And those had been the last words Kurt and St. James exchanged before he had the carriage loaded with his things and traveled to Crawford. It was, Kurt thought, as appropriate a farewell as one could expect between the two of them.
The Frevilles seemed nice enough, he decided. Lord Crawford was an imposing man, clearly a battle veteran who had worked very hard to earn his place in the world. Yet he was kind, and obviously loved all of his daughters. If he resented not having a son, it didn't show.
Lady Crawford was also quite kind, as were her younger daughters - Kurt couldn't remember their names just yet - but they kept their distance from him and seemed to blend together, the same blonde hair and delicate features, quiet demeanors and no real interest in music. They made polite conversation upon his arrival, but then dispersed, leaving Lady Amelia to settle him in.
It became very clear within a very short time that Kurt was here strictly for Lady Amelia, and therefore he was her responsibility. He didn't mind at all - he rather liked the young lady a great deal, for all that she was nothing like any well-born woman he'd ever encountered, which was actually the primary reason he did like her. It was as if she'd learned what the words “deferential” and “quiet” meant and then decided she wanted nothing to do with them whatsoever. Kurt found this to be utterly charming and, for the first time in months, he found a ray of sunshine in the murky clouds of his complicated life.
Within seconds of directing the footmen to his new quarters, Amelia had seized him by the arm and dragged him off to a sitting room to talk. “Tell me everything about yourself,” she had invited, perching on the edge of the wing chair she'd taken immediately after depositing him into one of his own. “Don't leave out anything at all.”
For one insane moment he contemplated doing exactly as she instructed, wondering what her reaction would be to know that he was here to seduce and ruin her childhood friend and confidante. Would she be horrified? Oh, probably. And he'd seen enough of the byplay between herself and Anderson to know that she wasn't afraid of physical confrontation. All things considered, it was best to stick to the cover story.
“There's not much to tell,” he temporized, trying to buy time as he organized his thoughts. “My name is Florian. I sing and give lessons in vocal performance.”
“But what do you like?” Amelia was leaning forward, her eyes wide and eager and curious. He found himself admiring her sheer prettiness - she wore it unselfconsciously, as if it were no more remarkable than the slippers on her feet. She had no pretensions or artifice; what you saw with her was what you got. “Do you read? Do you enjoy going for walks? Do you like cider?” She frowned at the tray being brought in by a kitchen maid. “I didn't think to ask. I suppose I could request ale, if you prefer.”
“Cider is fine.” He couldn't help but smile at her. After the last three months with Jesse St. James, Amelia Freville was a beacon of hope and sweetness. “I do enjoy reading and walking. Music, of course. And I like horseback riding as well.” He thought wistfully of his father at that, swallowing back a lump of sadness. Amelia watched him with curiosity.
“You're far away,” she finally stated, pouring a cup of cider and passing it to him.”What are you thinking about?”
“Riding a horse,” he'd admitted. He hadn't been on a horse since this endeavor began, not having had time for it at all between lessons and fittings. And once he'd left Wales, all of his transport had been in a carriage or on his own two feet. “It's been some time. I miss it.”
“We shall have to go out sometime very soon, then,” Amelia had then decided. “I can send a messenger to Dalton and Blaine can join us! Would you like that?”
Quite the loaded question, that was. Kurt had made some sort of noncommittal noise of potential agreement and excused himself as swiftly as he possibly could without offending his employer's daughter.
The problem was that, all unexpected, his accidental encounter with the Viscount on the staircase the day prior had left him severely conflicted. He hadn't at all been prepared for the object of his mission to be quite so...well, adorable, really, was the only word for it. Kurt had had an image in his mind of a sort of younger version of Lord Huntingdon, tall, strapping, hair pulled back into a no-nonsense queue, clad in the plainest clothing a man of his station could be permitted to get away with.
He had never expected a charmingly awkward young man with a mop of dark curls and surprised hazel eyes who tripped over his words and blushed with the ease of a young girl. It made it rather difficult to hate him - and Kurt wanted to hate him, so much. Here was the indirect cause of Kurt's entire world collapsing, right in front of him, unknowingly waiting to be ruined himself. He felt that he should hate him, that it would make getting his job done quickly that much easier. That he should want to ruin the Viscount's life in retaliation for the ruination of his own.
But not very deep down, Kurt knew that this entire mess wasn't really Blaine Anderson's fault. He couldn't blame someone simply for existing, couldn't blame someone who didn't even know who Jesse St. James was for that man's actions. He simply did not have it in himself to hate someone who didn't even know why Kurt was angry at him.
Especially not when that someone was clearly kindhearted, protective of their loved ones, extremely attractive and very, very endearing in their awkwardness. For God's sake, he'd literally almost run into the door.
With a groan, Kurt rolled on his side to face the wall of the room. How, he wondered, does one go from not noticing men at all in any way to suddenly being attracted to any good-looking young nobleman who said boo to him? Because he could not deny that he was at the very least intrigued by the Viscount Dalton, not as strongly as he was attracted to the Earl of Hudson, but definitely there was interest present.
Was it their noble birth? He turned this over in his mind and quickly discarded it. No, that had to be a coincidence. Kurt had never given a damn for class and station. He'd been happy enough doing his work and looking after his father. They had a good life, a hard-working one to be sure, but Kurt had never been ashamed of that. He'd had no ambitions to move up from where life had placed him, and the only reason he was here now was to save his father, not to elevate himself. So, no. It wasn't that.
It wasn't just their looks, either, he knew. In his line of work, his true line, he had met many men of various degrees of attractiveness. If he were being objective, he could even honestly admit that Jesse St. James was one of the most damnably beautiful men he'd ever seen, with his blue eyes, fallen angel's face, waves of tumbling golden brown hair that always looked as if he'd just been intimate with someone - which Kurt, of course, was in the unwelcome position of knowing was highly likely to have occurred at any time - and a leanly muscled physique that he made sure to clothe well.
But St. James was also one of the most despicable men to walk the earth, and that was not attractive, not at all, whereas both the Earl of Hudson and Viscount Dalton were handsome and had been kind to him. Was that the secret, then? Kurt wondered. Most people hadn't really noticed him, had just seen him as a boy to saddle their horses. The two noblemen had actively acknowledged his existence and indicated, in some way, that it mattered.
He sighed and rolled back. What was the point of thinking himself to death over either man? The Earl of Hudson was well out of his reach both figuratively and literally. As for Viscount Dalton, at least there was the possibility of mutual interest if St. James' intelligence was accurate - yet there was absolutely no point in allowing himself to consider the man as anything but the object of a mission he needed to execute. Attraction to the man would make it easier to get the job done, might even make it a less detestable task, but he had to be so careful not to let that attraction pass a certain threshold or he would jeopardize the life of his father.
Nothing was worth that at all.
Still, Kurt thought, licking his lips as he remembered the feel of Blaine's hand in his on the staircase, the warmth and the softness and the way their palms fit together. Still, he is so very good looking...
Until St. James had turned his world upside down, Kurt had shared a room off of Raglan's stables with his father, an arrangement that hadn't been a problem until he realized his attraction to the Earl of Hudson. Then, it became almost torture, as he would find himself dreaming of the man and would wake up in a fog of confusion and lust, his cock standing at rigid attention. He would have to wait for his father to leave the room to prepare for the day before he could even manage to get out of bed and dress - having time or privacy to relieve his arousal was completely out of the question.
Then he had moved into his own room in the castle. The morning he'd woken up and realized he had all the privacy he'd ever wanted in moments like this, he'd felt like a starving man at a banquet. In the hours before he had to go to break his fast, he brought himself off over and over until his hand was exhausted and it hurt to get dressed.
Chafed and sensitive, he'd found it difficult to walk for the next three days. Limits, Kurt suddenly realized, existed for a reason. He had managed to confine himself then to a once a day schedule - but tonight, his blood running high from the events of the day, his near-total freedom from Jesse St. James, and wondering what it was going to be like the first time he wound his fingers into the curls of Blaine Anderson's hair and pulled him in for a kiss...
...he was going to have trouble getting around comfortably on the morrow. He didn't care.
Kurt glanced out of the small window in his new chamber. The moon was high, the stars bright. It was late enough that everyone was surely asleep, and his thoughts of Blaine Anderson were steadily progressing from kissing to wondering what the Viscount looked like unclothed.
He worked very hard every day to avoid remembering that he was being manipulated and blackmailed into doing this at all. There would be time for anger and shame later - the stakes were too high to give in to those feelings now. For now, he concentrated on his pleasure and on his gratitude that the stars had aligned enough to make Blaine Anderson an almost unfairly handsome man. That would make his task much easier, Kurt thought.
As long as he remembered that this was a job. Already he was realizing that by laying in bed and fantasizing about Blaine, the lines were blurring. It was much too easy to figure out what he might want to do to the other man when the opportunity arose. Perhaps walking in on St. James had done some good after all - no. His blood ran cold at the idea.
Closing his eyes, Kurt shoved the unwelcome thoughts away with an effort, focusing back on Blaine as he let his hand creep up under his tunic, untie one of the sets of laces on his doublet, and slip beneath the waist of his hose. He couldn't believe that a mere handful of months ago he was fumbling with embarrassment, unable to reconcile his natural shyness with the thoughts he was having about men he hardly knew. Oh, how things can change, he thought, a smile curling his mouth as he wrapped his fingers around himself and squeezed, finding his preferred rhythm immediately.
He was already half-hard imagining what Blaine might sound like when they kissed for the first time. A few firm, yet gentle strokes brought him fully erect, especially when he remembered that kissing was absolutely not the only thing he could do with his mouth. Soft gasps escaped as he wondered what he wanted to do first - find out what Blaine tasted like, or have Blaine find out what he tasted like?
The mental image of Blaine using his mouth on Kurt made him go even harder, something he hadn't thought possible. He felt his hips arch upward, forcing the warm, velvety heft of his cock through his hand's tightening grip. He'd watched himself in a mirror once, an occurrence that had flushed his skin a rosy pink all over, and he remembered seeing his eyes grow wide and darken to mossy green as his arousal grew - did Blaine's do the same, darkening to a warm chocolate brown? Or would they lighten, turning the liquid color of honey in the sunshine when Kurt dragged his tongue up the length of the other man's shaft, when he licked away the first droplets of fluid at the head, when he opened his mouth and let his mouth envelop as much of Blaine's length as he could...
What sounds, Kurt wondered, would Blaine make then?
Lost in a cloud of desire as he worked himself to climax, it took several minutes for Kurt to actually hear the tapping at his door. He froze, erection almost immediately disappearing as he yanked his hand out of his hose and sat bolt upright. Who could possibly be at his door at this hour?
“Florian?” The whisper was thin, almost ghost-like - but immediately recognizable.
Amelia, he realized, slumping over with a frown. It was the middle of the night! Not to mention that she had interrupted a very personal time, he grumbled to himself. It would be almost enough to make him yank open the door and shout at her, if he didn't actually already like her so much. And it wasn't really her fault that she'd disturbed him, she could hardly be expected to know what he'd gotten up to. He sighed. Sometimes, he found it much too easy to give nice people the benefit of the doubt.
Swinging his legs down, Kurt made his way to the door as noiselessly as he was able, given that he was still in his boots. He opened it only a crack. That was enough to see the girl standing in the corridor, wrapped in a heavy robe and carrying a candle. “Lady Amelia? Is something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No. I just wondered...” Her lips pursed. “Are you...that is to say...clothing...”
Kurt pulled the door all the way open to reveal that he was still fully dressed. “Yes. Did you need me?”
“I do, yes.” Amelia's smile was sweet, a mingling of anticipation and simple joy. She peered into the room. “Do you know, I've never been in these chambers?”
“Lady Amelia...”
“Isn't it funny? To know there's an entire suite of rooms in my home that I've never seen? Curious.” She raised her candle up to better illuminate the walls. “Of course, it looks like most of the other rooms here.”
“Lady Amelia.” At Kurt's firm tone, the girl pulled back and gazed at him inquiringly. “With all due respect, it's quite late. May I be of assistance?”
“Oh! Yes!” She gestured to his feet. “Do you have very heavy socks, or slippers?”
He was mystified. “...Yes?”
“Put them on and come with me. Please.” Amelia smiled again, clutching at her candlestick. “I want to do something.”
Despite his confusion, Kurt nonetheless found himself complying. “What are we doing?”
“You'll see.” And she refused to explain anything more, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when he tried to get more information. “If you have a robe, bring it as well. We're not going outside, but it's still quite cold.”
He pulled his boots off and exchanged them for leather slippers that had been lined with sheep's wool. Amelia was off and moving down the corridor already as he got to his feet, leaving Kurt to grab his robe and scramble to catch up. “Do you do this every night, with all your music teachers?”
She beamed a smile over her shoulder as she pushed open the door to the music library - they hadn't come far, then, this was just a few doors down from his own room. “No. Just you. Come in.” After he'd slipped inside, she closed the door firmly behind them and took his hand.
The room was dark, no lamps lit. The only sources of light in the room were Amelia's candle and the glow of the banked fire in the fireplace. Amelia led him over to the hearth and settled down on the rug there, pulling him down after her. “Why are we here?” he asked, confused. “Aren't we going to be in here quite often anyway? During more conventional hours?”
“Well, yes.” She shrugged and dipped into the pockets of her robe, pulling out a handful of chestnuts and a pair of apples. “But don't you think it's fun to be somewhere you're not supposed to be, doing something you're not supposed to be doing?”
Thinking back to what she'd interrupted, Kurt's response could only be a wry, “Well, yes, I might be acquainted with the feeling.”
Amelia put the nuts into a small metal basket and placed it over the smoldering logs, handing Kurt one of the apples as she took a bite of her own. “I like night picnics. I often come here with a book and read by candlelight for a while.”
“Why here?” He looked around. “You must spend a lot of time in here as it is.”
“Exactly. I like it in here. None of my sisters nor Papa or Mother are terribly interested in music, so this room is essentially mine, and mine alone. I'm going to miss it when we go to Dalton,” she sighed. “But that's all right, Blaine has a lovely music library of his own.”
“He mentioned that. And you said he also enjoys music?” Kurt tried to keep the question casual, but the odd little smile Amelia gave him made him think he hadn't succeeded as well as he would have liked.
“Yes. He sings, mostly, but he can play the lute as well. It's something he taught himself when he was younger. I don't know enough to know if he's good at it,” she shrugged, “but he likes to play it when he's thinking of difficult things and making hard decisions.” Reaching under the nearby harpsichord, she groped around and retrieved a flagon of cider that she'd clearly hidden there. “Here. I don't have cups. We'll have to just drink from the flask.” With a smile, she threw back a gulp and passed the vessel to him.
“If you usually do this alone, why did you come get me?” Kurt swallowed a mouthful of his own, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a fold of his robe when he spilled a bit.
“Because you've been tense and sad all day. I thought maybe a bit of silliness before we got to work might be relaxing. You practically ran away from me this afternoon, and we didn't get to talk over dinner.”
Kurt's eyebrow quirked upward at her perceptiveness. “I see.”
“Besides, you hardly ate. So.” Amelia gestured to the apple in his hand until he took a bite. “Florian, why are you sad?”
She was direct. Kurt bit down on the apple in his mouth, missing his tongue by a narrow margin. He chewed the bite quite thoroughly as he thought of how to answer her. “I miss my father. He was ill last year and he works too hard. I had to leave him to come here.”
“Oh. Where is he?”
Kurt and St. James had discussed his cover story, and decided for the sake of easy remembrance that he should stick somewhat closely to his own life, only making up a few details and obfuscating things when necessary. “In Wales. He works for a Baron there, in the stables.”
“That's how you know how to ride,” she realized, taking back the flask so that she could drink a bit more cider. “How did you come to music, then?”
“The Baron heard me singing and felt that my voice should not be wasted.” This was close enough to the truth, Kurt thought, fighting to keep a cynical tone out of his voice. “He liked my father, and so he was kind enough to give me the opportunity to learn. I sang for him for many years until he died. Then his son inherited the land and title, but had no interest in keeping me on.” He let out a sigh. “So, I had to strike out on my own.”
Amelia's eyes were shiny with sympathetic tears. “You've had to leave all you ever knew.”
“Yes.” Kurt swallowed back tears of his own. “And my father. I worry about him, but he's stubborn. He really insisted that I leave.” Also more or less the truth. “If I didn't go, I'd have to work in the stables again, and he felt I'd worked much too hard to go back to that.”
He was surprised at how much he was talking, how he really was so much more relaxed than he had been earlier in the day. Perhaps Amelia was on to something with her night picnics. Something about the darkness of the room and the coziness of sharing a late night snack had him opening up. Even if most of what he said wasn't true, it was still more than he'd talked to anyone in months. He felt better despite the very real secrets he was still holding inside.
It felt like Kurt had a friend. He'd never had one before. It was an odd but not unpleasant feeling.
The chestnuts popped in their basket, causing Amelia to reach back and pull them off of the fire. She dumped them onto the hearth. “We'll let them cool. I've never enjoyed burning my fingers.” With a smile, she bit back into her apple. “What do you think of Blaine?”
Kurt had been in the middle of taking another drink. Only very great control kept him from spitting it all over her in a burst of indignity. “Sorry, what?”
“What do you think of Blaine?” Her tone was somehow both patient and amused. “We will be living there after all, and he is my dearest friend. I really must insist that the two of you get along.”
“That's...fair.” I think that I both wish your dearest friend to the most distant ends of the earth, and also to writhe beneath me while I kiss him mindless. Kurt was fairly sure, however, that if he voiced those thoughts, then he would get himself into an awful lot of trouble. “He seems nice?”
“Are you not sure?” She was grinning with unabashed mischief in the candlelight. “I can assure you that he is actually quite nice, if you wanted to know. And isn't he handsome?”
Kurt felt his eyebrow quirk up yet again. “I suppose. Do you think so? Perhaps the two of you really should get married, if you think he's so nice and handsome.”
“Oh, no, it would never work.” Amelia shook her head and opened her eyes wide, contriving to look innocent. Kurt wondered why, until she spoke again. “I mean, quite apart from the fact that he's like my brother, and Papa wouldn't want me to marry anyone less than another Earl, I can tell you with confidence that Blaine would rather kiss you than me.”
He was really going to have to stop drinking when he sensed Amelia was about to talk. One of these times when she let fly with something like that, Kurt was either going to choke or make a disgusting mess. “Excuse me?”
“Normally I would never tell anyone anything like that, as it's rather personal information,” Amelia went on as blithely as if she were discussing the fact that the sky was blue and the rug beneath them was wool. “Especially since you and I don't know each other at all. But we'll be at Dalton very soon, Florian, and Blaine has done me a very great favor in taking me in. I would like to repay that favor. Therefore, I'm telling you that I'm quite certain that he liked you the second you met, and so if you're at all inclined that way, then there is possibility.”
Kurt had gone from a life of quiet solitude and simplicity to one that was fraught with complications and emotional turmoil in a very, very short amount of time. As if he wasn't under enough pressure from Jesse St. James, now Amelia had just dumped this into his lap. Not that it was unwelcome information, really.
It was only that it was both welcome and helpful and it made him feel like the worst person in the world, because as much as he thought he might want to reciprocate, he could only do so as far as it would get him to complete his mission. For his father. He could not afford more than the interest required to save his father's life.
He thought it was monstrously unfair that the universe should contrive to make him want more out of a situation that could never, ever allow it. This was growing more complicated by the minute, and it had really only just begun. Kurt's head spun with too many thoughts and feelings. Amelia simply sat watching him, waiting for a response.
“Why are you telling me this? The real reason?” Kurt heard the rasping edge of fear in his voice and coughed to clear it out. “You said yourself, we don't know each other, that's very personal information about your dearest friend to just put in my hands.”
“I meant what I said, Florian.” She picked up a warm chestnut, handing it to him and retrieving one for herself. “Blaine has given up a lot in the last several years for his aunt, for his country, and for me. And now he's taking me in and saving me from a marriage of convenience to someone I don't know who might die in the upcoming war. He's the kindest and most generous person I know. He deserves to be as happy as he makes everyone around him.”
“And you think I might be able to do that for him?” Oh you poor, misguided darling, he thought with wretched sadness. All I can do for your friend is ruin his life, and you're making me wish more and more that I didn't have to...
“I thought I might at least try.” She peeled her chestnut. “Didn't you like him at all? And I suppose I really ought to ask if you're inclined that way yourself.” She looked up, enormous blue eyes stricken. “Oh, dear. I think I might have been presumptuous.”
“You were,” he laughed sadly, “but you were accurate.” It was the first time he'd ever actually admitted to it out loud. There was a freedom in it that he hadn't expected. “And yes. I find Blaine attractive.”
“Good.” Amelia's voice was bright with satisfaction. “I can help you with him, if you like. I know everything about him.”
Kurt, however, was thinking back to something else she'd said that had captured his curiosity. “Lady Amelia - ”
“Oh, really, at this point I think you can call me simply Amelia.” She was smiling. “Do you want me to help?”
“No, Amelia, wait. Can we go back for a moment - what war?”
She shrugged. “I don't know much about that. Just that there's one coming. Blaine knows about it, he and Papa frequently meet to discuss it. But they don't tell me anything.” She popped her chestnut into her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of cider. She appeared completely oblivious to the storm of confusion she'd just unleashed on Kurt.
There's a war coming. That's more than I knew until now, he realized, pieces falling into place like tumblers in a lock. Despite St. James' refusal to give Kurt specific information, he'd let enough things carelessly slip that Kurt was, with the help of this last piece of intelligence, able to put together a sketchy mental picture of what was going on. Somehow, he was certain, his mission was related to this impending war, which he didn't like at all. Worse, the mission involved ruining the life of an apparently good man about whom he already had more feelings than was strictly wise.
Kurt Hummel was just an unimportant, over-clever stableman. He'd spent his entire life doing nothing but tending horses and looking after his father. Now chance had conspired against him so that both his father's life and the future of England rested heavy on his shoulders.
All he had to do was ruin Blaine's life - which perforce would hurt Amelia. Neither should matter. He didn't know either of them very well, so this shouldn't be so complicated. Get in, do his job, get out. Save his father, save England, never have to face either Viscount Dalton or Amelia Freville ever again.
But Kurt wasn't a heartless person. He wasn't Jesse. Jesse could manage this job with no remorse. Kurt could not. With each passing moment he became more entangled in the lives of these people, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance.
All he had wanted to do was save his father, but the seemingly simple way of doing so was all of a sudden not simple at all, and Kurt wondered with a sudden stab of despair how - if - he could ever manage it.
...Chapter Nine...
Media: Fic
Author:
a_glass_parade
Beta:
mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 44,900+ This Chapter: 5900+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know. If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3
Kurt lay on the bed in his temporary quarters at Crawford Keep, boots on the coverlet in a way that he was sure Lady Crawford would deeply disapprove of were she to see it. He didn't care; couldn't muster up the wherewithal to do so. He had much too much on his mind to sort through, and it was keeping him awake long past the time he should have been sleeping. He hadn't even bothered to undress when he lay down.
The last two days had been something like a whirlwind. After his curious yet successful audience with Lady Amelia and the surprising Viscount Dalton, he'd returned to his Oxford inn to find Jesse St. James sitting in his room, impatience tracing every line of his body. “Well?” the Steward had demanded, glaring. “Did it go well?”
“Yes,” Kurt replied, short and brusque. He'd begun gathering his belongings together, not wanting to look at the other man. “Lord Crawford has asked me to move in tomorrow.”
Jesse had jumped to his feet and punched the air in triumph. “Yes,” he'd said with a hiss, beginning to pace the small room. “Excellent, excellent, excellent. Did you meet Viscount Dalton?”
Kurt had felt fortunate that St. James' back was to him in that moment, because his hands stilled briefly before he answered, and he was sure that would have given him away. “No.”
He didn't know why he lied. Instinct had been screaming that he needed to. He didn't fight it because for the first time since this whole misadventure had begun, there was something he could control: exactly how much he would tell St. James.
It seemed important.
“Well, that would have almost been too much luck,” Jesse had mused, continuing to pace as Kurt exhaled his tension. “You must keep me abreast of matters. Puckerman is your contact. When you need to get information to me or need anything at all, you go to him. That shouldn't be too hard, my people tell me that Lady Amelia visits his shop quite frequently. You'll be expected to accompany her.”
“Fine.” Kurt had elected then to also keep back the information that he would be moving into Dalton House within the next month. There would be time to reveal that to St. James as well. It was nothing the Steward needed to know immediately. More information, more control.
To his great relief, the Steward had left then to go have dinner. The two of them had been careful to avoid being seen together since that first night in Oxford - it wouldn't do to have anyone link them together and then trace it back to Huntingdon, potentially spoiling Jesse's plan. This suited Kurt just fine. He liked being able to ramble through the town, finding his own places to go and things to do. He didn't imagine he'd have much free time, but at least he had ideas for how to spend it if it did come along.
And of course, it was always a bonus to not be within five yards of Jesse St. James. It was like Christmas all over again, really.
They hadn't seen each other again, in fact, until the next morning. St. James had come to Kurt's room as he was packing the last of his things. “Your carriage is waiting to take you to Crawford,” the Steward had begun, his steady cold gaze locked onto Kurt's. “Remember - you must keep me informed of everything. I can be ready to move my men into place at any time. And if I even suspect something is out of order, remember that I have your father within arm's reach.”
Kurt swallowed. “Understood.”
“Good.” They stood looking at each other for long moments, each man taking the measure of the other for the four thousandth time in their lifetimes and still coming up with nothing they liked seeing. “I suppose this is goodbye, then,” St. James shrugged, expressionless.
“I suppose so.”
When Kurt said nothing more, Jesse headed for the doorway. “Remember, I can have your father killed with a snap of my fingers.”
“If I hadn't met your lovely sainted mother,” Kurt had countered, “I'd swear that you were the son of a whore.”
And those had been the last words Kurt and St. James exchanged before he had the carriage loaded with his things and traveled to Crawford. It was, Kurt thought, as appropriate a farewell as one could expect between the two of them.
The Frevilles seemed nice enough, he decided. Lord Crawford was an imposing man, clearly a battle veteran who had worked very hard to earn his place in the world. Yet he was kind, and obviously loved all of his daughters. If he resented not having a son, it didn't show.
Lady Crawford was also quite kind, as were her younger daughters - Kurt couldn't remember their names just yet - but they kept their distance from him and seemed to blend together, the same blonde hair and delicate features, quiet demeanors and no real interest in music. They made polite conversation upon his arrival, but then dispersed, leaving Lady Amelia to settle him in.
It became very clear within a very short time that Kurt was here strictly for Lady Amelia, and therefore he was her responsibility. He didn't mind at all - he rather liked the young lady a great deal, for all that she was nothing like any well-born woman he'd ever encountered, which was actually the primary reason he did like her. It was as if she'd learned what the words “deferential” and “quiet” meant and then decided she wanted nothing to do with them whatsoever. Kurt found this to be utterly charming and, for the first time in months, he found a ray of sunshine in the murky clouds of his complicated life.
Within seconds of directing the footmen to his new quarters, Amelia had seized him by the arm and dragged him off to a sitting room to talk. “Tell me everything about yourself,” she had invited, perching on the edge of the wing chair she'd taken immediately after depositing him into one of his own. “Don't leave out anything at all.”
For one insane moment he contemplated doing exactly as she instructed, wondering what her reaction would be to know that he was here to seduce and ruin her childhood friend and confidante. Would she be horrified? Oh, probably. And he'd seen enough of the byplay between herself and Anderson to know that she wasn't afraid of physical confrontation. All things considered, it was best to stick to the cover story.
“There's not much to tell,” he temporized, trying to buy time as he organized his thoughts. “My name is Florian. I sing and give lessons in vocal performance.”
“But what do you like?” Amelia was leaning forward, her eyes wide and eager and curious. He found himself admiring her sheer prettiness - she wore it unselfconsciously, as if it were no more remarkable than the slippers on her feet. She had no pretensions or artifice; what you saw with her was what you got. “Do you read? Do you enjoy going for walks? Do you like cider?” She frowned at the tray being brought in by a kitchen maid. “I didn't think to ask. I suppose I could request ale, if you prefer.”
“Cider is fine.” He couldn't help but smile at her. After the last three months with Jesse St. James, Amelia Freville was a beacon of hope and sweetness. “I do enjoy reading and walking. Music, of course. And I like horseback riding as well.” He thought wistfully of his father at that, swallowing back a lump of sadness. Amelia watched him with curiosity.
“You're far away,” she finally stated, pouring a cup of cider and passing it to him.”What are you thinking about?”
“Riding a horse,” he'd admitted. He hadn't been on a horse since this endeavor began, not having had time for it at all between lessons and fittings. And once he'd left Wales, all of his transport had been in a carriage or on his own two feet. “It's been some time. I miss it.”
“We shall have to go out sometime very soon, then,” Amelia had then decided. “I can send a messenger to Dalton and Blaine can join us! Would you like that?”
Quite the loaded question, that was. Kurt had made some sort of noncommittal noise of potential agreement and excused himself as swiftly as he possibly could without offending his employer's daughter.
The problem was that, all unexpected, his accidental encounter with the Viscount on the staircase the day prior had left him severely conflicted. He hadn't at all been prepared for the object of his mission to be quite so...well, adorable, really, was the only word for it. Kurt had had an image in his mind of a sort of younger version of Lord Huntingdon, tall, strapping, hair pulled back into a no-nonsense queue, clad in the plainest clothing a man of his station could be permitted to get away with.
He had never expected a charmingly awkward young man with a mop of dark curls and surprised hazel eyes who tripped over his words and blushed with the ease of a young girl. It made it rather difficult to hate him - and Kurt wanted to hate him, so much. Here was the indirect cause of Kurt's entire world collapsing, right in front of him, unknowingly waiting to be ruined himself. He felt that he should hate him, that it would make getting his job done quickly that much easier. That he should want to ruin the Viscount's life in retaliation for the ruination of his own.
But not very deep down, Kurt knew that this entire mess wasn't really Blaine Anderson's fault. He couldn't blame someone simply for existing, couldn't blame someone who didn't even know who Jesse St. James was for that man's actions. He simply did not have it in himself to hate someone who didn't even know why Kurt was angry at him.
Especially not when that someone was clearly kindhearted, protective of their loved ones, extremely attractive and very, very endearing in their awkwardness. For God's sake, he'd literally almost run into the door.
With a groan, Kurt rolled on his side to face the wall of the room. How, he wondered, does one go from not noticing men at all in any way to suddenly being attracted to any good-looking young nobleman who said boo to him? Because he could not deny that he was at the very least intrigued by the Viscount Dalton, not as strongly as he was attracted to the Earl of Hudson, but definitely there was interest present.
Was it their noble birth? He turned this over in his mind and quickly discarded it. No, that had to be a coincidence. Kurt had never given a damn for class and station. He'd been happy enough doing his work and looking after his father. They had a good life, a hard-working one to be sure, but Kurt had never been ashamed of that. He'd had no ambitions to move up from where life had placed him, and the only reason he was here now was to save his father, not to elevate himself. So, no. It wasn't that.
It wasn't just their looks, either, he knew. In his line of work, his true line, he had met many men of various degrees of attractiveness. If he were being objective, he could even honestly admit that Jesse St. James was one of the most damnably beautiful men he'd ever seen, with his blue eyes, fallen angel's face, waves of tumbling golden brown hair that always looked as if he'd just been intimate with someone - which Kurt, of course, was in the unwelcome position of knowing was highly likely to have occurred at any time - and a leanly muscled physique that he made sure to clothe well.
But St. James was also one of the most despicable men to walk the earth, and that was not attractive, not at all, whereas both the Earl of Hudson and Viscount Dalton were handsome and had been kind to him. Was that the secret, then? Kurt wondered. Most people hadn't really noticed him, had just seen him as a boy to saddle their horses. The two noblemen had actively acknowledged his existence and indicated, in some way, that it mattered.
He sighed and rolled back. What was the point of thinking himself to death over either man? The Earl of Hudson was well out of his reach both figuratively and literally. As for Viscount Dalton, at least there was the possibility of mutual interest if St. James' intelligence was accurate - yet there was absolutely no point in allowing himself to consider the man as anything but the object of a mission he needed to execute. Attraction to the man would make it easier to get the job done, might even make it a less detestable task, but he had to be so careful not to let that attraction pass a certain threshold or he would jeopardize the life of his father.
Nothing was worth that at all.
Still, Kurt thought, licking his lips as he remembered the feel of Blaine's hand in his on the staircase, the warmth and the softness and the way their palms fit together. Still, he is so very good looking...
Until St. James had turned his world upside down, Kurt had shared a room off of Raglan's stables with his father, an arrangement that hadn't been a problem until he realized his attraction to the Earl of Hudson. Then, it became almost torture, as he would find himself dreaming of the man and would wake up in a fog of confusion and lust, his cock standing at rigid attention. He would have to wait for his father to leave the room to prepare for the day before he could even manage to get out of bed and dress - having time or privacy to relieve his arousal was completely out of the question.
Then he had moved into his own room in the castle. The morning he'd woken up and realized he had all the privacy he'd ever wanted in moments like this, he'd felt like a starving man at a banquet. In the hours before he had to go to break his fast, he brought himself off over and over until his hand was exhausted and it hurt to get dressed.
Chafed and sensitive, he'd found it difficult to walk for the next three days. Limits, Kurt suddenly realized, existed for a reason. He had managed to confine himself then to a once a day schedule - but tonight, his blood running high from the events of the day, his near-total freedom from Jesse St. James, and wondering what it was going to be like the first time he wound his fingers into the curls of Blaine Anderson's hair and pulled him in for a kiss...
...he was going to have trouble getting around comfortably on the morrow. He didn't care.
Kurt glanced out of the small window in his new chamber. The moon was high, the stars bright. It was late enough that everyone was surely asleep, and his thoughts of Blaine Anderson were steadily progressing from kissing to wondering what the Viscount looked like unclothed.
He worked very hard every day to avoid remembering that he was being manipulated and blackmailed into doing this at all. There would be time for anger and shame later - the stakes were too high to give in to those feelings now. For now, he concentrated on his pleasure and on his gratitude that the stars had aligned enough to make Blaine Anderson an almost unfairly handsome man. That would make his task much easier, Kurt thought.
As long as he remembered that this was a job. Already he was realizing that by laying in bed and fantasizing about Blaine, the lines were blurring. It was much too easy to figure out what he might want to do to the other man when the opportunity arose. Perhaps walking in on St. James had done some good after all - no. His blood ran cold at the idea.
Closing his eyes, Kurt shoved the unwelcome thoughts away with an effort, focusing back on Blaine as he let his hand creep up under his tunic, untie one of the sets of laces on his doublet, and slip beneath the waist of his hose. He couldn't believe that a mere handful of months ago he was fumbling with embarrassment, unable to reconcile his natural shyness with the thoughts he was having about men he hardly knew. Oh, how things can change, he thought, a smile curling his mouth as he wrapped his fingers around himself and squeezed, finding his preferred rhythm immediately.
He was already half-hard imagining what Blaine might sound like when they kissed for the first time. A few firm, yet gentle strokes brought him fully erect, especially when he remembered that kissing was absolutely not the only thing he could do with his mouth. Soft gasps escaped as he wondered what he wanted to do first - find out what Blaine tasted like, or have Blaine find out what he tasted like?
The mental image of Blaine using his mouth on Kurt made him go even harder, something he hadn't thought possible. He felt his hips arch upward, forcing the warm, velvety heft of his cock through his hand's tightening grip. He'd watched himself in a mirror once, an occurrence that had flushed his skin a rosy pink all over, and he remembered seeing his eyes grow wide and darken to mossy green as his arousal grew - did Blaine's do the same, darkening to a warm chocolate brown? Or would they lighten, turning the liquid color of honey in the sunshine when Kurt dragged his tongue up the length of the other man's shaft, when he licked away the first droplets of fluid at the head, when he opened his mouth and let his mouth envelop as much of Blaine's length as he could...
What sounds, Kurt wondered, would Blaine make then?
Lost in a cloud of desire as he worked himself to climax, it took several minutes for Kurt to actually hear the tapping at his door. He froze, erection almost immediately disappearing as he yanked his hand out of his hose and sat bolt upright. Who could possibly be at his door at this hour?
“Florian?” The whisper was thin, almost ghost-like - but immediately recognizable.
Amelia, he realized, slumping over with a frown. It was the middle of the night! Not to mention that she had interrupted a very personal time, he grumbled to himself. It would be almost enough to make him yank open the door and shout at her, if he didn't actually already like her so much. And it wasn't really her fault that she'd disturbed him, she could hardly be expected to know what he'd gotten up to. He sighed. Sometimes, he found it much too easy to give nice people the benefit of the doubt.
Swinging his legs down, Kurt made his way to the door as noiselessly as he was able, given that he was still in his boots. He opened it only a crack. That was enough to see the girl standing in the corridor, wrapped in a heavy robe and carrying a candle. “Lady Amelia? Is something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No. I just wondered...” Her lips pursed. “Are you...that is to say...clothing...”
Kurt pulled the door all the way open to reveal that he was still fully dressed. “Yes. Did you need me?”
“I do, yes.” Amelia's smile was sweet, a mingling of anticipation and simple joy. She peered into the room. “Do you know, I've never been in these chambers?”
“Lady Amelia...”
“Isn't it funny? To know there's an entire suite of rooms in my home that I've never seen? Curious.” She raised her candle up to better illuminate the walls. “Of course, it looks like most of the other rooms here.”
“Lady Amelia.” At Kurt's firm tone, the girl pulled back and gazed at him inquiringly. “With all due respect, it's quite late. May I be of assistance?”
“Oh! Yes!” She gestured to his feet. “Do you have very heavy socks, or slippers?”
He was mystified. “...Yes?”
“Put them on and come with me. Please.” Amelia smiled again, clutching at her candlestick. “I want to do something.”
Despite his confusion, Kurt nonetheless found himself complying. “What are we doing?”
“You'll see.” And she refused to explain anything more, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when he tried to get more information. “If you have a robe, bring it as well. We're not going outside, but it's still quite cold.”
He pulled his boots off and exchanged them for leather slippers that had been lined with sheep's wool. Amelia was off and moving down the corridor already as he got to his feet, leaving Kurt to grab his robe and scramble to catch up. “Do you do this every night, with all your music teachers?”
She beamed a smile over her shoulder as she pushed open the door to the music library - they hadn't come far, then, this was just a few doors down from his own room. “No. Just you. Come in.” After he'd slipped inside, she closed the door firmly behind them and took his hand.
The room was dark, no lamps lit. The only sources of light in the room were Amelia's candle and the glow of the banked fire in the fireplace. Amelia led him over to the hearth and settled down on the rug there, pulling him down after her. “Why are we here?” he asked, confused. “Aren't we going to be in here quite often anyway? During more conventional hours?”
“Well, yes.” She shrugged and dipped into the pockets of her robe, pulling out a handful of chestnuts and a pair of apples. “But don't you think it's fun to be somewhere you're not supposed to be, doing something you're not supposed to be doing?”
Thinking back to what she'd interrupted, Kurt's response could only be a wry, “Well, yes, I might be acquainted with the feeling.”
Amelia put the nuts into a small metal basket and placed it over the smoldering logs, handing Kurt one of the apples as she took a bite of her own. “I like night picnics. I often come here with a book and read by candlelight for a while.”
“Why here?” He looked around. “You must spend a lot of time in here as it is.”
“Exactly. I like it in here. None of my sisters nor Papa or Mother are terribly interested in music, so this room is essentially mine, and mine alone. I'm going to miss it when we go to Dalton,” she sighed. “But that's all right, Blaine has a lovely music library of his own.”
“He mentioned that. And you said he also enjoys music?” Kurt tried to keep the question casual, but the odd little smile Amelia gave him made him think he hadn't succeeded as well as he would have liked.
“Yes. He sings, mostly, but he can play the lute as well. It's something he taught himself when he was younger. I don't know enough to know if he's good at it,” she shrugged, “but he likes to play it when he's thinking of difficult things and making hard decisions.” Reaching under the nearby harpsichord, she groped around and retrieved a flagon of cider that she'd clearly hidden there. “Here. I don't have cups. We'll have to just drink from the flask.” With a smile, she threw back a gulp and passed the vessel to him.
“If you usually do this alone, why did you come get me?” Kurt swallowed a mouthful of his own, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a fold of his robe when he spilled a bit.
“Because you've been tense and sad all day. I thought maybe a bit of silliness before we got to work might be relaxing. You practically ran away from me this afternoon, and we didn't get to talk over dinner.”
Kurt's eyebrow quirked upward at her perceptiveness. “I see.”
“Besides, you hardly ate. So.” Amelia gestured to the apple in his hand until he took a bite. “Florian, why are you sad?”
She was direct. Kurt bit down on the apple in his mouth, missing his tongue by a narrow margin. He chewed the bite quite thoroughly as he thought of how to answer her. “I miss my father. He was ill last year and he works too hard. I had to leave him to come here.”
“Oh. Where is he?”
Kurt and St. James had discussed his cover story, and decided for the sake of easy remembrance that he should stick somewhat closely to his own life, only making up a few details and obfuscating things when necessary. “In Wales. He works for a Baron there, in the stables.”
“That's how you know how to ride,” she realized, taking back the flask so that she could drink a bit more cider. “How did you come to music, then?”
“The Baron heard me singing and felt that my voice should not be wasted.” This was close enough to the truth, Kurt thought, fighting to keep a cynical tone out of his voice. “He liked my father, and so he was kind enough to give me the opportunity to learn. I sang for him for many years until he died. Then his son inherited the land and title, but had no interest in keeping me on.” He let out a sigh. “So, I had to strike out on my own.”
Amelia's eyes were shiny with sympathetic tears. “You've had to leave all you ever knew.”
“Yes.” Kurt swallowed back tears of his own. “And my father. I worry about him, but he's stubborn. He really insisted that I leave.” Also more or less the truth. “If I didn't go, I'd have to work in the stables again, and he felt I'd worked much too hard to go back to that.”
He was surprised at how much he was talking, how he really was so much more relaxed than he had been earlier in the day. Perhaps Amelia was on to something with her night picnics. Something about the darkness of the room and the coziness of sharing a late night snack had him opening up. Even if most of what he said wasn't true, it was still more than he'd talked to anyone in months. He felt better despite the very real secrets he was still holding inside.
It felt like Kurt had a friend. He'd never had one before. It was an odd but not unpleasant feeling.
The chestnuts popped in their basket, causing Amelia to reach back and pull them off of the fire. She dumped them onto the hearth. “We'll let them cool. I've never enjoyed burning my fingers.” With a smile, she bit back into her apple. “What do you think of Blaine?”
Kurt had been in the middle of taking another drink. Only very great control kept him from spitting it all over her in a burst of indignity. “Sorry, what?”
“What do you think of Blaine?” Her tone was somehow both patient and amused. “We will be living there after all, and he is my dearest friend. I really must insist that the two of you get along.”
“That's...fair.” I think that I both wish your dearest friend to the most distant ends of the earth, and also to writhe beneath me while I kiss him mindless. Kurt was fairly sure, however, that if he voiced those thoughts, then he would get himself into an awful lot of trouble. “He seems nice?”
“Are you not sure?” She was grinning with unabashed mischief in the candlelight. “I can assure you that he is actually quite nice, if you wanted to know. And isn't he handsome?”
Kurt felt his eyebrow quirk up yet again. “I suppose. Do you think so? Perhaps the two of you really should get married, if you think he's so nice and handsome.”
“Oh, no, it would never work.” Amelia shook her head and opened her eyes wide, contriving to look innocent. Kurt wondered why, until she spoke again. “I mean, quite apart from the fact that he's like my brother, and Papa wouldn't want me to marry anyone less than another Earl, I can tell you with confidence that Blaine would rather kiss you than me.”
He was really going to have to stop drinking when he sensed Amelia was about to talk. One of these times when she let fly with something like that, Kurt was either going to choke or make a disgusting mess. “Excuse me?”
“Normally I would never tell anyone anything like that, as it's rather personal information,” Amelia went on as blithely as if she were discussing the fact that the sky was blue and the rug beneath them was wool. “Especially since you and I don't know each other at all. But we'll be at Dalton very soon, Florian, and Blaine has done me a very great favor in taking me in. I would like to repay that favor. Therefore, I'm telling you that I'm quite certain that he liked you the second you met, and so if you're at all inclined that way, then there is possibility.”
Kurt had gone from a life of quiet solitude and simplicity to one that was fraught with complications and emotional turmoil in a very, very short amount of time. As if he wasn't under enough pressure from Jesse St. James, now Amelia had just dumped this into his lap. Not that it was unwelcome information, really.
It was only that it was both welcome and helpful and it made him feel like the worst person in the world, because as much as he thought he might want to reciprocate, he could only do so as far as it would get him to complete his mission. For his father. He could not afford more than the interest required to save his father's life.
He thought it was monstrously unfair that the universe should contrive to make him want more out of a situation that could never, ever allow it. This was growing more complicated by the minute, and it had really only just begun. Kurt's head spun with too many thoughts and feelings. Amelia simply sat watching him, waiting for a response.
“Why are you telling me this? The real reason?” Kurt heard the rasping edge of fear in his voice and coughed to clear it out. “You said yourself, we don't know each other, that's very personal information about your dearest friend to just put in my hands.”
“I meant what I said, Florian.” She picked up a warm chestnut, handing it to him and retrieving one for herself. “Blaine has given up a lot in the last several years for his aunt, for his country, and for me. And now he's taking me in and saving me from a marriage of convenience to someone I don't know who might die in the upcoming war. He's the kindest and most generous person I know. He deserves to be as happy as he makes everyone around him.”
“And you think I might be able to do that for him?” Oh you poor, misguided darling, he thought with wretched sadness. All I can do for your friend is ruin his life, and you're making me wish more and more that I didn't have to...
“I thought I might at least try.” She peeled her chestnut. “Didn't you like him at all? And I suppose I really ought to ask if you're inclined that way yourself.” She looked up, enormous blue eyes stricken. “Oh, dear. I think I might have been presumptuous.”
“You were,” he laughed sadly, “but you were accurate.” It was the first time he'd ever actually admitted to it out loud. There was a freedom in it that he hadn't expected. “And yes. I find Blaine attractive.”
“Good.” Amelia's voice was bright with satisfaction. “I can help you with him, if you like. I know everything about him.”
Kurt, however, was thinking back to something else she'd said that had captured his curiosity. “Lady Amelia - ”
“Oh, really, at this point I think you can call me simply Amelia.” She was smiling. “Do you want me to help?”
“No, Amelia, wait. Can we go back for a moment - what war?”
She shrugged. “I don't know much about that. Just that there's one coming. Blaine knows about it, he and Papa frequently meet to discuss it. But they don't tell me anything.” She popped her chestnut into her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of cider. She appeared completely oblivious to the storm of confusion she'd just unleashed on Kurt.
There's a war coming. That's more than I knew until now, he realized, pieces falling into place like tumblers in a lock. Despite St. James' refusal to give Kurt specific information, he'd let enough things carelessly slip that Kurt was, with the help of this last piece of intelligence, able to put together a sketchy mental picture of what was going on. Somehow, he was certain, his mission was related to this impending war, which he didn't like at all. Worse, the mission involved ruining the life of an apparently good man about whom he already had more feelings than was strictly wise.
Kurt Hummel was just an unimportant, over-clever stableman. He'd spent his entire life doing nothing but tending horses and looking after his father. Now chance had conspired against him so that both his father's life and the future of England rested heavy on his shoulders.
All he had to do was ruin Blaine's life - which perforce would hurt Amelia. Neither should matter. He didn't know either of them very well, so this shouldn't be so complicated. Get in, do his job, get out. Save his father, save England, never have to face either Viscount Dalton or Amelia Freville ever again.
But Kurt wasn't a heartless person. He wasn't Jesse. Jesse could manage this job with no remorse. Kurt could not. With each passing moment he became more entangled in the lives of these people, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance.
All he had wanted to do was save his father, but the seemingly simple way of doing so was all of a sudden not simple at all, and Kurt wondered with a sudden stab of despair how - if - he could ever manage it.
...Chapter Nine...