A Most Brilliant Dance, Chapter 4
Full Headers [ here].
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77’000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5v2.
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A Most Brilliant Dance
Chapter 4
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And We’ll Dance - Thea Gilmore
Against the darkening sky, Netherfield might as well be something taken straight out of a fairytale. Each of its windows is brightly illuminated, a sea of twinkling lights. The last part of the way is lined with torches, their flames dancing in the soft breeze.
Spencer does his very best to ignore the twins’ excited squealing, focusing instead on the warmth of Brendon’s shoulder trembling against his, thrumming with nervous tension. The white of Brendon’s collar provides a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and he has his head tipped back to watch the house as their carriage approaches rapidly.
A bump in the road jostles them, and as if by accident, Spencer nudges Brendon in the ribs with an elbow. “You’ll be fine,” he mutters.
Brendon turns his head, his eyes wide in the half-light. “Promise?” he asks, very quiet and only half-laughing.
“I can’t imagine it any other way,” Spencer says, nodding his head slightly. He tries not to doubt his own words when he glances at the twins, practically bouncing with excitement, and his mother’s happy, awed face next to them. At least Anne and Mr Smith hold themselves with a certain kind of composure. Next to them, Frank looks as nervous and awkward as he did on his first day at Longbourn, but there’s no doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’ll be fine.
They arrive at the courtyard, and Spencer hardly waits for the white-clad, perfectly mannered servant to open the door before he jumps out of the carriage, gravel crunching under his feet. He turns back to offer Brendon his hand in help and receives a grateful smile. Brendon takes a deep breath and exits the carriage as well. For a moment, he stands at a loss, staring up at the house with wide eyes.
Spencer nudges his shoulder. “Ready?” he asks.
Brendon swallows, then turns his face to beam at him. It’s slightly nervous around the edges, but mostly convincing. He’ll be fine. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I’m sure that will be more than sufficient,” Spencer says. He waits for everyone to file out of the carriage, the horseman snipping the horses back into motion once everyone has left, the next carriage already waiting in line.
Spencer’s attention is caught by the movement of curtains, near the entrance above the second floor, right around where the piano room should be. By the time he manages to focus his gaze, Ross has already turned away from the window.
Spencer shrugs and turns towards the stairs, Brendon by his side. Brendon’s skin is a shade paler than before, but his step holds an additional bounce. Spencer gives him a lopsided grin. “So, I hope you remember that you promised to dance at least every second dance with Jon.”
“As if I could forget,” Brendon says.
“I thought I might remind you, to give you something else to fret over.” Spencer pauses for effect. “I mean, it is entirely possible that you’ll trip over your own feet, taking Jon with you, and both of you will end up tangled in the table cloth, and it will be very, very embarrassing and Jon will never look at you again.”
Brendon glances around to make sure they’re not being watched, then he sticks out his tongue. “I’d like to make it perfectly clear that I hate you.”
The banister curves with the stairs, smooth and polished from decades of usage. Spencer runs his palm over it, smiling at Brendon. “I assure you that I’m very hurt.”
“So you should be,” Brendon says, but he tilts sideways to knock their shoulders together.
Frank catches up with them a moment later, and Spencer moves aside to make room for him. Frank’s hat is slightly crook-sided, but otherwise, he looks quite all right, if still a little nervous. More to distract him than out of genuine curiosity, Spencer asks, “Is it really true that all this splendor pales in comparison to Rosings?”
Frank seems to hesitate for a moment, then he nods. “Yes, in a way, it does.” He pauses while two servants relieve them of their coats, Brendon already glancing at the crowd milling around a door just to the right of the great staircase. Spencer remembers it as leading into a large room, quite impressive with its white marble floor and chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
“However,” Frank picks up the thread of conversation again as they move towards the gathering. “The thing about Rosings is that it’s nearly suffocating in its splendor. It’s… not a bad place, really, but it takes your eyes a while to get used to all the shining, gleaming items. Gerard always says he’s going to redecorate it one day.”
Gerard, again. Spencer turns his head to share a privately amused look with Brendon, but Brendon is too distracted by his perusal of the crowd to even notice.
When they enter the ballroom, the sounds of many excited voices and music leaves Spencer nearly unbalanced for a moment. The musicians are tucked away in a faraway corner, playing something fast-paced and light-hearted while the first pairs are already swirling over the floor. It will be only a matter of time until the twins are amongst them, Spencer knows.
He catches sight of Jon, conversing with Sir William Beckett and a tall man Spencer has never seen before, maybe a friend from the city. Ross is hovering near Jon’s shoulder, looking to all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here. There is no sign of Vanek, Spencer is relieved to note, so the rumors about her returning to the city must be true.
As soon as Jon’s eyes find Spencer’s, he breaks out into a huge smile, then glances to his left and right. Spencer has to suppress a laugh as he takes a step towards Frank, revealing Brendon who’s currently searching a group at the far end of the room with his eyes. Spencer is willing to make an educated guess as to who he’s looking for, and Jon doesn’t disappoint, politely excusing himself from his current conversation and coming towards them, Ross trailing a few steps behind.
“Spencer?” Frank’s voice shakes him out of his grim musings, the question hesitant, almost shy. Maybe the sheer number of people is getting to him, after all.
“Yes?” Spencer asks, giving Frank a warm smile.
“Would you, uh.” Frank clears his throat. “Would you do me the honor of dancing the first dance with me?”
Spencer laughs and links his elbow with Frank’s. “Of course,” he says, and then he has to fight not to dissolve into an embarrassing fit of giggles as Brendon finally catches sight of Jon, turning several shades of red while a sheepish smile spreads over his face.
His amused mood fades quickly when Ross catches his eyes and moves towards him. Brendon walks across to meet Jon, and the group are coming dangerously close to Spencer and Frank. Spencer turns towards his companion, curls his hand around Frank’s wrist and murmurs, “Shall we go dance now? Brendon can manage on his own, and I’d rather not be caught with Jon’s less charming friends.”
Frank looks up, spots Ross and grimaces exaggeratedly. “Oh yes, let’s,” he says, and Spencer takes his hand and leads him firmly away. They start to giggle a little bit once they’re a few paces away - it must have looked like a rather extraordinary, abrupt departure - and Spencer looks back over his shoulder to mouth see you later! at Brendon.
Brendon fakes a face of desolation and Spencer just has time to see Jon reach out and touch Brendon’s elbow, dragging his attention back to him, before Frank drags him around the corner. “A close shave,” Frank comments, and Spencer bursts out laughing.
“Let’s see how long we can make it without talking to anyone in that party but Jon,” Spencer suggests, grinning. “Whoever goes the longest owes the other a block of fine chocolate.”
“Deal,” Frank says. “Although I can’t see why we need to make such a bet. Surely our dear friends would be feeling too superior tonight to talk to the lower classes.”
Spencer smiles lopsidedly. “Mr Ross takes a peculiar enjoyment in discomforting me,” he admits. “Now, didn’t you promise me a dance?”
*
Frank is many things on the dance floor, Spencer discovers; adorable and strangely charming as ever, handsome, fond of smiling, and very chatty. He is not, by any stretch of the imagination whatsoever, a good dancer. Spencer’s toes feel a little bruised after a while, and he flinches every time Frank accidentally collides with another dancer, smiling brightly and saying, “Sorry! Sorry!”
Eventually, Spencer can hold his tongue no longer. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” he asks, and smiles to alleviate the sting.
Frank raises a haughty eyebrow. “I’m better than Gerard,” he says.
“Is Gerard considered to be a good dancer?” Spencer asks, and Frank grins.
“Not even a little bit,” he answers cheerfully, and Spencer ducks under his arm and congratulates himself on avoiding yet another black eye by avoiding Frank’s strangely active elbow.
The music sweeps to a close and Frank starts to bow but the solemn sight of him makes Spencer stagger forward with laughter, clutching at him. “Oh God,” he says. “Never again, Frank. You’re far too exciting for my humble tastes.”
“Some people just can’t appreciate dancing the way it’s meant to go,” Frank says sorrowfully. “Perhaps it would be best if I retired myself as a spectator for the rest of tonight.”
“My sisters will be sure to claim at least two dances each,” Spencer says dryly. “You can’t come into our household and charm even Anne and expect to get away lightly.”
“Maybe this will dim their affection for me somewhat,” Frank says, and then Brendon appears next to them.
“Spencer!” he says. “Jon has to dance with Mrs Beckett first, something about a promise. Keep me company?”
“Perhaps I could do the honor?” Frank asks, smiling brightly. “The musicians are very good tonight, Brendon. Care to dance?”
“Oh God,” Spencer says. “Run, Brendon! Save yourself while you can!”
“I’m not a coward,” Brendon says gleefully, and at that second Elinor comes to make Spencer dance with her, so they all set off together again. If Frank on his own was mildly threatening, Brendon and Frank are positively dangerous; Brendon, normally a good dancer, clearly decides to join his partner in style, and they almost take over the dance floor in what Spencer can call nothing else but high-spirited flailing.
Spencer dances the next two with Brendon (they work well together, after all this time, moving together smoothly, Brendon bright and cheerful and relating various things under his breath with the air of passing idle conversation about the weather) and then relinquishes his partner to Jon for the next, dancing with one of the girls from town. He looks over at the end of that dance to see if Brendon is tiring yet, but he and Jon are already lining up again so Spencer sneaks off by himself to find a quiet corner to catch his breath in.
He winds his way through the various people, trying to avoid being entangled in conversations through abundant usage of polite nods and smiles, and eventually rounds a warmly lit corner to find an empty stretch of corridor. He leans his head back and tries to cool down, relaxing after a half hour of dancing.
He’s barely been alone for five minutes, though, before he opens his eyes to footsteps and finds a familiar face smiling at him.
“Hullo, Spencer,” Pete says. “You look nice.”
“Pete!” Spencer stands up straight, trying to keep his composure and failing, grinning widely. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d made up your mind not to come!”
“It probably would have been the wisest course of action,” Pete says. “But I don’t like to be known as someone who scares easily, and Mr Ross will have to do much more than glower to intimidate me. Besides, I really did mean to have that dance with you. It seems unfair to make hollow requests.”
“I understood why you didn’t want to come,” Spencer protests, but Pete interrupts him, nodding.
“I know you did,” Pete says. “Nevertheless, though. I saw him a little while ago, and he seemed distracted enough that… Anyway. I shan’t stay long, perhaps an hour or so, but. Here I am.”
“Here you are,” Spencer echoes a little stupidly, and then flushes, rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Pete smiles back at him anyway, although it’s missing a little bit of his usual warmth, and it doesn’t escape Spencer’s notice how nervous Pete seems, how he’s bouncing on his toes and looking behind him quite frequently. Spencer lays a reassuring hand on his arm, says, “Come, then. Let’s have that dance.”
Pete offers his arm again and Spencer takes it, grins foolishly at the floor. Pete’s a gentleman, he thinks, always suave and charming in the old-fashioned way, attentive and friendly and pleasant to be around. Spencer dreads the idea of somehow being caught in a confrontation between Ross and Pete, should it come to happen, but he can’t deny that he’s glad Pete’s here.
They are just about to start a new dance, so Spencer and Pete take their places and start off. Pete’s a good dancer, a little unpracticed with some of the trickier steps, but he doesn’t step on Spencer’s toes and he talks enough that Spencer doesn’t feel awkward, light-hearted banter about the regiment in town and the rumors that surround them.
About halfway through the dance, though, Spencer feels someone’s eyes on him and looks up to see Ross staring from across the room. Pete looks wary, and Spencer realizes with a jolt that Ross has been watching for some time, and that Pete’s known it. Spencer tilts his chin up defiantly and meets Ross’s gaze as levelly as he can over the heads of the other dancers, and they stand at an impasse for a moment before Spencer’s forced to move forward as the dance requires.
He’s uncomfortably aware of being under Ross’s scrutiny for the rest of the dance, and when they walk off Pete murmurs in his ear, “I’m sorry. I thought - I had hoped I could stay longer, but Mr Ross looks as though he’s about to call the hounds, and-”
“I’ll see you sometime soon,” Spencer says fiercely and Pete meets his eyes with a strangely cool expression, eyes dark and unreadable.
Then he smiles, though, and the uncertainty about his demeanor melts away. “Of course,” he says, and takes Spencer’s hand and squeezes it once. Spencer tightens his grip and Pete hesitates for a moment and then rocks up on his toes, kisses Spencer brief and warm on the cheek.
“Good night,” Pete says, and Spencer stammers some sort of reply back at him before Pete turns and melts away back into the crowd.
When Spencer turns around, Ross is walking towards another group of people, back to Spencer.
*
Spencer finds Brendon eating sorbet out of a silver goblet, clearly searching the room; when Spencer pops up beside him he grins and offers Spencer a spare spoon. They eat with their heads tilting together, and Brendon murmurs, “I thought Pete wasn’t coming, considering…”
“I thought so too,” Spencer says. “He said he didn’t want to be scared off. Only he was after all. He just left.”
“Mr Ross has spent the past twenty minutes glaring at anyone who happens to come across his path,” Brendon observes neutrally, and Spencer feels the corners of his mouth tug downwards, looks unhappily at the floor.
“It’s so unfair,” he says. “That… Mr Ross is the one who has done everything to blame, and yet it’s still Pete who has to be treated with such disrespect-”
“Careful,” Brendon warns. “You mustn’t forget you only have Pete’s side of the story-”
“Oh for God’s sake, Brendon,” Spencer snaps. “Not everyone who has the pleasure of Jon’s acquaintance is equally amiable. Grow up.” Brendon’s mouth snaps shut pointedly and Spencer sighs, rubs at his eyes and pushes the last bit of sorbet towards Brendon’s spoon as penance. He doesn’t apologize and Brendon looks at him warily out of the corner of his eye but says nothing more, and they fade into silence.
“Where’s Frank?” Spencer ventures finally.
“I saw him talking to Mother, earlier,” Brendon says. “Which doesn’t bode well. Either she’s going to drive him to tears or put some dastardly plan in his head. Probably he’ll go off and ask Jon if Jon would care to marry me, just to give my dear mother some peace of mind.”
Spencer barks a laugh and whispers, “Do you think she’d venture to auction you off, or would she be content simply-”
“Mr Smith,” a quiet voice says at his shoulder and Spencer whirls around, startled, to stare at Ross. He doesn’t look angry anymore; his face is, if anything, resigned, and he watches Spencer with the same curious detachment as ever.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, surprised, and Brendon turns too. All three of them bow and Spencer’s stomach lurches, wondering what Ross is going to do, or say - he wouldn’t kick him out of the ball just for talking to Pete, Spencer thinks frantically, no, that’s pure nonsense, but he might just-
“I was wondering,” Ross says, “If I might have the pleasure of the next dance?”
Spencer blinks and opens his mouth to say what do you mean? but Brendon nudges him a little desperately and instead he finds himself saying, “You may.” Ross nods, calmly, and then turns and walks away; Spencer turns to Brendon, who is openly gaping.
“What just happened?” he hisses.
“You just agreed to dance with Mr Ross,” Brendon says dumbly. “Why did you say that, Spence, you hate him-”
“You were nudging me!” Spencer says wildly. “I couldn’t think properly, I-”
“That was obvious,” Brendon says, still staring in astonishment. “I nudged you to make you say something, you looked a little… stricken. Spencer, you’re going to have to-”
“I know,” Spencer says, miserably. “I know, okay.”
*
Ross bows his head slightly as the music starts up, and Spencer takes his hand, lets Ross guide them up through the lines of dancers. They move in silence, swerving in and out, and Spencer’s uncomfortably aware of everywhere Ross touches him, long fingers that don’t linger a second longer than is necessary. It’s strangely dispassionate; not that Spencer would expect any less, more that he’s accustomed to Brendon’s easy way of touching and Pete’s casual warmth and Frank’s exuberance. Ross dances like he talks - quiet and stilted and there’s something to it that makes Spencer shiver, like someone’s walked over his grave.
After a while the silence is almost unbearable, and Spencer says, “This is a fine ball.”
“Yes,” Ross agrees, and offers nothing more. Spencer grits his teeth.
“Much as I enjoy our habit of ignoring each other most of the time,” he says, “I think it a little unfair that you ask me to dance and then proceed to act as if I’m not there.”
Ross glances at him, startled, and Spencer looks away from his dark, intent gaze. “My apologies,” he says finally, smiling a little bit crookedly. “Certainly I’m willing to discuss anything you feel would make you enjoy yourself.”
“Not anything, perhaps,” Spencer says carelessly, and Ross’s face tightens, pressing his lips together. Spencer laughs softly and Ross grips his wrist suddenly, fingers biting into Spencer’s skin. Spencer will have bruises tomorrow, he thinks absently.
“What do you have to gain by baiting me so?” Ross hisses. “I’ve not done anything to you-”
“Oh, nothing that you’d care to admit,” Spencer whispers fiercely, glaring at him. “But your treatment of Pete is inexcusable-”
“Mr Wentz,” Ross says pointedly, “is a pig dressed up in gentleman’s clothing-”
“Your bitterness is hardly charming,” Spencer snaps, and he knows that they’ve stopped dancing too noticeably, are attracting people’s stares, but Ross looks wild and furious, eyes big and burning in his white face and Spencer feels almost sick with anger. “Simply because your father loved Pete more than-”
Ross says, “Pete is kidding himself if he thinks my father loved anyone,” and then his hand slides up Spencer’s wrist and links their hands together again, stepping forward smoothly to rejoin the dance. Spencer bites his tongue and looks at some point over Ross’s shoulder, but he’s uncomfortably aware that Ross is still watching him and he meets Ross’s gaze. They dance with eyes locked together, and Spencer has the unaccountable feeling that he’s losing a battle of wills.
At least, he thinks absently at some point, Ross isn’t the type to take his anger out on a dance; he holds Spencer as lightly and carefully as before, and when Spencer whirls back and into his grasp again he is warm and perfectly straight, holding Spencer up when he loses his balance for a second.
There is a sweep of the final, solo violin, and Spencer turns to find Ross still standing close to him. He wonders for a moment if there’s going to be another argument, hidden under the applause of the dancers, but Ross just bows slightly, keeping his face up, eyes fixed on Spencer. His hand curls around Spencer’s wrist and Spencer realizes, frowning, that Ross’s skin is warmer than he had thought - or maybe it’s just the dancing that’s warmed him up.
Ross says, “Thank you,” very quiet and very grave, and then he touches Spencer’s hip, so lightly that Spencer thinks he might have imagined it, before he releases Spencer and disappears back into the crowd.
*
It is inconceivable that one dance with Ross should leave Spencer unbalanced, let alone feeling vaguely guilty despite the fact that all the blame is to lay on Ross’s shoulders. And yet, once Ross has melted away into the crowd and out of sight, Spencer finds it hard to throw himself back into the music and the simple enjoyment of movements flowing into each other. He stays on the outskirts for a few moments before he sets off to find either Brendon or Frank, certain that one of them will be able to put his mind at ease.
Brendon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon. For all Spencer knows, they might be taking a walk in the gardens to find some quiet and peace to talk. It would be a very good sign, and Spencer spares a momentary thought to wish Brendon all the luck in the world. He doesn’t really think Brendon will need it, but… Well, it can’t hurt.
He’s more fortunate in his search for Frank - Frank and Anne are discussing something near the buffet, both their faces very earnest and animated. It’s a rare look for Anne, and Spencer isn’t entirely convinced that there isn’t some kind of magic to Frank, nestling in the crooked curve of his smile or behind his ears or something.
“Hey,” Spencer says, sidling up next to Frank. “So, I think I lost our bet quite spectacularly.”
“Gambling?” Anne asks, her expression shifting into disapproval in the blink of an eye. “Honestly, Spencer.”
“Just a little,” Spencer tells her, grinning. “Nothing serious at all, really.” He turns to Frank. “Care for some fresh air?”
Frank nods eagerly. “Always. No matter how high the ceiling, a room full of people never makes for a pleasant mixture of scents, does it?”
“It is the combination of too many perfumes,” Spencer says. “Too many different flowers make a mud pit, I suppose.” He links his arm with Frank, waving a short goodbye at Anne. She looks a little lost, and Spencer feels a moment of guilt. But then, she would interrupt the retelling of his encounter with Ross after every second word to berate him for his lack of politeness. Which, yes, might be true at least in part, but Ross doesn’t exactly have a clean track record, either.
They leave through the back doors that lead out into the gardens, and on their way, they pass Mrs Smith, surrounded by a captive audience of middle-aged women as she tells them in no uncertain terms that Mr Walker is going to marry her Brendon, isn't it just splendid?
Spencer cringes at her gleaming face. Just as he's about to voice a silent prayer that no unfriendly ears are listening, he notices Ross leaning against a column only a few feet away. His back is a perfectly straight line, his body turned towards the window, but there's no doubt in Spencer's mind that none of Mrs Smith's words escaped his notice.
He feels the first hint of a blush heat his cheeks and nudges Frank into a faster pace. Hopefully, Ross didn't see him.
The moment they step outside, Spencer immediately feels better, the velvety night air cooling his flushed face. A few other people are milling about on the patio, and he waits until he and Frank are down the stairs and on their way to the small pond before he resumes the earlier thread of conversation.
“In fact,” he says, “I must admit to losing our bet rather spectacularly. I danced with Ross.”
“Abominable traitor,” Frank exclaims, his eyes alight with laughter.
“Believe me, the punishment came with the crime,” Spencer assures him gravely. “I don't remember ever dancing with a partner who was quite as cold and distant. I told you he enjoys causing me discomfort.”
Frank sinks down onto one of the benches near the pond. A lantern, a few feet off to their left, provides a minimum of brightness, more a soft glow in the night than anything else. “So you admit that I'm not the worst dancer at this ball?” Frank asks.
“Well,” Spencer says. He sits down beside Frank, pretending to ponder the matter for a moment. “No, I'm sorry. Ross isn't a bad dancer, per se. It’s his social incompetence that makes him an undesirable partner. So, he's the better dancer, but you're the one I'd rather dance with.”
“I'm not sure I consider it a compliment to be chosen over Ross,” Frank drawls.
“My toes are still numb from when you continued stepping on them,” Spencer says. “I'm afraid it's the best I can do.”
“Oh, well.” Frank's hand rises in a resigned gesture. “I'll live.”
They're quiet for a few moments, nothing but the ripples of the water and the chirr of a sleepless cricket. Then Spencer sighs and leans back, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I think he might have heard what my mother said about Jon marrying Brendon. You know how she tends to let her mouth run away with her.”
Frank is silent for a moment before he reaches over to squeeze Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Anyone with half a brain can see that Jon adores Brendon, and that he returns the sentiment.”
“Yes, it’s just… I don’t want him to be hurt by this, you know?”
“You care a lot for Brendon, don’t you?” Frank doesn’t really move his hand away, just lets it slide down from Spencer’s shoulder to the crook of his elbow, a warm reassurance.
“I do,” Spencer says. He wonders if he’ll have to clarify things again, but Frank nods before he can even open his mouth.
“The peculiarity of your situation probably made you better brothers than you would have been if you’d grown up together all your life. You never had to compete for affection, I suppose.” He tilts his head, his eyes catching some of the lantern’s light. “Is it a difficult thought, parting with Brendon if he really is to marry Jon?”
“Netherfield is at a walking distance, even closer by horse, so…” Spencer shakes his head. “Not really, no. I’d still get to see him a lot. And Jon is…” He pauses to search for the right words, but in the end, all he can come up with is, “Jon makes him practically glow, did you notice? They can be ridiculously sweet and endearing together.”
Frank laughs quietly, but there’s a slight frown marring his forehead, a faint trace of unhappiness. It fades soon enough to make room for plain delight as he points at the pond, leaning forward. “Look, there are baby ducks, do you see that?”
Spencer does. He also glances at Frank’s gleeful face and can barely keep from laughing out loud. His earlier irritation with Ross has receded to nothing more than a low hum in the background.
*
When Spencer finally drifts into a state of half-aware drowsiness, the sun is already high in the sky. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that much; the sunrays that tickle his nose are enough of an indication already as the morning sun never reaches the bed.
“You awake?” Brendon asks in what he probably confuses for a whisper.
Spencer rolls over with a groan. “I am now.”
“Sorry,” Brendon says, and he’s looking so happy that Spencer can’t even begin to feel irritated. They didn’t get a chance to talk last night, too tired to do more than stumble into bed and fall asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. Now, though, Brendon is wide awake. Spencer knows from previous experience that he’s not going to be able to rest until Brendon has gotten his chance to talk.
“I take it you had a great time last night,” he says. His hand is barely large enough to cover his yawn.
“I did,” Brendon says, eyes shining. “It was… Spence, it was… I don’t even know, okay?” He laughs for no apparent reason at all, and Spencer can feel his own lips quirk up into a smile.
“That good, huh?” Brendon laughs again, a little wildly, and rolls over to bury his face in the pillow, pulling the blankets back over him, and Spencer grins at the back of his head. “How many times did you two dance, anyway? I swear you were still going when even most of the musicians had left.”
“I lost count,” Brendon admits, voice muffled by the pillow. He turns slightly onto one side so Spencer can see one bright eye and a tuft of hair poking out of the quilt. “I’m sure Mother kept a tally, though, you can always go ask her.”
Spencer makes a face. “I heard her bragging,” he says quietly. “Something about you two being engaged before the fortnight was out.”
“I wish she wouldn’t,” Brendon says, face falling a little. Spencer considers telling him how sure he is that Ross was listening, but decides against it; probably nothing will come of it except even more rudeness from Ross’s end, and the way he’s going it would be stranger if he decided to be civil all of a sudden.
Spencer shrugs. “Never mind. Come on, breakfast. I’m starving.”
*
Everyone is already downstairs by the time they get there. Mrs Smith gets up and coos at Brendon, ushers him into a seat next to her so that he can tell her “every detail, darling, everything Mr Walker said!” Spencer rolls his eyes and slides into a seat next to Frank, mumbling something about insane women far too early in the morning in Frank’s ear. Frank doesn’t laugh, though - he looks a little bit sick. Spencer’s pretty sure he didn’t see Frank drinking any wine last night, but then, he could have missed it.
Breakfast is mostly dominated by Mrs Smith - for all that she wants to hear “every detail” she spends most of it relating her own personal view of last night’s events to everyone else. Spencer sees Brendon’s eyes glaze over pretty quickly and - after a few fruitless attempts to draw Frank into conversation - Spencer turns to Anne at his side and progresses to argue with her about the virtues of a book they had both read recently (whispering, with furtive glances to make sure his mother hasn’t cottoned onto the fact that he’s not paying the slightest bit of attention).
Spencer’s almost done when Frank nudges him and says, voice a little weak, “Hey, you want to come walking with me in a little while?”
“Sure,” Spencer says. “Want to take the horses?”
“Um,” Frank says. “Maybe we could just walk.”
Spencer shoots him a confused look. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Hey, Brendon, want to come for a-”
“No,” Mrs Smith says decisively, turning her attention to him with alarming speed. Her eyes look a little beady. “No, I should think not.”
“Uh,” Spencer says, and Frank drops his head down, blushes hotly at his breakfast - which is, Spencer notices with a sudden feeling of dread, mostly untouched. “Want to go now?” he ventures and Frank breathes out through his mouth.
“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”
They walk out towards Netherfield, away from the dusty road leading into town and left of the river where Pete and Spencer walked the other day. The morning is cold, heading into winter, and Spencer hugs his coat around himself and wishes he’d though to bring a thicker one. Frank has his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring at the ground; the same uneasiness twitches in Spencer’s stomach and he elbows Frank quickly, a nudge of their arms. Frank smiles but doesn’t look up and Spencer looks away, breathes out a fine mist into the cold air.
“So,” he says eventually.
Frank blurts out, “I lied a little. About why I’m here.”
Spencer blinks at him. “Oh?” he says, striving for lightness. “So really you’ve been planning what furniture you’re going to move around the whole time?”
“No,” Frank says, and shakes his head vehemently. “You know. I told you about how Lady Helena gave me that parsonage?”
“Yes,” Spencer says. “That was kind of her.”
“Yes,” Frank agrees, and looks at Spencer a little miserably. “I meant to say, I lied when I told you I was just here to get to know family. But - it’s been lovely, of course, and I’m very fond of all of you, but.” He stops and swallows hard.
“But?” Spencer prompts.
“Lady Helena,” Frank says carefully, “seems to think it would be a good idea for a man my age in my position to, uh, get married.”
“Frank,” Spencer says quickly, a thousand butterflies making themselves comfortable in his stomach, but Frank shakes his head and holds up a hand.
“Please,” he says. “Let me finish. She sent me here to, um, find a suitable partner with whom I could share, um, my future life. My house is - it’s small, but it’s nice, and it’s close to Rosings Park and not that far from town. I think that you would probably-”
“Frank.”
“-be happy there. Maybe.” Frank still isn’t looking at him; he looks sick with nerves, Spencer thinks, and also sort of desperately sad. Spencer swallows hard and forces himself to keep listening. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Frank says. “And I’d very much like it if, in a few weeks, you would join me as my - my husband. That is to say-”
“Frank!” Spencer practically yelps, horrified. “Frank, please don’t-”
“- I have a lot of affection for you, and, and think we would work well together. I mean, I’m sure-”
“Damn it, Frank,” Spencer grits out. “You know this is foolishness at its worst-”
“-it would be of great comfort to your mother to know that you really didn’t have to worry about Longbourn passing out of your family’s hands, even though I would never. That is. You know.”
“-because you’re going to make both of us ridiculously unhappy if you go through with this,” Spencer continues, reaching out to put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, but Frank shrugs away, eyes on the ground.
“And also,” he says, quietly, “I love you very much.”
“Frank!” Spencer explodes. “You’re in love with Gerard!”
Frank looks up then, eyes huge and dark in his face but there’s a resigned quality to them now. He looks shocked but also faintly admiring - Spencer thinks for a moment that they’re going to shake hands and Frank’s going to say well played. Instead, he laughs a little hoarsely and meets Spencer’s gaze, says, “Yes.”
“Do you even--” Spencer pauses and looks out over the fields. Surely Frank wouldn't be so foolish as to come here with the intention of marriage unless he were certain there was no chance at all that Gerard returned his feelings. Surely not. Or would he?
Spencer turns and keeps his voice carefully even as he asks, “Does Gerard know you're here?”
“He knows I'm at Longbourn, yes.” Frank won't meet Spencer’s eyes.
“That wasn't my question.”
And Frank, rather than protest any longer, sits down in the damp grass, simply sinks to the ground right where he stands and draws his knees up to his chest to rest his forehead on them. “Gerard has no idea,” he mutters at the ground. “He has no idea of any of this.”
Spencer sits down beside him. His pants are damp and clinging almost immediately, but he supposes there are more important things to consider right now than potentially offending Mrs Smith. “Have you never thought about telling him?” he asks slowly.
Frank snorts, but it comes out as more of a choking sound. “Only every day of my life since I was fifteen.”
“Then why don't--”
“Spencer,” Frank interrupts, raising his head from his knees. His voice is resigned, a faint echo of how it sounded during the proposal that Spencer refuses to even think about. “Gerard,” Frank says, “is to inherit Rosings Park. Also, his hand has been promised to Mr Ross, who I suppose is a suitable match for a Way. In what kind of world do you live to even consider the thought of Gerard choosing...” He swallows dryly and looks away. “The thought of Gerard choosing me.”
“Apparently I live in a world where two men coming from different social circles are allowed to be best friends since they were children but not allowed to love each other.” Spencer lies down on his back, the scent of wet earth filling his senses. He stares up at the endless expanse of clear blue sky and adds, quietly, “I'm not sure that's the kind of world I want to live in.”
“It's not like we have a choice,” Frank says. He lies down beside Spencer, staring straight up, and Spencer turns his head to look at him.
“It's not like you couldn't have tried, at least. Isn't Gerard worth that much?” He waits for a moment to let the thought sink in before he continues. “You know that if I were to accept your proposal, your chances at happiness with him would vanish completely.”
“I don't have a chance as it is,” Frank whispers.
Spencer sits up abruptly and glares down at him. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Frankie! You've given up before you even started. That's not why I've grown to like you so much over the span of just a few days.”
“Like me enough to marry me?” Frank asks. His expression is blank, entirely devoid of any expression. Spencer shakes his head and leans over him, poking him sharply in the ribs.
“You don't mean that,” he says. It's not a question, and after a long moment that stretches with the sound of the breeze playing with the grass, Frank sighs and his face relaxes.
“I probably don't,” he admits. There's another pause, shorter this time. Then the corners of Frank's mouth quirk up into a smile. “Although I would have liked to take you back with me. Gerard would have loved you, I'm sure.”
“Not if he's as much in love with you as you are with him,” Spencer says. Dryly, he adds, “And this might come as a surprise to you, but I'm really not interested in a weird sort of love triangle.”
“You're a secret romantic?” Frank asks, almost grinning now.
“No. I just have too much common sense,” Spencer informs him. “You could ask Mr Ross instead. He might be interested.”
Frank snorts out a laugh, and something in Spencer's stomach untangles and allows him to breathe freely again. “A most fabulous idea,” Frank says. Then he sobers and rolls over to lie on his stomach. There are green grass stains on the back of his white shirt, and Frank reaches out to pluck at a few grass blades. “Actually, for all I know, Gerard could actually be in love with the man. He’s… I don’t know. Mr Ross came to stay for a fortnight at Rosings while I was away for my education, and… Gerard doesn’t speak much of him, but what he said was rather advantageous. And he’s never been one to be very vocal about his feelings, so…” A desolate pause. “Well.”
“And yet you showed such dislike towards Mr Ross?” Spencer smiles and shakes his head. “Are you sure Gerard will approve of you slighting his future husband like that? If it really is true that they are to marry. As far as I can see, Mr Ross is in no way worthy of your Gerard.”
Frank shrugs, slipping back into his somber mood, and Spencer is sorry he brought it up again. “Lady Helena told me in no uncertain terms that it was only a matter of settling for a date,” Frank says, his voice small.
“And that’s when you snapped and decided to find yourself a partner as well, is it?” Spencer asks. He bites the inside of his cheek, not sure whether to continue. And yet, “Did it ever occur to you that Lady Helena might be lying?”
“Why should she?” Frank’s voice is filled with surprise.
“Frank,” Spencer says patiently. “If I could figure out how very much you’re in love with Gerard without even seeing the two of you together, don’t you think that Lady Helena might have caught on as well? Maybe she felt that your feelings threatened her plans for a suitable marriage.”
“I would never dare speak up about-”
“She doesn’t know that, does she?” Spencer shakes his head and adopts an apologetic tone. “Frank, I’m not saying that’s the way it is. I’m just. It was an idle thought, nothing more.”
Frank nods, but the expression in his eyes is contemplative. He rolls to his feet, standing for a moment as he gazes at the horizon. Then he turns, a weak smile firmly in place. He offers a hand to pull Spencer up. “Let’s head back to Longbourn and tell your mother the unhappy news of no marriage taking place anytime soon, shall we?”
“How about we take the long way?” Spencer suggests, but he accepts Frank’s hand and gets up from the ground. There are two body-shaped imprints where they laid, the grass flattened. For no reason he can actually put his finger on, the sight makes Spencer smile.
He supposes that, all things considered, it was a weird morning - weird, yes, but not necessarily a bad one.
*
They do end up making a detour. As Spencer explains to Frank, Mrs Smith’s nerves are fragile things, and the longer she is left in a state of blissful obliviousness, the better for everyone in her immediate vicinity.
They’re about to cross the bridge that connects Longbourn and Netherfield’s side of Hertfordshire to the town of Meryton. The river flows drowsily beneath the wooden construction, and the regiment’s settlement isn’t too far off. Spencer find his eyes straying towards the red tents just as the sound of a raised voice makes it over the happy gurgling of the water.
“You were never worthy of it,” Ross says, sounding as livid as he did during his dance with Spencer. Only the top of his hat is visible, the rest of his figure hidden behind a gathering of high bushes. “My father made a mistake when he took you in. But then, you always were so very alike, weren’t you? Far too alike for my liking.”
“You never understood him,” Pete says. Like Ross, he is hidden behind bushes, and there is a sharp edge of fury to his voice, not at all the gentle, pleasant tone Spencer is used to. “You never even tried.”
Spencer glances over and catches Frank’s gaze. As one, they move back into the shadows of the trees they just left. Spencer can only hope that if Pete and Ross ran into each other because at least one of them was on their way back from the village, the trees will either provide sufficient cover, or at least make it plausible for Spencer and Frank to have just arrived, missing the argument. Besides, Spencer would rather not be seen, given the grass stains on both his and Frank’s clothes.
There is a pause before Ross speaks again, fainter now with the additional distance. He sounds inexplicably tired all of a sudden. “You know as well as I do that there was nothing to understand, Pete.”
“Oh, it’s Pete now, is it?” The question is clearly intended to be mocking, but it comes out with just a hint of betrayal. Spencer’s throat tightens in sympathy. It’s not fair that Ross should have the power to hurt Pete with the reminder of a friendship Ross himself ended out of childish jealousy.
“Forgive me,” Ross says, cold and distant again. “I slipped. It won’t happen again, Mr Wentz.”
“Yes,” Pete says, “I’m sure it won’t. After all, you always did have exceptional control, didn’t you?”
There is a moment in which nothing but the river and the wind stirring some of the smaller leaves can be heard. When it becomes clear that Ross is not about to reply, Pete takes a few steps that bring him into view. Spencer ducks further into the shade of the trees, and next to him, Frank does the same.
Just as it seems as if the conversation has come to a close, Pete turns around, lifting his hat. “I suppose I’ll see you around, Ryan.” He places deliberate emphasis on the name. “Especially considering I might spend some time in the company of Spencer Smith, and Longbourn and Netherfield aren’t really that far apart, are they?”
Ross doesn’t answer.
Pete waits a few seconds before he nods to himself and turns, setting off in the direction of the town. It takes maybe a minute before Ross emerges as well, his face dark. He glances around before he follows Pete, but at a much slower pace.
“Well,” Frank says eventually.
And, yes. As far as Spencer is concerned, that sums it up quite perfectly.
_______________
Chapter 5
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77’000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5v2.
================
A Most Brilliant Dance
Chapter 4
_________
And We’ll Dance - Thea Gilmore
Against the darkening sky, Netherfield might as well be something taken straight out of a fairytale. Each of its windows is brightly illuminated, a sea of twinkling lights. The last part of the way is lined with torches, their flames dancing in the soft breeze.
Spencer does his very best to ignore the twins’ excited squealing, focusing instead on the warmth of Brendon’s shoulder trembling against his, thrumming with nervous tension. The white of Brendon’s collar provides a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and he has his head tipped back to watch the house as their carriage approaches rapidly.
A bump in the road jostles them, and as if by accident, Spencer nudges Brendon in the ribs with an elbow. “You’ll be fine,” he mutters.
Brendon turns his head, his eyes wide in the half-light. “Promise?” he asks, very quiet and only half-laughing.
“I can’t imagine it any other way,” Spencer says, nodding his head slightly. He tries not to doubt his own words when he glances at the twins, practically bouncing with excitement, and his mother’s happy, awed face next to them. At least Anne and Mr Smith hold themselves with a certain kind of composure. Next to them, Frank looks as nervous and awkward as he did on his first day at Longbourn, but there’s no doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’ll be fine.
They arrive at the courtyard, and Spencer hardly waits for the white-clad, perfectly mannered servant to open the door before he jumps out of the carriage, gravel crunching under his feet. He turns back to offer Brendon his hand in help and receives a grateful smile. Brendon takes a deep breath and exits the carriage as well. For a moment, he stands at a loss, staring up at the house with wide eyes.
Spencer nudges his shoulder. “Ready?” he asks.
Brendon swallows, then turns his face to beam at him. It’s slightly nervous around the edges, but mostly convincing. He’ll be fine. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I’m sure that will be more than sufficient,” Spencer says. He waits for everyone to file out of the carriage, the horseman snipping the horses back into motion once everyone has left, the next carriage already waiting in line.
Spencer’s attention is caught by the movement of curtains, near the entrance above the second floor, right around where the piano room should be. By the time he manages to focus his gaze, Ross has already turned away from the window.
Spencer shrugs and turns towards the stairs, Brendon by his side. Brendon’s skin is a shade paler than before, but his step holds an additional bounce. Spencer gives him a lopsided grin. “So, I hope you remember that you promised to dance at least every second dance with Jon.”
“As if I could forget,” Brendon says.
“I thought I might remind you, to give you something else to fret over.” Spencer pauses for effect. “I mean, it is entirely possible that you’ll trip over your own feet, taking Jon with you, and both of you will end up tangled in the table cloth, and it will be very, very embarrassing and Jon will never look at you again.”
Brendon glances around to make sure they’re not being watched, then he sticks out his tongue. “I’d like to make it perfectly clear that I hate you.”
The banister curves with the stairs, smooth and polished from decades of usage. Spencer runs his palm over it, smiling at Brendon. “I assure you that I’m very hurt.”
“So you should be,” Brendon says, but he tilts sideways to knock their shoulders together.
Frank catches up with them a moment later, and Spencer moves aside to make room for him. Frank’s hat is slightly crook-sided, but otherwise, he looks quite all right, if still a little nervous. More to distract him than out of genuine curiosity, Spencer asks, “Is it really true that all this splendor pales in comparison to Rosings?”
Frank seems to hesitate for a moment, then he nods. “Yes, in a way, it does.” He pauses while two servants relieve them of their coats, Brendon already glancing at the crowd milling around a door just to the right of the great staircase. Spencer remembers it as leading into a large room, quite impressive with its white marble floor and chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
“However,” Frank picks up the thread of conversation again as they move towards the gathering. “The thing about Rosings is that it’s nearly suffocating in its splendor. It’s… not a bad place, really, but it takes your eyes a while to get used to all the shining, gleaming items. Gerard always says he’s going to redecorate it one day.”
Gerard, again. Spencer turns his head to share a privately amused look with Brendon, but Brendon is too distracted by his perusal of the crowd to even notice.
When they enter the ballroom, the sounds of many excited voices and music leaves Spencer nearly unbalanced for a moment. The musicians are tucked away in a faraway corner, playing something fast-paced and light-hearted while the first pairs are already swirling over the floor. It will be only a matter of time until the twins are amongst them, Spencer knows.
He catches sight of Jon, conversing with Sir William Beckett and a tall man Spencer has never seen before, maybe a friend from the city. Ross is hovering near Jon’s shoulder, looking to all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here. There is no sign of Vanek, Spencer is relieved to note, so the rumors about her returning to the city must be true.
As soon as Jon’s eyes find Spencer’s, he breaks out into a huge smile, then glances to his left and right. Spencer has to suppress a laugh as he takes a step towards Frank, revealing Brendon who’s currently searching a group at the far end of the room with his eyes. Spencer is willing to make an educated guess as to who he’s looking for, and Jon doesn’t disappoint, politely excusing himself from his current conversation and coming towards them, Ross trailing a few steps behind.
“Spencer?” Frank’s voice shakes him out of his grim musings, the question hesitant, almost shy. Maybe the sheer number of people is getting to him, after all.
“Yes?” Spencer asks, giving Frank a warm smile.
“Would you, uh.” Frank clears his throat. “Would you do me the honor of dancing the first dance with me?”
Spencer laughs and links his elbow with Frank’s. “Of course,” he says, and then he has to fight not to dissolve into an embarrassing fit of giggles as Brendon finally catches sight of Jon, turning several shades of red while a sheepish smile spreads over his face.
His amused mood fades quickly when Ross catches his eyes and moves towards him. Brendon walks across to meet Jon, and the group are coming dangerously close to Spencer and Frank. Spencer turns towards his companion, curls his hand around Frank’s wrist and murmurs, “Shall we go dance now? Brendon can manage on his own, and I’d rather not be caught with Jon’s less charming friends.”
Frank looks up, spots Ross and grimaces exaggeratedly. “Oh yes, let’s,” he says, and Spencer takes his hand and leads him firmly away. They start to giggle a little bit once they’re a few paces away - it must have looked like a rather extraordinary, abrupt departure - and Spencer looks back over his shoulder to mouth see you later! at Brendon.
Brendon fakes a face of desolation and Spencer just has time to see Jon reach out and touch Brendon’s elbow, dragging his attention back to him, before Frank drags him around the corner. “A close shave,” Frank comments, and Spencer bursts out laughing.
“Let’s see how long we can make it without talking to anyone in that party but Jon,” Spencer suggests, grinning. “Whoever goes the longest owes the other a block of fine chocolate.”
“Deal,” Frank says. “Although I can’t see why we need to make such a bet. Surely our dear friends would be feeling too superior tonight to talk to the lower classes.”
Spencer smiles lopsidedly. “Mr Ross takes a peculiar enjoyment in discomforting me,” he admits. “Now, didn’t you promise me a dance?”
*
Frank is many things on the dance floor, Spencer discovers; adorable and strangely charming as ever, handsome, fond of smiling, and very chatty. He is not, by any stretch of the imagination whatsoever, a good dancer. Spencer’s toes feel a little bruised after a while, and he flinches every time Frank accidentally collides with another dancer, smiling brightly and saying, “Sorry! Sorry!”
Eventually, Spencer can hold his tongue no longer. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” he asks, and smiles to alleviate the sting.
Frank raises a haughty eyebrow. “I’m better than Gerard,” he says.
“Is Gerard considered to be a good dancer?” Spencer asks, and Frank grins.
“Not even a little bit,” he answers cheerfully, and Spencer ducks under his arm and congratulates himself on avoiding yet another black eye by avoiding Frank’s strangely active elbow.
The music sweeps to a close and Frank starts to bow but the solemn sight of him makes Spencer stagger forward with laughter, clutching at him. “Oh God,” he says. “Never again, Frank. You’re far too exciting for my humble tastes.”
“Some people just can’t appreciate dancing the way it’s meant to go,” Frank says sorrowfully. “Perhaps it would be best if I retired myself as a spectator for the rest of tonight.”
“My sisters will be sure to claim at least two dances each,” Spencer says dryly. “You can’t come into our household and charm even Anne and expect to get away lightly.”
“Maybe this will dim their affection for me somewhat,” Frank says, and then Brendon appears next to them.
“Spencer!” he says. “Jon has to dance with Mrs Beckett first, something about a promise. Keep me company?”
“Perhaps I could do the honor?” Frank asks, smiling brightly. “The musicians are very good tonight, Brendon. Care to dance?”
“Oh God,” Spencer says. “Run, Brendon! Save yourself while you can!”
“I’m not a coward,” Brendon says gleefully, and at that second Elinor comes to make Spencer dance with her, so they all set off together again. If Frank on his own was mildly threatening, Brendon and Frank are positively dangerous; Brendon, normally a good dancer, clearly decides to join his partner in style, and they almost take over the dance floor in what Spencer can call nothing else but high-spirited flailing.
Spencer dances the next two with Brendon (they work well together, after all this time, moving together smoothly, Brendon bright and cheerful and relating various things under his breath with the air of passing idle conversation about the weather) and then relinquishes his partner to Jon for the next, dancing with one of the girls from town. He looks over at the end of that dance to see if Brendon is tiring yet, but he and Jon are already lining up again so Spencer sneaks off by himself to find a quiet corner to catch his breath in.
He winds his way through the various people, trying to avoid being entangled in conversations through abundant usage of polite nods and smiles, and eventually rounds a warmly lit corner to find an empty stretch of corridor. He leans his head back and tries to cool down, relaxing after a half hour of dancing.
He’s barely been alone for five minutes, though, before he opens his eyes to footsteps and finds a familiar face smiling at him.
“Hullo, Spencer,” Pete says. “You look nice.”
“Pete!” Spencer stands up straight, trying to keep his composure and failing, grinning widely. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d made up your mind not to come!”
“It probably would have been the wisest course of action,” Pete says. “But I don’t like to be known as someone who scares easily, and Mr Ross will have to do much more than glower to intimidate me. Besides, I really did mean to have that dance with you. It seems unfair to make hollow requests.”
“I understood why you didn’t want to come,” Spencer protests, but Pete interrupts him, nodding.
“I know you did,” Pete says. “Nevertheless, though. I saw him a little while ago, and he seemed distracted enough that… Anyway. I shan’t stay long, perhaps an hour or so, but. Here I am.”
“Here you are,” Spencer echoes a little stupidly, and then flushes, rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Pete smiles back at him anyway, although it’s missing a little bit of his usual warmth, and it doesn’t escape Spencer’s notice how nervous Pete seems, how he’s bouncing on his toes and looking behind him quite frequently. Spencer lays a reassuring hand on his arm, says, “Come, then. Let’s have that dance.”
Pete offers his arm again and Spencer takes it, grins foolishly at the floor. Pete’s a gentleman, he thinks, always suave and charming in the old-fashioned way, attentive and friendly and pleasant to be around. Spencer dreads the idea of somehow being caught in a confrontation between Ross and Pete, should it come to happen, but he can’t deny that he’s glad Pete’s here.
They are just about to start a new dance, so Spencer and Pete take their places and start off. Pete’s a good dancer, a little unpracticed with some of the trickier steps, but he doesn’t step on Spencer’s toes and he talks enough that Spencer doesn’t feel awkward, light-hearted banter about the regiment in town and the rumors that surround them.
About halfway through the dance, though, Spencer feels someone’s eyes on him and looks up to see Ross staring from across the room. Pete looks wary, and Spencer realizes with a jolt that Ross has been watching for some time, and that Pete’s known it. Spencer tilts his chin up defiantly and meets Ross’s gaze as levelly as he can over the heads of the other dancers, and they stand at an impasse for a moment before Spencer’s forced to move forward as the dance requires.
He’s uncomfortably aware of being under Ross’s scrutiny for the rest of the dance, and when they walk off Pete murmurs in his ear, “I’m sorry. I thought - I had hoped I could stay longer, but Mr Ross looks as though he’s about to call the hounds, and-”
“I’ll see you sometime soon,” Spencer says fiercely and Pete meets his eyes with a strangely cool expression, eyes dark and unreadable.
Then he smiles, though, and the uncertainty about his demeanor melts away. “Of course,” he says, and takes Spencer’s hand and squeezes it once. Spencer tightens his grip and Pete hesitates for a moment and then rocks up on his toes, kisses Spencer brief and warm on the cheek.
“Good night,” Pete says, and Spencer stammers some sort of reply back at him before Pete turns and melts away back into the crowd.
When Spencer turns around, Ross is walking towards another group of people, back to Spencer.
*
Spencer finds Brendon eating sorbet out of a silver goblet, clearly searching the room; when Spencer pops up beside him he grins and offers Spencer a spare spoon. They eat with their heads tilting together, and Brendon murmurs, “I thought Pete wasn’t coming, considering…”
“I thought so too,” Spencer says. “He said he didn’t want to be scared off. Only he was after all. He just left.”
“Mr Ross has spent the past twenty minutes glaring at anyone who happens to come across his path,” Brendon observes neutrally, and Spencer feels the corners of his mouth tug downwards, looks unhappily at the floor.
“It’s so unfair,” he says. “That… Mr Ross is the one who has done everything to blame, and yet it’s still Pete who has to be treated with such disrespect-”
“Careful,” Brendon warns. “You mustn’t forget you only have Pete’s side of the story-”
“Oh for God’s sake, Brendon,” Spencer snaps. “Not everyone who has the pleasure of Jon’s acquaintance is equally amiable. Grow up.” Brendon’s mouth snaps shut pointedly and Spencer sighs, rubs at his eyes and pushes the last bit of sorbet towards Brendon’s spoon as penance. He doesn’t apologize and Brendon looks at him warily out of the corner of his eye but says nothing more, and they fade into silence.
“Where’s Frank?” Spencer ventures finally.
“I saw him talking to Mother, earlier,” Brendon says. “Which doesn’t bode well. Either she’s going to drive him to tears or put some dastardly plan in his head. Probably he’ll go off and ask Jon if Jon would care to marry me, just to give my dear mother some peace of mind.”
Spencer barks a laugh and whispers, “Do you think she’d venture to auction you off, or would she be content simply-”
“Mr Smith,” a quiet voice says at his shoulder and Spencer whirls around, startled, to stare at Ross. He doesn’t look angry anymore; his face is, if anything, resigned, and he watches Spencer with the same curious detachment as ever.
“Mr Ross,” Spencer says, surprised, and Brendon turns too. All three of them bow and Spencer’s stomach lurches, wondering what Ross is going to do, or say - he wouldn’t kick him out of the ball just for talking to Pete, Spencer thinks frantically, no, that’s pure nonsense, but he might just-
“I was wondering,” Ross says, “If I might have the pleasure of the next dance?”
Spencer blinks and opens his mouth to say what do you mean? but Brendon nudges him a little desperately and instead he finds himself saying, “You may.” Ross nods, calmly, and then turns and walks away; Spencer turns to Brendon, who is openly gaping.
“What just happened?” he hisses.
“You just agreed to dance with Mr Ross,” Brendon says dumbly. “Why did you say that, Spence, you hate him-”
“You were nudging me!” Spencer says wildly. “I couldn’t think properly, I-”
“That was obvious,” Brendon says, still staring in astonishment. “I nudged you to make you say something, you looked a little… stricken. Spencer, you’re going to have to-”
“I know,” Spencer says, miserably. “I know, okay.”
*
Ross bows his head slightly as the music starts up, and Spencer takes his hand, lets Ross guide them up through the lines of dancers. They move in silence, swerving in and out, and Spencer’s uncomfortably aware of everywhere Ross touches him, long fingers that don’t linger a second longer than is necessary. It’s strangely dispassionate; not that Spencer would expect any less, more that he’s accustomed to Brendon’s easy way of touching and Pete’s casual warmth and Frank’s exuberance. Ross dances like he talks - quiet and stilted and there’s something to it that makes Spencer shiver, like someone’s walked over his grave.
After a while the silence is almost unbearable, and Spencer says, “This is a fine ball.”
“Yes,” Ross agrees, and offers nothing more. Spencer grits his teeth.
“Much as I enjoy our habit of ignoring each other most of the time,” he says, “I think it a little unfair that you ask me to dance and then proceed to act as if I’m not there.”
Ross glances at him, startled, and Spencer looks away from his dark, intent gaze. “My apologies,” he says finally, smiling a little bit crookedly. “Certainly I’m willing to discuss anything you feel would make you enjoy yourself.”
“Not anything, perhaps,” Spencer says carelessly, and Ross’s face tightens, pressing his lips together. Spencer laughs softly and Ross grips his wrist suddenly, fingers biting into Spencer’s skin. Spencer will have bruises tomorrow, he thinks absently.
“What do you have to gain by baiting me so?” Ross hisses. “I’ve not done anything to you-”
“Oh, nothing that you’d care to admit,” Spencer whispers fiercely, glaring at him. “But your treatment of Pete is inexcusable-”
“Mr Wentz,” Ross says pointedly, “is a pig dressed up in gentleman’s clothing-”
“Your bitterness is hardly charming,” Spencer snaps, and he knows that they’ve stopped dancing too noticeably, are attracting people’s stares, but Ross looks wild and furious, eyes big and burning in his white face and Spencer feels almost sick with anger. “Simply because your father loved Pete more than-”
Ross says, “Pete is kidding himself if he thinks my father loved anyone,” and then his hand slides up Spencer’s wrist and links their hands together again, stepping forward smoothly to rejoin the dance. Spencer bites his tongue and looks at some point over Ross’s shoulder, but he’s uncomfortably aware that Ross is still watching him and he meets Ross’s gaze. They dance with eyes locked together, and Spencer has the unaccountable feeling that he’s losing a battle of wills.
At least, he thinks absently at some point, Ross isn’t the type to take his anger out on a dance; he holds Spencer as lightly and carefully as before, and when Spencer whirls back and into his grasp again he is warm and perfectly straight, holding Spencer up when he loses his balance for a second.
There is a sweep of the final, solo violin, and Spencer turns to find Ross still standing close to him. He wonders for a moment if there’s going to be another argument, hidden under the applause of the dancers, but Ross just bows slightly, keeping his face up, eyes fixed on Spencer. His hand curls around Spencer’s wrist and Spencer realizes, frowning, that Ross’s skin is warmer than he had thought - or maybe it’s just the dancing that’s warmed him up.
Ross says, “Thank you,” very quiet and very grave, and then he touches Spencer’s hip, so lightly that Spencer thinks he might have imagined it, before he releases Spencer and disappears back into the crowd.
*
It is inconceivable that one dance with Ross should leave Spencer unbalanced, let alone feeling vaguely guilty despite the fact that all the blame is to lay on Ross’s shoulders. And yet, once Ross has melted away into the crowd and out of sight, Spencer finds it hard to throw himself back into the music and the simple enjoyment of movements flowing into each other. He stays on the outskirts for a few moments before he sets off to find either Brendon or Frank, certain that one of them will be able to put his mind at ease.
Brendon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon. For all Spencer knows, they might be taking a walk in the gardens to find some quiet and peace to talk. It would be a very good sign, and Spencer spares a momentary thought to wish Brendon all the luck in the world. He doesn’t really think Brendon will need it, but… Well, it can’t hurt.
He’s more fortunate in his search for Frank - Frank and Anne are discussing something near the buffet, both their faces very earnest and animated. It’s a rare look for Anne, and Spencer isn’t entirely convinced that there isn’t some kind of magic to Frank, nestling in the crooked curve of his smile or behind his ears or something.
“Hey,” Spencer says, sidling up next to Frank. “So, I think I lost our bet quite spectacularly.”
“Gambling?” Anne asks, her expression shifting into disapproval in the blink of an eye. “Honestly, Spencer.”
“Just a little,” Spencer tells her, grinning. “Nothing serious at all, really.” He turns to Frank. “Care for some fresh air?”
Frank nods eagerly. “Always. No matter how high the ceiling, a room full of people never makes for a pleasant mixture of scents, does it?”
“It is the combination of too many perfumes,” Spencer says. “Too many different flowers make a mud pit, I suppose.” He links his arm with Frank, waving a short goodbye at Anne. She looks a little lost, and Spencer feels a moment of guilt. But then, she would interrupt the retelling of his encounter with Ross after every second word to berate him for his lack of politeness. Which, yes, might be true at least in part, but Ross doesn’t exactly have a clean track record, either.
They leave through the back doors that lead out into the gardens, and on their way, they pass Mrs Smith, surrounded by a captive audience of middle-aged women as she tells them in no uncertain terms that Mr Walker is going to marry her Brendon, isn't it just splendid?
Spencer cringes at her gleaming face. Just as he's about to voice a silent prayer that no unfriendly ears are listening, he notices Ross leaning against a column only a few feet away. His back is a perfectly straight line, his body turned towards the window, but there's no doubt in Spencer's mind that none of Mrs Smith's words escaped his notice.
He feels the first hint of a blush heat his cheeks and nudges Frank into a faster pace. Hopefully, Ross didn't see him.
The moment they step outside, Spencer immediately feels better, the velvety night air cooling his flushed face. A few other people are milling about on the patio, and he waits until he and Frank are down the stairs and on their way to the small pond before he resumes the earlier thread of conversation.
“In fact,” he says, “I must admit to losing our bet rather spectacularly. I danced with Ross.”
“Abominable traitor,” Frank exclaims, his eyes alight with laughter.
“Believe me, the punishment came with the crime,” Spencer assures him gravely. “I don't remember ever dancing with a partner who was quite as cold and distant. I told you he enjoys causing me discomfort.”
Frank sinks down onto one of the benches near the pond. A lantern, a few feet off to their left, provides a minimum of brightness, more a soft glow in the night than anything else. “So you admit that I'm not the worst dancer at this ball?” Frank asks.
“Well,” Spencer says. He sits down beside Frank, pretending to ponder the matter for a moment. “No, I'm sorry. Ross isn't a bad dancer, per se. It’s his social incompetence that makes him an undesirable partner. So, he's the better dancer, but you're the one I'd rather dance with.”
“I'm not sure I consider it a compliment to be chosen over Ross,” Frank drawls.
“My toes are still numb from when you continued stepping on them,” Spencer says. “I'm afraid it's the best I can do.”
“Oh, well.” Frank's hand rises in a resigned gesture. “I'll live.”
They're quiet for a few moments, nothing but the ripples of the water and the chirr of a sleepless cricket. Then Spencer sighs and leans back, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I think he might have heard what my mother said about Jon marrying Brendon. You know how she tends to let her mouth run away with her.”
Frank is silent for a moment before he reaches over to squeeze Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Anyone with half a brain can see that Jon adores Brendon, and that he returns the sentiment.”
“Yes, it’s just… I don’t want him to be hurt by this, you know?”
“You care a lot for Brendon, don’t you?” Frank doesn’t really move his hand away, just lets it slide down from Spencer’s shoulder to the crook of his elbow, a warm reassurance.
“I do,” Spencer says. He wonders if he’ll have to clarify things again, but Frank nods before he can even open his mouth.
“The peculiarity of your situation probably made you better brothers than you would have been if you’d grown up together all your life. You never had to compete for affection, I suppose.” He tilts his head, his eyes catching some of the lantern’s light. “Is it a difficult thought, parting with Brendon if he really is to marry Jon?”
“Netherfield is at a walking distance, even closer by horse, so…” Spencer shakes his head. “Not really, no. I’d still get to see him a lot. And Jon is…” He pauses to search for the right words, but in the end, all he can come up with is, “Jon makes him practically glow, did you notice? They can be ridiculously sweet and endearing together.”
Frank laughs quietly, but there’s a slight frown marring his forehead, a faint trace of unhappiness. It fades soon enough to make room for plain delight as he points at the pond, leaning forward. “Look, there are baby ducks, do you see that?”
Spencer does. He also glances at Frank’s gleeful face and can barely keep from laughing out loud. His earlier irritation with Ross has receded to nothing more than a low hum in the background.
*
When Spencer finally drifts into a state of half-aware drowsiness, the sun is already high in the sky. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that much; the sunrays that tickle his nose are enough of an indication already as the morning sun never reaches the bed.
“You awake?” Brendon asks in what he probably confuses for a whisper.
Spencer rolls over with a groan. “I am now.”
“Sorry,” Brendon says, and he’s looking so happy that Spencer can’t even begin to feel irritated. They didn’t get a chance to talk last night, too tired to do more than stumble into bed and fall asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. Now, though, Brendon is wide awake. Spencer knows from previous experience that he’s not going to be able to rest until Brendon has gotten his chance to talk.
“I take it you had a great time last night,” he says. His hand is barely large enough to cover his yawn.
“I did,” Brendon says, eyes shining. “It was… Spence, it was… I don’t even know, okay?” He laughs for no apparent reason at all, and Spencer can feel his own lips quirk up into a smile.
“That good, huh?” Brendon laughs again, a little wildly, and rolls over to bury his face in the pillow, pulling the blankets back over him, and Spencer grins at the back of his head. “How many times did you two dance, anyway? I swear you were still going when even most of the musicians had left.”
“I lost count,” Brendon admits, voice muffled by the pillow. He turns slightly onto one side so Spencer can see one bright eye and a tuft of hair poking out of the quilt. “I’m sure Mother kept a tally, though, you can always go ask her.”
Spencer makes a face. “I heard her bragging,” he says quietly. “Something about you two being engaged before the fortnight was out.”
“I wish she wouldn’t,” Brendon says, face falling a little. Spencer considers telling him how sure he is that Ross was listening, but decides against it; probably nothing will come of it except even more rudeness from Ross’s end, and the way he’s going it would be stranger if he decided to be civil all of a sudden.
Spencer shrugs. “Never mind. Come on, breakfast. I’m starving.”
*
Everyone is already downstairs by the time they get there. Mrs Smith gets up and coos at Brendon, ushers him into a seat next to her so that he can tell her “every detail, darling, everything Mr Walker said!” Spencer rolls his eyes and slides into a seat next to Frank, mumbling something about insane women far too early in the morning in Frank’s ear. Frank doesn’t laugh, though - he looks a little bit sick. Spencer’s pretty sure he didn’t see Frank drinking any wine last night, but then, he could have missed it.
Breakfast is mostly dominated by Mrs Smith - for all that she wants to hear “every detail” she spends most of it relating her own personal view of last night’s events to everyone else. Spencer sees Brendon’s eyes glaze over pretty quickly and - after a few fruitless attempts to draw Frank into conversation - Spencer turns to Anne at his side and progresses to argue with her about the virtues of a book they had both read recently (whispering, with furtive glances to make sure his mother hasn’t cottoned onto the fact that he’s not paying the slightest bit of attention).
Spencer’s almost done when Frank nudges him and says, voice a little weak, “Hey, you want to come walking with me in a little while?”
“Sure,” Spencer says. “Want to take the horses?”
“Um,” Frank says. “Maybe we could just walk.”
Spencer shoots him a confused look. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Hey, Brendon, want to come for a-”
“No,” Mrs Smith says decisively, turning her attention to him with alarming speed. Her eyes look a little beady. “No, I should think not.”
“Uh,” Spencer says, and Frank drops his head down, blushes hotly at his breakfast - which is, Spencer notices with a sudden feeling of dread, mostly untouched. “Want to go now?” he ventures and Frank breathes out through his mouth.
“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”
They walk out towards Netherfield, away from the dusty road leading into town and left of the river where Pete and Spencer walked the other day. The morning is cold, heading into winter, and Spencer hugs his coat around himself and wishes he’d though to bring a thicker one. Frank has his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s staring at the ground; the same uneasiness twitches in Spencer’s stomach and he elbows Frank quickly, a nudge of their arms. Frank smiles but doesn’t look up and Spencer looks away, breathes out a fine mist into the cold air.
“So,” he says eventually.
Frank blurts out, “I lied a little. About why I’m here.”
Spencer blinks at him. “Oh?” he says, striving for lightness. “So really you’ve been planning what furniture you’re going to move around the whole time?”
“No,” Frank says, and shakes his head vehemently. “You know. I told you about how Lady Helena gave me that parsonage?”
“Yes,” Spencer says. “That was kind of her.”
“Yes,” Frank agrees, and looks at Spencer a little miserably. “I meant to say, I lied when I told you I was just here to get to know family. But - it’s been lovely, of course, and I’m very fond of all of you, but.” He stops and swallows hard.
“But?” Spencer prompts.
“Lady Helena,” Frank says carefully, “seems to think it would be a good idea for a man my age in my position to, uh, get married.”
“Frank,” Spencer says quickly, a thousand butterflies making themselves comfortable in his stomach, but Frank shakes his head and holds up a hand.
“Please,” he says. “Let me finish. She sent me here to, um, find a suitable partner with whom I could share, um, my future life. My house is - it’s small, but it’s nice, and it’s close to Rosings Park and not that far from town. I think that you would probably-”
“Frank.”
“-be happy there. Maybe.” Frank still isn’t looking at him; he looks sick with nerves, Spencer thinks, and also sort of desperately sad. Spencer swallows hard and forces himself to keep listening. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Frank says. “And I’d very much like it if, in a few weeks, you would join me as my - my husband. That is to say-”
“Frank!” Spencer practically yelps, horrified. “Frank, please don’t-”
“- I have a lot of affection for you, and, and think we would work well together. I mean, I’m sure-”
“Damn it, Frank,” Spencer grits out. “You know this is foolishness at its worst-”
“-it would be of great comfort to your mother to know that you really didn’t have to worry about Longbourn passing out of your family’s hands, even though I would never. That is. You know.”
“-because you’re going to make both of us ridiculously unhappy if you go through with this,” Spencer continues, reaching out to put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, but Frank shrugs away, eyes on the ground.
“And also,” he says, quietly, “I love you very much.”
“Frank!” Spencer explodes. “You’re in love with Gerard!”
Frank looks up then, eyes huge and dark in his face but there’s a resigned quality to them now. He looks shocked but also faintly admiring - Spencer thinks for a moment that they’re going to shake hands and Frank’s going to say well played. Instead, he laughs a little hoarsely and meets Spencer’s gaze, says, “Yes.”
“Do you even--” Spencer pauses and looks out over the fields. Surely Frank wouldn't be so foolish as to come here with the intention of marriage unless he were certain there was no chance at all that Gerard returned his feelings. Surely not. Or would he?
Spencer turns and keeps his voice carefully even as he asks, “Does Gerard know you're here?”
“He knows I'm at Longbourn, yes.” Frank won't meet Spencer’s eyes.
“That wasn't my question.”
And Frank, rather than protest any longer, sits down in the damp grass, simply sinks to the ground right where he stands and draws his knees up to his chest to rest his forehead on them. “Gerard has no idea,” he mutters at the ground. “He has no idea of any of this.”
Spencer sits down beside him. His pants are damp and clinging almost immediately, but he supposes there are more important things to consider right now than potentially offending Mrs Smith. “Have you never thought about telling him?” he asks slowly.
Frank snorts, but it comes out as more of a choking sound. “Only every day of my life since I was fifteen.”
“Then why don't--”
“Spencer,” Frank interrupts, raising his head from his knees. His voice is resigned, a faint echo of how it sounded during the proposal that Spencer refuses to even think about. “Gerard,” Frank says, “is to inherit Rosings Park. Also, his hand has been promised to Mr Ross, who I suppose is a suitable match for a Way. In what kind of world do you live to even consider the thought of Gerard choosing...” He swallows dryly and looks away. “The thought of Gerard choosing me.”
“Apparently I live in a world where two men coming from different social circles are allowed to be best friends since they were children but not allowed to love each other.” Spencer lies down on his back, the scent of wet earth filling his senses. He stares up at the endless expanse of clear blue sky and adds, quietly, “I'm not sure that's the kind of world I want to live in.”
“It's not like we have a choice,” Frank says. He lies down beside Spencer, staring straight up, and Spencer turns his head to look at him.
“It's not like you couldn't have tried, at least. Isn't Gerard worth that much?” He waits for a moment to let the thought sink in before he continues. “You know that if I were to accept your proposal, your chances at happiness with him would vanish completely.”
“I don't have a chance as it is,” Frank whispers.
Spencer sits up abruptly and glares down at him. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Frankie! You've given up before you even started. That's not why I've grown to like you so much over the span of just a few days.”
“Like me enough to marry me?” Frank asks. His expression is blank, entirely devoid of any expression. Spencer shakes his head and leans over him, poking him sharply in the ribs.
“You don't mean that,” he says. It's not a question, and after a long moment that stretches with the sound of the breeze playing with the grass, Frank sighs and his face relaxes.
“I probably don't,” he admits. There's another pause, shorter this time. Then the corners of Frank's mouth quirk up into a smile. “Although I would have liked to take you back with me. Gerard would have loved you, I'm sure.”
“Not if he's as much in love with you as you are with him,” Spencer says. Dryly, he adds, “And this might come as a surprise to you, but I'm really not interested in a weird sort of love triangle.”
“You're a secret romantic?” Frank asks, almost grinning now.
“No. I just have too much common sense,” Spencer informs him. “You could ask Mr Ross instead. He might be interested.”
Frank snorts out a laugh, and something in Spencer's stomach untangles and allows him to breathe freely again. “A most fabulous idea,” Frank says. Then he sobers and rolls over to lie on his stomach. There are green grass stains on the back of his white shirt, and Frank reaches out to pluck at a few grass blades. “Actually, for all I know, Gerard could actually be in love with the man. He’s… I don’t know. Mr Ross came to stay for a fortnight at Rosings while I was away for my education, and… Gerard doesn’t speak much of him, but what he said was rather advantageous. And he’s never been one to be very vocal about his feelings, so…” A desolate pause. “Well.”
“And yet you showed such dislike towards Mr Ross?” Spencer smiles and shakes his head. “Are you sure Gerard will approve of you slighting his future husband like that? If it really is true that they are to marry. As far as I can see, Mr Ross is in no way worthy of your Gerard.”
Frank shrugs, slipping back into his somber mood, and Spencer is sorry he brought it up again. “Lady Helena told me in no uncertain terms that it was only a matter of settling for a date,” Frank says, his voice small.
“And that’s when you snapped and decided to find yourself a partner as well, is it?” Spencer asks. He bites the inside of his cheek, not sure whether to continue. And yet, “Did it ever occur to you that Lady Helena might be lying?”
“Why should she?” Frank’s voice is filled with surprise.
“Frank,” Spencer says patiently. “If I could figure out how very much you’re in love with Gerard without even seeing the two of you together, don’t you think that Lady Helena might have caught on as well? Maybe she felt that your feelings threatened her plans for a suitable marriage.”
“I would never dare speak up about-”
“She doesn’t know that, does she?” Spencer shakes his head and adopts an apologetic tone. “Frank, I’m not saying that’s the way it is. I’m just. It was an idle thought, nothing more.”
Frank nods, but the expression in his eyes is contemplative. He rolls to his feet, standing for a moment as he gazes at the horizon. Then he turns, a weak smile firmly in place. He offers a hand to pull Spencer up. “Let’s head back to Longbourn and tell your mother the unhappy news of no marriage taking place anytime soon, shall we?”
“How about we take the long way?” Spencer suggests, but he accepts Frank’s hand and gets up from the ground. There are two body-shaped imprints where they laid, the grass flattened. For no reason he can actually put his finger on, the sight makes Spencer smile.
He supposes that, all things considered, it was a weird morning - weird, yes, but not necessarily a bad one.
*
They do end up making a detour. As Spencer explains to Frank, Mrs Smith’s nerves are fragile things, and the longer she is left in a state of blissful obliviousness, the better for everyone in her immediate vicinity.
They’re about to cross the bridge that connects Longbourn and Netherfield’s side of Hertfordshire to the town of Meryton. The river flows drowsily beneath the wooden construction, and the regiment’s settlement isn’t too far off. Spencer find his eyes straying towards the red tents just as the sound of a raised voice makes it over the happy gurgling of the water.
“You were never worthy of it,” Ross says, sounding as livid as he did during his dance with Spencer. Only the top of his hat is visible, the rest of his figure hidden behind a gathering of high bushes. “My father made a mistake when he took you in. But then, you always were so very alike, weren’t you? Far too alike for my liking.”
“You never understood him,” Pete says. Like Ross, he is hidden behind bushes, and there is a sharp edge of fury to his voice, not at all the gentle, pleasant tone Spencer is used to. “You never even tried.”
Spencer glances over and catches Frank’s gaze. As one, they move back into the shadows of the trees they just left. Spencer can only hope that if Pete and Ross ran into each other because at least one of them was on their way back from the village, the trees will either provide sufficient cover, or at least make it plausible for Spencer and Frank to have just arrived, missing the argument. Besides, Spencer would rather not be seen, given the grass stains on both his and Frank’s clothes.
There is a pause before Ross speaks again, fainter now with the additional distance. He sounds inexplicably tired all of a sudden. “You know as well as I do that there was nothing to understand, Pete.”
“Oh, it’s Pete now, is it?” The question is clearly intended to be mocking, but it comes out with just a hint of betrayal. Spencer’s throat tightens in sympathy. It’s not fair that Ross should have the power to hurt Pete with the reminder of a friendship Ross himself ended out of childish jealousy.
“Forgive me,” Ross says, cold and distant again. “I slipped. It won’t happen again, Mr Wentz.”
“Yes,” Pete says, “I’m sure it won’t. After all, you always did have exceptional control, didn’t you?”
There is a moment in which nothing but the river and the wind stirring some of the smaller leaves can be heard. When it becomes clear that Ross is not about to reply, Pete takes a few steps that bring him into view. Spencer ducks further into the shade of the trees, and next to him, Frank does the same.
Just as it seems as if the conversation has come to a close, Pete turns around, lifting his hat. “I suppose I’ll see you around, Ryan.” He places deliberate emphasis on the name. “Especially considering I might spend some time in the company of Spencer Smith, and Longbourn and Netherfield aren’t really that far apart, are they?”
Ross doesn’t answer.
Pete waits a few seconds before he nods to himself and turns, setting off in the direction of the town. It takes maybe a minute before Ross emerges as well, his face dark. He glances around before he follows Pete, but at a much slower pace.
“Well,” Frank says eventually.
And, yes. As far as Spencer is concerned, that sums it up quite perfectly.
_______________
Chapter 5