Chapter Text
Stede arrives at the Ashcroft Estate, his childhood house, early in the morning, just in time for breakfast. The car ride from the station to the estate takes about forty minutes, and Stede rolls down the cranky window of the old automobile his mother sent to meet him from the station and inhales brisk late October air. The road winds through the fields and occasional patches of trees, standing in their golden frocks against the pale, grey sky. Stede turns his head towards the rush of cool air and exhales, fighting the urge to run his hand down his face. He’s been dreading and anticipating this day for weeks, but now, when it’s finally here, his feelings are somewhat muted.
The house, when he steps out of the car onto the crunchy gravel, looks absolutely the same as it did the last time he visited it. Inside reigns almost blissful silence, like he’s in a temple rather than a place he grew up. His mother, predictably, doesn’t come down to meet him — Lady Ashcroft is in the habit of taking her breakfast late in her rooms, informs Alicia, the housekeeper.
“Breakfast will be served in the small dining room in a minute, Master Bonnet,” she tells him with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Alicia.” He smiles back. It’s nice to see at least one friendly face in this generally gloomy place. “A cup of tea would be nice, maybe a slice of toast with that marmalade Mother likes?”
Alicia beams, and, despite her hair being almost entirely grey now, she still looks very much the same as she did just shy of thirty years ago when he was merely a small boy sneaking down to the kitchen first thing in the morning.
His mother still doesn’t come down when he’s finished with his breakfast, and Stede sighs and calls for Alicia and Joseph, the butler, to discuss all the details of today’s party.
(It’s ridiculous how many servants his mother still keeps — it’s 1932, after all, why would one person need so many servants? He himself does great without servants, and Mary keeps only the housekeeper and the cook nowadays. Yet again, he thinks, his mother is a creature of a completely different time, and she was always rather conservative; at least she pays them decent wages and provides them with all the necessary comfort — she never saw eye to eye with Father regarding this; just another sore topic for their rather tense and complicated relationship as it was).
It takes Stede a good couple of hours to arrange the smaller details of his father’s birthday celebration, starting from all the deliveries from the nearby town and finishing with rooms to accommodate the guests willing to stay for the night. He hopes most of them will decline, but the responsibilities of a good host oblige him to do so anyway. His father has never tolerated any inconveniences, and with age he’s become even more easily irritated, so Stede needs today to be perfect — for his father, surely, but also for their guest of honour, the biggest and newest business partner of the family company, Edward (“Call me Ed, mate”) Teach.
Stede, to be honest, is particularly excited to have Ed as the guest tonight. He has kept in contact with him for well over two months now — first via correspondence and telegrams, for that brief moment before Ed arrived in England, and after that, personally, having to conduct all the aspects of the newest partnership between their companies, ‘a very favourable deal indeed’, as his father described it, and Stede, for the first time in his life, agreed with him, albeit for different reasons.
(However, he suspects the party Edward Bonnet insisted on organising had a completely different, vain goal rather than just to celebrate him turning sixty-five. Stede has all the intentions of stopping it from becoming the complete mess it would inevitably end up being on any other occasion).
The first guests are to arrive at noon, as they are politely informed over the phone call, and Stede decides it’s high time to pay his mother’s rooms a visit — he knows she would hate having to appear before the guests unprepared. But before he can knock on the door, it’s opened, and he’s met with his mother’s rather sour-faced maid, Anna. She gives him a curt nod and wordlessly slips by, leaving the door half-opened.
“Mother?” Stede calls, lowering his still-raised hand.
“Come in!”
It’s dark in her rooms, all the windows still curtained despite it being well past ten now. It smells of the French perfume she’s been using for several decades and, faintly, of cherry tobacco — the smell he knows his father would never tolerate on her were he still living in the estate.
“Come in, my darling,” she repeats, rising from the vanity and spreading her arms in greeting. He leans in and lets her kiss both his cheeks in short, perfunctory and perfectly polite touches of her lips. “Don’t you look tired?”
Stede smiles and straightens his clothes, unable to stop himself from the habit that’s been forced into him since he was a little boy.
“I had to get up early, that’s all. It’s a long way from London.”
She hums politely in agreement, not a single trace of sympathy heard in her voice.
“And how’s Mary?” she asks, getting back to the vanity to finish her make-up.
Stede barely suppresses a need to sigh. “Mary and Doug are doing great, thank you for asking. In fact, they’re planning their wedding in April!”
She throws one single displeased look at him, which he catches in the mirror of her vanity.
“I still don’t know why you had to get divorced, Stede. Lady Allamby never fails to express her concern about this whole situation whenever she calls. In my time—”
“Well, it’s no longer your time!” Stede snaps and winces apologetically the next second. “Sorry, Mother. What I’m trying to say is that you know we discussed it with Mary and the children. It’s for the best for all of us.”
His mother tuts and doesn’t say anything, but he sees that her lips are pursed a little bit tighter.
“You look splendid,” Stede offers as an olive branch when she finally gets up from the vanity a full minute later. He gestures at her attire of an old-fashioned, silk, deep-plum dress and jewellery of gold and purple sapphires.
She touches the huge stone in her necklace, the matching stone in her ring catching faint electrical light. “Your father’s present,” she explains indifferently. “I thought it would make him happy to see me wearing them.”
“Of course,” he says curtly and rocks on his feet. “Shall we?” He gestures at the door. “The first guests will soon start to arrive. I believe you should be the one doing all the greetings.”
She smirks, her cold demeanour slipping off her face for a moment. “Oh, Stede, you should’ve learnt how to treat them ages ago, darling. It’s not like they will bite you.”
“You know they can do worse than just biting, Mother,” he mutters under his breath, holding the door open for her. She rustles by him in all her French-perfumed glory, her golden hair in a perfectly tight, perfectly coiffed hairdo, not a single hair out of place.
She offers him a peal of laughter. “I know, darling. That’s why I taught you the wise ways of passive aggression, didn’t I?”
That makes him laugh sincerely for the first time this morning, the knot in his chest coming somewhat loose.
*
In the end, Stede is grateful that Mother agreed to entertain the particularly punctual guests in the parlour, since shortly after noon Joseph opens the door to reveal the only person Stede’s been looking forward to seeing for days now.
“Cheers, mate,” Ed throws in to Joseph, whose face becomes blank at such familiarity, only two faint spots of blush giving out his indignation. Luckily, Stede is already hurrying to intercept Ed, not to save Joseph from the danger of a heart attack (same as pretty much everyone in this house, Joseph has frozen in time for over thirty years now), but to whisk Ed away from the rather unpleasant crowd in the parlour.
“Ed!” Stede greets, unable to stop himself from smiling. His heart skips a beat when Ed gives him an answering grin, taking off his fedora only to reveal a neatly arranged bun that keeps most of his hair back from his face, save for two cheeky strands that frame it and make him look breathtakingly beautiful.
(Stede gulps and chases the thought away).
“Stede! Great to see you!”
“Likewise,” Stede answers, hoping his face won’t betray how much of an understatement it is. “How was your trip?”
Ed winces, in a way only he can, his lovely face crumbling, his short (scandalous!) beard doing nothing to hide the way his lips curl. “Long? Smelly? Boring as hell? Honestly, man, let’s just skip the pleasantries, ‘kay? You know I hate them.”
He does, and Stede adores him for that. He’s never admired anyone more than he admires Ed and the way he holds himself, easily putting on the mask of a cold, calculative, and efficient businessman, so different from the Ed he’s gotten to know in the past couple of weeks. The Ed he got to know is brisk and bright and doesn’t allow anyone to talk him down, knowing perfectly well how to stand up for himself. He’s the most fascinating person Stede’s ever met, and he also has his hand sliding down the sleeve of Stede’s jacket, his fingers grazing the back of Stede’s hand just so, making goosebumps erupt all over his body and a shiver run down his spine. Ed watches him really, really intently, and, oh gosh, they are standing rather close, aren’t they?
“Shall we go to the library?” Stede’s throat is dry; he swallows with a click and wets his lips. “That’s where I usually keep that brandy you grew to like so much. I don’t think Mother bothered to touch it since her birthday in June, so, if we’re lucky enough…”
Ed steps from foot to foot and throws a glance towards the parlour, from which at this exact moment comes a very strained burst of laughter. “Won’t your mother mind?”
Stede shakes his head before Ed’s even finished speaking. “I’m sure we can skip the formalities for now,” he says with an enthusiastic bravado he doesn’t feel. He just really doesn’t want to throw Ed to the den of lions right now — he’d rather stall this moment for as long as he can.
Ed’s answering grin is so bright, his eyes all crinkled in the loveliest way that makes Stede let out a short, delighted giggle.
They are lucky in the end, and the brandy is untouched, well over half of the decanter glowing amber in the light of the electrical desk lamp he turns on to chase away the unwelcome shadows to the corners of the library.
Ed flops down into one of the two plush chairs in front of the fireplace; it’s unlit yet, and Stede honestly doesn’t want to bother poor servants even more; he knows they are plenty bothered as it is. Besides, Ed’s presence is more than enough to warm him up from the inside — better even than the first sip of brandy he takes. Ed grunts something approvingly around his own first sip and stretches out his long legs, his brown leather ankle boots slightly dusty from the long road. He slips free all the buttons of his jacket (a gorgeous piece with bold, wide red stripes), letting it fall open to reveal a dark red double-breasted waistcoat and the softest white shirt, tied up with a wine-red formal ascot matching the waistcoat. Stede swallows and looks away when Ed loosens the ascot too, obviously feeling at home around Stede (and what a thought!).
“So, man,” Ed starts, gazing at him sideways, his face lit by the meager light of the lamp. “This is a fucking big house. I mean, you did tell me, I just never imagined it this big.”
Stede feels his heart fall. He takes another sip of brandy, stalling with the answer. “Ah, yes. It’s been an ancestral home of the Ashcroft family for generations now. It is… rather big,” he says carefully. He doesn’t mention that it’s rather cold, too, with winds blowing into every nook and cranny, and always so dark, despite it getting electrified decades ago. He doesn’t mention how he hates being here, every second a reminder of what a misery his life was, of how little weight he actually had in making any decisions both in and outside the walls of this house for practically all his life. The divorce changed it all, but Ed knows that — Stede didn’t even notice when he started talking more about himself than about their oncoming deal. Somehow, opening up is easy with Ed, and he thinks, not without an ashen taste of regret on his tongue, that it has no right to be that easy.
He doesn’t say any of that out loud because of the fact of how simple and easy it is with Ed. He doesn’t want that simplicity to crash over the walls of the Aschcroft Estate. He’s perfectly alright living in that little bubble of understanding and mutual (he hopes) sympathy and something else, something fragile, something he himself is too afraid to name.
By some incredible luck, Ed seems to be able to read him as easily as he would read any of the books in the library.
“So, when’s the old man arriving?” he asks casually, rocking his tumbler and watching brandy splash against its thick, crystal walls.
‘The old man’ was another thing that certainly won Stede’s deepest sympathy from day one of their personal acquaintance. Usually, his father is only ‘Mister Bonnet’, addressed with a certain level of fear and trepidation. Ed also addresses him as ‘Mister Bonnet’ — but he does it differently, with a steely glint in his eyes and a sharp line of his mouth that shows he won’t tolerate any disrespect. But when they’re alone, Ed calls him Stede’s ‘old man’ with a barely noticeable curve of his lips that hides a running joke only Stede can understand.
“After lunch, I guess — he has to finish some urgent business in London first. He takes Dora with him because of it. Mother will be displeased.”
Ed makes a low, disgruntled sound in his throat. “Well, she better not hurt that poor girl — she’s working her back off with your old man. Not the easiest job, or the most pleasant, if you ask me.”
Stede, against his will, laughs. “Oh, she wouldn’t — Mother’s certainly a lot at times, but her dislike for Father is so much bigger.”
He presses his lips shut, regretting he let it slip past. Ed doesn’t seem bothered, just scoffs and nods in understanding.
Feeling bolder, Stede continues, “Mother just doesn’t like it when things do not go as she wants them to.”
Ed nudges Stede’s soft home loafer with his boot playfully, and the gesture makes Stede’s heart plummet down. “Sounds familiar, eh, mate?” Ed says, his accent becoming somewhat thicker.
Stede hides his pleased smile into the tumbler. His cheeks feel suddenly warm.
“So, tell me, Ed, how did you find Kew last Saturday?”
“Eh,” Ed answers eloquently, shaking his hand in a so-so gesture and making Stede laugh. “Would’ve been better if you’d gone with me, mate.”
His eyes, when he glances at Stede, are all crinkled and soft. Stede clutches at his almost-empty tumbler so strongly his fingers hurt.
“Well…”
“I bet you could’ve properly talked my ear off about those flowers or butterflies or, dunno, fuckin’ moths.”
Now Ed’s grinning, a slight tease obvious in his voice, and Stede feels himself grow hotter all over.
“Ed!” he squeaks in a rather ungentlemanly manner and taps his loafer against Ed’s boot indignantly, all the while Ed’s giggling like crazy. His laughter is infectious, and Stede fights off his own smile. “You can’t—”
“I mean it, mate,” Ed says, becoming more serious, though he’s still smiling. “I wish you could’ve come along. Would’ve been so much better with you.”
“Oh.” Now Stede feels hot for absolutely different reasons. He looks around the library. “Well, I could— I could read to you about my favourites? If you’re willing to listen?”
Ed visibly sags in the chair. “Go ahead, mate,” he says, gesturing with his now empty tumbler. “But only if you top it up first.”
Oh, Stede would do so much more to see that lovely smile again.
*
When Father arrives an hour or so later (too early, if you ask Stede, even if he knows Mother’s growing impatient), he’s accompanied by Dora, who’s slightly paler than usual, and… the Badminton twins. Of course.
Stede can’t help a shiver of disgust shooting through him and automatically moves to block Ed from their field of view as much as he can (which is not much, as Ed’s taller and almost as broad as Stede is himself).
His mother storms into the hall in a rustle of skirts and a politely neutral expression on her face, watching Edward Bonnet and the Badmintons take off their overcoats and shove their wet umbrellas into the hands of the servants. Stede doesn’t fail to notice, though, how her eyes rake all over Dora’s shrunken form where the girl’s standing in the very corner of the hall, clutching her fingers in the folds of her simple brown skirt. She’s obviously underdressed, and Stede, knowing how strict his mother is about clothes choices, fights off the urge to shield Dora from the disapproving look of his mother’s cold, hazel eyes.
“Darling,” Edward Bonnet says, finally stepping closer to his wife and kissing the tips of her gloved fingers. “Don’t you look splendid today?”
“Thank you, Edward. Can’t say the same about you,” she throws in and turns away from him before he has a chance to answer. His face becomes a frozen mask, with just two ugly blotches of red high on his cheekbones betraying his emotions. Ed next to Stede snickers under his breath but quickly hides it behind an obviously fake cough. His mother turns her gaze to the Badmintons next. “What a great pleasure to see Nigel and Chauncey under our roof again so soon. How do you do, gentlemen?”
Stede knows her well enough to catch the barest hint of discontentment in her voice. It warms him up from the inside, having her on his side even after all these years (he still has scars, both physical and mental, from all the times the Badmintons chose to make him the subject of their ‘innocent’ school tricks). He catches Ed’s glare out of the corner of his eyes (he might have mentioned his grudge against the Badmintons after one too many complaints about them from Ed himself) and touches his hand in hope to calm him down. Ed gives him the tiniest of nods in reply.
The Badmintons, however, are totally unaware of his mother’s silent contempt and shower her in greetings.
“Very well, gentlemen,” she interrupts them, and the way she turns away shows that she’s no longer interested in continuing that conversation with them. Nigel’s cheeks grow the ugliest shade of red, while Chauncey, on the contrary, pales. “Happy birthday, Edward, dear. I know technically it was yesterday, but it’s utterly impossible to catch you home for a proper congratulation over the phone.” Her gaze once again slides over Dora and then over Ed, who’s standing silently beside Stede. “Don’t you want to introduce me to the rest of your guests?”
“Of course, darling,” Father says between his teeth. “This is Dorathea, my secretary.” He waves a dismissive hand at Dora, and she hurries to make a somewhat awkward curtsy. Stede smiles at her warmly when he notices how she winces. “And this is Edward Teach — our biggest and newest business partner who has arrived here from New Zealand.”
“Lady Ashcroft,” Ed says, accepting her stretched-out hand for a kiss. “It’s my pleasure to meet you — Stede told me so much about you.”
She raises a thin eyebrow, glancing at Stede. She certainly caught that emphasis on his name, surely as the rest of them. Stede squints at his father and immediately catches his glare. He suddenly clearly remembers his father insisting on him not messing up with that deal. Well, it looks like he did mess up in his father’s eyes. Again.
“Is that so?” Mother says politely, breaking the following silence. “I hope Stede told only the best.”
“He sure did,” Ed answers with a — oh god! — wink that makes Stede’s knees weak, but Mother, to his greatest surprise, gives out a short, delighted laugh. Ed throws a quick, smug look at Stede, and Stede barely holds back a giggle. He notices the Badmintons exchange an outraged glance with his father.
“Shall we then?” she asks, gesturing towards the dining room where lunch has already been served. She doesn’t wait for their replies and proceeds ahead, gathering her skirts elegantly.
“Hello, mister Bonnet,” Dora says to Stede quietly when they even up, waiting for their turn to go into the dining room. From this close, she looks paler and more tired than usual, her hair dishevelled by the brisk October wind.
“Hello, Dora. Please, call me Stede,” he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time, and she smiles at him guiltily. “Mister Bonnet is my father.”
She just nods.
“How was your ride here?” Stede asks with sympathy because he feels like he must.
“It was… fine.” The way her face becomes totally blank speaks louder than words.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers sincerely, and she just nods again and proceeds ahead, where the chair next to Stede’s (to his greatest relief) is being pushed away for her.
“Ouch,” Ed rumbles into his ear, and the warm puff of his breath and the feel of his hand on the back of Stede’s back, encouraging and pushing him slightly forward, cause a sweet, hot frisson to run down his spine. Stede looks back and finds Ed already looking at him.
“Yeah,” he mumbles and wets his suddenly dry lips. Ed’s eyes dart to follow the movement, and that makes him feel hot under the collar.
Ed takes place to the right of Stede’s father and opposite his mother — the place of honour, as it goes, though in Stede’s humble opinion this is the worst seat at the table. Well, at least Stede himself is seated next to him, with a very pale, very silent Dora, who keeps tugging at the sleeves of her simple blouse, beside him.
The rest of the guests are as follows: the Badmintons with identical unpleasant grins; old Mrs Peterson, the neighbouring widow who’s been one for as long as Stede remembers (her husband died under very suspicious circumstances); her two spinster daughters, who keep throwing glances from under their eyelashes at the Badmintons (to the obvious horror of the latter); and Gabriel and Antoinette, the newest neighbours, who, according to their smug boasting, were more than happy to exchange living in the hustle and bustle of Paris to living in the serenity of rural England (although Stede heard a certain rumour about embezzlement that went wrong and left them broke). They are spouses, but to Stede’s eye they look a bit too alike.
This is the regular crowd, and Stede steels himself for another regular evening of confronting their passive-aggressive comments not just aimed at him but at the newest faces at the table, too, as he suspects when he catches them staring at Dora and Ed with a predatory glint in their eyes. He should have warned Ed, but he was so distracted by their lovely time alone that he simply forgot how it usually goes.
Nothing happens when the first and then the second courses are served — conversations around the table are neutral, with mostly the Badmintons talking to his father, interrupted only by toasts honouring the birthday man himself. Stede begins it, after a short, sharp nod from his mother, and by the end of his pre-prepared speech he feels suddenly drained. His father thanks him through clenched teeth, barely looking at him, and Stede falls down to his seat rather inelegantly. He feels Ed’s knee nudge his own below the table, and when he glances at Ed, he’s offered a small, encouraging smile. Relief floods him all at once, and Stede smiles back and has to blink several times in a row at the prickly feeling in his eyes. In his peripheral vision he notices his mother watching them.
The third course is served, and the lunch proceeds rather uneventfully until Mrs Peterson decides to ruin it all by opening her mouth.
“So, what does your husband do, Dorothy?” she asks with a perfectly polite smile, but with her eyes cold and scornful. Silence befalls the table, and Stede notices how impossibly tight Dora’s grip around her fork becomes, her knuckles going white.
Dora opens her mouth and closes it again. She clears her throat, and when she speaks up, her voice is strong, even though Stede sees how her fingers tremble.
“It’s Dorathea, not Dorothy. It’s a Greek name — my family is of Greek origin, you see.”
Mrs Peterson lets out a restrained sound of understanding, though Stede sees how her daughters start whispering to each other.
“I believe the question was about your husband’s occupation, not your… origin, Mrs…?” Gabriel says in his lilting French accent with a disgustingly sweet smile.
“It’s Miss,” she corrects calmly and doesn’t react when Mrs Peterson gasps. “I’m not married.”
“How interesting,” Chauncey says in a tone that implies nothing good. “But you still work.”
“Lots of people work now, mate,” Ed interrupts with his back very straight and his beautiful eyes ablaze with rage. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t say… wrong, Mr Teach,” Mrs Peterson cuts in again before Chauncey can say another word. “It’s just… rather unusual here in England for a girl of such a young and delicate age to be working, that’s all.” She smiles without showing her teeth.
“I believe it is not, Mrs Peterson,” Stede chirps in before anyone else can escalate the situation. “And Dora is an excellent secretary — she’s bright and efficient. She’s been a real godsend for the company, don’t you think so, Father?”
His father’s jaw moves for a second or two. He throws one heavy glance from under his eyebrows at Dora — Stede notices her gaze fall down at her plate under it — and says in a voice that brooks no objection, “She is a good secretary.”
“Oh, but how bold it is!” says Edith, the oldest of Mrs Peterson’s daughters, and her sister Charlotte nods along. “And how do you find working as a secretary, Dora?”
They both, to Stede’s greatest surprise and their mother’s obvious displeasure, seem genuinely interested in her answer.
“Permanent, I hope,” Dora says shortly, and that makes Edith and Charlotte let out delighted giggles. Stede notices his mother’s lips quirk up, and Ed next to him snorts into his glass of wine. Dora straightens her untouched glass of wine, eyes never going up. “I’m studying to become a nurse right now. My mother was a nurse. I’d… I’d like to help people, just the way she did.”
“What a noble impulse indeed,” Stede’s mother says and turns to her husband. “That reminds me, Edward — how’s the preparation of the London Christmas charity ball going? There hasn’t been any news of it for so long one might think there’s no preparation going on at all, which is unacceptable, if I have a say in the matter.”
At that, Nigel jumps in with fervour, doubled by his brother, and the conversation swerves away from Dora.
“I didn’t know you were studying to be a nurse,” Ed whispers, using this moment of respite to lean low over the table to see Dora better, his hand very close to Stede’s on the tablecloth.
“It’s truly admirable,” Stede backs up, and Dora smiles while looking at them both, her beautiful black eyes a tad too shiny, the electrical lights of the chandelier dancing in them.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s not so simple — well, you can imagine why.” She nods her head in the general direction of Mrs Peterson and the rest of them. “But especially so lately, as I have to combine it with my secretary duties.”
“Why don’t you quit then?” Ed asks.
She shakes her head. “I don’t really have a choice, Mr Teach. My father lost his pharmacy business a year ago. I’ve been the sole breadwinner of the family ever since, and I do have a younger brother to take care of. Mr Bonnet pays me well, and…” She throws one single glance at Edward Bonnet, who’s involved in a heated conversation and doesn’t notice it. “He’s kind to me.”
Stede can’t help his scoff. His father can be described as anything but kind. He doesn’t push, though, and touches Dora’s hand to cheer her up. To his greatest surprise, she blushes and looks away, pulling her hand from under his.
When he looks up at the sudden lilt in the conversation, he notices Nigel Badminton watching him very intently. And not only Badminton — Mrs Peterson seems somehow agitated by what she has seen.
“So, Mr Teach,” Stede’s mother asks politely, filling the silence. “You must have had a long journey, travelling here all the way from New Zealand. Wellington, I guess?”
“Auckland, ma’am,” Ed corrects her with a smile. “Have you ever been to Auckland, Lady Ashcroft?”
She hums in agreement. “As a matter of fact, I have. My sister lives in Sydney, and I had an opportunity to visit New Zealand several times. Domain Wintergardens are marvellous in October.”
“They are,” Ed agrees and throws a quick, sly glance at Stede, full of meaning that only the two of them can understand. Stede just scoffs under his breath and shakes his head fondly.
“Stede lived in Australia for a couple of years,” she says matter-of-factly. Stede squeezes his fork and tries to unclench his jaw. He feels Ed’s stare at the side of his face but doesn’t look up from his plate. “Didn’t he tell you?”
Ed shakes his head slowly. “No, I don’t think he did.”
He wants to promise Ed to tell it later — he can’t stand Ed’s offended look, really, and it’s not like Ed would mock him because Ed has never, not once, mocked him — but he’s interrupted by Antoinette’s theatrical gasp from across the table. Everyone looks at her.
She smiles a sweet little smile, charming at the first glance, but Stede knows better, and nods at Ed’s plate. “That explains a lot. You have such an interesting manner of eating, Mr Teach.”
Stede feels Ed tense next to him, and a single glance shows he’s become slightly paler, with his eyes wide and his nostrils flared. Ed carefully puts his cutlery down and grabs for a napkin.
“What do you mean?” he asks in a voice surprisingly even.
“Oh, you know.” She waves her hand dismissively.
Ed’s jaw tightens. “No, I actually don’t.”
Antoinette exchanges a delighted look with Gabriel and opens her mouth to say something else when the situation is saved by Mrs Peterson, of all people.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs, throwing all her fake politeness away. “At least they don’t eat frogs or snails, of all things.”
Antoinette gasps, this time less theatrically, and everyone around the table seemingly starts talking at once, creating a cacophony of sounds.
Stede touches the hand of a very still, very tense Ed. Ed starts, and Stede, ignoring all the possible rules of decorum, squeezes his wrist.
“Are you all right?” he whispers. Ed nods his head once, but the gesture is brisk and his eyes are no longer burning with rage, his look dull and detached.
“Nothing I’m not used to, mate,” he answers with a disdainful curl of his lips.
“I’m sorry,” Stede says sincerely, and he notices Ed’s lips twitch in a pale smile.
“Tell me, Mr Teach,” Gabriel says loudly above the clamour of voices. “I heard a rumour that you own your own company in Auckland?”
Everyone falls suddenly silent as abruptly as they started speaking, all eyes on Ed. Stede sees his jaw muscles moving under his short beard.
“I do,” he finally says, noticeably reluctantly.
Gabriel feigns admiration (very poorly). “Oh, so what they say must be true indeed — New Zealand is truly a land of opportunities if even a person of—”
“I think, Gabriel,” Stede’s mother interrupts him, her back very straight and the coldest smile stretching her lips. “That you should stop believing so blindly in everything you hear. Is everyone in France so gullible?”
Gabriel closes his opened mouth, two ugly red spots blooming on his cheeks. Stede throws a quick, thankful glance at his mother and squeezes Ed’s wrist one last time before letting it go.
“Oh, but at least Ed’s company is thriving,” Stede says sharply into the silence, not looking at Gabriel directly but addressing this to him. He notices Gabriel scoff and shake his head, and that lets him know it hit right. “Did you actually know,” he says next to no one in particular. “That Ed was the first in the world to invent a high-frequency radio transmitter that enables carrying information on longer distances than we could ever hope? Most radios back in New Zealand are equipped with them, and soon, all the radios produced by Bonnet Corp. will be manufactured with them, too! It opens massive opportunities for broadcasting information, and the BBC itself started taking interest in this technology—”
The longer he speaks, the more heated Ed’s glance directed at him becomes. Stede feels his cheeks grow impossibly hotter. He doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t even risk throwing a look at Ed in fear of tripping over his own words and getting lost in his eyes. He feels Ed’s hand touch his thigh right above his knee, fingers curling slightly inwards and just… staying there. He barely holds back a yelp, or maybe a moan, or maybe something in between, he’s not sure himself. He continues speaking, and his voice sounds even, if slightly breathless. His speech, though, has the exact effect he intended it to have — everyone in the room seemingly loses interest in his lengthy commentary, returning back to conversations in smaller groups and forgetting about bothering Ed for a while.
“That’s enough, Stede, you’re going to bore us all to death,” his father finally interrupts him, causing Antoinette and both Ms Petersons to let out a shriek of laughter. Stede just nods curtly at his father, taking a hefty swig from his wine glass. Ed gives his knee a squeeze, and then, as if reluctantly, finally moves his hand away, leaving behind just the lingering warmth abruptly devoured by coldness.
“So, Mr Teach — can I call you Ed? I’ll call you Ed, if you don’t mind,” Chauncey says after a while, after a brief whispered conversation with Nigel. “I gather you were stationed in France back in 1916?”
“Gallipoli first, then transitioned to France with the rest of the ANZAC crew,” Ed answers curtly. “I was with the Divisional Signal Company.”
Stede notices both Nigel and Chauncey’s expressions turning extremely smug.
“So no real battle experience?” Nigel clarifies.
Ed grinds his teeth. “Plenty of it, mate. More than you can imagine.”
“Oh, we can imagine it clearly.” Chancey waves his hand dismissively. “My dear brother and I were both officers of the British ASC, so we saw it all.”
Ed hums noncommittally. “I see.”
“But of course,” Nigel starts with a very unpleasant smile. “We — you, Mr Teach, me, and my dear brother Chauncey — we are all united by the same experience, to various extents, obviously. Can’t say the same of some of the people in this room, who preferred to sit behind while the real heroes put their lives at risk daily.”
And he doesn’t even look at Stede, doesn’t need to, really, for everyone to know immediately who he’s talking about. Stede feels his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment and anger. They’ve been down this path way too many times.
“I told you before, Nigel,” Stede starts, suppressing a sigh and a wish to run a hand through his hair. “I tried to join, but I was ruled out—”
“Yes, yes,” Chauncey interrupts him with a smirk. “We all know that. You were found too weak to join the army, weren’t you, Baby Bonnet? As if we even needed any proof of it after—”
“Enough,” Edward Bonnet suddenly interrupts them, and Stede shuts his mouth, already opened for a protest, with a clack of teeth. He looks at him, wide-eyed and waiting for him to continue, to say something else, no less offensive than the Badminton’s petty gloating, but his father meets his gaze and remains uncharacteristically silent, just a glint of something gleeful, something mocking in his eyes betraying him.
Stede turns away from him and thinks, ‘weak’, thinks ‘pathetic’, thinks ‘lily-livered little rich boy’, thinks of warm splatters of goose blood on his face. He suddenly feels sick and slowly lowers his fork against the edge of the plate, napkin pressed to his lips, food tasting rotten in his mouth, his throat.
“Oh, thank you, Edward.” Stede’s mother sighs tiredly and brings her empty wine up for it to be topped up. “We’ve all heard too much about that horrid war in the years following it. I’d like us to stay away from this topic tonight, if you don’t mind, gentlemen.” She looks at Nigel and Chauncey in turn, her eyebrows raised meaningfully.
They both have enough decency to mumble their excuses, and the conversation proceeds on some other topics.
Stede sits with his back very, very straight and his grip around the stem of the glass a tad too tight. Under the table, Ed’s boot nudges gently against his loafer, but Stede doesn’t return the gesture. He feels both Ed and Dora’s sympathetic glances, but he doesn’t have either the strength or the desire to look at them. His chest feels tight with shame, and each breath he takes echoes loudly in his ears. He feels, not for the first time in his life and sadly not for the last, a sudden, overwhelming desire to turn smaller, to be anywhere else but here. Unfortunately, he’s still pretty real, bones and muscles and sinew, and he feels everyone’s unpleasant, lingering gazes on his skin, laughing at him, pitying him, like a physical touch to his skin.
He waits for the lull in the conversation and then gets up from his seat, letting the legs of his heavy chair scrape against the floorboards.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he says to the suddenly silent room and doesn’t wait for anybody’s reply, just throws his napkin onto his seat and leaves the dining room in three long, hurried strides.
He doesn’t see where he’s going, doesn’t think much of that, but his feet, well-acquainted with the way by now, take him through the parlour’s French windows into the growing dusk of the late October afternoon. It’s no longer raining, but the ground is wet, squelching under his soft loafers (oh, they will be ruined now; the thought just adds to the growing pile of negative thoughts in his head). The wind is brisk and humid, and his tears grow abruptly cold in the chilly gusts.
“Shouldn’t be out here dressed like that, mate,” comes a soft voice from behind his back. “You’ll catch a cold. It’s fucking freezing.”
Stede swipes his face hastily and turns around, trying to persuade his lips into a smile.
“Ed!” he exclaims, partly surprised and partly relieved, and Ed gives him a crooked smile. “How did you know I was here? I thought nobody saw me leaving the house.”
Ed shrugs. “I asked that guy, the butler. Thomas?”
“Joseph,” Stede corrects with a smile.
“Yeah, right. Servants see everything, even if you think they don’t. They’re usually smart. Good people, too.”
“They are,” Stede agrees softly and rocks on the balls of his feet in an attempt to hide his shiver.
Ed looks back at the house, his expression suddenly unreadable. “My mother was a servant in a big house like that. Carmody Estate.”
Stede feels his smile falter. “I didn’t know that.”
Ed hums. “Yeah, no one knows. I don’t say this to just anyone.”
And here goes the small smile, back on Stede’s face again, his insides warmed up by the idea that he’s not just anyone for Ed.
“Why did you follow me, then? Has anyone asked for me?”
“Brought you this.” Ed lifts up both his arms, and Stede notices just now that he has Stede’s coat clutched in them. “Thought you wouldn’t want to come back there for a while and couldn’t allow you to be here in this weather. I swear my fucking balls are freezing.”
Stede laughs against his will. “It’s not even that cold, Ed!”
Ed lifts both eyebrows, his eyes big and expressive. “Tell that to my balls, mate.”
Stede giggles, delighted (and decidedly trying not to think of Ed’s balls lest he go too light-headed), and reaches for his coat.
“Well, thank you, Ed. I appreciate the care.”
Ed shakes his head and spreads the coat for him, at shoulder height, its ivory silk lining catching the dull light of the quickly receding day. “Here, let me help you.”
Stede freezes with both his arms outstretched, lost in Ed’s gaze, and springs back to action only after Ed’s nod. He turns with his back to Ed, feeling suddenly exposed, vulnerable, like a shellfish freshly out of its shell, and lets Ed put on the coat for him, arms through the sleeves, up and up until Ed’s big, warm palms land on his shoulders, straightening all the creases and just… staying there for a moment. Stede wraps the coat around himself tighter and feels a shudder run through his body, either from the warmth enveloping him now or from Ed’s proximity, heat seemingly radiating off him and right under Stede’s skin.
Stede sucks in a breath and turns around and suddenly finds himself closer to Ed than he’s ever been, Ed’s hands still on his shoulders, the scent of him filling his lungs. He holds his breath for three seconds, counting in his head and lets it out and sees Ed shiver when the exhale touches his face.
For a second, Stede is under the impression that Ed’s about to kiss him with the way his gaze drops down at his lips, his lovely, black eyelashes worrying the delicate skin under his eyes. But the second passes, and neither of them moves, and Stede, reluctantly, steps back, increasing the distance between them.
“I’m sorry you had to witness it all,” Stede says because he feels like he owes Ed an apology.
Ed just shrugs. “Told you before — nothing I’m not used to. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve heard variations of one and the same thing. Those rich, arrogant pricks lack imagination. Wouldn’t be where I am now if I paid any attention.”
Still, Stede sees that Ed’s lying. He’s avoiding looking at him, and his fingers keep spinning the buttons of his luxurious black coat, round and round and round, the gesture probably unnoticed by Ed himself. Stede touches Ed’s wrist and gives his fingers a soft squeeze to make them stop.
“They’re idiots, all of them,” Stede says, and Ed huffs and throws a glance at him from under his eyelashes. Stede’s stomach trembles, not because of cold but because of something else, something filling his chest, warm, golden, and syrupy thick. “You deserve nothing but respect, Ed.”
Ed scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it,” Stede repeats firmly and squeezes his wrist in encouragement. Ed’s thumb moves towards Stede’s, and for a moment they’re playing a silly little thumb war that makes Stede’s chest feel tight with fondness. He gives up, letting Ed press his thumb under his own, just for the sake of seeing a smile bloom on Ed’s lips.
“And what about you?” Ed whispers.
Stede blinks and pretends he doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. “What about me?”
“You know. The war thing. Does it happen often?”
Stede sighs and lets his hand fall down by his side limply. “Every single time for almost fourteen years now.”
Ed winces. “Shit, man. ‘M sorry.”
Stede hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. My mother sent me away when it all started. To Australia, to her sister’s family. I was… I was barely seventeen that first year, but I tried to enlist the moment I turned eighteen.”
“But they didn’t take you?”
Stede bites his lip and gives an awkward, one-shoulder shrug. “Apparently, I wasn’t fit for the army. I had this…” He lifts his hand to gesture vaguely next to his head. “I almost don’t hear anything with my right ear. Ever since the Badmintons set off a firework next to me.” He lets out a strained laugh at Ed’s horrified expression. “They liked all sorts of tricks when we were children. And I also have this… flat feet problem?” He winces in embarrassment. “It’s so stupid, really—”
“Nothing stupid about it, Stede.” Ed finds his limp hand and takes it, entwining their fingers and just keeping it there. Stede gulps and looks at him, and Ed nods. “I was enlisted when I was 21, first in Egypt, then Gallipoli and the Somme. I saw it all, and I tell you what, mate — there’s nothing noble about war.”
“Oh,” Stede says weakly, and Ed gives his hand a gentle tug.
“Yeah. Don’t listen to those fuckers. I saw their kind — rich, pampered kids who only cared about stuffing their own pockets, their own stomachs. I knew supply guys who put it all at risk to make our lives a little bit easier while we were freezing our asses in the trenches, always hungry, cold and wet, and the Badmintons? They’re not them.”
Stede chews on his lips, studying Ed’s face. “I’ve…” he starts slowly. “I’ve never really thought about it in this way.”
“I know,” Ed says and makes some sort of a strange gesture — his hand flies up like he wants to touch Stede’s face, but then he changes his mind and instead lets it hover in the air. Stede suddenly wishes he did touch his face. “That’s why I’m telling you this. Not everyone who came back from that war is a hero. People who didn’t go aren’t cowards. You must always remember it, Stede.”
Stede lets out a long, shaky exhale and feels a knot in his chest loosen. He manages a pale smile. “Well, thank you, Ed. I do feel bet— mmfph!”
Ed immediately breaks the kiss, visibly panicking. “Sorry! Fuck, Stede, I’m so sor—”
This time it’s Stede who doesn’t let him finish the sentence. He kisses Ed, hand flying up to the back of his head to angle it, his fingers plunging into the heavy curls of his slowly coming undone bun. Ed moans into his mouth and shifts closer, and for a moment their bodies align, two perfect, curving lines pressed head-to-toe against the coldness around them.
“Is this all right?” Stede asks, pulling away for a gulp of air. He feels Ed’s lips move against his in a smile.
“This? Perfect,” Ed whispers, his breath a warm puff that makes a shiver run through Stede’s entire body.
Stede sighs dreamily. “God, Ed, I’ve been dreaming about it for so long.”
“Yeah?” grins Ed. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”
“I wasn’t sure. How can you ever be sure with such things? And, I guess, I was too afraid of doing it all wrong with you.”
Ed presses their foreheads together, and from that close, his lovely brown eyes merge into one, no less lovely, shining eye. “Needn’t be. You— You make me happy, Stede.”
Stede lets out a soft sound, something in between a giggle and a sigh. “And you make me happy.”
For a moment, they stay like that, foreheads and bodies pressed, sharing one breath. But then reality comes crashing down on Stede, and he shifts, and Ed, immediately understanding him without any words needed, steps half a step back, the rush of cold air between them making Stede feel unpleasantly chilly. Ed runs his hand down the length of his arm until he finds his hand, interlacing their fingers.
“What do we do now?” Stede asks, and maybe he means more than just in the following hours.
Ed shrugs. “Dunno, mate. Run away? We could steal your mother’s car.”
Stede gasps, half-indignantly, half-delightedly. “Ed! We can’t steal my mother’s car!”
Ed hums around a grin, his eyes all crinkled, and then bites his lip, his face suddenly serious. “I’d love to, though.”
Stede huffs good-naturedly. “Still on with stealing my mother’s car? Really?”
Ed nudges his shoulder playfully while they turn to walk away from the house towards the hedge maze, stark green against the grey bareness of the rest of the garden.
“I’d love to run away with you,” Ed answers softly. His eyes and the way he keeps chewing on his lower lip betray his worry.
“I don’t really think we can run away,” sighs Stede. “Sooner or later they’ll notice our absence and start asking questions. And we,” he winces, “we don’t want them to start asking questions, trust me.”
Ed remains silent for a moment, his shoulders hunched upwards. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he draws out reluctantly.
Stede tugs him by the hand towards the maze. “We don’t need to go back immediately. My mother’s greenhouse is just over there. There are plenty of flowers still in blossom, and it’s certainly warmer than it is outside.”
As if on command, a shiver passes through him, a strong one that makes his whole body convulse. Ed brings them to a gentle halt and takes something out of his coat pocket.
“Here, take these,” he mumbles and unfolds what turns out to be a pair of the softest-looking leather gloves with… with their fingers cut off, how original!
Following Ed’s guidance, Stede spreads his fingers, letting Ed slip the glove onto his right hand. The leather’s well-worn and buttery soft, the inside of the gloves immediately snuggling against his palm and warming his entire soul.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Ed just shrugs with a timid smile. “Cheers, mate.”
Stede doesn’t have any choice left but to kiss him again. Ed hums happily into his lips.
“If we stall for time, we can skip the rest of the meal and get back by the time dessert is served,” he whispers against Ed’s lips. He knows Ed has a sweet tooth; he would never let him miss the dessert.
“Fuck yeah, dessert!” Ed whoops, pumping his fist in the air, and Stede laughs fondly.
Later, he will think back to this conversation, dissecting each word said, and he’ll regret not just agreeing to run away with Ed.
Right now, though, he links their arms and leads Ed into the greenhouse, going on and on about his mother’s roses and feeling happy and warm and at ease and maybe a little in love — all for the first time in his life.