Pip ought to have returned to his own bedroom after Oliver had fallen asleep, but he could not. This was, in part, because Oliver forbade him to.
Even in sleep, Oliver's arm around Pip's waist was tight, possessive. As they lay bare in bed, Pip could not find the strength nor the will to leave Oliver's side. And hadn't he asked Pip to stay the night? So Pip had stayed, unable to sleep himself as he preferred to take advantage of the few hours he had to admire Oliver as he could not admire him in public.
"Beautiful," he whispered against Oliver's lips before taking them in his own.
Oliver stirred in his sleep as Pip kissed a trail down his body, touching whatever of him he could reach, but Pip could hardly help himself. They did not have too many moments together like this.
Pip remembered a year ago, when he and Oliver had first come together. The others had all been off on a trip, and Oliver had ordered that his chambers not be disturbed for an entire day. He'd called for Pip through a—yet again—very nervous Charles.
"He's in a right state, he is," Charles had muttered, taking Pip's hand. "Oh, if only one of the Misses were here!"
Even Pip was anxious, but for a different reason entirely. He and Oliver had shared little more than glances, but they'd always been filled with heat. Sometimes he could swear he was being watched but when he looked, Oliver would quickly turn away. He'd been bewitched by this man with gold curls and bright green eyes, always so angry and grieved about something, yet so kind when he thought no one was watching, as though he would not dare lower his armour before anyone.
Pip had expected the kiss, hoped for it. He'd instantly melted against Oliver, holding him close. He'd never wanted to let go, but eventually he'd been forced to. And he'd accepted it.
Pip kissed Oliver's chest, then his collarbone, nuzzling the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent. He didn't know how much longer he would have to accept it.
He could not keep away from Oliver much longer. Even if he remained a servant for all of time, he would be happy so long as he could serve Oliver. So long as the world knew that this beautiful man was his and his alone.
The black sky outside soon turned to light, however, and while Pip had not slept a wink, he felt as though he was waking from the most wonderous dream. It was time to leave.
Pip gathered Oliver in his arms once more and kissed his cheek, his jaw, and his lips before he whispered, "I love you," against his curls, and forced himself out of bed. As quietly as he could, Pip picked up each article of his clothing that had been discarded, and dressed. The bruises on his chest looked a deep purple in the rising light coming in through the windows, but they were well-hidden from view. A few of the buttons on his shirt had been torn, but fortunately, those were unnoticeable as well beneath his waistcoat. Pip rubbed his face with both hands, put his hand on the doorknob, and hesitated. He looked back at Oliver who lay with his back to him, and swallowed down the desire to go lie back down beside him.
Pip slapped his own cheek multiple times, attempting to wake himself up. It was the exhaustion that was leaving him so forlorn. It had to be.
He walked out, and carefully closed the door behind him. He'd only just allowed himself a sigh and turned to leave when—
"Got lost, did you?"
Pip whirled around, his heart having nearly stopped. There was Lord Westcott, standing beside his open door, fixing his cuffs.
He gestured with his chin at his chambers. "I think you were meant to come here?"
Then Pip remembered. Lord Westcott had wanted him by six every morning. He hoped his expression did not reveal anything of what he felt.
"Certainly," he said, straightening his shoulders and crossing his hands behind his back. "Good morning, my lord."
"We'll see," he said as he walked past Pip. "Morning's hardly begun, after all. Follow me and try not to wake anyone."
Pip did as he was told and followed Lord Westcott down the grand staircases. He thought the man looked a bit like a private investigator, the two of them sneaking away in plain sight to complete a secret case.
Pip assumed they would be going into the drawing room, but Lord Westcott grabbed one of the cloaks hanging on a wooden stand by the door and slung it over his shoulders.
"Where are we going?" asked Pip.
"You'll see," said Lord Westcott, grabbed another cloak of deep grey, and tossed it to Pip. "Best wear that. It's cold out."
"But I—"
"It's one of mine," Lord Westcott said airily and went out the front door. "I'm giving you permission, just put it on."
Pip hesitated, but as he stepped outside, the cold morning air bit into his skin and pinched his nose and cheeks. Pip quickly slid on the coat, unable to help but inhale the scent of parchment and . . . what was that—roses?
The carriage was awaiting them, Mr. Acker completely unsurprised to find them there. Pip opened the carriage door and Lord Westcott slid in. Then he stepped onto the coachbox.
Mr. Acker sniffled, his gloves thick and his jacket thicker. "Looks like it's going to rain."
Pip looked up, the sky a blanket of clouds. "Yes. Mr. Acker, d'you have any idea where we're going?"
Mr. Acker clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and the two horses began to pull them away from Westcott manor.
"See an ol' friend of the Lord's," he said with none of his usual morning joy.
"What old friend?"
"You'll see, Pip," he said in a kind but final tone, patting Pip's arm. "You'll see."
The carriage did not carry them into town as Pip had expected. Instead, they were taken through a forest path with much more space in between the trees than in the forest behind Westcott manor.
The woods ended at a hillcrest, and there at the foot of the valley lay a small house. It was brick-red with a chimney emitting puffs of smoke. It reminded Pip of a storybook illustration, and he imagined a married couple ploughing the fields and having tea amongst the wildflowers. Pip was surprised when the carriage stopped on the narrow dirt road in front of the door. He couldn't imagine Lord Westcott having anything to do with a place like this.
"This can't be right," he muttered.
He opened the carriage door, however, and Lord Westcott did not seem confused at the residence. In fact, he walked right up to the small front door that barely reached his height, and knocked.
A young woman responded, thin as a twig with a long nose and dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in months. Pip expected her to gasp with fright at the sight of the young lord, to scurry away and call for someone else, even to close the door in their faces.
He certainly could never have expected her to smile widely and her eyes to fill with tears.
"Robert!" she said breathlessly and threw her arms around him. "I thought we wouldn't see you for another week!"
Unlike he'd done with Isolde, Lord Westcott reciprocated the embrace, albeit with an awkward hand on the woman's back. Nonetheless, it was the most affection Pip had seen of him yet.
"Alice," he said, his voice softer than Pip had ever heard it. "I couldn't wait. How is he doing?"
She pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with her apron. "Better, better. Thanks to you. Er—hello."
Pip nodded once in respect. This wasn't the lady of a manor, yet Pip would not dare speak so informally with a woman Lord Westcott seemed to personally know.
"This is Mr. Kensley," said Lord Westcott.
Alice glanced at Pip warily. "He wasn't with you two days ago, was he?"
"No, no," said Lord Westcott. "Newly acquired."
She put out her hand. "Alice Dalton."
"Philip Kensley, ma'am."
"Ma'am," she scoffed and turned red, looking away from Pip. She quickly tucked up her bun of which strands of dark hair had escaped and patted down her dress. "Really, there's no need for that. Not with me. Come in, please, come in."
The house was small, the rooms filled with squat armchairs and small tables and a child's toys all over the floors.
As soon as Alice closed the door behind them, a young boy with sandy-brown hair ran in. "Mother! Mother, Lord Westcott's carriage is outside!" He stopped abruptly at the sight of the two men, and—just like his mother—a smile broke across his lips as he ran to Lord Westcott.
"You're here!" he exclaimed happily as Lord Westcott gave him his hands to hang off of. "I told mother you'd be here, I told her you'd come right back!"
"Why would you need to tell her such a thing?" said Lord Westcott, raising an amused brow at Alice. "Did she doubt me? Did you doubt me?"
"I didn't say he wouldn't come," Alice said with a cutting glare at her son. "I only said he would come back later. George," she took him from Lord Westcott and straightened his shirt. "Stop bothering the poor man and go start the tea."
George looked up at Pip. "Who's he? The physician?"
"Go," she warned, and with another curious look at Pip, George ran out.
Alice gave them a shy smile and patted down her apron again.
"Is he awake?" asked Lord Westcott.
"Yes, yes, he's awake! He'll be so happy to see you!"
She led the way through a narrow corridor to a door at the far left end, and Lord Westcott put a hand up. "Mr. Kensley, wait in the sitting room, please."
"O-Oh, all right," said Pip, swallowing down his disappointment. He wanted to see who Lord Westcott was visiting.
Lord Westcott knocked on the door and they heard a faint, "Yes?" He opened, and Pip spotted the end of a bed and sheets atop it rustling as the young lord walked in.
A hoarse chuckle. "I thought that was you, Robert."
The door closed and Pip could see no more. Alice gave him a sympathetic smile, and she led the way back into the sitting room.
"Are you hungry? Or perhaps you'd like a glass of water?"
"Er—I'm all right," said Pip, and his stomach growled. He only now remembered that he hadn't eaten since the previous day when Charles had brought him a sandwich and he'd had to swallow it down in one bite before returning to cleaning the guestrooms.
Alice chuckled. "Poor thing, you must not have eaten. I wouldn't be surprised if Robert had pulled you out of bed. He can be a bit rough around the edges, can't he?"
Pip leaned forward, his curiosity prevailing despite himself. "How do you know Lord Westcott, if you don't mind my asking?"
Alice blinked. "Oh, didn't you know?" She blushed. "Oh, forgive me, I thought—well, here I thought you two were—oh, how silly of me!"
Terrifying understanding quickly dawned, and Pip's eyes widened. "M-Me and—and him? No! No, I"—he checked the corridor and lowered his voice—"I could never. And, at any rate, I'm merely his servant."
"You're his servant?" George said as he came out. The teapot was the size of his head, but he held it easily with one hand, his other hand supporting the bottom of the pot with a large mitten. "You don't look like a servant."
"George," warned Alice.
"How is a servant meant to look?" asked Pip.
"I dunno," said George honestly. "We've never had one. You're just not what I imagined."
"George, enough now—"
"You don't seem frightened of him like other servants are."
"Hush!" Alice took the pot from her son. "Run along and get the cups, go!"
"But I want to see Lord Westcott!"
"And gather the plates of bread and jam off the table," she said.
George wrinkled his nose and ran back inside, as though hoping that if he were quick enough, he would be allowed to sit in the room with the young lord. Outside the window, unkept fields of daisies played in the breeze, birds chirped outside, there was the faint rustling of trays and ceramic teacups from somewhere inside. It seemed . . . quieter here, somehow, away from Westcott manor. Was that why Lord Westcott liked to come here?
"It's my husband, Jack," said Alice in a hushed voice once her son was gone. "He and Robert had been friends a long time ago, long before we were married, even."
"Lord Westcott has friends?" said Pip before he could stop himself, and immediately covered his mouth with his hands. Alice, however, only laughed.
"So sorry," said Pip immediately. "I—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound quite so shocked."
"He doesn't seem like the type, does he?" she said. "To want friends, that is. But Jack persisted. That's how he is, you know. Once he's made up his mind, nothing can sway it."
"So you've known the lord a long time?" said Pip.
"Really, Philip," she said. "I was once a servant as well, there's no formalities between us. And certainly not for Robert. You needn't call him a 'lord' here."
"I honestly couldn't imagine calling him anything else."
Alice looked down, her smile dimming as George came back into the sitting room and handed his mother the tray. Alice poured them each a cup of tea, fixing Pip two large pieces of bread with jam as she spoke.
"You mustn't let him fool you, Philip—"
"Pip," he said. "Please, call me Pip. Everyone does."
Pip did not know why he was giving this woman his nickname only reserved for those he knew and cared for. Perhaps it was because she used to be a servant and he could trust she would not relay anything he said to Lord Westcott. Perhaps it was because she was treating him with such kindness now.
Or perhaps, a more honest voice said, she reminds you of someone, and your name is all the comfort you have to give.
It may have been a foolish reason, but Alice looked so pleased when he hungrily bit into his bread that he could not find it in him to regret it.
"Well, Pip," she said. "You are aware, I'm certain, that Robert had once served in the Royal Army?" Pip nodded. "Well, Jack, my husband, had gone sooner than Robert had. However, he . . . he returned sooner than Robert had. Much sooner. . . ."
She did not finish, but she did not have to. Pip understood enough to know that when a soldier returned from war, it was either because their serving period had ended or because they were terribly injured. The third option was too much to contemplate, and Pip, once again, thought of his brother.
"Is that how Lord Westcott and Jack know each other, then?" Pip asked instead, hoping to lighten the conversation. "They served in the war together?"
"Oh, no," Alice chuckled, seemingly grateful for the change in topics as well. "They'd been great friends long before then. Since they were children! I've never known anyone Jack admired as much as he does Robert. Robert was here for George's birth, though George, like you, never stops calling him Lord Westcott. I suppose he thinks it grand to know a young lord, eh?" She nudged his arm playfully. "Only you and I know how vain he can really be."
Pip frowned as he took a bite out of another piece of bread. He almost confessed that he'd never heard anyone at Westcott manor ever mention a man by the name of Jack Dalton, yet he refrained. What if Lord Westcott hadn't wanted Alice to know that he'd never spoken of her husband to his siblings? What if she felt betrayed? What if she felt offended, humiliated?
He's simply terrible, Pip told himself. Lord Westcott was terrible for never offering these people more help. If Jack really was injured enough that he seemed unable to step out of bed to greet his friend, that his wife and son had to live here instead of a room with servants that could better tend to them, then why hadn't Lord Westcott suggested anything better?
But even that left Pip with many questions. Could Lord Westcott truly be so horrible? This man was exasperating.
"Something wrong?"
Pip shook his head. "I merely wonder whether I will ever comprehend Lord Westcott's motives and actions. The man hardly makes any sense at all!"
Alice laughed. "Sometimes I wonder the same thing, Pip—oi! George! Don't you go bothering your father now!"
"I'll only be a minute!" George called from the corridor and Pip heard him open the door.
There was a throaty chuckle, Lord Westcott said, "Snuck off, have you?" and the door closed behind them, muffling their voices to incomprehensible.
Alice huffed. "That boy. He takes too much to his father. He hasn't sat still since the day before last."
Pip hesitated. "Pardon me, but . . . did Lord Westcott come here two days ago? I remember you mentioning something about that."
"Oh, yes," she said. "Yes, he came by to check on Jack, say hello. He's been helping us with the medication, you see. It's—er—a bit expensive for us. We didn't ask him to do it!" she added quickly, as though asking for help would've been shameful. "B-But . . . he always insists and . . . we cannot turn such kindness down. It would be terribly rude."
Alice looked down at her teacup, her face red. Pip thought of his family, if this was the way they behaved when they confessed to people how it was they got the money to have the accommodations they did. He made a hmph noise, and Alice looked up.
"Well," said Pip. "That's the first decent thing I've seen him do, I must say!"
Alice raised a brow. "Oh? Is he truly so unkind to his servant?"
"Unkind implies he acknowledges my existence," said Pip. "I'm more of a cat he barely tolerates following him and which he expects to work at the speed of lightning. Oh, certainly, go ahead and laugh, easy for you to do, isn't it? I wouldn't dare so much as smile around him or he'll inquire as to why!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Alice laughed breathlessly, waving her hand. "You—You seem to have come to known him well in such a short amount of time! I dare say, it sounds as though he really likes you!"
Pip blinked. "Likes me?"
"Of course!" she said. "You must have noticed how he barely tolerates much of anyone. If he's kept you, it must mean he's accepted you into his very small circle of friends."
"Friends?" He shook his head. "I sincerely doubt Lord Westcott sees me as a friend."
They spoke for a while, interrupted only when Pip heard an unfamiliar laugh coming from the bedroom inside. He knew it couldn't have been Lord Westcott, but also struggled to conjure a picture of Lord Westcott making anyone so much as giggle.
Alice told him of her previous mistress, how cruel she had been and how, compared to her, Lord Westcott was a king among kings. She'd fallen in love at first sight with the farmer that had come to plough the fields once a week.
"We wouldn't have much time together," said Alice. "But we wanted to make each moment matter. The pain of waiting was worth it to be in his arms."
"I completely understand," Pip said wistfully.
"You should've seen me, Pip, I was so helpless!"
"But that's so romantic!" Pip said with a grin. "For is there anything quite like such helplessness? If you are to lose yourself, it is best, in my opinion, to lose yourself to love."
Her eyes softened. "Do you have someone you love, Pip?"
Pip hesitated, the bruises down his chest stinging in longing reminder. He glanced at the corridor, half-anxious that Lord Westcott would hear him. Alice seemed to have noticed and covered his hand with her own. "I'm very good at keeping secrets," she said. "I promise."
Pip bit his lower lip. He would not dare tell anyone at the manor, for it would not be difficult to spot Pip following Oliver with his eyes, or the smile on Pip's face whenever Oliver called for him. But Alice did not work and live at the manor, and Pip . . . he'd never said the words aloud to anyone.
"I tell you this in confidence, Alice," he said, his voice barely over a whisper. Alice leaned in, eager. "I am so deeply in love that I feel I may drown in it, and it would please me."
Alice's grin widened. "That is love, indeed! Oh—quiet, quiet, I think I hear them coming out."
Just then, a door opened and there was a clamouring of voices.
"Hang on, help me move, George," the faceless Jack said.
"Okay, father!"
"Don't you dare get up, or I'll run out and leave here without a proper farewell!" warned Lord Westcott.
"It's improper!" said Jack. "I must see you out!"
"Next time, next time," said Lord Westcott. "I'll be back. Oh, for God's sake, man, sit down! You know I'll be back. You can greet me properly then!"
"Stubborn mule," Jack said with a huff, though Pip heard laughter. "Son, hand me that pillow there, will you?"
Lord Westcott came into the sitting room, grumbling as Alice and Pip stood. "Honestly, does he think my feelings will be hurt if he doesn't force himself out of bed? Every time I visit, he insists on irritating me."
"You?" Alice said mildly. "Such a sunny disposition get irritated?"
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Lord Westcott looked over the pair of them and raised a brow. "What are you smiling about, Mr. Kensley?"
"Nothing, sir," Pip said calmly, and as he turned to grab his coat off the armrest, he rolled his eyes at Alice who barely managed to stifle another laugh.
Lord Westcott narrowed his eyes as he reached into his coat pocket. "What's going on with you two?"
"Nothing," they both said at once, feigning innocence.
He seemed to realize he would get nowhere, and he huffed, exasperated. "Suit yourselves." And he pulled out a small box with a pink ribbon tied around it, and set it on a table against the wall.
"Oh, Robert," Alice said upon sight of the box. "You don't have to keep bringing him things!"
"It's not just for George," he said. "It's a bribe. I've grown quite fond of those cinnamon biscuits you make. They composed half my meals in Europe."
And he smiled. Pip stared. He didn't think he'd seen Lord Westcott smile yet. He looked different, almost . . . kind.
"I baked a few just this morning!" she said eagerly. "Pip, you'll love them!"
"He's a barely decent servant," said Lord Westcott. "He doesn't need any."
No, Pip thought irritably. Not kind. Certainly not kind.
"Pip," said Alice, taking his arm once they were out the door. "Do say you'll come back with Robert on the next visit. Robert, you'll bring him, won't you?"
Lord Westcott glanced at Alice as he fixed his cloak. "What on earth do you want to see him for?"
"Come now, Robert, please say you'll bring him!"
He sighed. "What a silly request," he said. "He's my manservant, he would have to come, wouldn't he?"
George was standing at his mother's side, picking through the box Lord Westcott had brought him, open in his hands and filled with what looked like chocolate almonds.
"Here you are," Alice said quietly, pushing a few biscuits wrapped in cloth into Pip's hands. "Don't let him have any from you. He gets enough."
"Not sharing with Lord Westcott is my new favourite thing to do," said Pip, and Alice grinned.
"Today, Mr. Kensley."
Pip bid Alice and George goodbye. Alice waved him off, and George seemed too preoccupied with his chocolate to notice he'd been spoken to.
Lord Westcott caught Pip's arm before he could climb onto the coachbox. "Mr. Kensley," he said, "I'd like you to sit in here with me."
"Why?"
"Get in the carriage!"
Pip glanced at Mr. Acker who shrugged, just as confused, and got in behind Lord Westcott, sitting on the bench opposite him, his knees pressed tightly together.
Lord Westcott waited until the Dalton cottage was far out of sight before he spoke.
"She gets to call you Pip now, too? You must really not like me."
Pip blinked, surprised. "Is—Is that what you wanted to tell me, sir?"
"You've never sat on the inside of a carriage before?" And though the question did not sound degrading, Pip raised his chin defiantly.
"I have. Occasionally. With Miss Westcott or Miss Bradley."
"Never with Oliver?"
Pip raised a brow. "No. Never with Mr. Reed. Why?"
"I have my own questions for you," said Lord Westcott instead. "I want you to answer them honestly." Pip said nothing. "But I can see that you have a few questions of your own. So I will give you the same courtesy."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you like the Dalton's home?"
"Yes," said Pip.
"But you have opinions," Lord Westcott went on as though he'd expected this. "Yes, all right, go on. What are they?"
Pip hesitated, then, "If Alice—Mrs. Dalton—and her husband can be better looked after in a manor, why let them stay in that small cottage?"
"I didn't realize money meant so much to you."
"And what if it did?" exclaimed Pip, blushing. "Certain situations can be made better with money, can't it? I'm not a fool who thinks money can buy happiness, but couldn't it secure safety? For someone in Mr. Dalton's condition, for example?"
Lord Westcott nodded. "I wondered that as well. But we've been assured, time and time again, that peace of mind is the best remedy."
"But—"
"And do you think I would not make the offer myself?" said Lord Westcott. "Do you think I have not begged and pleaded, if only for my own peace of mind, that my friend is safe at my side? Do you not think that, had Jack not insisted that all he needs and wants is his wife and child at his side and his own home to be happy and healthy, then that is all he will have?"
Pip said nothing to this. To be so in love—he could imagine it. He wondered if Oliver may have said the same, and told himself he would.
"Have you ever been in love?" he asked.
Pip clenched his jaw. "I'm not answering that question."
"Why not?"
"Because I think that's private."
Lord Westcott stared. Pip wished he would stop doing that.
"All right, my lord," he straightened his spine, preparing himself. "I've asked and you've answered. Was that all you wanted to ask of me?"
"No," said Lord Westcott. "It isn't. You made Alice laugh."
Pip blinked. "I suppose."
"How?"
"Pardon?"
"How did you make her laugh?" he asked. "Is this question difficult?"
"I . . . don't know," Pip said honestly. "It wasn't hard. I simply spoke and she laughed. She seems very prone to smiling already."
Lord Westcott leaned back, tapping his finger on the bench. "No. She isn't normally. In fact, I haven't seen her smile much in years. And yet you'd been with her no more than an hour and she was laughing as she only used to."
Pip considered this. "I don't understand what I did."
"Perhaps she was merely laughing at your face," he muttered, looking away. "You are very funny-looking, after all."
Pip frowned. How childish and unjust could Lord Westcott be that he only insulted people he knew could not insult him back? Pip had a few choice words himself for how Lord Westcott looked, and all of them were sure to have him sacked. He wondered how Mr. Dalton could have managed a friendship with him for seemingly so long.
Mr. Dalton . . . he thought of his brother.
"Lord Westcott."
"Hm?"
"Would you allow Charles and I to go into town today?"
"What for?"
"I have to deliver a letter to the post," he said. "It—It's for my brother, you see."
"You have a brother?"
Pip nodded. "He lives in London. It's . . . erm . . . quite important that he hears from me every week."
He tilted his head. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why?" When Pip didn't answer, Lord Westcott nodded, unsurprised. "Private as well, is it? Fine, yes, you may go after you've completed your chores in the garden."
"Thank you, sir," said Pip, already thinking of what he would write, very much aware that Lord Westcott was still watching him.