Pip curled in on himself, checking over the flowerbed behind him to make sure he couldn't be seen.
The ball was only last night, and he was meant to be diligently working in the gardens, but he didn't want to be so easily found. Mr. Colton had been forced to leave after the guests had gone, as late as the night was.
Pip remembered how everyone had gathered in the entrance hall to watch, apprehensive and disbelieving, how Mr. Colton had refused to meet anyone's eyes as he barked orders at the servants who were taking his bags to the carriage waiting outside. He'd straightened his spine, and did not spare Pip or Lord Westcott the slightest glance.
He stopped across from Miss Westcott and fixed her with a glare. "The Great Lady Westcott would be ashamed of you."
Miss Bradley's hand had tightened on Miss Westcott's as she turned to stone. Mr. Colton's footsteps echoed against the marble floor in the overwhelming silence, and when the door closed behind him, the manor erupted into cheerful applause.
Miss Bradley burst into laughter at Jane's joyous reaction, Lord Westcott looked startled but pleased, and even Miss Westcott managed a small smile.
But Pip could not be so joyous. He had caught Oliver's eyes across from him, and looked away again.
Oliver had discovered the entire truth in the end. And yet . . .
Pip buried his face in his knees with a groan. The cold snuck in under the back of his shirt and sent a shiver down his spine. The wind played in the empty branches and the distant sounds of birds flying to the warmth for the winter echoed across the gardens. Pip wished he could join them.
"Ah, Mr. Kensley," Lord Westcott peeked over the flowerbed. "Hard at work yet again, I see."
Pip opened his mouth to retort, but then Lord Westcott sat down beside him against the brick wall, and the words caught in his throat. A memory of Lord Westcott's arms around his waist overtook his thoughts, his breath on Pip's neck, his lips on Pip's forehead—a memory Pip hadn't dared allow to surface since the young lord had saved them the previous night, but would not remain buried now.
"I told you to call me 'Pip,'" he finally muttered. "Wasn't that what you'd been complaining about for months?"
He sighed, his elbows on his knees. "I suppose I only find it a bit odd now."
"Odd is certainly a word for it," said Pip. To his surprise, Lord Westcott's cheeks were dusted with pink. "Stop that," he snapped.
"What?" he blinked.
"Blushing! Y-You make it very difficult for me to speak to you if every word I say leaves you red."
"That's fair, isn't it!" he scoffed. "Can't you imagine how difficult it was for me, feeling Oliver's eyes burn holes into my head whenever you so much as handed me a glass of water? That man would envy the sunlight touching you, it's ridiculous!"
Pip turned silent, scrunching his shoulders and hugging his knees tighter. "Am . . . am I in trouble?"
Lord Westcott rolled his eyes. "What for?"
Pip swallowed the lump in his throat. "I dunno. For all the secrets and lies . . . I would've thought there'd be great repercussions for our . . . well, for coming into the light." Pip's eyes burned. He couldn't even say their 'romance.'
"Pip," he said, and Pip's heart did that irritating fluttering thing it usually did whenever Lord Westcott said his name. "I don't care that you and Oliver are together. Didn't he tell you?"
"I—er . . ." he shook his head. "I haven't spoken to him yet."
Lord Westcott said nothing a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Do you want to? You can go now, there's still another hour until noon comes."
Pip clenched his jaw. He shook his head. "I wouldn't know what to say, to be honest. I . . ." I really thought he would choose me, he almost said, but refrained. This was a conversation to be had with Oliver, and if he was being very truthful with himself, he didn't completely believe those words either.
Too late, he realized tears were falling. He quickly wiped them away and glanced at Lord Westcott who was staring straight ahead at the naked tree branches. Pip's heart was racing. Perhaps Lord Westcott hadn't noticed?
They sat in silence a while. Pip was tearing at the grass between them, sniffling every now and then.
"Does anyone else know?" he asked quietly.
Lord Westcott shook his head. "Do you want anyone else to know?"
Pip considered that, and slid down against the wall, his neck turned at an agitating angle against the wall.
"Don't do that," said Lord Westcott, slapping his shoulder. "Get up."
"Leave me to die here," grumbled Pip.
"That doesn't sound like the energetic little pest that I know and barely tolerate."
"You kiss people you barely tolerate now?" he thoughtlessly said, then sat up, eyes wide. Lord Westcott had looked away. "I—I didn't mean that! I didn't mean to imply that—"
"That I kissed you?" he said. "You can't imply it if I did do it."
Pip fell silent. His cheeks burned. So Lord Westcott wasn't denying it? But what did it mean? Why had he held Pip so tightly last night? Why had Pip embraced him just as tightly back? What had he been thinking? Why had the Lord Westcott been so worried for him as he'd not appeared to worry for anyone before?
"Oh, don't look at me like that," he rolled his eyes. "It was a sibling kiss, no different than anything I would've given Oliver."
Pip's heart took its time calming down. "Oh."
"Problem?"
"No!" he said at once. "Good. That's good." Slowly, he lay back down on the ground, staring at the far trees as he replayed the kiss to his forehead over and over, the memory now unwilling to leave him at all.
"For God's sake," sighed Lord Westcott. "Would you stop lying down like that? It's not good for you."
"I don't care," he mumbled, hugging himself to keep from touching Lord Westcott. "Leave me here, it's not as though I'm forcing you down with me."
A pause. "Now listen here, you irritant—"
Pip laughed despite himself, but it fell short as they heard voices coming out to the gardens. He raised himself up enough to look over the flowerbed.
He gasped as two women came running out, one giggling far louder than the other. It was Miss Bradley, pulling Miss Westcott along behind her.
Lord Westcott was sitting up so tall that if the women even glanced in their direction, they would spot him.
"What're you doing?" hissed Pip. "Get down!"
He pulled on Lord Westcott's coat, bringing him down beside him so that they were both curled down against the flowerbed at an awkward angle.
Lord Westcott glared, rubbing the side of his head where it had hit the short wall. "Ouch," he complained.
"Sorry!"
The women's voices were hushed and Pip and Lord Westcott were too close to the running water of the fountains, but it was as though the breezes were carrying Misses Bradley and Westcott's voices over to them. If Pip concentrated, he was able to make out bits and pieces of the conversation.
Miss Westcott said something that Pip could not hear, and Miss Bradley responded, "Don't worry, I checked from the windows," she said. "I don't know where Pip is, but he's not here."
Lord Westcott caught Pip's gaze, and Pip looked away, his face warm.
"Sorry," whispered Lord Westcott. "Which one of us blushes again?"
"Shh!"
"I don't know about this," said Miss Westcott. "Shouldn't we return to my chambers?"
"And why should we?" demanded Miss Bradley. "We've got nothing to hide! I'd declare it to all of England right now, if the carriage journey wasn't so long! Oh! We should host another ball! And I can take care of everything! And we can announce our marriage then!"
Pip reached out instinctively, taking Lord Westcott's hand. Marriage?!
Miss Westcott laughed. "Stop it, you foolish girl! We can't be married yet! These things take time!"
"How much time could we need? I would marry you in your nightgown!" She squealed, and Miss Westcott's laugh was louder. "I'm so happy, Isolde, I'm just so happy! You can't imagine what I'm feeling."
"I very well can," she said, the fondness in her tone making Pip's heart ache and his eyes burn.
"I feel as though my heart is bursting out of my chest!" she went on eagerly.
"I know."
"As though I may sob out of sheer joy!"
"I know!" she laughed.
Pip huffed, rubbing his face roughly with one hand.
What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he be happier for them? He loved both Misses Bradley and Westcott. He should've been overjoyed.
Their voices turned quieter, and Pip missed what they were saying. Then—
"I'm not expecting you to make so many changes in a day," said Miss Bradley softly. "I know it will take time to get accustomed to being with me in the open—"
"You are not the problem," said Miss Westcott at once. "I am. I'm . . . frightened, I confess. And a part of me still expects to be scolded for this, for opposing her wishes . . . but I want you at my side. You . . . make me stronger. You make the rest of this"—Pip assumed she was gesturing at their general surroundings—"easier. I do need time, but never time away from you."
Pip curled in deeper on himself, shutting his eyes to the rest of it. More hushed conversation, more giggling and laughing and squealing and shushing, more happiness that pierced deeper into Pip's heart.
"Come along," urged Miss Bradley. "We'll take a walk in the gardens. No one to interrupt us."
Pip was roughly snatched away from his thoughts, and he pulled Lord Westcott further down.
"Ouch—would you stop doing that?!" he hissed.
"Shh!"
"Don't shush me, I'm not—"
"Oh, all right!" said Miss Westcott, sounding much closer to where the men were hiding than they had before. "Stop tugging! Here, give me your arm!"
Lord Westcott fell silent, gripping Pip's hand back just as tightly.
"It's odd that Pip isn't here," said Miss Bradley, getting closer. Lord Westcott and Pip curled in closer together, further away from the end of the flowerbed, their temples touching. If they were found here . . .
Miss Westcott hummed. "I haven't seen Robbie either. Oliver's been pacing the drawing room, looking out the windows every so often like a madman."
"Why?"
"I can't tell," she shrugged. "He snapped at me when I asked."
"Well," huffed Miss Bradley. "I think he's a being a right—" she gasped. "Hang on! Both Pip and Robbie are missing?"
"What are you . . . oh, don't you start! You couldn't possibly think . . .?"
"You've seen how your brother looks at Pip!" said Miss Bradley eagerly.
Pip stilled. He felt Lord Westcott's hand on his tighten. Whether that was instinctive or purposeful, Pip didn't know and didn't want to consider it. Either way, he pulled Lord Westcott in deeper, quietly moving further away from the edge of the flowerbed as well.
"Oh, stop," she said. "Pip and Robbie?"
"And what's wrong with Pip?" she demanded.
"Hush, you know I love Pip," she said. "It's only that I can't imagine Robbie taking a fancy to anyone." She hesitated, "But . . . no, stop, don't put those thoughts in my head now. Robbie's probably working in his chambers. You know how little he likes to associate with anyone."
They were getting closer and closer now. Any moment, and they would find Pip and Lord Westcott hiding here together. What would they think?
Pip didn't know what he thought right now. Lord Westcott's warm breath on his cheek was a sufficient distraction.
"Here," said Miss Bradley, and Pip could see the top of her head. "Let's sit by the fountain."
"All right, all right," she laughed, humouring her.
Pip held his breath, and Lord Westcott's temple pressed harder against his own. Any second now. Should they stand? But what would that look like? Pip clenched his jaw, waiting for the inevitable gasps and stares and questions.
Then—
"Miss Westcott!" Chef Blackwood's familiar voice sounded from the manor. "If you please! We do have a guest coming, you know! Mrs. Mary is in a right fit state over here!"
Pip heard the women sigh.
"He's fortunate he's so good with a pan," grumbled Miss Bradley, "or I would have a few words for him about that tone."
"He's loud," said Miss Westcott with a chuckle. "He's always been loud. It's who he is." Miss Bradley groaned, but Miss Westcott already sounded further away than before. "Come along," she said. "You're not leaving me to handle this alone."
She scoffed, following Miss Westcott. "You couldn't keep me away!"
They continued to talk and laugh as they left, and slowly, Pip's grip on Lord Westcott's hand loosened.
Only when their voices faded completely did Pip dare let out the breath he'd been holding.
"Oh my heart," he put a hand on his chest. "I really thought we'd have some explaining to do. Didn't you?"
He looked up, and the rest of his words were caught in his throat. His nose was barely an inch away from Lord Westcott's. Their breaths mixed, and Pip could smell strawberries and herbs from Lord Westcott's morning tea.
"Erm," said Lord Westcott. He held up their hands. "You can let go now."
Pip thought of strong arms and big hands and warm lips. He squeaked and released the hand he'd been holding immediately, scrambling up to his feet, his cheeks and ears warm.
Lord Westcott looked up at him. "I had no idea you were so repulsed by the idea of touching me, Pip."
Pip's eyes widened, his face burning so strongly he thought he may faint. "Y-You—are you mad, you mustn't—you can't—"
"Calm yourself," he chuckled. "I was only teasing."
His tone was light, but he wouldn't meet Pip's eyes. Pip was almost relieved for it. He didn't think he could look at Lord Westcott either.
"And," he went on, "in any regards, you and Oliver . . ."
Pip's racing heart slowed. "Er . . . Lord Westcott, if you could—if you could please pretend you didn't . . ." he trailed off, feeling very distant from himself as he said the words.
It was a rule that no one know about his romance with Oliver, but saying it had become so draining, and Pip found he simply didn't have the energy or the will to finish the request.
Please keep it a secret. Don't let anyone know. Pretend you didn't know. Let this act play out longer.
Regardless, Lord Westcott seemed to understand the silent message, and he nodded. "If that's what you want."
Not much longer now, he wearily reminded himself. Not much longer now.
Pip wondered how his heart, which had been racing only a moment ago, could fall so heavily with the thought of Oliver and their secrets.
With a steadiness he did not feel, Pip said, "It's what I want."