It was finally Summer again. After what seemed like forever, the rainy spring slowly began to melt away into thick and blistering nights, bringing with it the Americans and their dollars. His mother was the height of society, she ruled and decided who was worth elevating and who would be left in the dust and she loved the Americans with their jazz, their rolling accents and their bold hem lines. She found them an endless study, to observe and to be fascinated by, they were in themselves collectables, to be shown off and paraded through ballrooms and parties of the highest order as exotic and wild creatures who had no understanding of their constraints. They were the peacocks among the birds at the avery and it was worth their outlandish nature if only for a flash of their feathers and cash.

Elizabeth Grant had come from very old money, having married twice and produced no less than five children, it seemed her job was done. She now took on her role as Queen and gatekeeper of social society, she bathed and branded her children from their cradles to know exactly the world they would be living in and what would be expected of them as children of the Grant dynasty and custodians of Crestly House. Alice was the youngest and with her girlish features and darling eyes she would have suitors from all over the world vying for her hand. She was shy and reclusive at the best of times but she shone brightly when she entered a room, like a diamond held up to the light. She sipped champagne at the parties and tried to surpass the night with polite nods and smiles to the gentlemen who danced with her, she found happiness in the gardens, walking the grounds and reading when the weather remained fine. James was next, although you would hardly know it from how he behaved, he always seemed busy and absent in the best of ways. He was flying planes in Russia or studying elephants in Africa, he travelled widely and never seemed to settle on anything or anyone. He would bring home a girl now and then as his father would grumble in regret while his mother would politely nod as he talked of love and marriage, only to receive a letter a week or so later on how things had subsequently fallen apart. Then Catherine who everyone affectionately called Kick and who danced with every man in the ballroom until her shoes were scuffed and her smile dimming from the late hour. Everyone loved Kick and she loved everyone, but she was always certain she would never be captured or tied down by anything. She would be free like the Americans she was raised around, her eyes often dazzling in the reflections of their earrings and necklaces. She was determined to wear fine dresses and dance until she died.

Their brother Fitzgerald lived differently. He was groomed, moulded and shaped into the next heir. The fit was uncomfortable, like a poorly worn suit of his father's that he would play with as a child and it felt wrong and difficult to walk in and he often found himself stumbling over, unable to get up. It wasn't his title, not really and he felt so often like an imitation of his older brother. He had never wanted this life, it had been shoved at him like a bucket of ice water, dousing his dreams and hopes as it washed over his teenage form. He wasn't ready then and he still felt unready now. The shoes he walked in didn't fit and couldn't lift his feet without slipping out. This was never meant to be his job and it seemed everywhere he turned, life reminded him of that. He lived in two shadows, that of his father's and his older brother. When the Great War came, Will had insisted, this was his time. It was reckless and foolish to think that this was in any way honourable, but he'd once told Fitz that glory didn't come from flirting at parties and smiling at pretty women, it belonged on the battlefield as you earned your place. What was any of that worth? Once his body was found and his parents sent a single telegram, what on earth was it for? It seemed to him that his brother died not for glory, but for the idea that he'd been searching for something better, something more. Fitz only hoped that maybe now, he'd found it. With his death it was his turn to feel the weight of the family on him, pure rich blood flowing through his veins and the responsibility of the past and the future of the Crestly estate and the family name in his hands. Fitz knew how he felt, how the place seemed to rob a man of his purpose and sense of self. He didn't know who he was anymore, he had become a doll for his parents to play with and the man he was had slowly slipped from his mind, forgotten. But their were times, only moments and thoughts unuttered in the darkest moments of the night, when he would curse his brother for robbing him of his dreams. He was selfish, he knew, but he felt he had yet to prove himself and he almost wished for a war in order to give him some sort of purpose, at least Will had found that.

With the return of Summer was the return of his mother's endless quest to get him settled and married, but the women she paraded through the halls of their home seemed to only want a title and their fortune, something he himself found hard to care about. For that reason he had avoided her parties at Crestly as often as he could, frequently making trips to London in order to escape the estate, finding more and more errands to run. However tonight, as he felt the sweltering heat boil and roast him beneath his suit, he had been curious. He had missed the sights and flavours of the Westerners, their jolly attitudes and their bright eyes, they seemed to be freed by the possibility of money, an idea that felt strange and foreign to him. Money, it seemed, was the weakness of the English but the strength of the Americans. His mother had told him there were new arrivals this evening, as there always were come the Summer and new waves of women would strut past Elizabeth, hoping to earn her favour and grace. The Carlson's, the Jefferson's and most importantly, the Pope's. Elijah Pope had only recently become the American ambassador for the United Kingdom and was keen to promote good relationships between the two countries, therefore he was often photographed at English dinner tables chuckling with MP's and Cabinet Ministers. He was hell bent on getting his family settled in society and his second eldest daughter had arrived off the boat only yesterday and was due to be dropped at Crestly with her father and mother by this afternoon. His mother had mentioned they would be staying the night, at which point she'd given Fitz a stern look and told him to act like a gentleman, to which he'd replied, "I always do."

XxXxXxXx

He threaded his cufflinks through the overlapping holes in his crisp white cuffs and straightened his bow tie. He glanced at himself in the mirror, his eyes scrutinising his appearance, noting the lines starting to appear on his face and the creases in his forehead. At 28 he felt ancient, the shadows of youth etched into the crevasses, he was weary with himself and his life. However, he felt a tingling in the air that seemed to light something in him, like the air crisp and fresh before a thunderstorm with the wind whipping and cracking in so many directions that nothing felt impossible. It seemed to lift him as he turned away from the mirror and walked down the long wooden panelled corridor. He stopped outside the first door to his left, his shoes shining against the dark brilliant red o the old carpet, he fingers tapping against her door, it was a code of theirs they'd invented when they were younger and it had stuck with them. He could her the smile in her voice like warm honey as she called for him to enter. He found her perched in front of her dresser, fussing with the parts of her ensemble. She was wrapped in a brilliant emerald green, her hair piled into curls and glinting with a diamond tiara his mother must have lent her for this evening. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Fitz, be a dear and make yourself useful." She held out her necklace to him and he sighed and shook his head, laughing slightly at the bossiness that never seemed to leave her, despite her maturation. He took the delicate dark chain in his fingers and adjusted the clasp around her neck. She smiled, contented as she glanced in the mirror and caught him properly in the light.

"God, you look terrible. Have you slept?" She meant in out of concern as she turned to face him but he backed away and folded his arms, leaning against her bedpost. He shook his head.

"Not much, I'm having trouble." He hadn't even told Kick about his dreams because he didn't want her to worry but it seemed he didn't put up as good of a front as he'd hoped.

"Well tonight you have to stop being such a ghastly bore for at least five minutes and promise me you'll try to have fun." She said, taking a final look at herself before standing and confronting his gaze.

"Kick-"

"No Fitz, I mean it. I've barely seen you since-" It was something they didn't talk about but the silence that filled the moment had the same impact, clouding the conversation. "You're always in London at the clubs but you never dance. You sit and drink like an old man!"

"I feel like an old man." He said, rubbing his neck as Kick reached up to his cheek.

"Then promise me something. You'll dance tonight." He was about to open his mouth but she reached behind and pulled his hair, "And not just with me you ninny! Dance with a girl!"

He looked at her curiously and she rolled her eyes, "I'm your sister, you fool. I'm not a girl, I'm a friend! And I will spend the night dancing with eligible American bachelors so don't you dare try and intervene and be all brotherly or I swear to God I'll stomp on your feet as you clumsily try and heave me across the floor with your terrible waltzing."

He laughed as she retreated to grab a final spritz of perfume.

"I promise, you'll have no trouble from me. Might not say the same of James though, did you hear he arrived only an hour ago?"

She grimaced, "Oh dear, mother will have an absolute fit. At least she won't notice when I slip away with a gentleman!" She wiggled her eyebrows and Fitz stuck out his tongue in mock disgust as they laughed the same hollow throaty laugh together. He offered her his arm and she took it but he hesitated for a moment.

"Promise me you'll be careful Kick." He said seriously, because he did worry, especially with such strange people always flowing like water in and out of the house, terrified they would sweep her up as they went. She rolled her eyes again in a way far too childish for her 26 years but nodded.

"I always am. It's nothing serious, just kisses and-" He raised his hand and she stopped and chuckled slightly as they began to walk out the door and down the hall towards the sounds of the band and the building crowd.

"Did Mama never tell you about the bird and the bees then?" She said mockingly as he elbowed her slightly in the ribs and she found herself giggling again, much to his amusement. They straightened at the entrance as they stood just round the corner of the top of the staircase, only moments before the whole room's eyes would wash over them. He lent over slightly and gave her a warning look with hints of his affection and worry, "Please try to behave." and she sighed and nodded as their dance always went, with him voicing concern and her pretending it irritated her but secretly knowing it meant he loved her and always wanted the best for her. In that regard it made her shine and they both adjusted themselves before they entered. He noticed instantly their neighbours and several women from London he knew and who batted their eyelashes at him as his eyes quickly fled from theirs. Then he began to search the crowd for the guests of honour. He could always tell the Yanks from the British as they always had wealth stitched into their garments and their skin was yellowed slightly from the beating western sun.

His eyes began to wander to the furthest corner of the room where he noticed a shorter girl who seemed to somehow stand above the rest of the crowd in her dignity and manner. Her lips curved into a smile his eyes seemed to drown in and he noticed her eyes were a luscious dark brown, matching perfectly with her skin and reminding him of the tinted colour of tree bark when it rained. He was so hypnotised that he almost stumbled down the rest of the stairs, Kick nudging him slightly and waking him from his trance. She eyed him curiously and followed his gaze, her mouth became a smile of understanding. "That's the Pope girl." She whispered, swiftly adding "good luck!" Before patting his arm and leaving him alone at the bottom of the staircase with his heart firmly in his throat.

He seemed to gravitate towards her, so much so that when she was a few feet away from him he seemed to be shaken away by her laugh and began to slink back into a shadowed corner of the room. His eyes glided with her, watching her every movement and noting every detail about her. The gorgeous pink silk that flowed over her form, catching her hips and her waist in the most perfect of places before scattering at the ends that swayed and gently caressed the skin of her calves as she moved through the room. He was so engrossed that he didn't even see his brother pull up next to him with a scotch in his hand.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Fitz turned his head to see James leaning against the wall, the same as he was, mirroring his stance and gaze. The two men were alike in looks with the same dark waves on their head and the same angled jaw but where Fitz had the charming features and was clueless with flirting, James had a more rugged kind of handsomeness and the irresistible charisma and wit that sparkled and had women weak at the knees. In some ways he reminded him of Kick but without that boundary to her cheek and without the compassion that seemed so inherent in her. James flew in and out of their lives regularly and they'd come to expect it often enough, but it hurt his family that he'd never come for Will's funeral and he seemed (if it was even possible) even more distant after that. Fitz eyed him carefully.

"She is. Met her on your travels, did you?" He didn't want to sound protective but something just have tweaked because James laughed.

"Don't worry, old boy, I'm here with someone. I'm no threat to you tonight but I daresay you'd better snap her up soon, she's the life of the party. If you want her, you may actually have to talk to her." He said with all the suaveness of a cad and it stung Fitz that he was right but even then, he wouldn't let himself be ordained.

"She's not a bloody prize to be won. For God's sake James, do you have any part of a soul left in that hard shell of yours?" He hadn't meant to sound so brash and uncaring but James merely raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his drink.

"So I see they've broken you then?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

James started at him and their eyes seemed to be locked in an endless battle, "Just that I knew they'd get to you. Why do you think I left Fitz? I didn't want to see that."

Fitz scoffed and crossed his arms, "You don't know anything about me."

"I've been gone a long time, but I wouldn't say that." Fitz glanced at him with a raised eyebrow as if to decode his meaning, James smiled wickedly as he nodded back to where he'd been watching her, "I know that girl is going to be the death of you, weather you talk to her or not." And with that he placed his glass on a nearby tray and wandered back into the crowd. Fitz turned back to gage another glance at her, only to find her gone. His eyes swept over everyone in the room and he suddenly felt heat rising through his face at the panicking thought of having lost her, before he heard a soft voice over his shoulder.

"Hi." He turned slightly and saw her leaning against the wall next to him, just as James had done a few moments earlier. He felt starstruck and his words were a jumble in his head and mouth so instead he mumbled back, "Hello."

Much to his delight she smiled softly, just as she had done with her friends earlier although this time there was something brilliant about it, just a hint of something more. But she couldn't possibly feel for him. He looked terrible, his own sister had told him. Yet the way her eyes caressed his face, he knew he was't imagining it.

She titled her head towards the doors at the side of the dance hall, "I hear the garden looks so pretty at night, can we go outside?"

She seemed so informal and bold that he could only nod and swallow as she took his arm and suddenly he seemed to be moving towards the balcony. It was dark outside but still with such warmth and thrill within the air that he'd shivered only from her closeness.

They walked along and down the small flight of stone steps onto the garden where she gasped at the roses glinting in the moonlight. He stared at her intently and watched as she turned back to face him, her hand slipping into his as they settled for a moment, together and still in the budding heat.

"You're Fitzgerald Grant." She said confidently, "You're the heir to Crestly and future Duke of Pembrokeshire."

"And you're Olivia Pope, daughter of Elijah Pope and here to marry a wealthy man and drown in his diamonds." He joked and she laughed heartily before nodding as they kept walking in amongst the garden. "Wouldn't you about fit the bill then?" She gazed up at him adoringly and he stopped for a moment as she leaned in towards him. He closed his eyes, feeling her breath hover over his face and then feeling her words hot and warm against his ear.

"I saw you watching me." She reached up her fingers and brushed over his aw as his head gear falling against her shoulder in submission, she had him under her spell and he was hers. She felt his own breath on her neck and she felt that warm tingly feeling like she was alive with and buzzing with electricity. "Why were you staring at me?" She mumbled against him and intoxicated as he was by her he was able to move his lips softly to her neck and her fingers slid into his hair as he began placing kisses on her soft flesh. He could feel her pulse over his affections and it raced and matched his own as he drank the scent of her in and wrapped himself up completely in the moment, in her. She quivered slightly as she softly crooned, "Do you want me, Fitzgerald?"

He groaned because everything in him felt drunk and tipsy and warm, like fire and scotch coarse through his veins and when she softly bit his earlobe he passed himself even further into her as she moaned in response. "Yes." He breathed as his lips skated over her shoulder, her sleeve falling away leaving him to kiss the bare skin he found only to be interrupted slightly with her bra strap. He glanced up to see her neck exposed, lolling to the side in pleasure. He kissed his way back, his nose trailing it's own path in order to remember every scent of her. "Why?" she mumbled against him. She smelled of Jasmine and the thought of her spreading the oil over her neck enhanced his feelings as found himself gazing and drowning in her eyes, finally level with his. She brushed his hair back with her fingers, twisting and playing with it's locks as she grinned like a Cheshire cat. He peck her lips, or least it had meant to be a peck but he found himself falling into her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and their tongues slowly began to taste and sense one another. He sighed as she pulled away, stepping back and adjusting het sleeve back as his eyes dimmed in disappointment. She remained smiling as she saw the mixture of lust and loss that stained his features and she turned her head to the side, considering him.

"You didn't answer my question." She was a marvel to him, he'd known many American girls and English girls alike but none had had her forwardness, her modernity. She had no hint of regret or embarrassment about her since their encounter, she didn't blush or giggle as some girls might. Instead she challenged him and it struck him starkly.

"Isn't it obvious?" He said, still ruled by the adrenaline and the desire that burst through him.

She shook her head, "I never know with you English." and he could tell from the slight loss of light in her eyes that she'd been caught before, tricked and betrayed somehow.

"Well, I'm not like that."

She titled her head again and nodded, "I can see that, you're different somehow."

He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and he followed as she turned and began walking again, her fingers brushing the petals and leaves of the garden as she went.

"So you've known many Englishmen?"

"I was engaged few years ago. He broke my heart."

He stopped and she kept walking but looked over her shoulder to find him pondering her.

"It was years ago, I was a girl of 16. He was wealthy, like you."

"What happened?"

"He ran off with his neighbour. Turned out they were childhood sweethearts. He was only after me for my money, for my Dad."

She turned to face him and their distance was apparent.

"Is that why you want me?"

"No."

"Then why?" She looked puzzled, like it hadn't occurred to her that she could be loved for herself alone but it threw him that she didn't see herself for who she was and how she controlled and effected the room, humming like a firefly and radiating over the party.

He couldn't find the words, instead he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before meeting her eyes with a pained look as if wounded by her.

"I don't see… I don't know…" He struggled, he wasn't gifted with words like James and he didn't have boldness like Kick. He was truly like Alice who was no doubt buried in her books upstairs in her nightgown. He swallowed and met her gaze, his thoughts carefully strewn and gathered to present to her. "How could I not?"

He stepped towards her and took her hand, "Olivia, I don't know what on earth I've done but somehow I've met you and you've hit me like lightening. You're intelligent and quick, bold and bright and brilliant and I'm struck." He shook his head as her mind span and wondered over his words, "You clearly have no idea what you've done to me but I'm not like this. I don't go out into the gardens with women I've only just met and kiss them, my heart races when I see you and I'm blinded. You blind me, with all kinds of feelings and thoughts that I can't construe. I don't know what you've done to me but I want you, Olivia Pope. I want you." And it shocked him to say it out loud, his words echoing in their ears as she reached back up and connected their lips once again. He drew further and further into her, only parting when she leaned forward to connect their foreheads.

"Alright." She whispered, "I'll find you. Later. After midnight, when the lights are out. I'll come to you then." and then she nipped his lips again before fleeing.

When he'd opened his eyes he was unsure of what had happened, but he caught her smile and wink at him as she slipped back into the party and he touched his lips as if he could still feel the traces of her own their. He had no idea what Olivia Pope was but he knew his brother was right, she would be his downfall.

A/N: So I should really be doing my History essay at the moment but the premier was awesome and then I watched a documentary about an estate in England (which is fictionalised here as Crestly) and then this came into my mind. Now you have this and I'm not sure if it's any good so please lend me your thoughts! I will continue this with what will probably be a full chapter of smut and maybe something else at the end, we'll see where my muse takes me. I kind of love the idea of Fitz being English, and again, please give me your opinions about him and the family (personally I love Kick). For now I'll leave you be but I'd love to hear what you think so please please please do a girl a favour and drop me review! Thank you so much for all the support guys, seriously, you're all awesome and I love you! Hugs xx Sam