1807
Hampshire, England
The sweet notes of a robin's song filled the air as the carriage slowly lumbered through the dense thicket of wood that led to the Alaire estate. The foxgloves were out, their bell-like blossoms moving in the breeze amongst the bluebells. Kurt thought he had never seen a more beautiful day, yet he felt far from being able to enjoy it.
He had been filled with a gnawing sense of fear and anxiety for the past three months. His large opal-like eyes seemed to fill up his entire face as he gazed out the carriage window. He was sick of always being afraid. The past term at Eton had been torture. He felt as if every waking moment was spent looking over his shoulder, simply waiting for the next attack. Even being reunited with his father again had done little to improve his disposition. He knew the next two weeks of holiday were simply a reprieve from the daily hell which would be waiting for him when he returned to Eton.
Bertram Hummel watched his son leaning against the side of the carriage, an expression akin to defeat etched upon his pale features. He had become so skinny and gaunt since his stay at Eton. He knew from his letters that he wasn't enjoying his time at the prestigious public school, but he felt certain it was something that would improve with time. He had loved his own time spent as Eton and had nothing but fond memories of his time spent at boarding school. He hoped that in time his son would feel the same way.
Kurt was an unusual boy and Bertram worried about him because of it. Unlike most twelve year old boys, Bertram knew Kurt would rather sit down and sketch men in dress coats and women in beautiful gowns than play a game of rounders in the field. He had always been different. The recent loss of his mother had only made the normally reserved boy become even more withdrawn.
Bertram felt a swift ache of sadness thinking about his beloved Elizabeth. It had been six months and they were both having trouble moving on. Elizabeth had always guided Kurt, encouraged him to celebrate his differences rather than despair of them. She had always told him that his differences were what made him special. As much as Bertram loved his son, he felt awkward and clumsy when it came to showing affection. That had always been Elizabeth's role. Bertram would simply have to work on being enough for Kurt.
Kurt brought his hand up to rub against his eyes, the dark shadows of sleeplessness evident against his pale skin. He turned to look at his father, the setting sun bringing out the blue in his eyes; eyes which were so much like Elizabeth's.
Bertram cleared his throat uncomfortably, uncertain of how to phrase his question with subtly. Failing this, he decided to take his usual direct approach.
'Kurt, I must know—is something troubling you? You have been silent almost the entire journey. You barely ate anything during our stops. Is something upsetting you at Eton? You haven't been this withdrawn since your mother—'
Bertram's words failed in his throat. He was still unable to use the word 'died' in relation to his Elizabeth. He looked towards his son nervously, uncertain at how he would respond to his attempt to question him.
Kurt cleared his throat and averted his eyes. He knew if he looked at his father at this moment every horrible truth would come bursting through his lips like a torrent. He would tell his father about the beatings, the almost nightly humiliation rituals, and the daily pranks pulled on him. Worst of all he would tell his father about his despair. He would tell his father how he had cried himself to sleep every night for the past three months. He would tell him just how unhappy he was at Eton when he knew that was the last thing his father needed to deal with at the moment. His father was still trying to rebuild his life, attempting to make sense of the world after his mother's death. The least he could do was to try and make his father's life easier for him. It was his duty as a son. He could not burden his father with his troubles.
Keeping his eyes fixed upon the pale blue orchid pattern printed upon the carriage drapery, Kurt responds in a trembling voice, 'No Father, everything is fine. You worry too much, you always have.'
Kurt looked up and gives his father a weak smile, which he knows does not reach his eyes. His father holds his gaze, watching him with suspicion before giving him a curt nod.
'If you say so, Kurt,' Bertram replies, 'I trust you. But I need you to trust me too. If you're having difficulty adjusting to life at Eton you can tell me.'
Kurt nods swiftly and changes the subject with alacrity, putting more effort into maintaining the conversation than he had for the entire two day carriage ride. He desperately tries to distract his father by asking him everything about Alaire Manor that had changed since he had been away. Kurt could barely wait to return; the intense longing he felt for his childhood home made his chest ache.
Bertram dutifully informed Kurt about the changes that had been made while he was at Eton. He told him of the new foals that had been birthed in the stables, the crops yielded by the tenant farmers and the usual drunken brawls which had broken out when the villagers brewed their hops for the season. Kurt absorbed every scrap of information, every miniscule detail, with great eagerness and still continued to ask his father more questions. By the time Bertram finished painstakingly describing the changes in décor that had been made to his study, two hours had passed and they were pulling into the gates that led to Alaire Manor.
Kurt could barely contain himself, he felt happier than he had in months as the carriage trundled down through a leafy avenue of ancient oak and ash trees. He breathed in that familiar scent of grass, hay, and meadow flowers which he associated so strongly with his childhood and his mother. The ancient sandstone manor was now visible, all elegant lines and delicately wrought architecture. The ache in his chest was more intense than ever and he averted his face from his father so he would not spy the tears which suddenly burned in his eyes.
He had not returned home since he left for Eton, and never had he been more grateful to be at Alaire Manor than he was at this moment. As the carriage pulled into the gravel drive, Kurt spotted the servants lined up in a row in front of the manor, dutifully waiting to welcome Kurt and his father.
He bounded out of the carriage and was engulfed within the strong arms of the house keeper, Mrs Porters, who had known him since he was an infant.
'Oh, Kurt- I mean, Master Hummel,' she amended quickly, 'we are all so glad you have come home to us.'
She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes hastily, seemingly embarrassed by her emotional response to Kurt's return.
Kurt gave her the first genuine smile he had mustered since he left Eton and lightly squeezed her hand. The gesture was uncommonly warm for the boy, whose affectionate nature had become unusually tentative since the death of his mother.
'Thank you, Mrs Porters. I am very glad to be home.'
Kurt's father alighted from the carriage and gave orders to the awaiting footmen to carry their trunks inside. Mrs Porter's hastily composed herself, curtsying as she said 'Welcome home, Lord Hummel; I trust you had a pleasant journey?'
Kurt did not wait to hear his father's reply; instead he ran into the manor, passing through the elegant entrance way and navigating his way through a series of sitting rooms and parlours until he reached the staircase with direct entrance to his mother's sitting room.
He pushed past the oak doors and entered the sitting with an air of reverence. It still smelled of her. Like poppies and rose buds. The room had been kept exactly the same, just as he had asked. He suspected nobody ever came in here other than Mrs Porters to clean, and perhaps his father. The room was positioned in a quiet corner of the manor, with large double glazed windows looking out onto his mother's treasured rose garden. Her sketch book still lay on the table, where she left it before she became sick. It was open to a sketch of his father, a studious expression on his face and his head bent over a telescope— his latest toy.
Kurt sat on the pale yellow settee and closed his eyes against the tears, as wave after wave of memory washed over him. This is what he missed the most while he was at Eton, out of everything. The sense that his mother was so close to him, somehow enveloping him with her presence. He needed to hold onto this little piece of comfort in his heart, and store it there, keeping it hidden from his peers.
How long he sat there he did not know, but eventually he heard Mrs Porters calling him down for afternoon tea.
He joined his father in the main sitting room. The room was elaborately decorated with French furnishings and a pale blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper of his mother's own design. The table was set out in a magnificent spread of food. There were scones with clotted cream and jam, crumpets, sugar biscuits, and Kurt's favourite vanilla sponge cake. He tried to keep his smile fixed in place when Mrs Porters brought out a dish of Eton Mess, which she had specially made in tribute of Kurt's return from boarding school.
His father had almost cleared his heavily piled plate when the butler appeared, announcing the arrival of Mr Berry and his young daughter, Rachel. Kurt looked up excitedly, joyous at the arrival of his closest friend. Kurt had known Rachel since he was born, and the two had always been inseparable. Before Kurt was sent away to Eton, the two had always done everything together. Rachel's loud, excessively melodramatic nature was perfectly matched to Kurt's cool, sardonic sense of humour. They both loved singing and when together they could talk for hours on end. He trusted her with every secret he had ever had, but he somehow knew he did not want to tell her about Eton. It was too overwhelming to discuss and he knew if he was open with Rachel about the torment he went through, it might very well make it impossible to face again when he was forced to return at the end of the summer holidays.
Kurt rose from his seat to embrace his friend as she came hurtling through the double doors into the sitting room. She was dressed in a truly horrible bright pink pinafore with her hair in braids, but she was as bright as the sun. She carried the scent of gardenias into the room as she ran towards him.
'Oh, Kurt,' she cried, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, 'how I've missed you so!'
He struggled against her grip, having difficulty breathing.
'I missed you too,' he croaked, rubbing his throat once she had relinquished him from her grip.
A loud cough sounded from the door and Kurt turned around to see Rachel's father, Mr Berry, signalling his daughter.
'Oh!' she cried, 'Sorry, Papa. I forgot.'
She turned back to Kurt and rolled her eyes slightly before bending her knees and awkwardly lowering her body towards the floor.
'How is this, Papa?' she asks.
Her father smiles slightly at her ridiculous pose and replies, 'Well, it is certainly an improvement, my dear.'
'What are you doing?'
She looks up with indignant fire in her eyes.
'I'm curtsying, of course! I'm practising for finishing school. Papa has said that I am allowed to start attending at the end of the summer.'
Rachel said all of this rapidly without seeming to draw breath as she pulled him into the corner of the room and onto a small damask settee. Their fathers start politely conversing as Rachel starts up a stream of constant chatter, her excitement lighting up her face to the point where Kurt could have sworn she was glowing.
'Oh, Kurt, I am so glad to have you here again. Things can go back to just the way there were. You have no idea how dreadfully boring it really was without you. Papa dismissed Mrs Humphreys because he said she couldn't nurture my superior talents and abilities to the standard they require.'
Kurt supressed a smile at this statement; as much as he dearly loved Rachel, modesty had never been one of her virtues.
'And after that there was Miss Basildon, but Papa soon dismissed her as well. I'm not quite sure why she was dismissed. Father simply said she did not have the capacity to tutor a lady of my station,' Rachel said proudly.
Mr Berry was renowned throughout the county as being what the locals called a 'soft touch' with his young, impetuous daughter. Although she had a kind heart, her selfish nature sometimes got in the way. As a consequence, this meant that Rachel and her doting father rarely believed that anything was too good for her. She had gone through a string of at least five different governesses in the course of the past year, not including poor Mrs Humphreys and Miss Basildon who were Rachel's latest cast-offs.
Rachel went on to explain that her father had hired a male tutor for her in the absence of any suitable applicants for the position of governess. Mr Lefroy, she said, was one of the most prestigious tutors in the county. He was an Oxford or a Cambridge graduate; she could not for the life of her remember which. Her father said she deserved nothing but the best and he would be well suited for the position until Rachel was sent to a London finishing school. It was a highly irregular decision but Kurt found it unsurprising. Rachel needed constant attention to thrive and few people could handle her boundless passion and enthusiasm. He suspected many of her governesses actually resigned out of sheer exhaustion more than any other factor.
'Oh, but I haven't asked you anything about Eton!' Rachel cried, grabbing Kurt's hands within her own and squeezing tightly. 'What a terrible way for your absolute dearest friend to behave. You must tell me every detail, from start to finish. I don't care if it takes you all summer to explain it all. I want to hear it.'
She said this with such breathless excitement that Kurt felt his stomach drop as if he had just swallowed a lead weight. She beamed at him expectantly and Kurt avoided her gaze, picking at a loose thread on the settee cushions.
Rachel noticed the nervous movement instantly. Kurt was so particular about furnishings that if she had picked at the cushions absentmindedly he would have slapped her hands away.
'Kurt, what is wrong? You've barely said more than two words since Papa and I have arrived.' Kurt shifted uncomfortably, but Rachel persevered. 'Are you ill? I haven't seen you this withdrawn since—'
She closed her mouth abruptly, realising that the memory of his mother's death would be the last thing that Kurt should be reminded of while he was in such a fragile state. Kurt smiled gently, and patted Rachel on the hand.
'Thank you, Rach' he said in a gentle voice barely above a whisper, 'I am simply tired. It has been a very long journey.'
Rachel nodded demurely, the strained look on her face making it apparent that she would like nothing more than to keep talking. 'Of course, I understand entirely.'
She stood up from the settee abruptly.
'Papa,' she announced, 'we are leaving.'
Her father looked up from his tea with an amused expression.
'Kurt is tired so we must leave now so he can get some sleep.' She turned to Kurt, 'You must be rested for tomorrow. We have so much to discuss. I have so many things to tell you!' An anxious expression crossed her face, 'You will come to the estate tomorrow, won't you?'
Kurt patted her hand, 'Of course I will.' He added in a low voice, 'Thank you for understanding.'
She nodded and marched towards the door, taking her pelisse from the butler.
'Are you coming, Papa? We're leaving. Don't fuss about finishing your tea, Papa. We have plenty at home.'
With the precision of a military campaign, the eleven year old girl marched her father out the door and their carriage pulled away from the manor only five minutes later.
For the first time in many months, Kurt found himself fighting the urge to laugh.
The following day, Kurt ate an early breakfast and embarked on the short chaise journey to the Berry estate. He was still tired from the long journey from Eton to the Alaire estate, but he knew better than to keep Rachel waiting for long.
His sleep the night before had been restless and uncomfortable, despite finally being in a safe environment. He woke up frequently, cold sweat drenching his bedclothes as he struggled to adjust to his new surroundings, constantly guarding himself against another midnight raid and yet another beating. He received very little sleep, his dreams filled with images of his mother and the sound of her laugh. However, these dreams did little to comfort Kurt as they only reminded him of her loss.
During the short ride in the open carriage Kurt breathed in the fresh country air and tried to dispel the sense of fear which had threatened to suffocate him the previous night. The day was bright and pretty, a true summer's day, but Kurt could not help but be conscious that this reprieve from his life at Eton would only last for a short time. Eventually the summer leaves would smoulder and drop from the trees and it would be time to return to countless daily horrors.
Kurt tried to clear his head of this thought by focusing on the surrounding scenery as the Berry estate eventually came into view. The estate was somewhat smaller than Alaire, but it was still a remarkably grand manor house nestled amongst the Hampshire woods which separated the two estates. From his position in the carriage, Kurt could see a blanket of bluebells spilling out from the woods and onto the fresh green meadow fields of the Berry estate. It looked like a faery's hideaway and Kurt yearned to explore the woods with Rachel by his side.
In the distance he could see Rachel's small frame jumping up and down excitedly, waving with such enthusiasm that Kurt found a smile coaxed from him, despite his morose turn of mind. She was dressed in garish yellow today and the overwhelming brightness of it lit up the gray stone entranceway of Berry manor.
Kurt turned to thank his driver, Harry, and advised him to return to collect him at four o'clock that afternoon.
"No, no, no!" cried Rachel, "You must stay for supper. Papa will insist."
Harry gave Kurt a friendly tip of his hat as he jumped down from the chaise, the driver's low chuckle audible as Kurt was quickly pulled away by Rachel.
"I can't believe it took you so long!" she exclaimed in hurried breaths, as she pulled him down the long hallway which led to her private sitting room, "I feel certain I have been waiting at least a year for you to arrive."
They entered a room decorated in Rachel's preferred mixture of contrasting, bright colours. Much to Kurt's initial dismay, Rachel's father had allowed her to decorate the room for her own enjoyment and personal use. The settee was a rich scarlet red, and the walls were covered in pale lilac paper with embellishments of bluebirds on green branches sporadically placed along the design. However, Rachel's garish taste in colours was somehow, (miraculously, in Kurt's opinion) far more appealing to the eye when used in décor rather than fabrics. Kurt settled himself in his favourite arm chair by the window which looked out over the glass conservatory rooftop and onto the lush gardens.
Rachel rang the servant's bell and politely asked for a tray of tea things to be prepared. As the butler bowed and started to exit the room, Rachel called out "Oh, and Humphrey's? Please provide an extra setting for Blaine."
As the butler retired from the room, Kurt looked up with interest, and just a little bit of fear.
"Blaine?" he inquired, with a slight tilt of his head.
He had heard all about Blaine Anderson for years. Blaine's mother, Elaine Anderson, who had died many years ago, was Rachel's aunt on her mother's side. The two sisters were the darling belles of society, in Rachel's words, until Elaine eloped with a wealthy American manufacturer just before her eighteenth birthday. The elopement was caused a great scandal as she was already engaged to someone else; a scandal which ignited when a baby boy was born just seven months later. Elaine was cast off by the English society which had previously worshipped her and she never returned to see her family again. She died three years later of scarlet fever, shortly after another child was born, a little boy named Blaine.
Rachel loved recounting this story with great dramatic flare. Kurt suspected it was her favourite story because it was one of her only connections she still had to her mother, who abandoned Rachel when she was just four. Kurt had heard many rumours as to why Rachel's mother had left. Village folk suspected cuckoldry, but no one was ever quite certain. Rachel herself rarely talked about it out of loyalty to her father. She was convinced that her father was silently suffering a broken heart in her mother's absence.
Two summers ago, Rachel and her father travelled to America in order to rekindle a relationship with Rachel's estranged cousins. They stayed in the Anderson household in Chicago for just two months. In Kurt's opinion it was two months too long because upon Rachel's return he had to listen to how besotted she was with her cousin, Blaine. It was a harmless crush, and she was equally besotted with the glittering city of New York which they travelled through on their way to Chicago. However, this did not diminish the fact that he had to listen to Rachel rhapsodise over her cousin for at least five months after her trip.
'He's so beautiful, Kurt!' she would tell him, almost daily.
'So dark and handsome!'
'He's very prodigiously talented, you know, Kurt. He plays the piano and he sings so beautifully. Why, he's almost as talented as me!'
"He's very clever."
'He can play whist better than his older brother. He can ride horses, too.'
'He has almost as many trophies and musical awards as I do. I counted.'
'He's just wonderful, Kurt. I'm sure if you met him you would—'
'—think he was just as wonderful, too," Kurt would finish for her, 'I know, Rachel.'
Understandably, Kurt was now apprehensive to meet this Blaine. His stomach started to twist with fear and dread as Rachel started pouring their tea. From his experience at Eton, boys who were clever, athletic, and brilliant rarely wanted to be friends with someone like Kurt. He knew he was clever, funny, and more than a little bit brilliant too, but it was not in the same way as most boys his age. Kurt would rather sketch pretty ball gowns and sip tea with Rachel than play rounders in the hops fields with the village boys. For some reason this always made him an object for ridicule. He had discovered at Eton that the things he thought made him special, the things that gave him his own special type of brilliance, were more likely to earn him a punch to the stomach than respect or friendship. He knew what boys such as Blaine were like and as far as Kurt was concerned he would rather not have anything to do with him.
He was considering feigning sickness and asking Rachel to call a carriage to take him home when a dark haired boy stepped into the room. He was kind of beautiful, Kurt decided objectively. He imagined himself as having an artist's eye for analysing beauty. He was short, dark, and awkwardly handsome for an eleven year old boy. He needed to grow into his looks; his smile was far too wide for his face and his dark eyes with their long, long eye lashes seemed at odds with his lean, boyish frame. But Kurt knew that appearances could be deceiving and just because Blaine was meant to be the paragon of all boys did not mean he would be any kinder to Kurt. Lately his motto had been to distrust everyone until they proved him wrong.
Blaine beamed at Kurt and held out his hand, "Hello, you must be Kurt. I've heard a lot about you."
Kurt simply stared out Blaine's outstretched hand. He was unaccustomed to shaking people's hands. He had heard it was an American custom, but he had never been called upon to reciprocate the gesture. It seemed awfully tactile and forward. He turned his head away from Blaine and raised an eyebrow at Rachel who seemed flustered by Kurt's unusually cold demeanour.
'Oh, Blaine, I am so terribly sorry' Rachel interjected, 'I should have told you sooner. We do not normally shake hands here. A bow or a curtsey is usually done instead.'
Blaine withdrew his hand, his bright smile still intact.
'Oh, dear. This is my mistake, of course. Which would you prefer, Kurt? A bow or a curtsey?'
He was mocking him already, Kurt thought icily. He knew this would happen.
'Neither,' he replied in a voice dripping with disdain.
'Oh. As you wish,' Blaine demurred, looking flustered as he sat down next to Rachel on the settee.
'Well,' Rachel said brightly, a look of panic on her face, 'Now that introductions are done, let us have tea! I will pour, shall I?'
The next twenty minutes passed by in a mixture of awkward silences punctuated by Blaine's polite questioning, Kurt's succinct replies, and Rachel's frenzied attempts at making conversation flow smoothly. He felt terrible about making his oldest friend feel so uncomfortable in her own home, but Kurt did not wish to encourage Blaine to think that Kurt was open for attack. He was not a weakling, a pansy, or a disgrace. He was not any of those things. He could put up with being labelled as such and being attacked while at Eton, but he refused to be taken advantage of this summer, not while he was at home and in his own territory, so to speak.
By the time they had finished their tea, Rachel had been talking for five minutes straight without interruption from either Kurt or Blaine. Kurt worried that she may faint soon from lack of breath.
'We will have just the most lovely summer together, I am certain. Kurt, did I mention that Blaine is staying for the summer?' Rachel asked brightly. Kurt scowled in response. 'Once you get to know each other properly it will be lovely. You have so much in common, after all. We can go on picnics, have tea parties, explore the woods, and go swimming. The options are simply endless. It will be lovely, very lovely indeed,' Rachel said firmly.
'I am certain we will have a splendid time, won't we Kurt?' Blaine said cheerfully, smiling entreatingly at Kurt.
Kurt pursed his lips and replied, 'Perhaps.'
The conversation staggered on until Kurt feigned a headache and asked Rachel to call a carriage for him to go home. For once she did not object. He caught her more than once looking anxiously between Kurt and Blaine, a distraught expression on her pretty face. He stopped her movement to walk him to the front door when the carriage arrived, saying he just wanted to leave quickly for fear of increasing his headache with prolonged conversation. Seeing her hurt look, Kurt patted her arm and said to her in an undertone, 'Sorry, I am just not in my best of moods. Once this passes I promise I shall be more cheerful.'
When her expression still remained solemn, Kurt asked, 'Shall we all have a picnic tomorrow?' He knew he could not avoid seeing Blaine, and as much as he knew he would dislike the boy eventually, Kurt did not wish to distress his dearest friend.
After nodding abruptly to Blaine and permitting Rachel to fling her arms around him, Kurt was finally able to leave the room and the uncomfortable morning tea. On his way out, Kurt heard Rachel loudly whispering to Blaine, 'Oh, Blaine. I am so sorry. Kurt is normally so lovely to most people. He is the most wonderful person in the world, really! But his mother died not so long ago…'
Kurt's spine stiffened with anger. He did not want Blaine knowing personal details about him, particularly about his mother's death. He did not want Blaine to think that he knew Kurt, knew how to get under his skin. It would only make him more vulnerable.
The next day Kurt woke up very early. To be truthful, it could be more accurate to say that Kurt had never properly gone to sleep to begin with. He had lain awake for most of the night, apprehensively picturing Blaine's impact on the rest of his summer. He had imagined a summer of sanctuary and peace. It was this thought that had held him together those last few weeks at Eton, when the other boys were particularly rough and the midnight beatings were particularly brutal. The thought of coming home to the Alaire estate, where he would be safe from the taunts and the beatings had been Kurt's saving grace.
However, Rachel was his closest and, if he was being entirely honest with himself, his only friend. He felt terrible that he had caused her so much distress the day before. But something about her cousin had simply gotten underneath his skin. Kurt had never had a great deal of experience with being around other boys his own age. He had always preferred to spend time with Rachel and the other local girls. Together they played with their dolls and held tea parties, occasionally interspersed with spontaneous wedding ceremonies.
Blaine was automatically at a disadvantage when it came to making friends with Kurt as Kurt's most recent experience with boys his own age had left him bruised and terrified.
Although Kurt imagined that his original suspicions about Blaine's character would prove to be well founded, he knew that he must at least make an effort to try and be civil to him, if only for Rachel's sake.
With this resolution in mind, Kurt set out for the Berry Estate early the next morning. His stomach felt heavy as he contemplated how he should try and make amends with Rachel. Surely that would mean attempting to resolve of the tension between himself and Blaine. His throat seemed to tighten at the thought. He had never been very good at admitting when he was wrong.
He had only just stepped down from his carriage when Rachel came running towards him, her green muslin skirts dragging in the gravel behind her. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
'Oh, Kurt! I had so hoped that you would be coming back today. I know you and Blaine didn't exactly have the chance to become friends yesterday, but he really is very lovely. He really is. I know if you just spend a little bit more time together then we will all have the most splendid time with one another.'
Kurt gently disentangled her arms from around his neck, holding on to her hands.
'Rachel, I am sorry for how I behaved yesterday. I was really most uncivil, to both you and Blaine. It's just that things have…'
He found himself faltering at the sight of Blaine standing behind Rachel, his stance awkward and uncomfortable.
'Things have not been easy for me lately,' Kurt finishes softly.
He meets Blaine's dark gaze and says even more quietly, 'I am sorry for how I behaved yesterday.'
Blaine tilts his head slightly, a look of curiosity on his face, before smiling brightly.
'Think nothing of it, Kurt. Really.'
Kurt smiles weakly in return, before becoming distracted by Rachel's sniffling. She was glancing between the two of them, tear tracks glistening on her pale face. Kurt sighed and reached for his ever-ready silk handkerchief. He was certain that Rachel's penchant for melodrama could put any Drury Lane actress to shame.
'I'm sorry Kurt and I'm sorry Blaine, but this is really quite moving.'
After Rachel managed to compose herself they decided to show Blaine their favourite spot in the woods adjoining the Alaire and Berry estates. Their spot was truly a magical place. It was a small patch of bluebells surrounded by a trio of vast oak trees. When Kurt lay amongst the bluebells all he could think about was the soft buzz of the bees and the sweet, floral scent that hung in the air. In this spot the robins sing a very particular type of melody. Lilting and beautiful, this melody made Kurt feel as if all of his problems were smaller than they were and the world was suddenly much easier to bear.
They had discovered this spot years ago and Kurt often visited it when he felt lonely or afraid. He had spent a great deal of time there soon after his mother had died.
Once they arrived, Kurt and Blaine sat amongst the bluebells while Rachel wandered off to go and collet a wildflower bouquet. Kurt stared at the curling petals of the flowers, brushing his fingertips along a thin, green stem. Being here reminded him of his mother and how she would of loved it here. He told her about his spot, but she was never well enough to come and visit it with him.
'Why is your estate called Alaire Manor?'
Blaine's voice startles Kurt out of his reverie and he looks up to see Blaine watching him with those same curious, dark eyes. Kurt smiles at the question.
'It was originally called Hummel House, but I think Alaire Manor fall off the tongue a little more nicely, don't you?'
Blaine seems to consider it for a moment before he shrugs. 'I like both actually.'
'My mother was French,' Kurt explains, 'Alaire is a French name. It means cheerful or joyful. She renamed the estate before I was born because she wanted our home to be filled with joy and laughter.'
'And is it?' Blaine asks.
'It used to be,' Kurt replies sadly. Eager to change the topic, he says 'Mother used to say that she would have named me Alaire if she had not already used the name for the estate. So she let father choose my first name.'
Blaine had drawn his knees up against his chest and was leaning his chin against his knees while gazing up at Kurt with wide eyes. Kurt looks down as his hands, feeling uncomfortable at having such an honest conversation with someone he had resolved to mistrust.
'Do you have a middle name?'
'Pierre,' Kurt replies, 'after my mother's father.'
'Kurt Pierre', Blaine says with a grin, 'I like it.'
'I've decided to take my mother's name as my second name. I think I will go by Kurt Elizabeth from now on.'
Kurt says this with a touch of defiance. With Rachel gone, Blaine has no need to keep up this façade of charm and decency. He waits for Blaine to mock him, to deride him for calling himself by a female name. He waits for Blaine to live up to Kurt's expectations.
But he doesn't.
'Kurt Elizabeth,' Blaine repeats in his American drawl. His grin morphs in a smile, softer and sweeter than before. 'Do you know, I think I like that better.'
Kurt feels a strange fluttering in his pulse and knows his cheeks are starting to heat up. He glances away from Blaine, not willing to display his sense of surprise, along with his undeniable sense of gratitude. It seems that perhaps Kurt had misjudged Blaine. The Golden Boy act was not a façade. It was possible that Kurt had met a boy of his own age that was capable of openly showing decency and kindness without incentive. He felt afraid to let himself believe it, but it was possible that not all boys were like the ones at Eton.
'I used to come here a lot after…it happened. I never came here with her, but it makes me feel closer to her for some reason. '
Blaine's face had a special kind of warmth to it as he looks at Kurt, seeming to see all the vulnerability that Kurt keeps from hidden from the world.
'It's a special place. Thank you, Kurt, for sharing it with me.'
Kurt tentatively returns Blaine's smile as Rachel returns with an armful of honeysuckle, bluebells, love-in-a-mist, and cornflowers. She drops to the ground next to them and begins happily sorting her collection of flowers into a bouquet.
Rachel begins to chatter away; Blaine comments on which flowers he thinks should be placed in the arrangement, occasionally looking up to beam at Kurt when Rachel follows his suggestions. It is an unnerving feeling, knowing that he has misjudged Blaine. He had been honest and vulnerable, yet Blaine had treated him with unprecedented kindness and respect. Somehow, without knowing quite how he had done it, Kurt suspected he had made his first male friend.