Davenport returned to his duties with a smile on his face. That day, he did not care about his clumsiness, nor did Old Madge's brutal tirades bother him. He couldn't help but cringe as he gave Lady Eddison her red wine in the afternoon. He could never tell her, never insinuate, that he cared so deeply for her son. Davenport sat down on a wall in the garden and pondered. If anyone were to find out... It did not even bear thinking about. He sighed, overwhelmed and confused. What if a maid saw them? What if Roger's parents saw? He rubbed his temples and yawned. He had had little sleep last night, what with spending half of it cleaning and dusting, as well as having to sort out Roger. He had spent the rest of the night worrying about him, worrying about what could happen in the future.

Little did he know, he had been sat there for an hour. Time goes quickly when one has a lot to think about; Davenport certainly had a lot.

He jumped up and jogged back to the house. He came to the drawing room and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Roger once again. It seemed like such a short time ago when he had seen him come home late last night, when... He shook his head free from the thoughts and almost froze when he saw the figures of the Colonel and Lady Eddison in the conservatory. They looked to be in quite a heated debate.

Davenport forgot his usual reserved and polite ways and went to the conservatory, lingering by the door. He would have been easily seen, for the room was glass, but a bookcase occupied the wall by the door, so he crouched behind it. He found that sound travelled better through glass than it did through concrete and managed to hear a few words of the husband and wife.

"You must have noticed something!" Lady Eddison demanded.

Davenport frowned and adjusted his position at the door.

Colonel Curbishley snorted. "I did not. Nothing at all."

"You are unobservant," she remarked. "How did you not hear the door sounding so late at night?"

"I was sleeping," he replied. "As men do when it is night."

She ignored his sarcasm. "It must have been him, who else could I have been?"

"A servant, perhaps?"

"No, no," she argued. "It was Roger."

Davenport almost fell backwards and steadied himself promptly.

Colonel Curbishley continued. "Why does it matter? There is no harm in the man coming home late every now and then."

"It hardly befits a gentleman, do you think?" Lady Eddison retorted. "That is besides the point. I saw Roger outside, Hugh."

"And I believe you, Clemency, I do. But he is old enough to look after himself. He is not a boy anymore."

"Which is even more worrying," she said. "He is supposed to be married, not living here."

Davenport knew what was coming next.

"He must marry," she continued. "But I don't think he will."

"Why ever not?" Colonel Curbishley asked.

Davenport bit his lip.

"I saw him being helped by a servant into the house," she replied. "I think his name is Davenport. He's been with us for a year, I think."

A year and fifteen days, Davenport thought.

"Clemency, what is your point?" Colonel Curbishley asked. "It means nothing that the boy helped him inside. Why, if anything, the boy should be thanked for helping Roger."

Lady Eddison was quiet for a moment. "Maybe I am overreacting," she muttered.

Davenport breathed a sigh of relief.

"But this feeling is niggling me," she added.

"I assure you, Clemency. I know my son. This is ridiculous paranoia. Just because Roger spend a little too much time with the footman is no reason to raise the alarm. Believe me, don't worry. Perhaps you would like some tea?"

She smiled and seemed relieved. Davenport quickly stepped away from the door when Colonel Curbishley rang the bell for some tea. Then he realised that he would have to bring the tea. He wouldn't have to, but it made sense. The kitchens were nearby and he was probably the closest staff member to the Colonel and the Lady.

So Davenport did his duty. He carried the tray over, carried the teapot, sugar cubes, milk and cups and saucers.

"Milk, Madam?" he asked Lady Eddison.

She nodded and waited for him to pour the milk in the tea. "Davenport, is it not?" she said, looking at him.

He was silent then replied. "Yes, I am Davenport."

"Thank you for the tea," she said absently, sipping at it indifferently. In the corner, Colonel Curbishley was watching his wife.

Davenport left with a frown. In the year and fifteen days that he had been in the Curbishleys' service, the Lady had never said thank you for anything he had given her.

He brought the tray to the kitchens and went to find Roger, who was still in the drawing room.

"Can I talk to you?" Davenport asked him shyly.

Roger looked up from his book with a creased brow. "Of course. What is it?"

Davenport came over to him, wary that the Colonel and Lady could probably see them from the conservatory. "Not here," he said.

Roger got up and nodded. "What is it, Davenport?"

The two of them went into the dining room, out of view.

"I heard your parents talking of you. Well, us," Davenport finally let on.

Roger raised an eyebrow and stepped over to him. "How did you hear them?"

"I put my ear to the wall and, well..." Davenport answered.

"Alexander," Roger began dangerously. "You shouldn't have-"

Davenport sighed. "I know, I know. But I had to. You see, I think, well, I don't know... If we can still- if we can still see each other in the same capacity," he said, confusing himself. "We shall have to be more discrete."

Roger listened carefully and simply nodded. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," Davenport said. "Lady- Your mother saw you come in late last night."

"What else did she see?"

"She saw me, helping you inside," Davenport answered.

"Anything else?" Roger asked.

"Nothing else."

"I knew this would happen," Roger sighed.

"No, don't despair," Davenport said quickly. "Your mother said that she saw no more. Your father didn't seem to believe her. To be honest, I don't think she believed herself."

"Perhaps it was because she didn't want to believe," Roger said idly, rubbing his forehead.

"This is all my fault," Davenport murmured.

"What?" Roger said, shocked. "How so?"

"Oh, Roger," he muttered. "Your reputation, your pride, they are both in the balance," he said.

Roger tried to smile. "It is not your fault," he said. He saw that Davenport was not convinced. "All this self-blaming won't help."

Davenport sighed. "I know, Roger. I'm just so worried for you-"

Roger cut him off with a held up hand. "Stop worrying, Alexander. I have told you before: I take responsibility."

Davenport, at last, nodded and agreed.

"I-" Roger began, breaking off. "I love you, Alexander. I wouldn't engage in this if I did not feel that way about you."

Davenport felt giddy. He looked up, wide-eyed, at Roger. "You love me?"

"I think I do," Roger said with a smile. "I do."

Davenport beamed. "And I love you, too." He pressed his lips to Roger's.

Roger caught him as he stepped backwards. "This may be unconventional," he began.

"And illegal," Davenport said glumly.

"But I don't care," Roger said, conceding to Davenport's remark.

"Nor do I," Davenport agreed. "But we'll have to be discreet."

"I suppose so," Roger said with a grin.

"I should probably go," Davenport said. "I mean, we talk of discretion, so I shouldn't really spend too much time with you."

Roger shrugged. "What defines 'too much'?" he asked. "Each man calls it differently to the next."

"You're right," Davenport said. "I will try to see you later."

"I will endeavour to make that a certainty."

...

Later on, in the waning light of the evening, Davenport was attending to his duties. The Colonel and Lady Eddison had retired to bed quite early. Davenport wondered what it would be like to be able to go to bed before eleven at night, to be able to wake up after six in the morning. He shrugged off those petty thoughts and stacked some wineglasses upside down on a tray, ready to take to the kitchens.

"My endeavour was successful," he heard the familiar voice in the doorway.

Davenport put his tray down and smiled. "It was."

"Are you busy?" Roger asked him.

Davenport was about to say 'yes' when he reconsidered. "Nothing that can't wait a while." He went to Roger and put his hands around his neck.

Roger looked down at him and smiled back. He kissed him gently, then more forcefully.

"Can this wait?" Davenport asked teasingly.

Roger gave him a wry smile and they stalked as quietly as possible to the upper floor. Naturally, they went to Roger's bedroom.

Davenport almost swore as he stooped to catch a vase that had gotten knocked over in their attempt to walking along the landing whilst kissing.

"Here it is then," Roger replied.

Davenport had already half-removed his suit and was struggling with his boots. He threw them off and Roger laughed at his keenness.

They drew together, bodies against each other, lips always touching, hands on each other, trying not to make too much noise.