Wishes, as it turns out, are all well and good.
But having friends is much better.
The next morning, Nick looks at Kurt over the kitchen table at breakfast, his expression serious.
"Kurt," he says, "I would like to talk to you about something."
His tone is much more formal than the one he usually employs with Kurt, and everyone sitting at the table seems to recognise this because the conversation around them quickly quiets down.
"You have been with us for almost two years now, and I think we should expand your duties a little bit while we have the chance," Nick explains. He's still buttering his bread like this isn't a big deal, but Kurt can't help feeling that it might be. He inwardly curses Nick for not giving him a warning, or talking to him about this in private first.
"Therefore, I thought it would be a good idea for you to take over my duties as his Lordship's valet," Nick continues. "I have enough on my hands as it is and you will benefit from the experience, I'm sure. This is of course only a temporary arrangement for the next two months or so – as soon as we return to Bailey Hall, our positions will revert back to what they were before."
He looks at Kurt, the knife stilling in his hands. "So, what do you think?"
Kurt stares at him unblinkingly, because he finds it hard to comprehend what he just heard. Taking over Nick's duties as Sebastian's valet is not just an enormous sign of validation and appreciation. It also means that he now has a solid, plausible reason to visit Sebastian's rooms at least three or four times a day. It means that he can spend an uninterrupted half an hour with Sebastian every time, during which no one is likely to disturb them, especially not late at night, when Sebastian returns from his evening engagements.
It means, he realises when he stares at Nick and sees how a muscle twitches in the other man's cheek, sees how Nick is barely able to conceal his smile behind a professional expression, that Nick is without any doubt the best friend Kurt could have possibly asked for.
"I…" he says and when his voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak, he clears his throat and tries again, "I'd like that. I… thank you, Nick."
Nick does smile now and Jane claps her hands together, beaming from ear to ear while Andy and Will raise their cups and loudly toast to Kurt's promotion.
"Well, in this case you better make your way upstairs," a dry voice interrupts their celebration. It is Miss Jenkinson, the older of Lady Smythe's maids. "I'm about to wake her ladyship, and she doesn't appreciate his lordship being late for breakfast." She levels her unimpressed gaze at Nick. "Perhaps Kurt will prove to be more successful in fulfilling his duties than you have been recently, Nicholas."
Nick doesn't take the bait, merely smiles politely and bows without rising from his seat. "Maybe he will," he replies. "Andy, will you assist Sir Robert over the next days?"
Andy nods emphatically, but Kurt doesn't really listen to the rest of the conversation – he hastily swallows the rest of his tea before he makes his way to the stairs. He knows that to the rest of the servants, he looks like a young footman eager to prove that he is up to a new set of duties, and he is glad that none of them suspects the real reason for his excitement.
Sebastian's bedroom is quiet when Kurt closes the door behind him. The curtains are heavy in front of the large windows, but sunlight filters through the gaps between them, enough to bask the room in a hazy twilight. The air in here is much more bearable than in Kurt's tiny attic, and when he lifts one of the curtains, he sees that the windows are left open, letting in a soft, cool breeze.
Sebastian must be buried somewhere beneath the heap of white sheets. He barely stirs when Kurt draws the curtains back. His bare left foot dangles over the edge of the mattress, and Kurt can see a mess of chestnut hair on the pillow when he approaches the bed.
When he carefully sits down on the mattress, the movement not enough to disturb the man sleeping there, he suddenly feels strangely shy. Kurt has only seen Sebastian asleep or dozing a handful of times, and there is something surprisingly intimate in the way he can now see Sebastian's features, relaxed, with his lips parted slightly and the creases of his pillow pressed into his cheek.
This is a new kind of solitude, a new way of being alone. It lacks much of the fear of discovery usually present; instead, it feels raw and strangely overwhelming in the bright light of the morning sun. Kurt finds that he is still getting used to this part of Sebastian, to a Sebastian who opens up and lets Kurt catch glimpses of himself behind his usual walls of sarcasm and indifference, unguarded and trusting. It's intriguing and endearing, and every day Kurt finds himself more drawn to the other man than the day before.
Kurt contemplates his next action for second and finally brushes some strands of hair away from Sebastian's forehead. Sebastian looks peaceful, and young and – Kurt blushes when he lets his eyes wander downwards, over Sebastian's bare shoulders down to where his back vanishes beneath white linen – is also presumably very naked.
Sebastian stirs slightly at the touch of Kurt's fingertips, sighs and grumbles something unintelligible. Then he frowns, as if he noticed something unusual, and with what appears to be enormous effort blinks his eyes open.
It takes his unfocused gaze two seconds to land on Kurt and another five to blink awake enough to recognise him. But then the frown returns and Sebastian asks, as if not trusting his vision entirely, "Kurt?"
Kurt smiles, determined not to let any of his sudden nervousness show on his face. "Good morning."
Sebastian seems to think very hard for a moment. Then he says, his voice slightly slurred, "You're here."
"Yes," Kurt says, equally endeared by Sebastian's early slowness and increasingly nervous. What if Sebastian doesn't actually want him here? What if he rather wants to keep Nick as his valet? Sure, so far Sebastian has always embraced surprise or spontaneity when it comes to Kurt – but what, a nagging voice in the back of Kurt's mind asks, what if this reminds him of Daniel again?
"You're not normally here." It has taken Sebastian all of twenty seconds to come to this ground-breaking observation. He props himself up on his elbows and Kurt suddenly finds himself confronted with Sebastian's very muscular and very naked upper chest.
"Should I leave?" he asks, his voice light even though he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze on Sebastian's features and not let it drift down, because if he does that, he will also start to think about how much he wants to touch Sebastian, how he wants to run his fingers all over his smooth skin.
Sebastian frowns and slowly shakes his head. "No. It's nice. You being here." He's silent for a moment, and then he adds, sounding just a little more awake now, "Why are you here?"
"I thought you might want to hear the news," Kurt says. Sebastian is blinking at him in confusion. "What news?" he asks. He looks increasingly more alert by the second.
"Nick just promoted me," Kurt replies. Sebastian blinks again. "Promoted you?" he repeats.
"He asked me to take over his duties as your valet," Kurt explains, "You know. To gain some experience." He can't bring himself to add: "… and presumably to give us a chance to finally be alone together every once in a while".
Sebastian stares at him for a long moment and Kurt wonders if he is at all processing what Kurt just told him. It is still very early in the day for Sebastian, after all.
Then, without a warning, Sebastian leans forward and grabs Kurt by his arms and pulls him onto the bed. Kurt has barely time to suppress a surprised yelp before Sebastian flips him on his back and kisses him, deep and passionate and entirely more awake than Kurt would have anticipated. Sebastian's hands let go of his arms and wander upwards, cupping Kurt's jaw and threading into his hair, tilting Kurt's head ever so slightly while his tongue teases gently over Kurt's bottom lip. He draws even closer when Kurt opens his lips eagerly, his entire body pressed against Kurt's, warm and solid and – oh, yes, Sebastian is definitely not wearing any clothes right now.
"You are wrinkling my uniform," Kurt complains, once he has regained enough breath to do so.
"So?" Sebastian asks, unconcerned, his hand sneaking under the fabric of Kurt's waistcoat, his fingers traveling upwards, tracing every muscle beneath the white cotton of Kurt's shirt. Kurt shivers, and for a second, wishes for less layers between their bodies. "You're a valet now." His smile is wicked. "It's your job to take care of clothing, right?"
Kurt rolls his eyes and tries to glare at Sebastian, but he knows his cheeks are flushed, his heart is pounding loudly in his ears, his breathing is still irregular and his hair will be most likely be a complete mess once Sebastian is done with him.
He can't bring himself to care.
Sebastian just grins and leans forward. "How much time do we have?" he murmurs against Kurt's lips.
"Well, if we hurry we can get you into something decent and fix my appearance in ten minutes," Kurt calculates. "That leaves us with… twenty minutes for… other activities?" He raises his eyebrows. "Fifteen if you want everyone to be impressed with me on my first day as your valet."
Sebastian's eyes sparkle with mirth. "Fifteen then," he says.
Later that day, Kurt catches Nick in the corridor. He pulls him into a shadowed alcove, throws his arms around his shoulders and kisses his cheek. "Thank you thank you thank you," he chants tonelessly, quiet enough not to be overheard but loud enough to convey both his excitement and gratitude.
"It's for your own good," Nick grumbles, and while his voice sounds reprimanding, the nook isn't too dark for Kurt to see the blush spreading over his cheeks. "Given how recklessly you two were behaving over the last weeks you were going to get caught sooner or later. At least this way you have a good reason to visit his bedchamber."
That is true, and it improves Kurt's life immensely. Gone is the restless, directionless energy he felt over the last days, replaced with a constant hum in his throat and a rising and ebbing feeling of excitement and longing that accompanies him throughout the day.
And if Sebastian quickly develops the habit to change his clothes two, three, occasionally four times a day – well, the weather has really grown hot, and a man can hardly be blamed for exchanging his sweaty shirt for a fresh one and washing his face before he dines with his grandmother, can he?
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Kurt asks. The alley before him is narrow; the houses are askew, with little windows and dirty walls. Lines hanging low with damp clothes stretch over their heads, obscuring the view of the cloudy night sky. There are heaps of rubbish piled everywhere and they've just walked past a man relieving himself in the street. The smell is worse than Kurt has experienced ever before and it takes all of his willpower not to hide his nose in his sleeve or collar.
"Of course I'm sure," Nick says. He looks neither left nor right, just marches on through the alley, leaving Kurt hopping around behind him while trying to avoid the worst puddles on the ground. "Also, I remember distinctly how I told you I don't need you to come with me."
It's true. But Nick had been behaving strangely all day, being more quiet and pensive than usual, often staring into the distance with a dark look on his face, and when he made the more than uncharacteristic decision to grab his jacket well after dinner, when the sun had settled behind the horizon and the kitchen was illuminated only by gaslight, Kurt had followed him to the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked quietly.
"I have… I just need to make a couple of inquiries," Nick replied, reaching for his cap.
"Now? It's past nine."
"So? It's Sunday and Sebastian's out. I will hardly be missed."
When Nick turned around, he found Kurt behind him, with his own jacket over his arm and a determined look on his face.
"Then I'm coming with you," Kurt said. Nick had opened his mouth to argue, but after one long look at Kurt's expression he let out a resigned sigh, shrugged and left the door open for Kurt to follow him.
He had, however, only provided short, cryptic answers to all of Kurt's questions so far, so Kurt is still in the dark as to what the purpose of this strange, nightly excursion is.
The alley by now has widened into a broader street, even if it's still a far stretch from the streets Kurt is used to. The smell of brackish water has consistently grown worse over the last minutes, and even Kurt, with his limited knowledge of the city's geography, is certain they must be near the riverbank.
What Nick is doing here, on their evening off, he doesn't know.
But he is about to find out.
Nick approaches the left side of the street, which is lined with shops, all still open: a shoddy dressmaker, several pawnbrokers, a barber, a small tobacco shop. The windows are all smeared with dirt, but this part of town looks slightly more respectful than the alleys they have left behind. Nick, however, spares the shops no glance – his attention seems focused on a house situated at the corner of the street, made out of red bricks and dark wood. The sign over the door has the words "The Tulip" written under a drawing of yellow flowers. A few men have gathered around the door of the pub, large mugs in hand, their eyes following Nick and Kurt as they walk up to the door. Nick gives them a curt nod while Kurt feels way too self-conscious to make eye-contact with anyone. He quickly follows Nick inside.
The room is only dimly lit and densely crowded. There are men huddled around tables and in the corners, laughing and shouting, some playing cards, all of them drinking. It's not that different from the Cyder Cellars, but Kurt is careful to keep close to Nick as the other man makes his way through the room to the counter. Two men nod to Nick in a surprisingly familiar fashion and shuffle to the side, making just enough room for Kurt to squeeze in next to Nick.
"Evening lads, what can I – Nick. By Ms Steep's soiled underpants, is that really you?"
Kurt lifts his head just in time to see a man reach across the counter and grasp Nick's shoulders in an awkward hug. His skin is dark, so much darker than Kurt has ever seen on any man – a beautiful, rich brown. He is tall, with muscular arms that tell tales of wrestling with drunken customers, and his curly hair is cropped short. He's grinning, his dark eyes looking warmly at Nick. Kurt realises that he's staring in a decidedly impolite way and quickly averts his eyes.
"I haven't seen you in ages," the man laughs, his deep voice booming over the general noise around them. He reaches out to ruffle Nick's hair, and when Nick's reaction to that is neither to bat his hand away nor to reprimand the other man, but only to grin slightly bashfully, Kurt finds himself now staring at Nick in silent wonder.
"It's good to see you again, Jerry," he replies and leans on the counter, his forearms bare, and Kurt asks himself when Nick has shrugged out of his jacket and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. This is a version of Nick he has never seen before, and he finds himself equal parts intrigued and astonished. "How have you been?"
"Oh, the same, the same," Jerry replies and waves his hands. "They closed this place twice during the cholera outbreaks last year, but we're back on our feet now." He looks to the side, and Kurt is startled to suddenly find himself at the centre of attention. "Who's your friend there?"
"That's Kurt," Nick replies. "Fellow footman at Bailey Hall."
Kurt opens his mouth to provide a "Good evening.", but he still feels a little overwhelmed, which doesn't go unnoticed by Jerry. "My my, a country boy if I ever saw one," he says and winks friendly at Kurt, who finds himself blushing, but he immediately straightens and his voice is firm when he replies, "I prefer 'Kurt'."
Jerry's smile widens noticeably at that. He bends down to grab something and suddenly slides two mugs across the counter. Kurt manages to catch his before it hits the edge and tumbles to the ground. "Only our finest ale for you, my old friend…," he says to Nick, who grins and raises his mug in a silent thank-you before he takes a long sip. "… and for my new friend Kurt, of course." He winks.
Kurt tries his drink: it's sweet and bitter, like the ale he has tasted before, but much, much stronger. He winces and coughs, and Jerry laughs while Nick pats his back and advises him, "Easy Kurt, take it slow."
"Yeah, savour it," Jerry says. He leans forward, his eyes on Nick again. "Now my friend, have you come to let taste Kurt the finest ale in all of London, or have you missed the sight of the riverside, or…" he pauses, this gaze momentarily heavy with something Kurt can't name, "… is there another reason for your visit?"
"There is," Nick says. His expression has grown serious, and a little remorseful. "Though it's not… You hear things, Jerry. You know what's going on around here."
Jerry has grabbed a cloth and begun to wipe the counter, his eyes never leaving Nick's. "That's right. No rumour gets past The Tulip." His eyes narrow, "Anything you specifically want to know about?"
Nick draws in a deep breath and asks, "Have you seen or heard anything about Daniel Howard lately?"
Kurt inhales sharply. He had a suspicion that Daniel might have been the reason for Nick's pensive mood, but to see that Nick feels the necessity to inquire after the former footman tells him that he has somewhat underestimated how deep Nick's worries went.
Jerry shakes his head and curses, and even though Kurt has heard a good swear before – he lives with Sebastian, after all – his ears start to grow red at Jerry's colourful language. "Nick, you don't want to get involved with him," Jerry says, his voice concerned. "Not again."
"I don't," Nick agrees and lifts the mug to his lips once more. "I want to stay as far away from him as I can. But in order to do that, I need to know if he is still in London – and if he is, what he's been up to."
He holds Jerry's gaze for a long moment, long enough for Kurt to wonder why Jerry seems so familiar with the history of Nick and Daniel, until finally Jerry sighs and answers, "He's been around these parts once or twice. He's made a few enemies since he returned to London though. Lots of gambling debts from what I hear. Last time he showed his face at my pub he and his friends got into a fight with my customers. My men took them outside and they haven't shown up here since."
Nicks nods slowly. "Do you know if he has work?"
"I doubt it. Heard he's been one of those people stalking the theatres. Maybe he tries to pickpocket the gents. Maybe he wants to give them a good time, I don't know." He narrows his eyes at Nick, "Why these many questions, Nick? Why now?"
"We ran into him a few weeks ago," Nick replies. "Kurt and I, that is. He was… well." His features contort as if he's bitten into a rotten piece of fruit. "Himself. And as I said, I want him to stay as far away from us as possible. You'd think London's big enough, but…" He bites down on his bottom lip, his expression contemplative. "You say he has debts?"
"Massive ones, they must be," Jerry replies. "There's a couple of people I know who are looking for him. Not the pleasant kind. I guess by now he has to be careful about where he shows his face. No doubt that's why he's lurking in the fancy quarters of town. Less of a chance to run into the men looking for him."
"But a high chance of running into us," Kurt finishes glumly. Jerry grins, "Hey look, country-boy can speak after all."
"My name is Kurt," Kurt replies and slides his mug back across the counter. "And I'd like another one, please." Jerry laughs over Nick's protest and provides him with another ale. And while Kurt's insides are beginning to feel warm, his mind is racing with thoughts. Before this conversation, it had been easy to push Nick's suspicions into the realm of paranoia. But to hear Jerry, who really doesn't seem like the paranoid kind, talk about Daniel like this, and to hear that Daniel apparently has reason to be looking for money – again… no ale in the world is enough to quell the rising sense of dread.
"How much longer will you be staying in London?" Jerry asks. Nick shrugs. "Depends on Sebastian," Nick replies. "Though he usually returns home in September the very latest."
Kurt flinches when he hears Nick casually refer to Sebastian so informally in front of Jerry. And when the other man doesn't bat an eye at that, he continues to wonder just how much Jerry knows about Nick – and Sebastian.
Jerry, meanwhile, nods solemnly. "Well, it might be a good idea to avoid these streets until then. Though I guess there's not much you can do if he really tries to pull the same stunt again, is there?"
"Oh, there's plenty we can do," Nick says calmly. He lifts his mug to his lips and drains the rest of his ale. "Just nothing I'd be comfortable with."
Jerry's gaze is dark, and Kurt suddenly feels scared and helpless. He hasn't even truly begun to consider the possibility of Daniel making another attempt to blackmail Sebastian – or what options they would have to combat his claims. As always, Nick is miles and miles ahead of him.
Jerry leans forward and tugs the mug out of Nick's hands. Kurt notices how his fingers briefly linger on Nick's, his thumb brushing over Nick's index finger.
"You know," Jerry says, and his voice is so low that Kurt can barely catch the words over the noise around them. "If there's anything I can do to help…"
"I know," Nick replies. He looks up, a small smile tugging on his lips. "I came here, didn't I?"
Jerry laughs and draws back. "You did," he nods, and quickly produces another two ales. "And since this evening is far too young and too lovely for you to be glum – drink up and tell me everything about your fancy life, lads!"
"So how do you know Jerry?" Kurt asks the moment he stumbles out of the pub two hours later, feeling decidedly lightheaded. Nick grabs his elbow to prevent him from tripping over the cobblestones.
"Careful," he reprimands. Kurt shrugs, feeling unconcerned. His feet are clumsy, but his head is light and his stomach warm. "We met a few years ago, during my first time in London," Nick answers Kurt's question. "He had just gotten back from sea and started working at The Tulip. We became friends and he showed me around the city."
Kurt hiccups and thinks about the easy familiarity between them, how Jerry seemed to know a lot about Nick's and Daniel's history, and the rough embrace Jerry pulled Nick in when they said their goodbyes. "That's not all there is to this story," Kurt complains.
"It's all I'm telling you," Nick replies. He stops at a road to wait for an opening between two carriages to cross the street, and Kurt comes to stand next to him, pointedly staring at him to communicate that he is not satisfied with the answer. Nick darts a sidelong glance at him and suddenly grins, a cheeky, boyish grin Kurt has only seen him wear a handful of times.
"I'd like to say 'It's not what you think'", Nick says. "But from the way you look at me, I fear it's exactly what you think it is." He takes Kurt's arm in a firm grip and tugs him along when he crosses the street in quick strides, ignoring the rude shouting of a coachman when they only narrowly avoid getting trampled by his horses. Kurt is thankfully for the guidance, because he is too busy staring at Nick in shock to really pay attention to his surroundings. He has been so caught up in the idea of NickandJeff, and after that, NickwithoutJeff, that he has never truly stopped to consider whether Nick has had a past in the city.
"Heaven's, Kurt, get your mind out of the gutter," Nick says and curses when Kurt stumbles just a bit in his slightly tipsy state. "This can't surprise you, not really."
"But I remember… you said Jeff was the only man you've ever been in love with," Kurt says. A woman stares at them from a doorway and Nick quickens his steps until they've turned around another corner.
"Louder Kurt, I don't think they heard you up at the Strand," he hisses. Kurt mumbles an apology.
"I told you the truth," Nick says. "I wasn't in love with Jerry. He became a good friend, and then something more, and now we're friends again. That's all there is to that."
"Hmmm," Kurt replies, his tone doubtful. "That's not how he looked at you though." He thinks about it for a moment, and adds, "'S not how you looked at him either."
Nick rolls his eyes at that, but he doesn't meet Kurt's gaze. "That's none of your business, Kurt," he mumbles, but Kurt immediately protests, "As your best friend it is my duty to look after you. 'specially now, after Jeff left you heartbo… hearbro… trampled on your feelings." Nick looks very much like he doesn't know whether to be offended or to burst out laughing, and Kurt uses his silence to continue, "Therefore, I need to know everything. Where is he from?"
"Jerry? Brighton," Nick replies.
Kurt tries to roll his eyes, but the attempt leaves him dizzy. "'S not what I meant," he hiccups.
"Oh, I know," Nick retorts. "But it is what you asked. He was born in Brighton. Came to London after his parents passed away. Married a girl he loved, worked at the Docks. When she died just months into their marriage, he left for sea, heartbroken, and only returned some years later."
Nick carefully guides Kurt around a puddle with a strong arm around his waist. Kurt finds that it's easier to lean into Nick than to keep his body upright by himself.
"But he knows about Daniel, and 'Bastian," Kurt says. It takes him a bit longer to piece his thoughts together, which is vaguely annoying. "You told him about them. You trust him." It really only hits him once he says the words out loud. Nick, careful, guarded Nick, who never says two words when one is sufficient – he told Jerry.
Nick is careful to avoid Kurt's gaze. "I wasn't… Sebastian wasn't the only one who was in a dark place during these times, Kurt. But he left, and I remained, in the city, with servants I didn't know too well and Sebastian's father, who refused to say his name and hated my guts, and Sebastian's brother, who was gleeful like you wouldn't believe. And I had nothing, aside from the occasional letter from Sebastian, and I…" He stops and draws in a deep breath. "Jerry was the only one I could talk to. And he kept every secret I told him, all those years. So yes. I do trust him."
Kurt finds he has trouble keeping up with the rapid pace of Nick's story. But Nick doesn't seem inclined to continue, and they walk a minute in silence while Kurt tries to digest what Nick told him. He has heard the story before, from Sebastian, but he has to admit that he has never stopped long enough to truly consider what these years must have been like for Nick.
"'m sorry," he finally mumbles. Nick doesn't reply, but his arm around Kurt's waist tightens a little bit, and Kurt dares to ask the question that's been at the back of his mind for some hours now.
"Nick," he murmurs, his head safely cushioned on Nick's shoulder. "Is Jerry in love with you?"
Nick keeps his gaze on the street, but his silence is heavy, and after a moment, Kurt sighs and nods, storing the information away for later, when he is less tired and his head is less foggy.
"Come on, country-boy," Nick says, his tone fond. "Let's get you home. With any luck you'll be sober enough once we get back to Green Park that you'll be saved the scolding of Mrs Abbot."
And while Kurt is thankful for Nick's steadying arm around him as he guides him home through the maze of London's streets, he remembers the purpose of their visit to Jerry's pub – and he fears that Mrs Abbot's scorn is not the worst problem they might have.
The next morning is hell.
Kurt wakes with the worst headache he's ever experienced. The sun is shining through his window, and sunlight hurts, and Kurt decides that the sun, which he always appreciated before, is indeed evil.
Not as evil as Nick though, who barges in a moment later to drag Kurt out of bed.
"If you can't deal with the consequences, you shouldn't drink," he says mercilessly and offers Kurt the washing bowl to dunk his head in the cold water.
The day passes in agony. Andy and Will are terribly amused to see Kurt with his first real hangover – something both of them got out of the way years ago. But that is nothing in comparison to the elation of Sebastian once he understands why Kurt keeps squinting at him and swaying slightly in front of Sebastian's closet while trying to find a waistcoat that matches Sebastian's trousers.
"Look at you," he says, his hand pressed over his heart, and Kurt thinks it's a good thing that Sebastian has stopped spending time with Lord Drummond-Willoughby, as his flair for the dramatic is already bad enough. "All grown up and getting drunk with Nick. I'm so proud."
"Everything hurts," Kurt groans, and Sebastian's grin morphs into a fond smile before he draws Kurt into his arms.
"It does," he says and his fingers are mercifully cool against Kurt's neck as he presses a careful kiss against Kurt's temple. "But it'll pass, I promise."
Kurt leans his head against Sebastian's collarbone. Something is tugging at the edges of his mind – something about a hazy conversation about a certain vindictive former lover lurking somewhere out there in the streets – but Kurt's head hurts, and like any other phantom of the past, Daniel doesn't seem so intimidating in the bright light of day. So Kurt just lets himself be enveloped in Sebastian's arms, and says nothing.
The headache does get better over the course of the day, and in the evening Kurt can almost bear to look at food again. The pounding in his temples has receded to a dull throbbing, which is why he doesn't mind when Sebastian calls him and Nick to the library well after dinner. When they arrive, he's surprised to find Sebastian and his grandmother next to each other, the table before them littered with lists, catalogues and magazines.
"Ah, Nicholas, Kurt," Sebastian says, his tone dismissive, but he winks just briefly when he looks up at them. "I'm afraid we have quite the amount of work cut out for you."
"Certainly, your Lordship," Nick replies. "How may we be of assistance?"
"Well, for starters, you could pass these on to Mrs Davies," Sebastian says and hands Kurt a few lists. "Grandmother has decided on the menu, and…"
"But make sure to tell Mrs Davies that the pig cannot be served before the capon," Lady Smythe immediately interrupts. "And she cannot use rosemary with the potatoes – I have heard that her majesty doesn't like that – and she must remember…"
Nick nods diligently while Kurt tunes her out. His head is better, but it is in no shape to keep up with Lady Smythe's endless instructions – instructions he knows she will just repeat over and over again anyway. When Sebastian hands him another envelope, he blinks in surprise, and realises that the conversation has moved on to clothes.
"I am still not sure whether a costume ball is truly a good idea," Lady Smythe says, her lips curled in disapproval. Kurt's heart lurches at hearing the words, because a costume ball is just the most exciting thing he can possibly imagine. "Personally, I find them very frivolous. But I know that her majesty does enjoy them occasionally…"
"She enjoys them immensely," Sebastian interrupts. "The Prince Consort did remark on how much she looked forward to the one at the Austrian court."
This remark is enough to convince his grandmother. "Well, I feel too old for this sort of thing," she says, "But in this case, we should soon decide on a costume for you Sebastian – something impressive, but fitting with the theme and the decorations. Maybe a military uniform…"
"Should the servants be in costume too, grandmother?" Sebastian says. It sounds like an innocent enough suggestion, but Kurt's gaze meets Sebastian's for a moment, and seeing his secretive smile, he knows immediately why Sebastian is suggesting it. It takes all of Kurt's self-control to keep himself from smiling too.
Lady Smythe frowns. "Do you believe that is necessary, Sebastian?" she asks and stares at Kurt and Nick with a scrutinising expression, as if to determine whether a costume would improve what she sees before her.
Sebastian shrugs, feigning indifference. "I was just remembering that Lady Ashfort decked out all of her manservants in livery at the ball a few weeks ago, and she also had these amazing shepherd costumes made last year. Everyone talked about it for weeks. But you're right, it's not really necessary, and it will also lower the costs…"
At these words, Lady Smythe draws herself up to her full height and glares at her grandson. "Sebastian Edward Smythe. Are you suggesting that money will be an issue for us?"
"Of course not, grandmother," Sebastian replies, his tone courteous, his gaze innocent. "We'll do what you think is best."
Lady Smythe stares at him for a long second, but finally she relents, "Well, it would certainly be impressive. And if you say that Lady Ashfort… Very well. We'll have costumes for the servants."
"I can write to Hubert Dawson," Sebastian suggests, and Kurt's eyes widen at the name he recognizes from the magazines Jane occasionally shares with him. "His creations have been the talk of the town lately. Lady Isabella has only worn dresses made by him this season. He can surely send you some suggestions."
Lady Smythe seems satisfied with that, and so is Kurt – no matter what he thinks of Lady Isabella's character, he cannot deny that her dresses are without exception divine.
And though he tries to follow the myriad of instructions that follow afterwards with more attention than before – nothing overshadows his excitement about the fact that there will be a costume made specifically for him.