(A/N)
Long. Long chapter.
Thought about splitting it in two, but decided it worked better thematically to keep it contained into a single chap, with the next chapter having some spillover and wrapping up lose ends before heading back to Phantomhive Manor.
TLDR: Archer makes an ass of himself.
Big thanks to fallacies, hecturnus and fluflesnufaluphagus for beta reading.
"Sometimes, love hurts, Ar-Chan!"
"Everyone must love you a lot, then."
- Grell Sutcliff and Emiya
When he got back, he found the Earl of Phantomhive still kneeling in front of his own grave.
Dusk had arrived when the carriage was still approaching what remained of the Phantomhive estate. His master was silent, struck by the sheer scale of destruction as he exited the vehicle. What was once noble and majestic was now a shadow of its former self, pitch black with soot and its window panes shattered.
Before Archer could share his plans to examine the building, Ciel Phantomhive ventured a little way off into the ruins of the garden, and Archer's heart sank as the two entered the family crypt, where four tombstones gleamed with new stone amidst the others.
Without a word, the boy had knelt.
"Father… Mother…"
It was in that position that Archer left his master. It was in that position Archer returned to find him in.
Archer cleared his throat.
"Master. I've returned from my examination of the damages."
His master slowly got up, rubbing at his eyes.
"Alright."
"Right, so, the exterior is obviously in a terrible state, what with all the scorch marks, but it can be easily cleaned away. It's quite frankly the least of the problems this manor faces." Emiya reported clinically. "It'd take some time, but with regards to the building's structural integrity I can simply reinforce it and have it look as good as new, all without the need for ordering new stone, so at the very least, we have that going for us."
"The problems lie more so in the interior. A good part of the furniture is in tatters, and will need replacement if the estate is to look presentable. Depending on your discretion and preference, I can simply project temporary replacements, but I gather you'd rather have input on the manor's general decor. The Paintings are ruined beyond repair, there's no saving them. Most of the windows will need to be replaced and strengthened with good glass, which will take further time. I will have to take a closer look at the study to see what books can be salvaged, but I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you. Then there's the matter of the solarium and the greenhouses. Completely destroyed, ravaged by the fire. Those will have to be rebuilt from scratch. The plumbing and heating systems will have to be completely revamped, the pool water is in need of replacement, the cars in the garage require-"
"Yes, yes, I get it. The damages are extensive." Ciel sighed. "How soon do you think you're able to get the estate presentable?"
"Well," Archer smiled, "overseeing a crew of say, ten men-"
"No."
Archer blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm not hiring any further contractors until we get the house in order. For safety."
"Master." The servant looked wholly unamused. "This is a gargantuan task, and if you're looking to me to just handwave it all away like presto you've got a whole other thing coming. I'm not a miracle worker. Even I have limits."
"I'm not expecting it to be finished in an instant." His master remained adamant, looking at the ruins of the manor in the distance. A full moon was beginning to peek from one of its spires. "How long do you think it will take if you were to go at it alone?"
Archer considered it.
"For a complete overhaul of the manor? Six weeks, realistically two months." He finally said. "And that's assuming I don't have any other duties to attend to-"
"You do."
"Three months, then." Archer was beginning to have a faraway look in his eyes, "for someone to inspect every inch of the manor and see absolutely no problems with it other than who resides within it. If you want it done any quicker then concessions will have to be made."
The moon had finally taken its full shape over the roof as Ciel remained deep in thought.
"And what if you prioritize just the essentials?"
"Elaborate."
"The bare minimum for someone such as I to reside in."
"You're going to have to be a lot more specific." Archer returned snidely. "If there's anything we've learned in our time together, we have vastly different definitions of the words 'the bare minimum'."
His master shot him a dirty look.
"... I imagine I'd need a study, my bedroom and bathroom, a dining room and the kitchen up and running. Everything else is secondary."
"... it can be finished before dawn breaks." Archer allowed.
"Alright then, start with that." Ciel decided. "But for tonight, we need somewhere to take refuge in."
"Have you any ideas?"
"There are a few pubs and inns a little further down the road that offer lodging," the earl mused, "I can stay there for a night-"
"If you're concerned about safety and you want me to work through the night without me by your side, pubs and inns are not an option." Archer shook his head. "Rather, do you have any friends and family that you trust? Your Aunt, perhaps?"
"No, she works late tonight." He shook his head. "And I've already given her a set of instructions to follow and take care of. I don't want to be any more of a burden on her."
"You're family." Archer muttered. "You're supposed to rely on them."
"I've imposed on her enough already." His master's tone brooked no further discussion on the matter. Stubborn brat. Pride was always about taking less than what you needed, but Archer wished that his master was disabused of that notion all the same.
"Well then, unless you've got any other people to rely on, you'll be joining me as I repair the manor. It's either that or an impromptu, well-furnished camping trip up the hills."
He allowed his words to settle. Archer noted with some mild concern that his master seemed to be at odds with himself over one matter or the other.
"... there's always the Midfords." Ciel finally admitted with a great deal of reluctance.
"Who?"
"My family on my father's side. Aunt Frances, Uncle Alexis, my cousins Edward and…" his master hesitated slightly, "and Elizabeth."
"Explain the pause."
"It's just… they can be a bit much. Aunt Frances has always been rather domineering and a bit of a harridan. Edward," Ciel looked away, "I don't think Edward likes me either."
"That's not saying much."
Ciel stomped on his foot.
"Anyway," the earl of Phantomhive wobbled slightly, off-kilter, "I wasn't counting on seeing them until I get things relatively straightened out. I haven't even had the opportunity to counsel you on matters of being a butler and how to conduct yourself in polite company."
"I was already plenty deferential with Tanaka."
"Grandpa is still just a servant." Ciel shook his head. "I think you're in for a rude shock if you visit the Midfords with that sort of mentality."
"I can manage." Archer assured him. "Are we quite finished here?"
The boy turned away, redirecting his attention to the four graves behind him.
"No. But we should be off all the same."
Together, the two made their way back to the carriage, and Archer absently noted the driver standing to the side, leisurely enjoying a cigarette.
"I don't want to arrive there dressed like this."
Ann Durless had provided his master with a change of clothes along with a large traveling cloak, but Archer admitted that it wasn't quite what one wore to visit distinguished hosts. Promptly, he fashioned a gabardine peacoat and an accompanying checkered scarf.
"This should do on such short notice, here."
His master stared, even as he received the coat with both hands.
"Isn't the scarf a bit lurid?" Ciel asked as he dressed himself.
"It's Burberry." Archer blinked. "People pay good money for it, especially when it comes with their distinctive Nova Check."
"I don't think I've ever seen a scarf patterned like that in my life."
Archer later learned that though Burberry was established in 1856, their famous Nova Check had not, in fact, been trademarked until a good three decades into the future.
Archer opened the carriage door for his master.
"I can replace it with navy blue to bring out your eyes?"
"No need." Ciel wrapped the scarf around his neck, thoughtful as he hoisted himself back into the carriage's plush interiors.
"I'm sure Elizabeth would like it."
The maid opened the door, unsure of who it was knocking this late at night.
"Hullo, I'm sorry, we're not receiving any more visitors at this hour-" She stopped short when she saw who it was.
A waif of a boy, hands in his coat pockets and a single eyepatch that concealed his right eye. A giant of a man, garbed in black and white that matched the nest of white hair on the top of his head, his eyes raking over the maid from top to bottom in boredom.
"Hello, Paula. I'm sorry for dropping by unannounced, but would you see to it that Aunt Frances knows I've come to see her?"
"Lord Phantomhive! We all thought-" Paula paused, lost for words, before hurriedly bowing, "forgive me, it must be freezing! Please come in as I get my lady ready-"
"Who is it at this hour, Paula?"
The two guests froze.'
"Um, my lady, it's-"
There was naught she could do but watch as her pigtailed mistress stepped out of the drawing room, underdressed and with her favorite toy wedged underarm.
She looked past her to the guests standing outside and froze.
Carefully, Ciel Phantomhive removed his top hat.
"Hello, Elizabeth."
With a whoomph, the distance between them was covered as Elizabeth Midford glomped the young boy in an instant.
"Ciel!" Her voice was wobbly with tears as she bent the poor earl further backwards. "How are you- I can't believe it! I'm so relieved, we all thought you were dead! I never thought I'd see you again, how is it you're alive? You missed so much, I missed you so! It hasn't been the same without you!"
Paula watched as her mistress bawled, clinging to her resurrected fiance like a lifeline, with the young lord helplessly looking towards the man beside him as if asking for help. To her mild consternation, the man only smirked, as if enjoying his master's obvious discomfort.
"Elizabeth," Ciel managed to eke out, "I missed you too."
"Muuuu~" Elizabeth released her vice grip, holding him at length to chide him. "How many times have I told you? It's Lizzy! Lizzy! There's so much to catch up on, why are you here? Where is-"
At this the young mistress looked left and right, confused.
"Where's your brother?" She finally asked, voice small.
Ciel looked down, fidgeting with his hat held with both hands.
"He didn't make it, Lizzy."
Elizabeth stilled, and Ciel Phantomhive barely had the time to brace himself before she wailed and glomped him again. "I'm sorry! I didn't know! I just hoped with you here, that- Ciel, you must have been through so much, you must be so sad…"
With obvious discomfort, the young earl handed his servant his top hat and patted the young lady's back for the lack of anything better to do.
"I know. I miss him dearly too."
"Did you see the manor? It's terrible, Ciel! On your birthday too! Had me and mummy arrived any earlier-"
"ELIZABETH MIDFORD!"
The two let out quiet squeaks, turning rigid in an instant. Paula ducked away to the side, head bowed, as Marchioness Midford stepped out of the drawing room.
The atmosphere had changed in an instant.
"Even at such an hour, you should conduct yourself as a proper lady! Is this how you present yourself to our visitors?" The woman barked, stalking over with brisk strides, wholly ignoring Paula as she continued to have her head bowed. "Now what's all this, then?"
Gingerly, the young earl extracted himself from Elizabeth's frozen arms, and solemnly bowed, though his nerves were betrayed by the errant twitch of his back.
"Aunt Frances, I beg your pardon for barging in at this late hour, but I had nowhere else to go and am seeking shelter-"
"Boy! Raise your head up right this instant!"
The boy straightened in a flash, eyes looking right into the eyes of the Matriarch of the Midford family.
Frances Midford huffed, even as her hard eyes betrayed something tender hiding beneath.
"Begging for anything is desperate," she went on, "and begging for pardon is common. And you, Ciel Phantomhive, are no common man. We're family, act like it. There's no need to beg for anything here, you shall have it without question."
"Thank you, Aunt Frances." Ciel Phantomhive breathed a sigh of relief, some of the tension gone in an instant. "I promise you I shall not impose, I'll only stay for the night-"
"Oh come on Francie, there's no need to stand on ceremony!" Paula smiled to herself, and sure enough, the master of the house barrelled through, and there was a small shrike as Ciel Phantomhive was carried up in the air in delight. "Ciel! It's good to see you again! I always knew deep down you were still out there! You see, Frances?" The jovial man nudged his rapidly glowering wife in the ribs. "I told you it was too early to consider other offers. Granted, the Ardens are nice enough, Redmonds too, but none will ever replace you in our hearts, my dear Ciel!"
"His brother is dead, Alexis, show some decorum for once." Her voice was cold.
"Ah. Right. Nasty business, that." Lord Midford sheepishly set the earl down. "Forgive an old man for being so enthusiastic and improper. It is good to see you at last, dear boy. We were all appalled at what befell you and your family."
"I know, Uncle. You're too kind."
"What are we all doing out in the cold? Please, come in! Paula, take their coats!" He hastily waved the two guests inside into the main hall. "What a fortunate night this is! I don't think we've had you over in years, back when you two were only a little older than babes!"
The man stopped. "There's a thought." He whirled around, eyes shining. "You two can room together like old times!"
Earl Phantomhive paled, even as Lady Elizabeth flailed about, flustered. "Daddy! That was years ago!"
"It's also asinine and unthinkable." Frances Midford glared at her husband. "Think very hard about what you're suggesting, Alexis."
"What's the harm? They played together as children, and it's not like Ciel will do anything untoward to my dear Lizzy. They even bathed together once!" And then the man perked up, and Paula had to turn away to hide her grin as Earl Phantomhive turned even whiter. "That's an idea! Ciel! You look filthy! How about you-"
"Over my dead body!"
Ciel Phantomhive stiffened.
Young Master Edward had finally arrived to investigate the commotion.
"I won't have someone bathing with my sister before she's even married! Don't get any ideas, you… you…" Edward Midford stopped. Considered just who it was he was speaking to. "I-I mean, it's good to see you again, Ciel, I apologize for my outburst in these trying times."
"No, Edward, your reaction was quite understandable." Ciel shook his head. "I was about to reject the offer myself."
"You'd better, you bastar- I-I mean," Edward cleared his throat, gallantly avoiding his sister's glare. "Of course you're very welcome to stay the night. In separate rooms, obviously."
"I had very much the same idea."
"Oh pish-posh, everyone. Why are we all looking so serious? Come, let us adjourn to the drawing room!" Master Midford waved his family further inside. "This is a cause for celebration! The prodigal son returns! Have a nightcap! Bring out the finest china! My precious son-in-law has returned from the grave at last!"
CRASH
As one, the Midford family whirled around, startled. Curiously enough, Lord Phantomhive looked less than surprised at the commotion, and merely rubbed his temples in annoyance before slowly turning around.
"M-My apologies," the man stuttered, large shards of a decorative vase around his feet, knocked from the dresser it had rested upon for the better part of five years. "I was taken aback by…" he shot the young earl a complicated, loaded look, "something." he finished lamely.
"That's your excuse for knocking over a 14th century Ming vase?" Lady Midford demanded, highly unimpressed. "It's not even a narrow passageway!"
"Oh lighten up, Frances!" Lord Midford remained in good humor through it all and seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh. "We never liked it anyway, we've been looking for an excuse to be rid of the damn thing for years!"
"That vase," Frances Midford hissed, " was a gift from Charles Grey the first! What do you presume we say should he drop by for tea and not see it?"
"We could always blame it on the family dog."
"Smithson died years ago! And that was a rhetorical question!"
"Well yes, but Charles doesn't know that."
"It's the principle of it! If we can't look after what people bestow upon us, what sort of reputation are we going to accrue?"
"Would it make you feel any better if I told you all this vase was fake?"
The couple turned to look at the offender in question, having crouched down and examined the pieces critically.
"Why on earth do you say that?"
Behind them, Paula noted with some amusement that Ciel Phantomhive had started rapidly shaking his head, mouthing "no, no, no".
"The glaze of the porcelain feels off." He muttered in a rich baritone, holding a large piece that was presumably the bottom up into the light for them to see. "The bodies of Ming vases contain an iron impurity which gives the unglazed part of the vase a reddish discoloration as it oxidizes. As you can see, no such reddish hue exists here on the vase's bottom. The cobalt blue paint is also much too bright: authentic Ming pieces were painted with local cobalt that contained a touch of iron as well, causing the color to change from dark blue to black and grey… I could go on, but I think I've made my point."
For a moment there was silence. Ciel Phantomhive was pinching the bridge of his nose.
Alexis Midford guffawed. "A fake! Imagine that! We shall write to Charles first thing in the morning! And he was ever so smug in his generosity too! I can't wait to tell him all about the reality of what he'd gifted us!"
"Just a minute, Alexis. Even if we were to take this man for his word, it would be discourteous of us to simply disparage Lord Grey. Do you want us to imply that he knowingly sent us-"
Frances Midford paused, turning to the man with a frown, as if finally registering the other guest in the room.
"Ciel, who is this… man," it was clear to anyone with a brain that 'man' was a substitute for another word not used in polite conversation, "you have accompanying you?"
Before the lord could answer, however, the man stepped forward and extended his hand out for the lady to shake. "My name is Emiya, Lady Midford. I serve as Lord Phantomhive's guard and butler."
Lady Midford stared at the outstretched hand as if it was something that died on the street then back to Mr. Emiya in disbelief.
Lord Phantomhive had at this point started covering his face with his free hand.
"This is your butler?" Lady Midford demanded. "This man is to replace Tanaka?"
"He's in training." Ciel Phantomhive weakly offered. "He also saved my life."
"Then you can reward him in a different manner, not by giving him a job that doesn't suit-" Frances Midford stopped, forcing herself to calm down lest she lose herself in front of guests and family. "Emiya, was it?"
"Yes, my Lady." The man bowed deeply.
"Please. Join us in the drawing room. I'm sure we all have much to discuss. Don't bother cleaning up, we'll have somebody else take care of the mess."
And without a further word, she exited the entrance hall, a scandalized Edward following close behind. Lord Midford slyly sent Emiya a look as if to say 'what can you do' before joining them, picking Lizzy up with a squeal along the way, leaving the two guests behind with Paula.
Emiya cleared his throat.
"Master…"
"Not now, Emiya." Ciel Phantomhive shook his head, looking… evasive?
"Master, we need to discuss this-"
"Not now, I said!" And with that he hurried after the Midfords.
The man turned to Paula, at a loss. The maid could only giggle.
"Don't worry, Mr. Emiya. They're not as bad as you think. I think Master Midford likes you!"
That did not seem to reassure the new Phantomhive butler at all. Still, with the air of someone climbing the stairs up the gallows, he squared his shoulders and followed Paula into the drawing room. In terms of first impressions, it wasn't as though things could have gotten any worse.
It was as Archer entered the room and dutifully stood in the corner that he realized that things could and had in fact gotten worse.
Archer had barely tucked his hinds behind him and stood up straight staring at nothing in particular when he noticed in his peripheral vision that every single member of the Midford family – Paula included – was staring at him.
Ciel Phantomhive – sitting on a plush sofa next to Lizzy – had settled for a less subtle reaction, putting his head in his hands, on his knees.
'Emiya, a butler is to stand behind his master, you idiot." His master mouthed off at his via their mental link
Ah. Right. Luvia did mention that once or twice.
As smoothly as he could, Archer made his way behind the sofa, taking a spot beside Paula and assumed the default position, staring straight ahead, mouth set and rigid, the very picture of a phlegmatic butler standing behind his similarly collected master.
Behind that perfect picture, however, was an entirely different matter.
'You really couldn't have told me you're married?!'
'I'm engaged, there's a difference, and I didn't tell you because you would have made a big deal out of it! And I said, not now!'
'I can't think of anything bigger than marriage, master. If you want to have some semblance of a happy marriage with this woman, you'd better come clean right now.'
'I'm not discussing my love life with you like this, Emiya!'
'Alright then. Shall we discuss your brother's, then?'
'Emiya, shut up right now or so help me-'
"Are you quite alright, Ciel?" Lizzy reached out, poking his cheek with a frown. "You look like you've got a bee in your bonnet."
"Yes, Lizzy. A very big, annoying bee, persistently buzzing about," Ciel ground out, keeping his voice level, "but I'm fine, thank you for asking. I'm sure it will eventually stop buzzing."
Archer scowled.
"Can't you get rid of the bee?" Frances Midford – that damn harridan – was staring at Archer with the air of a professor marking a particularly laughable thesis draft.
"I'm afraid not."
"Why do you keep it around then?"
"Because it does what I say." Ciel muttered. "Because it is the only thing I unequivocally trust as of this moment."
"Are we still talking about bees?" Lizzy looked very lost, glancing between them in confusion.
Frances sighed.
"Well, we'll get to that later then." She leaned forward. "What exactly happened to you, Ciel? After the fire?"
"It's…" His master twiddled his thumbs. "I don't want to say."
"Ciel Phantomhive." Frances Midford ground out, losing whatever little warmth in her voice, "I understand what you went through must be doubtlessly traumatic, but if we are to find out who was behind the attack on Vincent, you'll find the grace within you to tell your family what has happened to you so we can put it behind us."
"That's for me to settle as the next Earl of Phantomhive, not you, Aunt Frances."
Despite the fireplace burning merrily to their side, the room had become downright frosty in the middle of their exchange.
Alexis chuckled nervously. "Come, come, Frances. If he doesn't want to say anything, don't press the poor boy. He can tell us on his own time."
"No. If he's anything like his father," the woman paused, an unidentifiable emotion passing over her face, "he won't say a word about the matter unless we draw his feet to the coals, and if we let the matter go now, he'll make some cockamamie excuse about not revisiting the past. Vincent always was a man who guarded his secrets as a dragon would his pile of gold."
"Of course. We are, after all, nothing more than what we choose to reveal."
"Don't get smart with me, boy. You are given our hospitality, and that will never be taken from you. But it'd be polite to inform your hosts, your family, what happened for you to be in such circumstances."
"As far as I'm concerned, all you need to know is that my brother is dead and I, even without an eye, am alive." The earl spoke clearly, his voice hard. "The past is the past, and I want to put it firmly behind me where it belongs and look to the future. That is what I wish to discuss with you today."
From where he sat, Edward finally couldn't hold it in any longer. "Don't talk to my mother like that, you-"
"My master has made his position on the matter quite clear."
And just like that, everyone's attention was on Archer once more, and the servant did his best to look unaffected. "My master would appreciate it if you all stop pressing him on this and trust in the fact that he'll elaborate in due time. These are, after all, extraordinary times, and my master has enough on his plate to digest, what with his new responsibilities… and his engagement."
"And just who allowed you to give your opinion, if I may ask?" If looks could kill, Archer would have… well, Archer would have something under Frances Midford's withering glare.
"It's not this humble servant's opinion but my master's." Archer supplied smoothly. "My opinion holds little weight, after all, and my master is not fond of repeating himself." There. That sounded deferential enough to be plausibly accepted. Four years of clocktower education and more with Rin had taught him everything he could learn on the art of verbal deflection, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to put it to good use.
"And just what's your opinion on your master's decision? Speak plainly."
'Don't even think about it, Emiya'. His master – even through the mental link – managed to convey a multitude of emotions with so few words, but despite that, Archer was tempted. Tempted to throw his lot into the conversation and let the chips fall where they may. After blowing everything up comes something new out of the rubble, after all.
Archer sighed.
"Only if my master allows it."
"Consider it not, in fact, allowed." Ciel Phantomhive bit out, reaction immediate and final.
"There you have it." Archer said simply. "I must abide by my master's decision."
Even if he is making a clusterfuck with extra sprinkles and a cherry on top.
And with that, the Marchioness seemed to give up the ghost, unpinning Archer from her unfeeling gaze.
"Of course you'd choose now to behave appropriately." The lady muttered.
"Do forgive me. I still, after all, have much to learn, Lady Midford."
She clicked her tongue. "Hm. Learning. We'll see about that… Paula!"
The maid beside Archer immediately looked up. "Yes, my lady?"
"Bring him to the library and show him our copy of Mrs Beeton's. If he is to manage an estate as large as the Phantomhive's, that book's as good a place to start as any."
"Actually," Archer looked uncomfortable at the prospect of leaving his master alone in the lion's den, "Tanaka already gave me a specific idea of what my responsibilities are-"
"Tanaka," she ground out, "is one man, and has been doing this for many years besides. You cannot hope to emulate what that man possesses in the tip of his pinkie without starting from the basics, and for the basics Mrs Beeton's will serve. Paula, escort Mr. Emiya to the library now, then set about preparing Ciel's room for the night. The guest room overlooking the gardens will do."
"Yes, my Lady." She dipped her head in a brief bow. "Come along, Mr. Emiya."
With great reluctance, Archer similarly dipped his head before joining Paula in heading for the door.
"And the next time I see you I want your hair pulled back!"
Yeah. Sure, as if, Archer thought acidly as Paula gently swung the door shut.
"This way, Mr. Emiya." And the two made their way past the elaborate carpeted stairway overlooking the great hall to the east wing.
"That could have been worse, Mr. Emiya." She chuckled into a gloved fist. "I suppose we all have to start somewhere."
"Is she always like this? Or does she seem to have it out for me in particular?"
"Well," Paula mused, "you did try to shake a lady's hand unprompted, break a vase of questionable authenticity, fail to stand behind your master when he sat down, and offer your opinion where it wasn't needed. People like us should only speak when spoken to, and always keep it short besides."
Archer sighed. "So in short, I made an ass out of myself?"
"Quite. But at the very least you showed you have your master's best interests in mind, so there's always that."
If I had my master's best interests in mind I'd tell everyone who my master really is, he thought darkly. Especially with the fact that my master's is engaged .
He had to hand it to his master: he'd played him like a damn fiddle. Archer had noticed the hesitation in his master's demeanor when he'd suggested visiting the Midfords for help, but coupled with Ciel's explanation of their family dynamics Archer had been content to simply chalk it up to his master's twisted sense of pride and puffery.
No, it was simply the tiny fact that he was about to make a cuckold of his brother from the graze.
It was akin to a tale straight from the Brothers Grimm, an errant plotline from the Count of Monte Cristo waiting to be settled, and Archer knew that blowback was inevitable in the future when the entire charade went up in smoke. Never mind how cruel it was to Elizabeth, but to his Master himself, this engagement, as is, would make neither side truly happy.
Then again, Archer mused, she didn't seem to notice a thing about her long-lost fiance.
Perhaps, he mused, the distorted logic that led to his master committing the most egregious of identity theft was the idea that as long as his fiancee was happy, he was happy.
Happy wife, happy life.
Archer had never been married. Archer had never planned on getting married. Archer had debatable luck with women his entire life. But even he could understand that whoever came up with that phrase had given more thought to it rhyming than having it rooted in any sort of universal truth.
Servant, butler, and now marriage counselor. Archer was well and truly out of his depth.
They'd arrived at a small room in the corner, furnished top to bottom with books. A reading table complete with a reading light in the middle. Two armchairs facing one another beside the fireplace. A portrait of Lady Midford decked in full knight regalia stared down imperiously at the two servants. Of course. Even here she's watching over me.
"I can start a fire for you, if needed."
"No, that's fine." Archer waved a hand. "I don't imagine I'll be staying here long enough for that to be necessary."
Paula sighed. "If you insist." She then went on to a shelf beside the mantlepiece, bringing out an absolute door stopper of a book, complete with yellowed pages and an elaborately illustrated cover.
"Here you are, Mr. Emiya. Do read up, it has everything you need. A good chunk of it are recipes too, and Master Midford always said that after a good meal one can forgive anything."
"That phrase was attributed to Oscar Wilde." Archer noted with some amusement. "I take it he's a fan?"
"Oh yes!" Paula smiled. "Master Midford quite likes his writings. He'd always try to find time to go to the showings of The Duchess of Padua, sometimes taking the young master Edward along with him. Lady Midford never cared for him much, on the other hand. She seems to have Mr. Wilde pegged as, and I quote, a vulgar, vainglorious man full of vagaries and vices. You should have seen her when news of his upcoming play hit the noble circles. Apparently, it's about the story of Salome."
"Aren't you supposed to keep your employers' opinion in confidence?"
"It's hardly secret, Mr. Emiya." Paula shook her head. "She'd tell anyone who asks."
She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Goodness. The hour is so late.. I'd best be off. I'll leave you to it, Mr. Emiya."
"Thank you, Paula, that will be all."
Giving a small nod, Paula promptly set off, closing the door behind him.
Archer looked at the thick tome in his hands. Mrs Beeton's Book of Household management, Archer read, and sighed.
"I bet you think this is funny, don't you?" He asked the portrait, daring it to answer him.
Frances Midford stared back, unfeeling and adamant.
Who am I kidding? You're the type of bint who'd laugh at a Shakespeare comedy.
Resigning himself to a long night of reading, Archer settled onto one of the plush armchairs and turned the page.
And turned another.
And another.
He was dismayed to find that the index to the book took up a good thirty pages. Having taken a cursory scan, Archer was disturbed to find a good majority of the book covered recipes for the Victorian household and ultimately having very little by comparison in the way of actual housekeeping. Because that's what I need, Archer thought with little humor. Recipes of boiled meats and uninspired preparations of vegetables. Mushy peas. That's a dish certain to get stomachs rumbling.
Smirking to himself, he went on to the first chapter, titled 'The Mistress',.
As with the commander of an army, or the leader of an enterprise, so is it with the mistress of a house. Her spirit will be seen through the whole establishment; and just in proportion as she performs her duties intelligently and thoroughly, so will her domestics follow in her path. Of all those acquirements, which more particularly belong to the feminine character, there are none which take a higher rank, in our estimation, than such as enter into a knowledge of household duties; for on these are perpetually dependent the happiness, comfort, and well-being of a family. The modest virgin, the prudent wife, and the careful matron, are much more serviceable in life than petticoated philosophers, blustering heroines, or virago queens. She who makes her husband and her children happy, who reclaims the one from vice and trains up the other to virtue, is a much greater character than ladies described in romances, whose whole occupation is to murder mankind with shafts from their quiver, or their eyes…
Archer tried to imagine the young lady Elizabeth murdering his master with shafts from her 'quiver' and stifled a laugh.
He flipped the pages further, and seeing little that could apply to him in this section, he went on to the section entitled 'The Housekeeper'.
The daily duties of a housekeeper are regulated, in great measure, but the extent of the establishment she superintendsd. She should, however, rise early, and see that all the domestics are duly performing their work, and that breakfast is progressing satisfactorily for the household and family. After breakfast, which in large establishments, she will take in the "Housekeeper's room"...
Archer stifled a yawn, flipping the pages one after the other.
… like "Caesar's wife" she should be above suspicion, and her honesty and sobriety unquestionable; for there are many temptations to which she is exposed.
Whoever Mrs Beeton was, she'd clearly written the guide with a household full of staff in mind, not an estate with a master who was but a child with a single servant under his employ expected to do everything by his lonesome.
Looking through the extensive list of responsibilities and various seasonal duties, Archer was absently reminded of a surly man he'd crossed paths with in the clocktower, ruled over by a blond girl he insisted to anyone who would listen – Rin included, much to her chagrin – was the devil in disguise. No, Archer thought. That honor firmly belongs to my master.
He went on, raising an eyebrow with interest at a table listing ingredients and their respective seasonality, with corresponding prices.
Now we're getting somewhere.
Tracing a notepad and pen, Archer dutifully jotted down what he considered useful.
If, Archer reflected, he was to balance running the household with reparation duties, he'd have to take a hands-off approach to the kitchen, with recipes that could be prepared far, far in advance taking precedence. Slow roasts, panna-cottas, tiramisu, stews…
He resolved to invest in stopwatches.
Archer skipped the section on furnishing the kitchen, reasoning that his master would never see fit to enter it and he'd rather have full input on its layout, and at long last, reached the section entitled 'recipes'.
Archer was torn between an explicit order and the idea that he was to learn uninspired recipes befitting of the era. For all of Britain's illustrious history, their national dish had eventually ended up as Chicken Tikka Masala. And all they did was add tomato paste to a sauce and call it a day. Why should I even bother?
Still, it wasn't as if he couldn't learn a thing or two. Nothing is ever useless. At worst, they can serve as a bad example.
With resolve to keep an open mind, Archer flipped the page.
Garlic is offensive in its taste and smell-
Archer forcibly slammed the book shut.
Right, that's as far as I can go.
No self-respecting cook would ever hold garlic in such flagrant disregard. Mrs Beeton might have been a dab hand at housekeeping, but she clearly had no idea what she was talking about when it came to matters of cookery.
Fuck that, Archer thought as he returned the book back to the shelf, tracing the book for good measure. My master will eat what I prepare for him, and he'll goddamn like it or starve, whatever comes first.
Nodding to himself, satisfied, Archer considered his time well-wasted as he made his way out of the room in a huff.
Now to give my master a talking-to.
His plan hit a slight snag as he passed by the stairway to find Lady Elizabeth leaving the drawing room in a hurry.
"Oh! Mr. Emiya!" She flounced over, suddenly all smiles again. "How are you feeling?"
"Well, can't complain, my Lady. And yourself?"
"Oh, I'm delighted! Can you imagine? Ciel's back again after we all thought him dead, and he's alright! That's more than anyone can hope for!"
"I'm sure."
"And how was reading Mrs Beeton's?"
A complete waste of time. "I found it… illuminating. You've read it?"
"Here and there, though between you and me I only really care for the recipes on confectionaries!" There was a faraway look in her eyes, sweets undoubtedly on her mind. "Ciel always was quite partial to the chocolate gateau."
"A recipe I am already familiar with."
"Oh, then you must make it for us the next time we visit!"
"It would be my pleasure, Lady Elizabeth. I've no doubt you'd be a joy to cook for."
"Please, Lizzy's fine." she smiled. "You're going to be as good as family to Ciel, now, and we're going to know one another very well, let's not be so formal."
Archer pursed his lips, the prospect of being 'family' to his master leaving a complicated taste in his mouth.
"If you insist… Lizzy."
Elizabeth beamed.
"Speaking of which, Mr. Emiya, would you be so kind as to escort me to my room? I've a mind to freshen up before I rejoin Ciel."
"Why? You are already the picture of loveliness. I can't imagine my master having anything bad to say about what you're wearing as is."
"You say the nicest things!" She laughed. "But I do need to wear something more appropriate for the night, as well as some new shoes."
"Certainly, Lizzy." Archer stepped aside, noting the pink heels she was wearing whilst gesturing towards the stairwell. "If you would lead the way?"
And together the two made their way through the upper floors of Midford Manor, into the bedrooms.
It was as they passed a recreation room containing a pool table that something that had been nagging at Archer since he noticed her began to come to light once more.
In front of Ciel, Lizzy had been nothing but an overexcited girl in love, her mannerisms free-flowing and full of joie-de-vivre that… well, certainly wasn't proper, but was endearing all the same.
Alone, though, Archer started noticing things.
Her gait. Her posture. Her balance. All perfect. In heels, no less.
It was extraordinary and spoke to extensive training and conditioning.
He was reminded of the practice of 'Clark Kenting', in which a cursory disguise was enough to hide one's identity, with the user's change in posture and gait being rough to fool most people, and Archer wondered just what it was that the young Lizzy was hiding from her fiancé.
Dancing? Or is it more probably a sport, he mused as they passed through a small gallery. She does come from a long family of knights, it's not unfeasible that some of what they went through got through to her via osmosis. But it is unladylike… a lady like her would practice dancing for a good while, on the other hand.
Archer was still mulling over what sort of training could have given Lizzy such impressive poise before Elizabeth clapped her hands. "Here we are!"
She pushed the door open, and Archer came face to face with a veritable deluge of pink, ribbons and… floof, that was the word he was looking for. Floof.
Sugar, spice and everything nice indeed, Archer thought as he noted the small pile of toys and dolls in the corner.
"Please excuse the mess. I don't usually have visitors coming here."
"No mess at all, my lady." Archer assured her, "I assure you I've seen worse."
"Worse!" She laughed. "I'm going to change in the dresser," she wagged a finger at him disapprovingly, "you wouldn't peek at a lady changing, would you?"
"This noble servant endeavors to be the perfect gentleman, Lady Lizzy." He smiled, playing along. "Change away!"
"Right then! Be out in a minute!" and with that she adjourned to the walk-in closet, gently closing the paneled doors behind her.
Archer was left in a sea of pink and white.
From where he stood, he looked around, hoping not to seem too intrusive should anyone walk in. A standard four-poster bed, well tucked in and sheets clean. A plush bunny was settled comfortably within it, in eternal deep sleep. A full-length mirror propped against the wall. A photograph on her dresser containing her and her fiancé, and their state of attire indicated it was a special occasion. Presumably Christmas.
Yet nothing explained the mystery of Elizabeth's posture.
Looking around to see if the coast was clear, Archer surreptitiously crouched, looking underneath the bed. Dust bunnies, some slippers, along with a long velvet box that had clearly seen better days. A quick bout of structural analysis revealed two long rapiers nestled snugly within.
Ah, Archer stood up, returning to where he stood. It was fencing.
He was admittedly unfamiliar with the sport, mentally relegating it along with curling in terms of sports he didn't care to learn more about, but Archer imagined that the entire family engaged in the sport one way or the other. At some point, certain sports became less about physical exercise and became more of a lifestyle. And the Midfords were a long line of knights.
Archer was beginning to paint a very different picture of Elizabeth Midford in his mind.
Though I wonder if the dissonance in how she acts is deliberate or merely an effort of her subconscious, Archer mused. People did tend to behave differently around the people they love.
"I'm done!" And Archer was glad he didn't ultimately bring out the box for a closer look as Lizzy emerged from the walk-in closet in a new dress, colored in the blue of a robin's egg and flat-footed shoes. "You didn't peek, did you?"
"If I did, I'm sure you would have heard. This humble servant reports that he has not moved from this position at all since you walked in."
Thank goodness for exact words.
"Of course you didn't." She beamed. "If Ciel trusts you then I trust you! Silly question, but custom dictates I ask!" She made her way to the full-length mirror along the wall, twirling once or twice for good measure, hemming and hawing here and there.
"Hey, Mr. Emiya…"
"If you want me to call you Lizzy I insist you drop the Mister." Archer noted good-naturedly.
"Emiya, then." She smiled, before returning to her reflection, lost in thought.
"Do you think I look taller than Ciel as I am now?"
Archer frowned. "Why do you ask, Lizzy?"
"It's just…" Lizzy held the hem of her baby blue dress up, still in deep thought. "It's only been a month, but when I hugged Ciel earlier tonight, I thought he must have shrunk."
Archer hoped to God above that she couldn't see him sweat.
"But that's not possible. There had to be another explanation for it. Then I realized. It wasn't he who had shrunk, but I who had grown." She murmured, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief. "And I'm wearing heels, besides."
She stood on her tippy toes for a spell to demonstrate, holding the position impeccably before slowly setting herself down once more.
"Is it so bad that you've possibly grown taller? Girls grow at an earlier age than boys. It's perfectly natural."
"It is. For us, at least." Lizzy insisted and tilted her head consideringly. "Ciel won't like it very much if I'm taller than him." She admitted.
Slowly, the puzzle pieces began to come together to form an unsettling picture within Archer's mind.
"I don't think you should concern yourself with yours and my master's respective heights." Archer slowly approached her, a hand on his chin as he examined her reflection. "I don't think my master is one who cares if his wife is taller than him."
"That's where you're wrong, Emiya." And for a moment she looked unbearably sad. "Mummy scares him."
"Forgive a butler for being blunt, but that's not saying much." Archer snarked, and he was inwardly pleased to see the girl crack a small smile at that. "Your Mother is a strong woman, and can be a little much for some people, but she seems to be a wonderful lady besides. Your daddy seems to love her very, very much."
"But she's strong, Emiya, and Ciel doesn't want a strong wife, he wants a cute wife." She looked closer in the mirror. "Ultimately, what he needs is someone he can protect. That's how it's always been. First with his brother, whenever he was sick in bed, and then me. But his brother is no longer with us… that responsibility is now mine alone."
Oh. So it was deliberate.
Archer wondered just how he could comfort the young lady and her warring inner conflict without giving the game away.
"I don't know when it was my master uttered those words, if he did," Archer slowly said, carefully gauging her reaction, "but boys tend to say very stupid things when they're young. I certainly did. When I was young, I said that I wanted to be a hero. Silliest thing I ever said."
"Really?" She looked at him in surprise. "But you saved Ciel! He wouldn't go on about how you did it, but you saved him!"
"But saving one means not saving another," he said gently, wondering if she could make sense of the inherent hypocrisy of his words, "and just like I was able to save Ciel, I wasn't able to save his brother."
Lizzy frowned. "This isn't to judge you- Mr. Emiya, far from it- but can't you find yourself in a situation to be able to save both?"
Archer pursed his lips. "I used to think I could, but I've since learned that it's a very naive way of thinking. It's complicated, Lizzy, and perhaps it would make sense to you why I was being very silly when you're older."
The young lady returned to her reflection, pondering over his words.
"Ciel needs to be protected. If there's anything that I learned from this month it's this salient truth." She set her shoulders straight. "I wasn't there to protect him or his brother that night, but I should have been. I never liked Mother's lessons, despite her telling me that I was good at it, or it was my duty, but I never understood: Ciel will have enemies. As the Queen's watchdog, it's a given." Archer blinked, and he was startled at the sudden edge her voice had taken. "But I'm the daughter of Marquis Midford, the leader of the English knights. If I cannot defend my husband, I'm a failure as a wife!"
She allowed those words to settle and seemed to reassure herself as she digested them within her head. She looked pleased for but a moment before her face fell once more.
"Hey. Emiya." She looked down at her gloved hands. "Does wanting to know what happened to him make me a bad girl?"
"Showing concern for your partner is hardly a bad thing." Archer frowned, "I'd go so far as to say it's encouraged. A marriage without any empathy for the other is only a business in the end."
She looked up at him, her face betraying an inner conflict that Archer had the faintest sense as to what.
"Then…" she slowly ventured, "would you tell me?"
Archer sighed.
"Wouldn't you prefer the truth to come from my master's lips instead? It's not my story to tell."
"It is! You were there! And I can't go around asking him," she put her hands to her face, swaying side to side, "I want to be happy when he sees me! If I go around talking about wanting to know more he'll avoid me whenever he can! He'll be stressed, he'll be anxious, he won't feel safe when I'm with him!"
This girl… Archer rubbed a temple in annoyance. There was something to be said about Elizabeth's remarkable sense of empathy, but she was quickly proving to be an overthinker when it came to matters of her fiance. Then again, he acknowledged, I can't say for sure that she's wrong about how he'd react.
Archer looked around for a chair in the room. When he couldn't find one, his eyes drifted to the four-poster bed.
"My lady, before I get into this in detail, would you care to have a seat?" Archer gestured to the front of the bed.
With great poise, Elizabeth Midford calmly made her way over and sat gently, hands folded over her knees. With comparatively little care, Emiya sank down by her side. The two gazed at each other in the mirror in front of them. Elizabeth was rubbing her hands again.
"I'm sorry to say that I cannot speak to you regarding what happened that night." He began, and from his peripheral vision he could see Lizzy slump slightly in disappointment. "Doing so would be going against the express wishes of my master, I hope you understand."
"I do," she replied, voice small. "But I wish to be able to protect him, to comfort him all the same."
"Can you keep a secret?"
Lizzy looked at him, curiosity evident in her eyes as she nodded slowly.
"This might come as a surprise to you," Archer made a show of looking around for any potential eavesdroppers before returning his gaze to Lizzy, "but my master is a very silly boy pretending to be older than he really is."
She giggled. "That's no secret at all, Emiya! I knew that already!"
"Then it should come as no surprise to you that he cares too much about what other people think of him." He looked forward carefully considering his words. "In the short time we've known each other, he's made a big show of seeing bigger than he is, physically and metaphorically. The role he needs to play going forward is a difficult one, and he must project an image of being a bastion of strength and ruthless pragmatism. It is for that reason – along with his pride – that makes him so unwilling to open up."
"But don't ever make the mistake of thinking he's shutting you out because he doesn't trust you. Beyond the fact that the truth isn't fit for a young lady like you to hear, he cares about you dearly, along with what you think of him. And, like the silly boy he is, he thinks you knowing the truth of what he'd been through would only lower your opinion of him."
"I would never!"
"I know that. I did say I serve a very silly master." Archer smirked. "But it's easy to forget that he's young. He's capable of making decisions that aren't to his benefit at all. And despite me and Tanaka thinking that we each know better, we are, in the end, just his loyal servants. We are unable to make his decisions for him."
He stood up, and with great solemnity knelt in front of Elizabeth Midford, determinedly holding her in his gaze. To Lizzy's credit, she returned his gaze with equal seriousness.
"I understand that this is presumptuous of me to say, but please, forgive my master as he continues to make stupid decisions. Forgive him for being him. One day, he will realize the truth of his relationship with you. One day, it will occur to him that he is to spend the rest of his life with you in holy matrimony, and that you are to be his wife, his closest confidant, his closest friend. One day, he will realize that if one cannot be themselves in the company of their partner, the marriage is doomed to fail. One day, he will accept you for whatever you choose to be, be it cute or strong – or cute and strong for I've known women who are both in equal measure – in the understanding that you would do the same for him. Until the day that my master grows up, please forgive him and be patient, because despite him being so prideful and prickly, there is no doubt at all in my mind that my master deeply…cares for you, and he would walk through fire to ensure he is worthy of you."
Somewhere in the middle of that speech Emiya had bowed his head, and he waited patiently for her answer.
And hand gently rested on the top of his head, and Archer looked up.
"Silly Emiya." She had put on a brave smile, ruffling his hair. "Of course I will."
Archer let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, looking away. "Goodness, that was highly unlike me. I don't usually go around making speeches on behalf of my master."
"Don't be embarrassed." Elizabeth gently plopped down from the bed, straightening the hem of her dress. "Ciel's very lucky to have you."
"My master is even luckier to have you, Lizzy. I have no doubt that you'll make him the happiest husband in the world."
And just like that , she was all smiles and sunshine again. "Thank you Mr. Emiya!"
"Just Emiya, Lizzy. Remember that."
"Right!" She gave herself a final once-over in the mirror before making her way to the door. "Thank you for listening to a silly girl talk about her troubles, I must have kept you!"
"It was my pleasure, and it was no trouble at all." He assured her, holding the door open for her. "Shall we make our way back to the drawing room?"
"Elizabeth shall rejoin Ciel in the study." The blood drained from Archer's face as he was confronted with the severe-looking Marchioness Midford. "I was wondering where you were, Mr. Emiya."
"Mummy!" Elizabeth pouted. "I asked him to escort me, don't scold him so!"
"Regardless of what brought him here, I think it's best if you were to head down and rejoin Ciel on your own." Lady Midford glanced at Archer, obviously unimpressed. "I need to have a long overdue talk with Mr. Emiya."
"Yes," Archer sighed, "I think we should."
"It shall not take too long. Run along now, Elizabeth."
Shooting Archer another furtive look, Elizabeth hurried away. Marchioness Midford watched as she made her way to the stairwell before sighing and closing the door with a click.
… Right, might as well get it out of the way, then.
"I presume you were outside listening the entire time?"
"Someone had to make sure that you didn't take advantage of a young, impressionable girl." Her tone was icy, and yet Archer got the distinct sense she didn't really mean it.
"You wound me, Madam." Archer allowed a small smile, testing the waters. "I'm not interested in little girls."
"No." Her tone was grudging. "I don't suppose you are."
She stepped further into the room, huffing at the mess, before taking the time to clean up here and there.
Archer cleared his throat.
"Your daughter is extraordinary."
Marchioness Midford said nothing as she straightened the duvet, obviously wanting him to continue.
"She's startlingly perceptive and empathetic, and such a strong girl besides. My master's lucky to have her." He watched as she made her way to the pile of toys in the corner, deep in thought. "He can stand to learn a thing or two from her."
"Oh?" Her voice was strange. "Like what, exactly?"
Archer smiled. "Beyond her undoubtedly brilliant way with a sword? I'd say that my master could learn that it's better sometimes to be happy than dignified."
Frances Midford turned to him, incredulous.
"Bronte?"
Archer nodded.
The Marchioness sighed. "I wouldn't have expected someone like you to be well-read."
"I am aspiring to be the butler of the house of Phantomhive, I should be capable of at least this much. Besides, I'm not sure being aware of the works of someone as famous as the Bronte sisters would necessarily qualify me as a well-read man."
"I've always preferred the works of Austen myself." Frances admitted. "Beyond the surface congeniality of the words she puts to paper lies a soul with acerbic wit and self-awareness, qualities that more women should possess instead of pretending to be vapid and dependent, like Ann."
Archer watched as she mulled on her next words.
"My daughter has always been the genius of the family. More so than Edward. Don't get me wrong, he tries, and puts in more effort than anyone else here, but effort is like water filling the vase of human capability. Talent is what makes the vase larger. It's difficult for effort to compare to talent at the end of the day."
"I'm well-aware," he concurred, thinking fondly of Rin. "I've been told reliably that I've always been third-rate."
She scoffed. "A generous estimation, but I digress. Whether he likes it or not, Ciel will need protection before he grows into the man I know he is capable of becoming, just like Vincent. It'd be different if only he was more like his brother."
Archer blinked. There was more to that story than she let on.
"... my daughter has never liked her lessons, chafing at it, willing to settle for a needle and thread instead of a sword." She shook her head. "Foolishness. She means well, but it's foolish all the same."
"I think you give your daughter too little credit." Archer murmured. "If you followed our conversation, I'm sure you'll realize your daughter has a reason for acting the way she does."
"And her reasoning is faulty." Lady Midford demurred. "A wife must do what is good for her husband, and care just a bit less about what he thinks of her, as long as it's for the good of her family." She sighed. "Now that Ciel's back, I'm glad that she has another chance to see things my way, that she's resolved to take up the sword once more with renewed effort."
"You did one good thing today." She went on, "You reminded her of her role as wife and protector. I cannot say I agree with some of the language you used in disparaging your master – even if I cannot really disagree – but you succeeded in comforting her in the face of your master's decisions. For that alone, I thank you."
Archer dipped his head. "I live to serve my master, Lady Midford."
"Hmph." The marchioness huffed. "We'll make a butler out of you yet, Mr. Emiya. But you're forgetting something very important."
Archer blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Out of nowhere, the Marchioness produced a container of pomade.
"YOUR HAIR REMAINS A MESS!" She barked. "I thought I told you to get it in order for the next time I saw you!"
"M-My lady," Archer slowly backed away, "I assure you I was going to before I encountered Lady Elizabeth-"
"Don't blame someone else for your own failings! It's unsightly! Just like your hair!" Prying the lid open, Archer had just enough time to see Marchioness Midford grasp a handful of waxy bandoline before she lunged with more speed than a woman her age should rightfully have, grasping thick tufts of his hair.
"A butler should always have his hair pulled back!"
The door to the drawing room opened, and the Marquis Alexis Leon Midford took one look at Emiya's shell-shocked expression and laughed.
"Goodness me, Frances really tore you a new one, I see."
"It's…" Emiya looked faint, lightly touching his hair, freshly pulled back and gelled. "It's not in my position to say." He looked around, confused. "I was supposed to look for my master?"
"Oh, he and Lizzy are having a bit of alone time to catch up. Edward, stop sulking! She'll still be your sister at the end of the day, let them have some time together now that all that ugly business is settled."
"I see," Emiya nodded, "I'd better go find them then."
"Hold on there, Emiya. We haven't gotten the opportunity to get to know one another yet! Come, come, let us not stand on ceremony, you're not a butler today, you're our guest! Sit down, have a brandy!" He made his way over to the shelf where he extracted a bottle and two glasses. When Emiya made no motion to sit, he waved his free hand towards the sofa. "Please! I insist!"
Seeing that nothing could deter the man, Emiya murmured his thanks as he made his way to the seat opposite a very sulky Edward, carefully avoiding his glare as the Marquis poured two glasses of brandy.
"Here, drink up! Regain some of that fire within you." He passed Emiya a glass of amber liquid. "My wife can be a little strong, but that's just the way I like her. Damn fine woman! Edward!" He boomed towards the sullen boy. "Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?"
Edward sighed. "Yes. Numerous times, in fact, and I don't think Mr. Emiya would want to hear-"
"It was 1871, in the Royal Exhibition Hall!" He began, and Emiya noted with some amusement Edward stifling a groan, hanging his head back on the headrest. "We knights were having exhibition matches to display our skills for the public. And who was there, deeply unimpressed with the whole hullabaloo but Frances Phantomhive! Seeing the sad, sorry state we were in, she changed into fencing attire and challenged me to a duel. Within two minutes flat, and in front of Queen and country, I had my ass handed to me on a silver platter, with a frilly linen napkin and a spicy banana on the side! But I didn't care about the jeers and titters, I knew right then and there I was in love! People thought I was mad at first, but look who's laughing now! I married her a year later. Best decision I ever made. My Frances is the greatest wife anyone can ask for!" Laughing in delight, the Marquis downed his glass of brandy in a single gulp before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. "What do you think, Mr. Emiya?"
"I can understand." Emiya shrugged. "Every single one of the women I've dallied with have at some point tried to kill me before the fact, who am I to judge?"
Edward goggled. The Marquis looked delighted. "A fellow man of culture! Here's a man unafraid to be led and loved by strong women! Edward, you'd do well to find yourself someone who can protect you too!"
"I don't need protection," he muttered, "I'm supposed to be the one doing the protecting."
"Poppycock!" Marquis Midford proudly declared. "If I'm allowed to be a little crude, I'd say that I love a woman who can beat the stuffing out of me."
"Father!" Edward looked scandalized.
"No, no, it's perfectly true! A man of your age, Emiya, would have undoubtedly met many women- hold on," the marquis frowned, looking at the butler appraisingly. "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
Emiya squirmed in his seat.
"I turn thirty-three this year."
"Cripes! You're almost as old as I am!" The Marquis blinked, giving him a once-over. "You don't look a day over twenty-five."
Emiya raised a glass. "You're too kind, sir. To your good health."
"Please, call me Alex!" He waved him off. "So, as I was saying, you must have met many women in the thirty-three years of your life. I'd gather you've thought of marrying some of them?"
"On the contrary. I never considered myself to be suited for marriage." Emiya shook his head. "My interests lay in other matters, and those interests ensured I could never settle down and make a girl very happy. As a matter of fact, based on the three major relationships I've had… four if we count a church girl, you could consider myself a real heartbreaker."
Marquis Midford blinked, then guffawed.
"You must tell me more the next time we meet! It must be a long, sordid story, and I want all the details. But not tonight. Tonight, we celebrate! My son-in-law is back at last! Cheers!"
Obediently, Emiya clinked their glasses, taking slow, measured sips in comparison to the Marquis' gulps.
"You have a difficult job ahead of you, I must say." Marquis Midford sank onto the plush armchair beside him. "The best servants make everything look so effortless, and this amount of… sprezzatura is so very difficult to achieve! Tanaka managed it, but he's one in a million besides. Then again, my Ciel has good judgment. I'm sure you'll be able to fulfill what the station demands of you."
"Him?!" Edward burst out, indignant. "This tool? It's one thing if Ciel can't protect Lizzy, weak as he is, but this buffoon? He can hardly walk straight let alone protect my Lizzy!"
"Once again, I apologize for the vase, Marquis."
"It's quite alright, I wanted to be rid of it for the longest time."
"Don't ignore me!"
"I'm not ignoring you, Master Edward." Emiya smiled good naturedly, swirling the brandy in his tumbler. "From what I've seen of her, I assure you my master has no need to protect Lizzy. And if the situation requires it, that job belongs to me as his servant and I shall lay down my life to protect them both, that much is without doubt."
"Oh, but I do doubt, as a matter of fact!" Edward pointed, all hyped up on righteous indignation. "You've given me no confidence as to your skills and capabilities. I demand to see it for myself!"
"Son," Alexis muttered, suddenly alert, "you might want to settle down if you know what's good for you-"
"No, no, Lord Marquis, he has a point." Some form of mischief had crept into Emiya's countenance, enjoying whatever it was that was riling up Edward so. "Let a brother worry about his sister's keeper. But don't you ever insult my master."
"Why? Isn't it true that he can't defend my sister? Don't dawdle, are you going to demonstrate your skills or not?"
Emiya sighed, looking utterly exhausted for a moment before polishing whatever remained in his glass with a gulp.
"Young Master Edward," he set the glass down gently in front of him, "I can say, without a doubt, that your sister is more talented in matters of the sword than you are, and I can defeat her six ways to Sunday. By that logic, do you see how I could possibly make a mess of you, inside out and upside down? Learn to pick your battles, Master Edward. Don't start a fight you cannot win."
Marquis Midford nearly choked. Edward had turned redder than a tomato at this point.
"That does it! Don't you dare insult my sister! I challenge you to a duel! I demand satisfaction!"
"Oh dear…" Marquis Midford murmured, shaking his head as Emiya drew himself to his full height, a head taller than Edward.
"State your terms, then."
"Swords. Fencing swords. We fight until one is disarmed or gains three points."
"I'll do you one better." Emiya smiled. "If you can lay a single hit upon me, I concede the match to you. If I disarm you, it'll be my win."
"What?!" Edward stuttered. "You'd insult me further by offering me a handicap?"
"It's more to the fact that I am unfamiliar with fencing and more with traditional battle. Don't worry, Edward, I'm a very big target." Emiya gestured towards himself. "Unless, of course you feel like you need something more?"
Edward gnashed his teeth.
"Fine then. On your head be it, then." Edward whirled towards his father. "Let us head to the main hall! Emiya, do you have a sword or do I arrange for one to be provided to you?"
"Who said I'm fighting you with a sword?" Without offering further explanation, Emiya headed into the corner of the drawing room and produced – and at this, Marquis Midford really did choke – a wooden feather duster.
Edward looked to have conniptions. "Do you intend to insult me further? Is there no end to the shame you bring upon yourself? Take a sword, you cur!"
"It'd be a disaster if a lowly servant like me was to hurt a noble like you." Emiya reasoned. "Besides, the goal of this demonstration isn't to hurt you, but your pride."
Edward snarled. "We'll see about that. To the main hall we go! I'll make you eat those words!
"Young lady!" Paula burst into the toy room. "Young master!"
The two hurriedly gave some distance between them.
"Yes, Paula," Ciel sighed, "what's he done now?"
"Master Edward has challenged Emiya to a duel!"
"What?!" Lizzy stood up in shock. "Eddie? Whatever for?"
"They didn't say, my Lady. My lord, it's best if you intervene now!"
Ciel Phantomhive stood up slowly, considering it.
"Who's winning?"
"Ciel!" Lizzy admonished, as Paula coughed, embarrassed.
"It's difficult to say."
"Why? How difficult is it to judge who's winning a fight?"
Edward panted with exertion as the blasted servant parried another one of his strikes.
"Would you…" the young lord grunted "stop parrying" Emiya swerved "and hit me already?"
"Why should I?" Emiya flourished the feather duster in his hand, enjoying Edward's obvious discomfort. "I don't want to end the fight too early, after all. How else will I demonstrate my skills?"
The young lord grit his teeth, returning to his original stance.
"We'll see how cocky you are when I'm done with you!"
Marquis Midford sighed, resigning himself to watching the two repeat the same routine ad infinitum: Edward would weave, lunge, riposte, swinging his rapier to and fro, and Emiya maintained his position without breaking a sweat using an honest-to-god feather duster. The situation would have been funny if it wasn't his son making an ass of himself. Then again, he mused, it is how I fell in- wait, what am I thinking?!
He watched as Edward lunged, rapier making a beeline for Emiya's foot, before Emiya merely raised it and rapped Edward lightly on the head.
"You know," Emiya casually ducked, "if this is meant to be me eating my words, I confess to still being very hungry at the moment. Is supper meant to be served any time today?"
"Shut up, you bastard-"
"Emiya!"
The two turned towards the stairwell, where Ciel Phantomhive and Elizabeth Midford stood, spellbound at the spectacle. The Marchioness was standing a little way off, looking wholly unamused.
"Hullo, Frances!" Alexis waved.
"I do hope you have a proper explanation for this farce when it's over, Alex!"
Truth be told, the Marquis had no idea how to explain the duel in a way where he'd come out smelling like roses, and he guiltily turned away from his wife's disapproving glare.
"Emiya."
The servant turned to look at his master. Ciel Phantomhive crossed his arms.
"I don't care what started it. You're representing me. Win."
The butler smirked. "Yes, my master."
And just as Edward roared, lunging forward, Emiya sidestepped, rapping the feather duster sharply on the young master's knuckles with a great crack. Edward cried out, dropping his rapier in the process, and before he could recover Emiya kicked it away to the corner, bringing the cleaning device to Edward's Adam's apple.
A silence descended across the hall.
"It's my win, Master Edward."
Edward huffed and puffed, wincing as he held his throbbing, swollen hand, before finally registering the unexpected audience.
"Mother! Lizzy!" He waved his arms, flustered. "There's a reason for this!"
"A reason for you being defeated by someone holding a feather duster, or a reason for you dueling a servant in the first place?"
"I… I…"
Emiya cleared his throat.
"Do forgive us, Marchioness." Emiya tucked the feather duster behind his back. "We were having a frank discussion on traditional gender roles in the modern household, and whether a strong woman was an affront to the shifting landscapes of the ideals of heteronormative masculinity. Me and Edward had a small disagreement that we both decided to settle in a duel. I see now we should have agreed to disagree. Mea Culpa."
Edward goggled, and Alexis mentally patted the man on the back for coming up with the best serving of bullshit he'd ever heard. "What he said, Frances."
The Earl sighed.
"Lizzy. See to your brother. I think it's time I retired for the night. Emiya," he raked his gaze over the servant, a frown on his face. "Settle what you need to settle on your own, then work on the manor. We'll talk in the morning."
Emiya sighed. And once again, my master eludes me. Lizzy was absolutely right.
Still, the night wasn't a total wash, and Emiya brought the feather duster down in a flash as he bowed.
"Yes, my master."