Chapter 5

The Britannia Estate stretches for a good three thousand acres on the northeast of England where the continental polar air shrouds the area with cool climate throughout the whole year. The main residence sits on top of a small hill and is surrounded by a designed landscape that is big enough to showcase the grandness of the bricked mansion. A stone wall enclosing the land from the village creates a low border between the nobles and the ordinary people. Inside the estate is a home farm that enables the mansion to be self-sufficient, a kitchen garden where rare spices and herbs are planted for the family's consumption, several gardens and lawns (even a maze garden) planted with the most colorful and aromatic flowers, a woodland for the rearing of game and a wide variety of outoffices for the housing of animals and for the utilization of the estate's other employees.

Summer here is quite different from the scorching hot temperature that the lower lands experience during the season. The cool air gives the residences a pleasant friendly climate that allows them to feel at ease and comfortable while doing their activities.

Very much different from the southern town Lelouch grew up in where the sun rays were harsh, almost punishing to the skin, leaving it red and warm for the most part of the days.

And now, an additional symbol of wealth will be added to the estate.

The viscount, much to Lelouch's disbelief, is indeed pretty much involved in the building of the gazeebo. Bare hands, leather boots, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, one could easily mistake him as an ordinary worker if not for the authority and nobility he exudes while digging the land.

"What work do you do back in your town?"

Lelouch looks up from where he is sawing wood and answers, "I paint, sir."

"A painter? Do you have any particular subject?" A surprise glint appears on the older man's eyes which Lelouch is already used to get from people who first heard of his job. It is an unexpected answer, they said, for someone who has a face and charisma like him, they would have assumed that he is an actor, a performer.

"Well, I mostly do portraits of people. Sometimes, I paint sceneries, too, when inspiration hits me."

"And does inspiration often hit you?" the viscount asks curiously. His shovel hits a large stone and the man grunts and groans while trying to lift the unwanted nuisance.

Lelouch immediately abandons his work and helps the viscount with his problem. Shovel and hands, they successfully remove the stone and pile it together with the other large stones that the workers have collected.

"Inspiration is a wild thing," starts Lelouch as he wipes his hands with a towel. He retrieves his saw and resumes cutting wood. A few tendrils of his raven hair manage to escape his hairtie and he now regrets not securing his long fringe in a pin. "It comes and goes like a lightning."

"Lightning? How so?"

"There is a long unbearable moment of silence when I am uninspired. Silence in my mind, silence in my heart, in my soul. The kind of silence that is unsettling and foreboding like the calm before the storm." He frowns at the thought. "I honestly despise that feeling. It makes me feel directionless, purposeless. As if my skill as a painter is something impermanent that disappears overnight. But when lightning strikes, everything turns bright," he chuckles and shakes his head. "It is rather amazing how that brief moment could rumble and light up my sleeping desires long enough for me to finish a painting. But sadly, not every storm brings lightning."

The viscount nods. "Such an interesting comparison. However, isn't art, as long as it comes from your heart, beautiful and important?"

"I think that is a bit of romanticization."

"But that is how a breathtaking painting is created, how a heartbreaking poem is written, how art is borne - by romanticizing feelings, scenarios, people. To produce art is to find beauty even in the darkest and most painful subjects.'

"Yet there are famous artists and there are the ones who are like me. It's not all about the heart, skills is quite fundamental to be a successful artist," Lelouch shrugs.

"You want to be famous."

"I want my works to be recognized, too. Is that a bad thing?"

The viscount shakes his head. He stops digging and rests his arm on the handle of the shovel. Underneath the bright sky, his possible father looks younger and stronger while being surrounded by woods, stones and dirts. It's the enthusiasm for building that makes him look like that, Lelouch realizes. The noble is unexpectedly a man of hard and manual labor.

"No. It is actually good that you have a dream to pursue which keeps you striving to become better. A man with dreams and actions is the most dangerous man on earth... I would like to see your works in the future."

"I would've loved to, but I'm afraid I didn't bring my things with me."

"Because you expected that you won't be staying here for a long time."

"Papa!"

Suddenly, two little figures come running towards them and a flurry of brown hairs stop right before the viscount with excited smiles and giddy energy.

"Are you done with your lessons?"

"Yes, we are!"

Lelouch's eyes quickly dart behind them and as expected, their lovely governess is at their trail with three notebooks in her hands. Their eyes briefly met before the golden pair addresses their master.

"We finished the piano and arithmetic lessons without any trouble, sir. They are now on their well-deserved break."

Lelouch puts his saw down and inserts a soft twig in between his teeth. Observing, he sits on one of the chairs prepared for the noble family and silently watch the interaction before him.

The viscount squats to his children's heights. "And how are your progress?"

"I can now add hundreds while Rolo can play the beginning of a sonata," Nunnally proudly reports.

"Hmmm… It seems like you deserve a reward for being good pupils. We shall have an outing this weekend to celebrate your achievements."

"Oh, can we watch the circus?"

"Can we watch the play?"

The father chuckles. "We'll see what is available according to the schedule. Mr. Lamperouge, would you like to join us?"

The younger man's eyes drift to the wary soft purple ones. They didn't expect their father to invite him and they didn't like it. Nunnally is biting her lip while Rolo is fidgeting on his place. He gives them a subtle smirk before answering the viscount without breaking eye contact with the twins. "I would've loved to…" Oh, teasing them brings him such enjoyment. They are already frowning before he even finishes his sentence. "But my apologies for I have prior commitments that needed to be done this weekend."

The twins exhale.

He feels a burning sensation on the side of his face and when he turns to his left, the glare that the governess sends him is both a warning and a challenge. Can she sense it? Of course she would. She is deeply connected to the twins after all, and most probably, her charges or perhaps the nanny have already mentioned something about the tricks he had done with the children when she was away.

"Now, how will you help me?"

Miss Corabelle distributes the sketchbooks, now that Lelouch has a closer look at them, to the twins.

Rolo speaks, "We're going to help design the gazeebo."

Wise decision. With this, the twins wouldn't dirty themselves from being involved to the actual labor all the while believing that they are being a great help to their father. At the same time, it will hone the twins' imagination and art skills. He sneaks a glance at Miss Corabelle. This is definitely her doing.

The governess and the twins sit on the grass and silently draw their designs. Meanwhile, Lelouch and the viscount resume their work and to be honest, the former is quite enjoying the simplicity of the atmosphere. The manual work reminds him of his hometown, where servants and maids are scarce and the villagers do their chores by themselves. He lives in a place that is neither rich to be lived by the nobilities nor too poor to be resided by beggars. He wonders what they are doing right now. His mother is probably having an afternoon tea with Kallen in their small garden – talking about him, his careless attitude, the inheritance and marriage – while Bradley must be hunting for an innocent lady to charm with his flat jokes. He should write them a letter. It's almost a week since he arrived in the Britannia residence and it's about time to report to his mother. With Lady Marianne's stubborn and insistent personality, Lelouch wouldn't put it past his mother to go to the mansion herself if she does not hear from him for a few more days. Just the thought of it brings chills to his bones. Might as well prevent the drama she is capable of causing.

"Mr. Lamperouge?"

"Yes sir?"

"Why don't you draw a design, too? It's a good chance to show us how good you are at drawing."

"But what would I use?"

"You can use my things."

Like a nymph, Miss Corabelle gracefully walks to him and hands him her sketchbook and pencil. Eyes shining with mischief, he purposefully overlaps his hand over hers as he retrieves them from her.

"That is so generous of you, Miss Corabelle," he whispers.

"Well, I cannot let you look like a fool while you try to draw on air or worse, snatch the children's sketchbooks for your entertainment," she whispers back. She steps away and lets her hands fall back on her sides.

Lelouch's lips barely move but his words are spoken low and clear. "I wouldn't do that infront of the viscount."

"And not infront of me."

With that, the governess gives him a steady gaze before returning to her place between the twins. Lelouch sits back to his seat and begins sketching intricate designs that he thinks would impress the viscount. He doesn't know where this talent of his came from. Definitely not from his mother whose drawings are comparable to a child's. Nevertheless, he is thankful for it because it had become a means of decent income and a pleasant way to impress the ladies.

The atmosphere is soon filled with the sound of pencil against paper and hushed voices of the carpenters who are continuously working on the gazeebo. Lelouch can clearly see it, how this place will be the new center of merriment, celebration, outdoor picnics and even hidden courtships. He can clearly see how this gazeebo would transform into a dove's cage with vines and flowers crawling on its railings like ornamented chains of trapped beauty and hopeful promises. However, this gazeebo could be a sanctuary for the lost, broken souls, too. A place where one would seek refuge in the depth of the night reminiscing the times that have gone by and left uncherished under the lonely moonlight. These musings all take root in his hand as every stroke, every line create shapes and connections until an image begins to bloom on his paper.

Look at him being a romantic. Look at him being the epitome of what the viscount had said about creating art.

And he's done.

"I'm done!"

Rolo walks to his father and proudly presents to him his masterpiece. Meanwhile, Lelouch had also made his way to the viscount and is now examining the boy's drawing.

Huh, it's not actually bad for a seven-year old. In fact, it is too good to be drawn by a young boy like him. It reminds Lelouch of his past drawings when he was at Rolo's age. Glancing at the elf, he can't help but see himself in Rolo as he waited for his mother's appraisal of his drawing. Wide eyed, nervous but excited. Yet Marianne was never a person of art except for acting and she never appreciated whatever a young Lelouch would show to her.

"This is amazing, Rolo. You have a gift in drawing," the viscount praises. "What do you think, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"It is quite indeed impressive for a boy as young as him," he answers honestly. "Where did you learn to draw like that?"

With Lelouch's attention suddenly on him, Rolo stands closer to his father. "Miss Ceci teaches us how to draw properly."

Of course, of course. Who else would? Indeed, it would be their know-it-all Miss Ceci. Automatically, Lelouch opens the sketchbook in his hand and turns the page to the drawing before his. Then he looks up at the governess who is busy guiding her other charge.

What a lovely trouble.

"And where is yours, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"Here."

Now, he is a little bit nervous. The viscount's critical eyes inspect his design with deep concentration. A furrow appears on his forehead as he traces each line of his sketch. Lelouch is a good painter, but he can admit that he is not the best and that there others who are far better than him. But he had been so confident earlier while talking about arts that he is now worried that he had somehow sold himself more than his actual cost. It would be a blow to his ego if the viscount disapproved of his design.

"Mr. Lamperouge," the viscount murmurs.

"Yes, sir?" he nervously asks. From his peripheral vision, he can see that Nunnally and Miss Corabelle are now rising from their seats.

Gazing up at him, the amazed look on viscount's face is slow to register in Lelouch's mind. "This is breathtaking. I can actually see it here, sitting in the middle of this garden, being the centerpiece of this land. A place where humans and nature could peacefully exist together."

"R-Really?"

The viscount nods then stands. He rests his hand on Lelouch's shoulder and gives it an affirming squeeze. "I would like to use this for my gazeebo, Mr. Lamperouge."

"You can use it by all means, sir," is his fast reply.

Lelouch's chest deflates in relief. So this is how it feels like. This is how it feels like to receive the acceptance and approval you are seeking from someone. It feels like flying, like floating on the river. It feels like a lightning of inspiration hitting him, electrifying his core making his nerves buzz, his heart race, and his pride inflates. And with the praise coming from a man who is undeniably experienced and knowledgeable, it makes his words more meaningful and important.

Lelouch likes this feeling. He wants to get used to this feeling.

Their voices fall in his ears like feathers - soft, light, and unnoticeable - as his gaze stays at the viscount with admiration.

If this man is really his father, then he could get more of his kind words in the future. More of his encouragement and support.

If this man turns out to be his real father, Lelouch's worries about being accepted and appreciated will become less and pointless.

He watches the viscount interact with his children just like how he did last night during dinner - with adoration and gentleness.

Oh, mother, he is starting to hope that you are indeed telling the truth.

"Is it the truth that you spoke of?"

Marianne gives her companion an ambiguous smile as she continues to stir her tea. "It is what I believe the truth."

The redhead folds her arms infront of her and huffs. Well, Marianne couldn't blame Kallen. Her claim of Lelouch being the first borne of the viscount is as hazy as a mud filled water. There is no other means to prove that he is truly blood-related to the noble aside from the memory of the night they shared together in the brothel. But still, Marianne wants to believe that it is the case. Especially when she saw the viscount weeks ago and found his strong resemblance, not in appearance but in gestures and expressions, to Lelouch.

"And if it turns out a lie? Lelouch will certainly be punished for it. He can get to prison."

"Oh hush my dear, you're worrying too much. Just think of the wealth he will take home with him once he fulfilled this mission. I will immediately arrange for your marriage and you will have the most extravagant wedding that every woman would get jealous of in this town." Taking a sip of her tea, Marianne flinches at the unexpected bitterness that graces her tongue. She frowns. Isn't this the same tea that she drinks twice a week? Is it already spoiled?

"That is if he still plans to come back," Kallen mumbles. "It's been a week and not a single letter had arrived on our doorsteps. He might have as well forgotten about us after being charmed by the life in the city."

"Ah, is this jealousy that I am hearing?"

Kallen remains silent and continues to glare at the flower vase between them. Marianne adores Kallen like a mother would to her own daughter. She is the daughter that she never have - that she wanted to have. A childhood friend of her son, being with Kallen is one of the few things that Marianne believes Lelouch had done well in his life. The young woman has the ability to keep her reckless son in her leash even for a few moments and keep him away from trouble. She admires the fiery head's tolerance to Lelouch's womanizing tendencies, and despite all the girls who desperately cling to her son and her son being too vulnerable with these girls, Kallen still manages to be one step higher than them. If Lelouch is wise enough, he would stop meeting other women and make Kallen his wife. But that boy is too hard to control and Marianne wonders where that trait of his come from.

"I'm not jealous," answers Kallen. "I'm just worried about him."

"Worried? Oh," she chuckles, realization dawning on her. "You're worried about him finding other women in the city. Well, I can't fault you with that."

"Miss Lamperouge!"

But Marianne entertains the idea. Because what if Lelouch does find another woman in the Britannia estate? She heard that the viscount hosts big parties in his mansion sometimes wherein nobles gather to talk about their businesses and properties. And certainly, there will be young noblewomen who would catch her son's attention.

A noblewoman for a daughter-in-law, huh. The thought does not sit well with Marianne. A noblewoman means another rival for status and wealth. Her family would possibly take interest in the wealth that Lelouch would get from the viscount, and the Lamperouge being a powerless family before is an easy target to strip off of status and identity.

Marianne cannot let that happen. She'd rather choose Kallen who she can easily manipulate with her words and assurance. There should only be one noblewoman, one head of the house in the Lamperouge family and that would be her.

Reaching out, Marianne places her hand over Kallen's and bestows her a gentle smile. "Do not worry, my dear. I wouldn't let another woman take Lelouch away from you. And if you're worried about him not writing a letter, I am sure that one will arrive soon. He knows what I can do if he delays to report to us for a few more days."

Finally, the younger woman straightens on her seat and fixes the rumpled blue dress that gathered in between her legs. A smile appears on her lips as she flips her hand and returns Marianne's grip. "Thank you. That made me feel better."

"You're welcome, but Kallen, dear, how many times do I have to tell you that blue looks horrendous on you?"

Someone is following her.

The unsettling feeling has been with her ever since she left the garden after the viscount called it a day and decided that it's time for an early dinner. Ceci decided to trudge the shorter path (the one that passes through the side of the mansion) that will lead her to the kitchen while the noble family uses the main entrance of the mansion. She had always walked here, when she was still a child, even in the darkest nights and never had encountered any danger. She knows the bumps and falls of this soil like the back of her hand so why does this time it feel different and unsafe?

A menacing presence behind her is what bothers the governess as she walks through the narrow path. Leaves and branches hit her face, almost cutting her skin, but Ceci does not dare to stop walking until she is in the safety of the kitchen. Just a little more steps and she will reach it. There. She can actually see the wooden door. The hairs on her back rise and she knows that whoever is behind her is near. She touches her skirt's pocket and feels the metal through the fabric.

Just a little more.

Almost there.

Almost -

The wind is knocked out of her chest when she is forcefully pinned on the wall, a hand over her neck. Her head hits the brick with a thud and for a moment, she is dizzy.

Another hand grabs her waist and pulls her to a sweaty body of an unknown man.

"You smell exquisite."

A nose is buried in her neck as the man inhales her scent. She can feel his wet lips against her skin and she wants to vomit.

Opening her mouth, she attempts to shout when the hand on her neck covers her mouth.

Finally, the assailant pulls back giving Ceci a full view of his face.

A stranger.

Someone who isn't a residence of the house. His green eyes glimmer with menace under the sunset as his lips curl with such bad intent.

But how did he get here? Her hazy mind registers what he is wearing and immediately concludes that he is a carpenter working on the gazeebo.

"You're so beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off you in the garden. Come on, let me have a taste."

Ceci tries to kick him in the gut but the man positions himself where he is out of her legs' reach.

Her fingers claw on his hand for oxygen is becoming scarce in her lungs and she cannot afford herself to lose consciousness and give the man more access to her body. She hears something tear and suddenly, the cool breeze touches her left hip.

"Stop struggling," the man grunts on her ear. "As a governess, you should be thankful to me for this might be your only opportunity to be with a man. You know how they treat women like you in the society. An outcast. Someone whose status is undefined. Someone who lives with a noble family but is not noble enough to be called family." His free fingers dip into the hole of her dress and caresses her bare skin.

"I want to kiss those lips of yours but you might scream once I remove my hand," she feels him shrug, "I guess I might just do it fast then."

And she cuts his side with her knife. The man staggers away as he tries not to howl in pain. The cut is not that deep but the pain is enough to get him away from her.

"I will tell the viscount about this," she threatens with a trembling voice, knife pointing at him.

The man, now on the ground, laughs mockingly at her and says, "No one will believe your words. You're a woman of no status. Your words are meaningless."

Before leaving, Ceci gives him a couple more cuts on his legs to prevent him from running away.

She staggers to the kitchen door and knocks loudly on the wood.

"Good heavens, Miss Corabelle, what happened?!" Mr. Darlton asks as soon as he sees the poor state of the governess.

Ceci points to where she left the man and says, "He attacked me. I," pant, "need to," pant, "see the viscount."

The head cook motions to the other cooks who quickly go to where Ceci had pointed. Then, Mr. Darlton guides the governess out of the kitchen and to the dining hall.

"I'm not trying to alarm you but there is blood on your clothes."

Ceci shakes her head, her body still shaking. "It's not mine."

The servants they had passed by in the corridors all looked at her curiously and warily. Ceci could only imagine how devastatingly wrecked she looks like right now. Her hair in a messy disarray, dress torn at certain places, and her neck must be red from the tight grip of the man earlier.

She stops before they approach the doorway of the dining hall and tells Mr. Darlton, "I can't go in looking like this while the children is in there."

"I understand," the cook nods.

While waiting, she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the window. Huh, Mr. Darlton failed to mention that her head is bleeding, too. She is wiping the blood with the sleeve of her dress when the door opens.

"The viscount couldn't talk to you right now. What is it that you have to report about?"

And when Ceci looks up, she finds not the pair of old amethyst eyes that she's been used to looking at, but a pair of young amethyst eyes which are uncharacteristically gazing at her worriedly now.

The knocks came when the viscount is in the middle of telling a story about one of his trips in the capital and when Lelouch realizes that scaring the children is not the best way to gain the viscount's trust. Instead, he should make his way to the twins' hearts and make them see him as a doting older brother. If he succeeds with this, Rolo and Nunnally will surely tell the viscount of Lelouch's kindness to them which will definitely make the rest of his mission easier.

"My apologies, sir, for disturbing your peaceful dinner. But Miss Corabelle has an urgent matter that needed to be discussed with you."

It is the head cook, Mr. Darlton if Lelouch remembers it correctly, who he briefly met during one of those times when he was searching for a wine.

"Well, let her come in," the viscount orders.

Mr. Darlton glances at his left and shakes his head. "I'm afraid that she cannot go in right now."

"Hmmm, then it must not be as urgent as it is supposed to be."

"But sir..."

The viscount is obviously irritated with the way the dinner is being disrupted. It is still a puzzle to Lelouch, the way the master of the house treats the governess. Most of the time, he showers her with utmost respect as if she is the best teacher his children have ever had, as if she is a legitimate part of the family. Then there are times like this, times when the governess is not allowed to join them in their meals, times when a subtle look of annoyance or sometimes, of mockery, would fall on the viscount's eyes when her name is mentioned, or even he is in her presence. Lelouch wonders if there is deeper story behind their odd dynamic. There are a couple of possibilities that he could think of but he chooses not to entertain one as of the moment and instead, takes this opportunity to show the viscount that he is a reliable man.

"If it is alright with you, I can listen to her on your behalf," Lelouch offers.

"That would be pleasant. Thank you."

Excusing himself, Lelouch follows the cook out of the dining hall. His practiced smirk is already plastered on his face, teasing words ready at the tip of his tongue. Before he can see her, he announces his arrival and asks of her intention. But his arrogant mask fall completely off as soon as his eyes lay on her ruined appearance.