Going into town had once been a source of joy for Stiles.

His father would hold him on his shoulders when he was younger, and they would cheer on the athletes at the games – regardless of what sport it was. His father loved sports, and he often dreamed out loud about Stiles one day competing, even though Stiles showed no innate talent towards anything but running.

They always had good seats at the theater, but sometimes they chose to view from the standing area just to be closer and get the heat of lamps. A true theater excursion was incomplete unless it made you sweat a little – at least that's what his father used to say. Otherwise, how were you certain the play had affected you at all?

Every other week, someone was having a party – birthday, engagement, debutante, Friday. There was always a reason to celebrate, and Stiles loved making appearances. His father would fuss over him every time he planned to go out, making sure his hair wasn't sticking up or that his vest was tightened properly. He didn't need to know that Stiles usually took the vest off upon arrival. Well, actually, he probably did know.

For as long as Stiles could remember, he and his father had made plans to go into town together at least once a week, and it was always Stiles' favorite day.

But Stiles had not been able to visit town with such a happy countenance in over four years.

Certainly, he still visited town, but it was a quieter affair and he didn't go often. He rarely went to sporting events, and he avoided entirely both parties and the theater. Gossips loved both, and Stiles had hated their whispers for as long as he could remember. His hatred only grew when the whispers became about him.

If Stiles' father were still around…. No, they'd still be whispering. Stiles would undoubtedly be the center of some kind of gossip, but for something silly and mundane. He'd much prefer that.

He'd much prefer his father to still be alive.

'You must have loved your father very dearly. I'm sincerely sorry for your loss.'

The line from Derek's latest letter floated through Stiles' mind as he accompanied Allison into town. Normally, she took the carriage to town so she didn't have to walk alone, but today Stiles had finally agreed to come along. They strolled lazily down the road, enjoying the fall air.

For the last several minutes, they had been walking widely, stepping purposely in front of each other's steps until they eventually swung their legs in sync, first to the left side of the road and then crossing entirely to the right. They laughed when they stepped on each other and when Stiles almost fell over. The game only paused because a carriage came down the road, and it would be unladylike for Allison to be seen acting so foolishly by someone rich enough to own a carriage.

It was during the pause that Stiles' mind had drifted to his own trips into town via carriage, to his father, and eventually to Derek Hale.

He bit his lip as they started walking, normally this time, toward town. "Hey, Allison? I need to tell you something."

"Like what? You know you can tell me anything." She smiled a little deviously. "Did you do something terrible? I swear my aunt won't hear it from me. Can I be in on the plan?"

Such a lady. Stiles loved her.

He couldn't help the smile that broke on his face at her teasing, but it died quickly. "No. I mean, yes. It has something vaguely to do with your aunt. But it doesn't, really."

"Well that clears up the entire situation," Allison agreed dramatically. She leveled him with an unimpressed expression, encouraging him without words to get to his point.

With a sigh, Stiles confessed. "For the last month or so, Kate has been corresponding with Derek Hale."

"Right. But that's not news. Everyone in the house knows that. I think even some people in town know about it." Allison frowned, and Stiles could see her disappointment in Kate – who was probably the one starting the rumors.

"Yes. And I'm sure the rumors cover more of it than she's even revealed to Derek. This morning she let slip that she intends to convince Derek Hale into matrimony." Stiles felt a bitter taste rise in his throat as he remembered Kate's excited words. She had her eyes on Derek's whole life, on his estates and family.

"Well that would never do," Allison said with a frown. "Derek Hale is set to inherit his father's title. He'll be the Earl of Beacon soon enough."

Was it possible for eyes to pop completely out of their owner's head? "Earl?! He'll be on equal footing with your grandfather?"

"Higher, actually." Allison smiled like this was a secret pleasure of hers. "My family may be rich and titled, but the Hale family is more than double our strength in both economic and social standing. Grandpa hates them, so I'm sure Aunt Kate hasn't revealed her plans to him."

"So Kate has a secret too." Stiles pressed his lips together, absorbing all his new information. Then a frown tugged down on his lips and forehead. "But my secret is… I have also been corresponding with Derek Hale. Not as a scribe for your aunt, but as me. As Stiles." He paused to gauge her reaction, which was confused and then surprised.

All she said, though, was, "Oh. That's interesting."

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, ruining the small attempt at grooming he'd done that morning, and then tugged on his shirt, pulling it up from its tucked in position on accident. "Right? He sends me a letter every time he sends one for Kate. They're hidden underneath hers in the envelope, and I send one in reply in the same fashion. I've lost count of the number! Okay, so I haven't. We've exchanged eleven letters each. Eleven! Allison, no one has written me eleven consecutive letters in my entire life, and now Derek Hale has managed it in seven weeks!"

She snickered and put a hand on his to stop its fidgeting. "I understand why you're surprised, but I'm happy for you. Neither of us knows why Kate is suddenly intent on marriage, but you managed to get a friend out of the exchange. You haven't tried to make any friends outside of me in years. This is a good thing."

"But if Kate discovers the letters- Allison, I haven't thrown any of them away. They're in my box in the dresser. If she finds them, I'll be ruined! I should- I should throw them away, right? I should burn them. Then there won't be any evidence." They had stopped walking, and Stiles stared into the distance, his mind fighting with self-preservation.

"Stiles, stop it." Allison pinched his nose to break him from his thoughts, and when he looked down at her, she was glaring. "I will not let you burn those letters. This. Is. A. Good. Thing. I'd noticed your improved mood this last month, and now I finally know the cause. I will not let you destroy the first good thing to happen to you since… well, since you moved in."

Grabbing his arm firmly around the bicep, Allison started them walking again, her steps heavy and determined, as if she were modeling how to walk for Stiles and his unsteady feet.

"Now," she said, a smile returning to her face. "Tell me about this Derek Hale. Is he falling for Kate's advances?"

"I'm not sure. He's civil in his letters to her, and he keeps writing, so it's possible that he at least is entertained by her conversation… I mean, my conversation? But her choice of topics? It's surprisingly complicated. But in his letters to me, he expresses an attitude of indifference to her. I'm not sure what, exactly, his true feelings toward Kate are." Stiles bit his lip. "I mean, I want him not to like her. But-"

"But," Allison agreed, "If he stops writing to her, he can't write to you. That's what you're thinking, right? Well, maybe Mr. Hale is thinking the same thing. Maybe he's only putting up with my aunt so he can write to you."

That drew a snort from Stiles before he could stop it. "Oh please, Allison. No member of the gentry spends his days seeking the attention of a scribe unless he wants to commission them." She started to object, but he tapped a finger to her nose. "But I appreciate your sentiment. You win. I won't burn the letters."

"Fine. I'll take that victory." She linked their fingers together so they could walk hand in hand. "Next time, though, I'll convince you of your likeable personality too. I'm sure it's in there somewhere."

"Ha. Ha."

"Now, before we enter 'polite' company, tell me more. What do the two of you write about?" The way she leaned into him and sang her words, one would think Stiles had dropped a hint about the juiciest gossip in town, but while he knew his gossip was good, there was bound to be some better scandal happening in town. There had to be, even with the new information of Derek's impending title. Still, he humored her.

"Nothing. Everything?" Stiles tapped his lips a few times as he thought. "We started with basic niceties, how his family was and questioning the wellbeing of each other and our homes, but somehow we've begun discussing literature and society. He's a firm believer that what a person likes to read is a good judge of their character. Kate, for example, loves novels that involve a murder and the gossip magazines. Derek says this shows her vanity and affinity for cruel jokes, even toward people she likes. I told him I also like books with a good murder mystery, where investigators untangle wicked plots, but his reply was that I have a curious mind that likes to help others. Kate and I are reading similar material for different reasons. I told him that his theory was more than likely biased."

"I don't think I agree. That is, I can see what you mean. He's reading into both of your interests and seeing what he wants to see. That's what you're saying, right? But at the same time, I think he's on to something. My aunt will read murder mysteries and then discuss where the killer went wrong. However, when you read the same book, you come to me with excitement to discuss the method of capture and all the interesting things you learned. Sometimes you learn gruesome things, yes, but you also learned about different kinds of silk once, and also about the ingredients of bread. Remember?"

Stiles chuckled. "See? I think you're a little biased too. No one else thinks those details are very interesting. My brain doesn't work the same as other people's. Some would argue that makes me just as crazy as your aunt."

"Some would be wrong." Allison pressed a finger into the soft, sensitive area right above Stiles' hip. He jumped away from her, shouting in shock and then laughing from the tickle.

"Not fair," he whined. "Tickling is against the rules."

"Oh, is that so?" She wiggled her fingers in his direction. She made him squeak again just by taking a step toward him, and then they were dodging around, trying to tickle each other, and generally being unrefined and scandalous.

They could joke and play and touch as much as they wanted in private, but as soon as they got near town, they'd have to separate to a respectable distance. Just one more reason Stiles no longer liked going to town. He liked playing around with his friends. He called it healthy. Most called it childish. Allison would say it didn't matter, that she liked Stiles' way, but she always acted on her best behavior in public anyway.

He hoped Allison was right about one thing, though. He really hoped that Derek Hale liked writing to Stiles and wasn't simply doing it to be respectful, like he seemed to be doing with Kate.

A week later, Allison and her father left to visit the school Allison would be attending in the fall. The thought made Stiles glum. Forget about Allison marrying – he'd lose her in a few short months to higher education.

The departure left Stiles with no one to truly confide in. The other servants were always careful around him, even the ones that liked him, and the other Argents basically treated him as though he didn't exist at all. Chris Argent always got a concerned pull to his forehead when he spotted Stiles in passing, as though he were concerned for everyone's wellbeing when Stiles was around. Then he'd quickly turn and walk out of the hall or room. Stiles never knew if he should be angry about that reaction or not.

Gerard Argent spent his days split between two places. Either he locked himself away in his study and was visited by a shady round of people, or he was out of the house on business, the purpose of which Stiles was never privy to. The old man kept no scribe, not trusting anyone else with his business affairs, and he required all the gentleman he did business with to never let their scribes read or write their letters either. The secrecy made Stiles dislike the man in general, but Stiles hated Gerard Argent because of how he treated Stiles. Whenever they happened to enter the same room, Gerard would wrinkle his nose, sniff audibly, and make a comment about refuse.

"I see some garbage never knows when to leave", or "I thought I smelled a disappointment", or most notably, "Should I alert the staff of your impending mental breakdown, or is that scheduled for next week?"

And that was just the verbal offenses. The physical was on an entirely different level.

Chris Argent said very little to Stiles, but he was never cruel. The servants respected him a great deal. But Gerard? Servants feared Gerard. Stiles was no servant, and he hated the man more fiercely than anyone should ever have to hate another person. Although Stiles sometimes thought he could hate no one more than Kate Argent, he was always reminded of how wrong he was whenever Gerard Argent skulked his way through the house.

While Allison remained in residence, Gerard kept his biting comments to a minimum, saving face in front of his granddaughter. But without Allison, the venom flowed, so Stiles did what any man would do to stay sane. He stayed out of the house as often as possible.

He helped the stable hands break in some new foals, staying outside until he was sweating through his clothes; helped the maids wash and hang laundry, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and his arms dripping with suds; and helped the gardeners tend the large and detailed flora that encompassed the whole yard, but especially the left flank of the property. Any task was preferable to being trapped inside a house with Gerard Argent, even a house as massive as the Argent manor.

On the third morning without Allison, Derek Hale's newest letter arrived. The one to Kate was as shallow and devoid of true conversation as always, though Kate seemed pleased enough that a letter had arrived at all. In her reply, Kate discussed the newest play she'd witnessed and had Stiles tie it in to a coy mention of finding love in surprising places. She meant to induce Derek to think of her romantically, of course, and Stiles did his best to drop the hint as often and yet subtly as possible. Kate was pleased.

Derek wrote to Stiles of the same play, though Stiles didn't know until after Kate had left the room. He told Stiles about the folly of loving someone you've known for only a day, as happened in the play.

'If I were ever to fall in love,' he wrote, 'I would want to know my betrothed for a substantial amount of time beforehand. I want to know them for who they truly are. How do they treat their betters, but more importantly, how do they treat their lesser? How would they determine fairness in their county? What is their idea of happiness and do I fit that mold? You cannot imagine the number of married men and women who come to find they have nothing in common with their spouse, only too late for it to make any difference. No, I should know my lover long before I ever expressed a word of fondness.'

Stiles stared at those words for a long time. He felt them in his chest, all tight and hopeful, though he didn't understand why.

'I have never been in love,' Stiles replied. 'When I was in a position to find someone worth caring about, I squandered the opportunity. I paid no one any particular mind, and instead focused on silly past times – such as building contraptions for cleaning my room that never worked, or when I decided to learn Latin despite no one in the known world actually speaking it. When I finally looked up and realized how nice it would be to have someone by my side, I found myself truly alone. Since then, I have seen some eligible men and women pass in and out of my life, but there is some quality they lack. They remind me of myself, blind in the boxes they inhabit. They can't see the people around them for what they're worth. If I can ever hope for a lover, I would want someone whose eyes are open to the truths around them, and who can see past my jaded exterior, for I have become quite the spiny oyster.'

He sealed the letters and handed them off to Reddick with a melancholy heart. He didn't know why he found it so easy to tell his secret feelings to Derek Hale. Perhaps it was the lack of knowing him in person. It was like writing letters to a stranger, to someone who couldn't use the information against him, although he knew that Derek could do so very easily.

When Stiles turned from the entry hall, he found Gerard watching him from the doorway to his study. All fantastical thoughts of Derek Hale fled from Stiles' mind, replaced with a cold and angry sense of dread. He glared back at the old man's disgusted expression and held eye contact as he stepped past the old man and into the opposite hall.

How could one person so easily suck happiness from everyone around him? Sighing in frustration, Stiles stalked from the house entirely, striding through the back yard and continuing straight off Argent property. Well, the whole county was Argent property, but at least he was away from the main estate.

Kate was in town and Gerard was spying on him at the house. Today was a day for a good, long walk. The woods around the Argent estate were not the loveliest Stiles had ever seen, but they were still woods. They reminded him of the home he'd once shared with his father, though the trees there had been closer together and the bushes lush with far more color every spring. The shade of the trees took him back to a time before his mother had left them, to playing hide and seek around the tree trunks. And the cry of birdsong reminded him of the summer his father had spent trying to teach the sounds to Stiles, to only mild success.

Stiles closed his eyes in the safety of the trees and let his mind wander to the memories of his family that he usually tried not to dwell on. The faces of his parents, which usually brought on a wave of loneliness, were happy friends in a place like this.

In a nearby tree, he heard the call of a sparrow or three. Distantly, he heard the sound of hooves and wheels and-

Stiles jerked his whole body when a shriek tore through the trees. A snapping sound accompanied the terrible sound, but the whole commotion lasted only a moment. The woods soon resumed their normal low hum of wind and animal sounds. The shriek didn't leave Stiles, however, and he hurried in the direction of the sound.

A short jog later, he came upon a carriage in the woods. The snapping sound had been one of the wheels cracking in half when it dropped into a large divot in the dirt path of the woods. The shriek had been female, but the source must have taken refuge inside the broken vehicle, because the only people outside were men.

Hearing Stiles approach, the closer of the two men turned to confront him. He wore an officer's uniform, a mix of muted greens and deep blues.

"Halt where you are, Sir. Come no closer to the vehicle," he said. His dark blonde hair was short, and his face was a smooth sort of beautiful. His expression was serious, and it made his eyes intense and stunning.

"I'm not a rogue," Stiles said, a slight scoff in his voice. He held his hands up innocently. "I was just checking on the scream. Is everyone alright?"

"We're fine. Thank you for your concern. You may return to your home now," the officer said, clipped and defensive. The officer was a few years older than Stiles, but somehow it still felt like being ordered around by a disturbingly attractive twelve-year-old.

"Do you need a spare wheel? I live nearby. I could run back and get one for you." Stiles motioned back the way he'd come. Though he didn't fancy seeing Gerard again, he was sure the stable hands wouldn't mind giving him a spare wheel. And if they did, he'd just steal it.

The officer looked about to say no, but the carriage window lowered and a woman's voice emanated from the dark interior. "Let him help, Parrish. We're going to be late as it is, and you know how I hate being late."

"Yes, ma'am," Officer Parrish conceded. He nodded to Stiles, his stance relaxing slightly. "Please. If you could loan us a wheel, we would be in your debt. And if you lead the way, I can help carry the wheel."

So Stiles led Parrish back to the Argent manor, or at least the stable part of it. Together they hefted the correct size wheel across the back lawn and into the trees. Parrish was stronger than he appeared, and he said the same thing about Stiles, which made Stiles like him a bit more. It helped that Parrish looked good with the sweat building up along the hairline on his neck. Stiles did his best not to stare, but it was hard not to admire Parrish at least a little bit. The man just looked really good in his uniform.

When they got back to the carriage, the second officer met them to position the wheel where it would be attached. He'd managed to pry the broken one off by himself.

"My Lady, I apologize," Parrish called out to the woman inside the carriage. "You and your ladies will need to come out so we can lift the carriage and replace the wheel."

"I knew you were going to say that," she said with some annoyance. "Fine. But if you can't manage it between the three of you, just know that I will be showing all of you how to do it properly."

Parrish chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course, My Lady, but that won't be necessary. Your mother would never forgive me if your dress got ruined."

The door to the carriage swung open and a young woman stepped out onto the dirt road. She wore an impressive gown that had no business being in the woods and put most party gowns to shame. Jewelry adorned her wrist, neck, and ears and managed to make her sparkle even in the shade. Her hair, though, caught Stiles attention the most. It was a fiery red and tied up high on her head. Pins and decorations adorned the curls.

Stiles had never seen anyone so dressed up in his life. It was a shock. She was accompanied by two other women, but none drew his eye like her.

"Quit staring," the young woman snapped. "Unless you want me to rip your eyes out."

"Preferably not," Stiles answered. "I sort of like them where they are. Most days, at least."

Officer Parrish cleared his throat and stepped up beside the woman. His eyes drifted to Stiles and he frowned. "Despite the situation, it would still be respectful of you to kneel. Sir," he added, a moment too late to sound smooth.

"Kneel?" Stiles' brow knit curiously and he frowned. Why would he kneel?

The other officer piped up then, loud and annoyed. "Do you not recognize our lady? You're standing before Lady Lydia Martin, The Duchess of Roden."