Stiles cursed and dropped to a squat, cradling his hand. He'd been outside for hours, trying to help tend to the horses, but he couldn't grip the brush or… or really anything. It had been two weeks since Gerard broke his fingers, but the digits still weren't healed. As a general rule, Stiles didn't use his right hand for anything, took his medication as ordered, and drank lots of healing tea. However, today was different. Well, honestly, tomorrow was the different day, but today was practice for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Lord Derek Hale was arriving at the Argent manor. He'd written to Lord Christopher Argent last week, saying his father wanted him to gain experience in business from nearby earls, and Earl Gévaudan was the closest match. Knowing that Gerard would never agree, Derek had instead written to Chris and asked to come shadow him and learn how he helped run the county.

Chris had agreed. And now Stiles was going to meet Derek Hale in person tomorrow.

He wanted to make a great first impression, better than he'd made on paper, but that meant being helpful and Stiles wasn't helpful with anything right now. Every time he tried to do anything, his hand yelled at him for it. Brush a horse? Pain. Carry bags? Pain. Hang up a coat?! Pain!

This was going to be the worst first impression ever. Stiles wasn't even working hard, but the stress and strain, mixed with the heat of the sun, was making him sweat far more than he'd prefer. With his luck, tomorrow Derek would ask him to pass a fork and Stiles would end up on the floor, whining about his fingers and sweating like a sick horse.

That was probably an exaggeration.

"Holy shit," Stiles groaned, pushing himself to his feet as the pain subsided. "Jared, gimme a hand, would you?"

Jared, one of the stable hands, abandoned his own horse and came to Stiles' side in an instant. He looked nauseated. "I don't know how you put up with that stuff," he murmured, looking pointedly at Stiles' hand. "If they ever got violent with me, I- I don't think I could take it. I think I- I might throw up just thinking about it."

Stiles pat the younger man on the back as the boy walked with him to the side of the stable. "It's all good, Jared, so long as you don't throw up on me." He reached for a bucket and Jared jumped to help him lift it.

The bucket was filled with water and meant for rinsing off the horses, but Stiles was hot and sweaty and really didn't care. With Jared's help, he overturned the bucket on his own head, drenching himself in lukewarm water, but avoiding his injured hand. The bare minimum breeze that blew over the yard made the water feel glorious though.

"Ahhhh," Stiles sighed. He dropped the bucket, but Jared still had his hands on it. With a smile, he clapped Jared on the shoulder. "Thank you, Jared. I feel refreshed and rejuvenated, all thanks to you and this bucket of slightly dirty water. Now. If you'll forgive me for not finishing the brush down, I'm going inside."

Jared, flushed, shook his head wildly. "N-No problem at all, sir. I mean, not sir. I mean- Take it easy, Stiles."

"Good man, Jared."

Despite Stiles avoiding the hand in the initial soak, some water was trickling down his arm and getting caught in the wrapping. He'd need to change it soon anyway, and Allison could scold him then. As he walked back to the house, Stiles clumsily fumbled to undo his shirt buttons. He'd managed the top three by the time he stepped inside, and then his attention was elsewhere.

Reddick was arguing with someone. This wasn't unusual for within the household, but it sounded like he was arguing with a stranger. Coming around the corner, dripping water on Gerard's precious hardwood floors, Stiles saw the dark butler motioning angrily toward a mailman.

"I am under orders to deliver it to the scribe of Lady Argent," the mailman was saying. He was a big man, with a good amount of scruff and a pensive looking face. His voice was deep, like he might be angry, but he was clearly trying to remain civil. "If you could just summon him-"

"I am the butler," Reddick was growling. "I determine who gets the letters. Not a simple mailman, like you."

Stiles sneezed. Well, he laughed, but he covered it up as a sneeze. Both men turned and saw him there, on the edge of the carpet, wet. A shiver ran through Stiles, and he didn't know if it was from the attention or the cold.

"Reddick, listen," Stiles said, stepping closer. "I know you like to think of yourself as walking in the footsteps of Earl Gévaudan, but could you perhaps not act like the gunk on the bottom of his shoe for two minutes?"

"Now is not the time for you to insert your ridiculous opinion, Stiles," Reddick sneered. He glared at Stiles' hand. "Don't you need to go cry over your fingers some more?"

Frowning, Stiles glanced down at his splint, then back up at Reddick. "I'm on the mend," he said, but he hid his hand behind his back anyway. "More to the point, why are you shouting at the mailman? He's just doing his job, isn't he? His job is no less important than yours just because you get to stand inside all day."

Reddick sniffed derisively. "I think you'll find my job is far more important than his. And I don't see why anyone thinks the job of a scribe is any better than the mailman's either. You just write a few pretty lines and then spend the rest of the day relaxing, don't you? Oh wait, you can't even write anymore. Maybe we'll finally get lucky, and you'll get thrown out with the trash, where you belong."

If his hand wasn't injured, Stiles would have punched the butler then and there, but it was, so he didn't. Instead, he plastered the fakest, brightest smile on his face that he could manage. "Reddick, if you can't handle your job today, maybe you should leave." He nodded to the mailman. "I'll deliver the letter."

With a great sigh and a roll of his eyes, Reddick did actually begin to leave. "Do as you will, scribe. He claims the letter is for you anyway."

Then Reddick was gone, and it was just Stiles and the mailman. He opened his mouth to speak, but was paused by a serving girl rushing up to hand him a towel. He smiled thankfully and tipped his head toward her. She gave a tiny head nod back and tried not to laugh at him in front of a stranger. Then she was gone, running back down the hall. Stiles threw the towel around his shoulders before returning his attention to the guest.

"Apologies about Reddick," he said, beginning to dry his hair. "He has a self-importance complex. The only people he treats with any kind of respect are the Argents."

"No need to apologize. His actions just show his lack of character," the mailman assured. He was glancing over Stiles, looking for what Stiles wasn't sure. "Did he say you were the scribe? Stiles?"

"Yeah." Stiles pat his face dry and then started on his neck and visible chest. "And did I hear correctly? You have a letter specifically for me?" He hung the towel over one shoulder. "That's unusual. I never get mail."

"Never?" The mailman handed over the envelope, his tone holding suspicious disbelief.

"Well. Not officially, anyway," Stiles admitted with a cheeky grin. He took the letter in his left hand and read the scrawl on the outside that directed it to Stiles, Argent Estate, Gévaudan. Wow. It was honestly for him. Not Kate or Allison or anyone else. For the scribe. For Stiles.

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles realized he recognized the script. It looked like Derek's handwriting! Heart leaping into his throat, he held the letter out to the mailman.

"Sorry. Can you- Can you open this for me?" he asked. The mailman made quick work of the seal and then handed the unfolded letter back to Stiles, who eagerly read over the words. Derek had written a letter to him, no pretenses. He felt jittery with nerves.

Dear Stiles,

I am coming to visit the Argent household tomorrow. It seems Lady Katherine has gotten her wish for me to visit before autumn takes the color from the trees. My father did not miss the way I was corresponding with someone inside the Argent family, and he suggested I make plans to visit so I could learn how Earl Gévaudan and his son do business in Gévaudan. I agreed to make the trip, both on a business and personal level. Learning from others is, of course, beneficial, but I must admit that I am very intrigued to finally make your acquaintance as well.

My hope is that I live up to my title and my own high standards, which I'm sure you know too well from our correspondence. If my appearance or manners disappoint you, you must inform me at once. That is as much a tell of my character as any business decision.

Looking forward to meeting you,

Yours,

Derek Hale

"Good letter?" the mailman asked, and Stiles realized he was smiling.

He cleared his throat and shrugged, doing his best to fold the letter with one hand. "Good enough, I guess." The mailman took the letter and folded it for Stiles before placing it neatly back in its envelope. "Thanks."

"Of course." The mailman handed over the envelope and then cleared his throat too. "Mind if I ask… what happened to your hand?"

Stiles glanced down at his damp, splinted hand. A bubble of anger slipped through him as he remembered what led up to his injury and how Kate and her father had treated him ever since, or actually, just ever. But the mailman didn't need Stiles' life story. He cleared his throat and pushed down his anger.

"Accident," he lied.

A loud scoff drew their attention, and Lady Allison Argent was seen descending the staircase in an elegant yet casual gown. Her father was probably outfitting her for Derek's visit. She folded her arms over her chest and frowned.

"I think he must be asking on behalf of his master, so you shouldn't lie. You work for Lord Hale, I assume," Allison said. She had probably guessed it from Stiles' reaction to the letter. The mailman nodded. "Earl Gévaudan broke Stiles' hand to keep him from writing anymore letters, at least for a short time."

Stiles hissed her name, but Allison ignored him. What if Gerard heard her? And what good would it do to tell the mailman anyway? He'd think Stiles was abused or – well he was abused, but Stiles didn't need everyone knowing that!

"Tell Lord Hale to steer clear of the Argents if he has any intention of engaging my aunt," Allison continued. She was a full head shorter than the mailman, but she was just as imposing.

To Stiles' surprise, the mailman smiled like he wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He tipped his head to the young lady. "Rest assured, my lady. No Hale has any plan to seek attentions from Lady Katherine." He turned back to Stiles, his smile fading and that pensive look returning to his features. He bowed his head again but did not break eye contact. "Good day, Mr. Stiles."

Then he was gone, and Stiles was left feeling winded. He'd been very attractive for a mailman. He'd had the most intense eyes – like a forest in spring.

Allison waved a hand in his face and smirked at him. "Got a crush on the mailman, do we?"

Snorting, Stiles turned away and headed for his room. He needed to hide the newest letter. "Hardly. He was just really attractive, alright? I'm allowed to notice when people are attractive."

He fished out his box of letters and carefully placed the new one on top before hiding the box once more. Allison leaned in the doorway, unimpressed. "Well, prepare yourself then. If the mailman was that attractive, we'll both be blown away by Lord Hale. It's not just my aunt that says he's the most handsome man of their acquaintance." She tapped the doorframe. "Dry off before you catch a cold. I have to go model my dress for grandfather."

Stiles sat on the floor and bit his lip. Maybe Allison was right. They'd heard such grand stories of Derek Hale – and his ass. What if he walked in tomorrow and Stiles tripped over air because he was too hot? Was there any way to prepare for someone being too attractive? Stiles hadn't heard of any. Maybe he was doomed.

The barouche was spotted coming up the drive just after lunch. Gerard complained that Lord Hale must think himself very important indeed to keep them all waiting for so long. His son, however, assured them that coming after lunch was a courtesy – they would not be expected to feed him. Allison was fussed over by servants, who tried to make her look even more beautiful than she already was, but she quickly sent them away with a flustered huff. Her aunt was practically radiating with anticipation.

"Finally," she whispered desperately.

"Don't work yourself into too much excitement, daughter," Gerard said with an angry grunt. "If I have my way of things, you won't see much of your beau during this visit. Can't have you sullying your name and embarrassing the family any further, now can we?"

For some reason, they both shot wicked glances in Stiles' direction before returning their attentions to the windows, where they could see the barouche's progress.

All servants were sent away, taking the remnants of lunch and clutter with them. Stiles, too, was told to leave the room, which he did with no complaint. He was torn between desperately wanting to meet Lord Derek Hale and wanting to never see his face.

As Stiles passed into the study, he heard the footman announce Lord Derek Hale's arrival. Stiles shut the door firmly and leaned his head against it for a minute. Dinner would be the first time they met, unless Kate or Gerard thought of a reason he couldn't attend.

He waited until he heard the sound of footsteps stop, heard the low rumble of an unfamiliar voice in the distant sitting room. Only then did he reopen the door and step back into the hall.

He'd read Derek's letter three times yesterday, and one part had been on his mind when he woke this morning. What if he and Derek didn't like each other in real life? What if they both failed to live up to the version of themselves on paper? Stiles was far more coordinated in writing. What if Lord Hale saw him bumping into walls or tripping over chairs and thought less of him? What if Stiles' penchant for random facts and rantings annoyed him?

Maybe Stiles could just avoid Lord Hale the whole time he was visiting and then they could go back to letters. Except… Derek couldn't write to him anymore. If Stiles avoided him now, when would he ever have the chance to speak to the man again? Ever?

Stiles wandered the house, his mind clouded by these thoughts, until he ended up in the library. There he sat on a comfortable chair and stared at the wall of bookcases. There were so many books on these shelves, and several of them were novels. Stiles had read a good deal of them, since he had so much free time now that he was a scribe and not… well he was a scribe. None of these books gave him advice on how to move forward.

And he wasn't just talking about with Derek Hale, either.

Logically, he couldn't avoid Derek for the whole month, but Stiles was stubborn and could make a good run at it. However, the more he thought, the more he was sure he didn't want to avoid Derek. If this was the way their relationship had to work, the way their communication could continue, then he wanted to explore it. Writing to Derek had been the most exciting thing to happen to Stiles in a very long time, and he didn't want to lose that.

He didn't know how long he stayed in the library, but when he came out of his thoughts, the sky was turning a gorgeous amber color. No doubt the dinner bell would be rung soon. Stiles jolted from his chair and then groaned as all of his muscles complained. He'd somehow managed to not move at all in a very long time – not something he was known for.

The sound of footsteps in the hall drew his attention, but no one walked into the room. In fact, it sounded like someone walking away from the library. He went to the door, but it was too late to see who it had been. Pressing his lips together, Stiles tried to convince himself it had just been one of the many servants, but sitting in silence for so long had made him jumpy and he doubted even a simple idea such as that.

A chime rang through the house. The dinner bell.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Stiles strode down the hall and across the entryway. Lady Katherine met him outside the dining room and fixed him with a serious stare.

"I'd ask where you've been, but I don't really care," she said, then motioned behind her toward the dining room. "My father has placed me as inconveniently as possible in regards to Lord Hale tonight. Lucky you, he put you across from him, where I should be. Since we're letting you eat with the family, don't be an embarrassment. And if you have the chance, you better make me look good. Understood?"

"Crystal clear," Stiles replied. Mostly he said that because he knew Kate wanted him to say 'understood', and not hearing that got on her nerves. As predicted, she rolled her eyes before turning and entering the room. "Great," Stiles muttered to himself once he was alone. Across from Derek Hale – what could be better? What could be worse?

'Looking forward to meeting you.' That's what Derek had written.

It was the moment of truth. Stiles took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

He was the last to arrive. Earl Gévaudan was sitting at the head of the table and making a suitable attempt to seem amiable despite everyone knowing he hated the Hales. Lord Christopher Argent sat to his right, an actual smile on his face as he discussed plans for the duration of Derek's stay. The two seats beside him were empty, but then the quiet scribes for Lord Argent and Earl Gévaudan were seated in the chairs after that, eyes averted from the family and their guest. They may as well not have been there at all. The seat on Gerard's left was home to Lady Katherine, who was straining to look down at their guest around her niece. Allison was stationed between Kate and Derek, making conversation between the two that much more difficult. The spot across from Allison was empty, as was the seat across from Derek.

Stiles approached the table, his eyes staring holes in the back of Lord Derek Hale's head, his feet moving without conscious thought. A sharp clearing of the throat brought Stiles' attention to Gerard, who motioned to the empty seats.

"Finally, the last of our party has deigned to join us," he grunted, holding in the worst of his usual venom.

As Kate had said, the spot next to Chris and across from Allison was empty, but the spot across from Derek was set up with cutlery. Taking the cue, Stiles rounded the end of the table, passed by his fellow scribes, and pulled the chair out. Nerves kept his gaze down, but once he was seated he had no excuse. He lifted his eyes from the shining silverware to look at Derek.

He gasped – couldn't help it – and only the fact that he was seated kept him from falling over. Had he been standing, he was sure his legs would have faltered. All eyes at the table turned to him, conversation ceasing, but Stiles didn't notice.

It was the mailman! Wait, no. It was Derek Hale! No, wait. Derek Hale was the mailman! He wore no mail carrier hat today. His clothes were of the finest fabrics, sleek and shining, but without any fancy adornments. His hair was slicked back from his face and he had shaved… mostly. But that was the same strong jaw line, the same spring forest eyes.

"Are you unwell, Stiles?" Chris Argent asked, a concerned frown etched into his face. His father and sister's frowns seemed borderline upset, but Chris at least seemed genuine.

"I'm-" Stiles swallowed thickly and found himself sucked into those green eyes, unable to look away. He'd lost his chance at the perfect first impression. Derek had already seen him – dirty and soaking wet and being rude to the butler!

But Derek didn't seem upset at all about that. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles' flubbing words and a tiny, almost imperceptible, smirk pulled on the left side of his mouth. Hang on. Was that a challenge?

Stiles cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he said. He glanced at Allison and saw she had a very different look than her relatives. She understood his shock. She'd been there in the hall yesterday afternoon. "I hit my finger a little. Not a problem."

Gerard grunted as the kitchen doors swung open and the servants brought in the first course. "Terrible accident, your fingers," he said. "Doubly so because of your profession. Stiles here is the honorable scribe of my daughter." He directed this last bit to Derek, who hummed thoughtfully.

"You have lovely penmanship," Derek said.

"Thank you. So do you."

Derek grunted a thank you before the plates were set down, distracting everyone. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, however, and the lord didn't miss it. Was it Stiles' imagination or was Lord Derek Hale blushing? He seemed to flush, at least, and he picked up the wrong utensil twice before finally settling on the spoon he needed.

Now Stiles smirked. If Derek had truly been challenging him before, then Stiles had won.

Kate, unable to stand awkward pleasantries between others, tried to strike up a conversation, but it was hard to direct her words at Derek with someone between them. She asked after Derek's parents and sisters, and Allison happily added that she would love to meet Derek's sisters. Derek, perfect Derek, ignored Kate's inquiries to thank Allison for her interest. His sister Laura, at the very least, would probably love to meet Allison. His sister Cora was rarely in the county, however, as she was working for the Duchess of Roden.

"I've met the duchess," Stiles supplied, knowing that Derek was already aware of this. Kate gave him an intense look across the table and Stiles swallowed his planned comment about the woman's prudish nature. Instead he said, "She became fond of the Argent household during her last visit through this county. Her personal guard came to deliver a letter stating so and thanking them for their help."

"For your help," Allison amended. Gerard cleared his throat in warning, but Allison ignored him. "Stiles helped the duchess when her carriage broke down. Very heroic. He brought us into her good graces that day, and deserves all the respect that comes with that."

Stiles didn't know which Allison was trying to do – make Stiles look good in front of Derek Hale or tell her grandfather how she truly felt about his actions while he could do nothing to retaliate. Either way, her praise made his ears burn. The other two scribes said nothing, but he noticed them glancing at him multiple times, and he wasn't sure if they were jealous of Allison's defense or astounded at Stiles' gall for acting like he was part of the family.

Gerard opened his mouth to comment, but Chris cleared his throat and caught everyone's attention. He looked as natural and calm as if there were no drama happening around him.

"I thought we could start your visit with a trip through our part of the county," he said. "It's too late to go today, of course. We'll head out first thing tomorrow. The county is too large to see everything in a day, but I'll show you what I can. Was there any part you had a particular interest in?"

Derek's back became straighter – talk of business reminding him why he was even in their home at all. After a brief period of thought, he nodded. "If we could manage a visit to your poorest neighborhood, I would be much obliged." Seeing Gerard's expression, he added, "I don't mean to insinuate that I expect the neighborhood to be in a bad condition. I simply want to see how the Argents handle the toughest problems of the county, so that I may see if I can implement any ideas in Beacon."

Chris nodded. "I think that's a fine idea, and definitely something we can work in. Now, that's enough business talk for tonight. I'm sure you're interested in more than our politics in Gévaudan."

"I am," Derek agreed, and the whole table launched into a discussion about the beauties of Gévaudan – the forests and wildlife, the talent of the people that lived there, and the many high class families in the area.

Kate mentioned that there were twenty-five families in the county able to afford the luxury of a scribe full-time, and dozens more that could hire one when need be. Her intention was to assert the wealth of the county and show off how well the people were doing, but Stiles thought she just sounded like an ignorant, privileged bitch. More than two dozen families should be able to hire a scribe when needed. She was only showing her lack of empathy for the poorer class.

"That reminds me," Allison said as the servants removed their dinner plates and prepped the table for dessert. "Lord Derek, is it true that your family is in need of a scribe?"

"Can't even employ a scribe?" Gerard grunted under his breath. He'd had two glasses of wine with his meal and seemed half-way drowsy, but it made him no less unpleasant.

The jibe bounced right off Derek. "No, my family employs two scribes full-time," Derek said. "Although it is true that when your aunt first wrote to me, I had recently lost mine. She had been my scribe for as long as I could remember, but her health was failing. We set her up in a fine living for her years of loyal service, and it took me some time to choose a replacement. But I've had a new scribe for about a month now. My father, of course, never lost his."

Nodding, Chris said, "Yes, Lord Hale's letter of request was penned by his scribe."

Whatever was said after that, Stiles didn't hear. Derek had a new scribe. But Stiles had read Derek's letter three times last night, and he didn't remember seeing the seal of a scribe anywhere on it. Did that mean, somehow, that Derek had chosen to write his own letters to Stiles? But if he had a scribe, why go through the trouble?

The conversation that followed covered Derek's melancholy over losing his trusted scribe, his family's annual trips to the coast, and his preference for watching other people dance rather than joining in himself, among other things. Despite the intimate questions asked, Derek's answers rarely stretched past polite. They were given the barest information – nothing like the long answers Derek wrote to Stiles in every letter.

Derek glanced at him several times during the meal, and Stiles always caught his eye. Had Derek truly come on business? Was he always this abrupt in person or would he open up to the Argents with time? Or, better still, was he only open with a select few people?

Stiles wanted the meal to be over so he could talk to Derek in private, but even after the food was gone, the nobles decided to move into the study to talk. When Stiles tried to follow, Kate sneered at him and shut the door in his face. Well, so much for a great first impression. Or second impression.

He'd just have to find Derek tomorrow and really have a conversation with Lord Mailman.