True to his word, Chris Argent had Derek Hale out the front door by the time the rest of the family woke up for breakfast. Stiles spent the day reading in the library, because no one would let him help with chores. His lie about hitting his finger at dinner had spread through the servants, and everyone was afraid he was straining himself.

No one saw the two lords again until supper, and Stiles was not about to bring up their secret letters in front others.

The next day was the same, with Lord Argent and Lord Hale escaping in the Argent carriage after an early breakfast. Lady Kate was beside herself with anger at the loss of Derek's company. She could be heard raving in her father's study, but Gerard never seemed to raise his voice so none of the gossiping servants could comment on what his standing on the argument was. Kate clearly wanted some alone time with Derek, a chance to speak to him without a family member sitting between them or her father's watchful gaze. She did not get her wish, so they all assumed Gerard's position on the matter was a hard and fast 'no.'

Stiles couldn't read all day again. He'd finished a whole novel the first day and was not in the mood to do it again. Instead, he stole Allison and they headed out to the yard to play badminton. At first she declined, but it only took about ten minutes of begging to get her to relent.

"Honestly, I'm more surprised by the choice in sport," Allison said, starting a volley. "I thought you hated badminton."

"You're not wrong," Stiles said, playing with his left hand and still managing to get the shuttlecock over the net. "But I have limited options, and people will do amazing things to avoid boredom."

"What would you rather do? I mean, if your hand was healed."

"Archery."

Allison missed her volley when she turned her surprised expression on him. "But I'd best you easily in archery," she said, confused.

Stiles shrugged. "Just because I lose doesn't mean it isn't more entertaining than badminton. At least with archery, I can pretend I'm shooting people I hate."

Like Gerard. Or Kate. Or the nobles in his home county who'd laughed at him after the accident that killed his father. Stiles hated a surprising number of people, but he'd also had a lot of time to stew over his anger and bring it to a proper boil. Archery helped some. Badminton, not so much.

Despite using the wrong hand, Stiles won the first set. Allison tied the score in the second, and then they had to play a third set just to find out who actually won. The answer was Allison, but Stiles wasn't going to tell everyone about it.

Two servants helped them pack up the game and take down the net and generally fawned over Allison for deigning to do a servant's job. Stiles was affronted, since he helped out all the time, but the servants just teased that, though he wasn't a servant, he wasn't exactly a Lady either, was he? Stiles, more affronted, said he could be a Lady if he wanted to be, but this just made everyone present laugh, including Stiles after a beat.

He didn't eat dinner with the family that night, because the doctor had come to check up on his fingers right as the dinner bell rang. Instead, he ate with the servants before retiring to bed. The good news was that his fingers were on the mend. Another week, the doctor said, and Stiles could begin therapy to regain the full mobility in his joints. It couldn't come fast enough.

Stiles was already in bed, the house dark and silent, when he realized he'd missed seeing Derek all day. It was almost as if he wasn't visiting at all. Or, rather, it was as if he were truly visiting only for business. But hadn't he said in his last letter than he wanted to meet Stiles too? Had that brief, monitored meeting at dinner been enough for him? Because it hadn't been nearly enough for Stiles.

The third morning of Derek's visit, Stiles woke, sore and grumpy. The doctor had probed and prodded his break the night before, so even with medication the pain was a bit higher than normal. He sucked down a glass of water and the pills for his pain before dressing and attempting to do something with his hair.

Derek wasn't around, sure, but what if he spotted Stiles in passing?

He opened his bedroom door and promptly stumbled in place. Derek Hale, speak of the devil, was standing outside his room, hand raised in preparation of knocking. A covered tray was balanced in his left hand. At Stiles' sudden appearance, he too seemed thrown.

"I," he began but paused, eyes drifting around the whole of Stiles' room. Suddenly, the bare walls and broken furniture were far more embarrassing, and Stiles quickly ushered Derek back several paces so he could shut the door and block everything from view.

Only with that embarrassment hidden did Stiles realize he'd just pushed a nobleman around like a commoner. He flushed and bowed, far more graceful than he felt.

"I apologize, Lord Hale." He stood up but kept his eyes down. "You- uh, wanted to see me?"

Derek didn't answer, and it made Stiles more nervous than any kind of terrible responses he'd been expecting. There was no yelling, no calling Stiles uncouth, no derisive snorting, no nothing. He didn't even turn and leave in silence. No, he just stood there, silently.

Eventually, Derek did speak, and there was a frown in his tone. "I did. Although, I admit, I thought you'd want to see me too, but your eyes seem glued to the floor." He let out a grumpy sort of sound. "Forgive the intrusion."

He turned on his heel and took a step back down the hall, but Stiles had reached out to grab his arm before he could make any headway. Stiles' eyes found Derek's forest eyes, and even his natural instincts seemed to short out. Kate had not been fibbing when she'd called Derek the most attractive man in Beacon.

The two men stood awkwardly, Derek trying not to drop his tray, for several seconds, before Stiles' brain started working again. "Sorry. You think I don't want to see you?" he asked, confused. "You're the one who's been gallivanting across Gévaudan for two days with barely a hello."

"I-" Derek grit his teeth. "I am officially here on business," he said, low and harsh, like he was afraid of being overheard. "What did you expect of me? To shirk my duties and run to your aid?"

"My aid?" Stiles asked back, mimicking the low and angry tone. He glanced around, not sure whom they were hiding from. Everyone, probably. "What aid did I ask for?"

Derek's fingers snapped around Stiles' wrist and held up his newly splinted fingers. "I knew something was wrong in your last letter," Derek said. He was angry, but Stiles didn't think it was aimed at him. "I can't believe Earl Gévaudan would- You're a scribe, Stiles!"

Something about the way Derek was so angry for him, repeating the sentiments Stiles himself had thought, mixed with a deep, resonating reaction to hearing his name on Derek's tongue. It made Stiles' insides warm. Suddenly, Stiles wasn't upset anymore. He gently put his left hand on Derek's wrist, easing his grip until he released Stiles.

"I'll be okay," Stiles said, and it was softer and yet more sure than any other time he'd declared as much. "I'm stronger than he thinks I am."

The heat had gone out of Derek's expression, and he sighed. "I am sure you are, but you shouldn't have had to suffer like this. The contents of Lady Katherine's letters are no fault of yours, even if you are the one to transcribe her thoughts. If anyone should have been blamed, it is me. I led her on, giving her small hopes that I may return her affections one day, when I honestly can't stand the mention of her name, much less her presence."

This conversation would go nowhere. They'd talk in circles as Stiles tried to say everything was fine and Derek became more self-loathing about the situation. He could see them both becoming annoyed and tired of the repetition, but they'd be stuck until someone decided to leave. Seeing an early escape, Stiles cleared his throat and motioned to the tray.

"What do you have there?" he asked.

As though he'd forgotten he was carrying it, Derek stared at the tray in confusion. Then he remembered. It was surprisingly adorable, even on the face of someone so rugged and serious. "I thought I'd see if I could impose on your breakfast this morning. That is, I was hoping you'd join me for breakfast, somewhere away from prying eyes and gossiping ears. I brought the breakfast. You need only provide the location."

"Secrets and food. You know me so well," Stiles mused with a grin. "Follow me."

The Argents had an elaborate garden on the left side of their manor. Hedges rose up around the majority of the property to keep prying eyes out, but on this side of the yard, they were not alone. Trellises covered in flowers created a covered walk, bushes of fragrant buds dotted the yard, and a fountain erupted in beautiful extravagance. It was impossible to see the whole yard from any given angle because of the design of the many bushes and plant-made walls. If ever there was a place for privacy among the Argents, it was here, where the fountain covered most sound and the bushes blocked most eyes.

Sitting in a corner of the covered walkway, Stiles and Derek picked apart the breakfast Derek had stolen from the kitchens. Toast with jam, buttered rolls, sliced meats, a few pieces of bacon each, and even two hard boiled eggs. It was the best breakfast Stiles had had in years, and it was entirely because of his company.

Derek offered everything to Stiles first and offered to prep things for him, messed up while putting jam on his toast, and then realized he hadn't grabbed anything for them to drink. He was embarrassed and apologized for his lack of preparedness, and generally seemed to think the breakfast was a failure, but Stiles greatly disagreed.

"We don't need drinks," he assured. "If we're desperate, there's a fountain. Go dunk your head." He laughed at Derek's pinched, confused expression. "I'm kidding! Mostly."

He felt very relaxed and comfortable there, eating breakfast with a lord, a future Earl. Maybe it was because they were sitting on the ground, dirtying their pants. Maybe it was Derek getting flustered over tiny blunders. Maybe it was the fact that Derek had come to get him at all. Whatever it was, Stiles hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time.

"I admit, this isn't the first time I sought you out," Derek admitted when they were finished eating. He stacked everything back on the tray and replaced the cover. "I attempted to find you on my first day, but you were in the library. You seemed very deep in thought, so I left you to it." He dusted his hands off before setting them on his knees. "And I was a bit worried how you'd react to seeing me. I lied to you, after all."

Stiles clapped his hands together, startling Derek from his pensive monologue. "Right! You came to the house dressed as a mailman! That's ludicrous! Why would you do that? You couldn't just wait a day and meet us all properly?"

The embarrassed flush was back on Derek's cheeks. "I wanted to see the house when it wasn't primed for a visit. What were the people like when not on their best behavior? People put on strong masks when they believe their reputations are at stake, but I told you once I like to judge people based on their treatment of their lesser as much as their superior."

"Well I suppose Reddick failed miserably then," Stiles teased, imagining for the first time what Reddick's face looked like when he realized the man he'd shouted at was a lord. Then he choked on his joy. "O-Oh yeah. You, uh, you met me that day too. I was rather rude to Reddick. I bet that didn't look too good either."

Derek grinned and it looked shockingly fierce. "On the contrary. You appeared in the defense of someone you believed defenseless, and you handled yourself with controlled grace in the face of ridicule. A servant, without being summoned, brought you a towel, and one of the ladies of the house showed intense support of you and your wellbeing. You passed inspection with top marks."

Now Stiles was the one with a hot face. He bit his lip temporarily before managing, "Well the verdict is still out on you, my lord." He cleared his throat and reached over to pull some grass out of the ground, just to busy his nervous fingers. "I mean to say, this breakfast is definitely in your favor, but it is still a shock to know you technically met me before I met you."

His fidgeting halted when Derek's hand covered his on the ground. "Derek," he said. A little grin tugged on his lips, a sweet but fierce smile peeking through. "You have called me Derek in your letters for long enough. You may address me as such in person."

Stiles looked up from their hands and found they had leaned toward each other. Derek was here, in person, and so close. Stiles' silly crush on penmanship was hard to ignore when the writer turned out to be as attractive as this. Plus, Derek seemed as kind and attentive in person as he was in his letters, though he always claimed he wasn't as good as he portrayed himself to be. What a lie.

"Derek," Stiles said, accepting the change.

God, if he just leaned a little more, he could plant a kiss right on the lord's lips. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Derek was a lord, a future Earl. Stiles was no one of rank or title. Not anymore. Even if, somehow, Derek had developed feelings for him as well during their correspondence, there was no chance at a lasting relationship. Derek would need to pass on his title, pass on his name – Derek would need a wife and a child. Derek needed someone more than Stiles – even if Stiles addressed his letters so informally as to 'Derek'. 'Dear Derek'.

"Derek," he said again without noticing. They had both been leaning slowly toward each other while Stiles' brain hashed out why they couldn't be together. No matter how logical his brain was, his body ached to be closer.

Derek's warm hand found his cheek when their faces were scant inches apart, and Stiles was sure they were about to kiss. He wanted to be kissed, more than he'd wanted almost anything before. He wanted it now, from Derek, more than from any dream of Mason Hewitt or anyone from back home. He wanted his first kiss to be Lord Derek Hale.

But Derek stilled their progress at the same time that he caressed the back of Stiles' hand. He looked down into Stiles' eyes, and Stiles saw a similar desire in him, so what kept him from just kissing Stiles? Derek's lips parted, he took a deep breath, his face got imperceptibly closer, and then he pulled away. His hand left Stiles' face cold, and his other hand abandoned Stiles' on the ground. It left Stiles feeling winded, and he actually shivered in the breeze.

But why?

"I'd like to call you by your first name," Derek said, clearing his throat. "But I don't know it. So for now, allow me to call you Stiles." He stood then, gathering up their tray, and let out a low breath. "I enjoyed our breakfast. Thank you for obliging me. Unfortunately, I believe Lord Argent is expecting me soon." He bowed to Stiles – to a scribe, hardly better than a servant. "Pardon me."

Then he was gone, leaving Stiles on the ground.

They'd been having a moment. Well, hadn't they? There'd been an energy between them. They'd been about to kiss. Well, hadn't they?! It hadn't all been in Stiles' mind, made up by his nights of dreaming of a Derek he barely knew. It hadn't all been his own lust projected into the eyes of the older gentleman. Well, had it?

The joy of breakfast was clouded now by the uncertainty of the final interaction. Had Stiles been presumptive? Had he been the only one leaning in? Would Derek now avoid him, as he was avoiding Kate? Two unwanted advances from the same household.

Stiles pressed the heel of his hand into one eye and took a deep breath. No tears today. He was raised better than that.

But he still didn't understand what had happened. And, if he'd truly caused an offense, how was he to come back from this? Had he just lost something on accident?