It turned out that Scott had the right idea. After five years of accumulation on top of an already hefty sum and all the interest, Stiles was well and truly wealthy. Now the job was to not spend it all in a year like some wild-child fool. The house was going to cost a good chunk, but Stiles was confident he would have no other great expenses. It wasn't as if he was a gambling addict or something. The money should last him for the rest of his life, considering he'd have a steady income as well.

The meeting with the architect took most of the morning as they worked out dimensions and layouts, colors and materials. They broke for lunch and then discussed the method of payment. By mid-afternoon, Stiles, Scott, and Allison were comfortably situated in a carriage and heading back to County Posey.

On the journey, Allison took the time to congratulate Stiles, again and again, on his restored title and his family fortune. She was so happy with the circumstances. It was everything she'd ever dared hoped for Stiles and so much more. Not only was he out of her family's estate, but he had his own estate returned and had a real, bright future ahead of him as a proper member of the wealthy upper-class. They could go to theaters, sporting events, and even balls together now.

The idea of fraternizing with other upper-class nobles made Stiles' skin crawl, but he resolved himself to do his best for Allison. His memory of their curious stares and nagging questions and accusatory rumors was still fresh, but surely he could put an end to all of that by reintegrating himself properly. Right? In any case, he didn't plan on going to visit anyone noble or stepping into their midst as an equal until he'd properly reacquainted himself with his county and people. If he wasn't comfortable with his job and role, he'd never be comfortable in a setting where people would ask him a million questions about both.

Part of him still got anxious at the idea of his title, of the weight attached to it. Part of him still wondered if he was worth it all, if he was good enough. Even though his two best friends kept saying how much he deserved it, how great he'd be at it, he couldn't help the doubting that haunted his mind. He felt like a play actor and had to constantly remind himself that he'd been prepped for this his whole life. This was where he'd always been meant to end up. There was nothing phony about it.

Tell that to his stomach.

Mail began to arrive for Stiles at the McCall manor. At first, his heart leapt into his throat with hope, but that hope was soon dashed. All the mail came from County Goodwater. It was all business. The lawyers and barristers who'd been watching over things were sending him reports and documents detailing their work and why they decided on certain outcomes. It was a crash course in the economics of his home county.

Every morning saw more letters arriving at the manor, first only from the lawyers but then from all manner of public offices. The bank needed clearance for funds to be dispersed to certain organizations. The barristers needed judgment on tough cases. Letters of request from local gentlemen and their families arrived, with each seeking a meeting with their newly appointed landlord. Many had known Stiles as the son of a lord, but now he was their Baron and they wished to pay their respects. Stiles replied to each that they could visit to properly introduce themselves once his new house was built and he was returned to the county permanently.

Well, Stiles didn't reply, exactly. Scott insisted on giving Stiles a scribe – his scribe, to be precise. Liam transcribed the same letter multiple times to send to the gentry families. Then he transposed all of Stiles' messages to the common folk. Many letters requesting assistance or describing problematic conditions in the region had been forwarded to Stiles from the working class. It was his job now to settle these common issues if he could – whether personally or by assigning it to a proper department in his infrastructure.

It was all extremely tiring and made his head spin a little. It was a lot like being thrown in the deep end of a pool.

Allison and her father couldn't stay much longer. They'd been visiting for a fortnight when Lord Argent announced they'd be returning home. He couldn't hide the true nature of his visit from his father forever, so they had to leave now.

"What did you tell your father when you left?" Stiles asked, curious. What lie had let them slip out unnoticed?

Lord Argent smiled a little at Stiles. Rarely did Stiles see that guilt-ridden look on the lord's face that he'd been so accustomed to. Now that Stiles was among different nobility, now that he was no longer being abused, it seemed Lord Argent was able to look upon Stiles without the burden of his conscience getting in the way.

"I knew my father had meant for Allison to marry Lord Hale. Since he was clearly off the board, I happened to mention I was friends with a widow and her entitled son. It only took a few hints for my father to suggest I bring Allison for a visit, to introduce her to Baron Posey and see if she was to his liking." He shrugged and cast his gaze across the sitting room, to where Scott and Allison were deep in a hushed conversation once more. "He'll be happy to hear that the affections seem to be mutual. Perhaps not as happy as I am, though. It was a lie to get us into the county to see you, but there is some truth in it now. She seems very happy with him… and as much as it would pain me to ever be rid of her, I am happy for her too."

"So am I." Stiles smiled at Allison, though she was paying him no attention. "I was worried that her constant fear for me would keep her from meeting anyone. Now she can worry about herself instead."

Never in Stiles' life would he have expected to be sitting next to Lord Argent, both admiring the honest, open, happy expression on Allison's face – the two of them aligned in solidarity. It was extremely odd, if Stiles were being honest, but he wasn't about to break the moment either. He much preferred this type of interaction to the ignorance and silence of before.

When the Argents took their leave, Scott was quite despondent. He wandered among his many animals, petting and feeding them in a sort of daze. The weather was dropping quickly these days, turning chilly and even biting at night. Scott didn't notice this despite forgetting his coat. He did notice when Stiles joined him, but it was barely an improvement to his mood. He smiled and tried to keep up their banter, but his mind was clearly on the road with the Argents.

"You can at least write to her," Stiles said, and he instantly noticed the bitter edge to his tone. "She'll write back."

"I'm sorry," Scott muttered and ran a hand over his face. "I'm not being kind to you. It's not as if she left for good, or for another… another man. Is there another man?"

"Allison?" Stiles snorted. "Never. She's always been too preoccupied. Trust me, you have no competition. And she already likes you."

"I like her too." Scott smiled embarrassedly when Stiles shot him a look that clearly said 'Oh really? I hadn't noticed'. "Sorry. She's just so amazing. We think alike on so many fronts. And she's funny too!"

"And she's a master archer," Stiles supplied, trying to overload Scott's brain so the conversation could move on. Scott's eyes widened in awe. "She's heading to a university in the spring, but I believe it's actually here in Posey. You may not be an Earl, but I'm sure her grandfather can find no legitimate reason to get in your way."

"Do you really think her grandfather won't like me?" Scott asked, his face falling so fast it was almost comical.

Something in Stiles snapped. "You don't want her grandfather to like you!" he shouted, throwing his arms out wide and spinning around in the middle of the yard. "He's a vindictive, violent psychopath, Scott! Have you just, what, forgotten about all that? He locked me in the- He broke my-!"

Scott's hands grabbed onto Stiles' arms and he got up close in Stiles' personal space. "No!" He shouted to be heard over Stiles, but then dropped his voice back to speaking level. His eyes were wide with guilt and concern. "No, I- I did forget. I'm sorry. I was just distracted. I was thinking about Allison and I forgot about what happened to you. That was an awful thing for me to do. I'm so sorry."

Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself down. "It's alright. I'm just stressed. I have all of my new duties and obligations and- and then I see you and Allison being so happy and I get jealous."

"Jealous of us together?" Scott let Stiles pull away from him, but he followed him closely. "Did you leave someone behind at the Argent Estate?"

"No." Stiles shook his head forcefully. "In fact, you could say I was the one left behind. Which might be unkind, but I'm trying to be mad at the party involved, so I have to be mean when the opportunity presents itself." He tapped on the fence around the dogs as they passed by.

"Is there any way I can help?" Scott was even with him now, walking as equals. "I could send a man to fetch her? Him? Have we talked about this before?"

Stiles laughed at that. "Only a little," he admitted. "But you've been under a love spell recently, so I forgive your lapse in hindsight. Anyway, I made my affair a footnote in my stories. No need to worry you about something that was over."

"So… jog my memory. Who were you having an affair with?"

Stiles laughed again, because he wasn't about to open the can of worms he'd been trying to smash shut for the last two months. Not even for a friend as kind and concerned as Scott.

The dreams started when the Argents arrived, but they only got worse after they left. While Lord Argent and his daughter had visited, Stiles had dreamt mini nightmares about being back at the Argent Estate. Seeing Allison and her father in the daylight tricked his subconscious into remembering their home – no matter how far away it really was.

With the Argents gone, his mind could drift to other topics at night, but that didn't mean the nightmares left him. He would find himself standing in the ruins of his family home, his father miraculously alive. His father was always just shaking his head and looking disappointed, more disappointed than Stiles had ever seen him in life – and that was saying something. The Queen or the Duchess or some other royal would appear. Stiles would kneel politely, but they were always glaring at him. They stripped him of his title, his lands, and his name. In the end, even his father walked away from him.

If he was still asleep, he drifted into the worse dream – the one that felt too real. He was standing at an alter, waiting in front of everyone he knew and loved, and several people he was meant to impress. The pastor stood behind him, huffing disapprovingly the longer the dream went on. People kept glancing away from Stiles to stare down the empty aisle toward the doors. The dream would run for what felt like hours, no bride appearing to take Stiles' hand.

People whispered and surmised and made new rumors about him. Stiles kept apologizing to the pastor, and to the nobility waiting in the front rows. He was sure she'd be here any second. Something must have come up in the dressing room. Surely a bridesmaid or someone was coming to tell them everything was fine. She'd be here in just a moment.

But the whispers only grew louder. Who was she anyway? Probably left him before things could get too crazy. Pity, it was, that the Stilinski line would end with Stiles since he couldn't even find a bride willing to marry him. Luckily Noah had died years ago or think how sad he'd be to know he'd never have grandchildren.

Stiles kept craning his neck, looking for the woman he was meant to be marrying. He was mortified and embarrassed and ashamed all at once. How could the love of his life not appear? Then he spotted someone in the back row, someone he couldn't quite make out, but they were rugged and handsome and most definitely male, and Stiles' stupid heart kept hoping they'd be the one walking down the aisle. His shame grew, and he stood at the alter, trying to change his own mind about the man in the back row.

He had to marry a woman, he told himself. He'd gotten his title back. He had to produce an heir! Otherwise what was the point?!

But his fiancé never showed up, and the whispers were growing louder, and the handsome man in the back row got up to leave, and Stiles called out for him to stop! Just wait! Come back! The whispers were a roar of noise. He covered his ears, but he couldn't block them out! Why didn't the bride appear? What was wrong with Stiles? Was he to be the last Stilinski?

No! He tried to scream but no one heard him. No, he wouldn't let his father down that way! He got the title back! He couldn't let it end with him! And yet… the handsome man was stepping out of the church, and Stiles felt like he was going to break into a million tiny pieces if he let it happen.

"Derek!"

He awoke with a start and a sharp intake of breath. Before he could take in his surroundings, he was already checking the door. It was not the entrance to the church, and there was no handsome stranger, but he still felt the panic rise in him. He jumped from his bed and rushed the door. The hallway beyond was dark and silent, but he checked down it anyway. There was no one there.

There was no one there.

Stiles returned to his room and slowly shut the door. He fisted his hands in his hair and slid down the door until he was sitting. He'd had the dream four times – each night since Allison had left for home – and every time the panic felt worse. The dream felt more real.

He didn't want to get married to a rich young lady. But if he didn't marry a lady, he wouldn't have children, and then the dream would be a reality. His family name would die off. His title wouldn't be able to be passed down. It would be retired, die off, cease to exist! And it would be all Stiles' fault.

His chest felt cold, his heart beat too quickly, and he felt a headache growing behind his eyes.

He was doomed. The weight of the dream, the reality of the whispers, it was all true. And not just that. The stranger in the back, the man he could never quite see – he knew it was Derek, even without a proper look at him. He'd never have an appropriate family, that much he knew, but he'd taken it a step further already. He'd shoved Derek away. Derek may have not returned Stiles' letters, but Stiles burned that bridge when he told Lady Cora that he didn't want to see Derek anymore. He'd effectively pushed Derek out the door and slammed it behind him!

He'd lived for five years without the hope of passing on his title, and he'd lived for five years expecting to die in the Argent Estate, single and barely missed. But he'd had a taste of freedom now. He'd had a taste of hope. He cursed hope as his head began to spin. Now he had things to lose. Now he had people to disappoint. Now he had a whole county depending on him being able to keep his shit together, and he was going to fail.

And he'd already lost so much.

It hurt.

Panting, he crawled his way toward the bed, his arms and hands shaking. He couldn't tell time. He could barely judge distance. When he finally set a shivering hand on the bed frame, he felt thoroughly exhausted. His brain hadn't shut up, and all the whispers of his dream kept circling on repeat in his mind. Even as he tried to quell them with logic and positivity, they swirled and drowned him out.

He could ask Scott for help as a Baron. He could ask for a letter of writ, assigning his title to someone he trusted – like Allison or Scott, he had all those lawyers on his side. He could write to Derek again.

For what felt like hours, he repeated these truths over and over, trying to quiet the disparaging voices in his head. Slowly, achingly slowly, his body gave in. His heart rate slowed. His head still pounded. How long he'd been in that state, he didn't know. It was still dark outside his window, so it couldn't have been too long. He felt like he'd just run for miles, though. Or swam the whole of the lake.

Fatigue hit him hard. He closed his eyes and repeated his list of positivity once more. He had friends. He had supporters. He had- He didn't have a lover, but he had that option.

Why, he wondered, were his panic attacks occurring more frequently since leaving the Argent Estate? Why now was he suddenly so afraid? Why did his mind wander to the darkest places when he was finally allowed to walk in bright spaces?

He fell asleep with those questions. He was sure he fell asleep, because he had a new dream.

The clock ticked on the wall, and the world outside was quiet. He was still in bed, but something caused him to stir and look over toward the door. Even in the dream, he was groggy, but he noticed that he was not alone in the room.

Derek was in a chair, sitting quietly beside him. When Stiles spotted him, Derek leaned slowly forward, as though Stiles were an easily startled kitten.

"Derek?" His voice was heavy with sleep. Without letting himself think it over, Stiles reached a hand out to the nobleman.

Needing no encouragement, Derek took the hand up into his own and caressed the back of it with his thumb. "I'm so glad," he said in a whisper. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then kissed Stiles' knuckles softly. Glancing nervously down at Stiles, he murmured, "I'm so glad you're alive."

Smiling dopily in his half-asleep state, Stiles slurred out a response. "I'm ssso glad too. Too see youuu." He curled his fingers in without the movement actually registering in his brain, but the feel of Derek's warm hand in his was lovely.

Derek's forehead pulled together in a sad confusion. His big eyes were brooding. "You told me to stay away," he reminded. "You told me not to come see you."

Stiles managed to shake his head, but it only cleared the sleepiness for a half a second. "Mm-Mm." He pushed his hand further forward until he was touching Derek's shirt, over his heart. It was like his wedding dream had flipped upside down. Derek was there, with him, and Stiles didn't want to let him go. He curled his fingers into the fabric. "I missed you. I- I wss mad, but I still… de… down. Wanted to see…"

He felt like he was losing connection with the dream, with all conscious thought. It was like swimming through a fog.

Derek's hand found his hair and began to pet him, which did not help the loss of consciousness. "If that's true," he said, as if Stiles had made any sense at all with his last attempt at speech, "then why didn't you write to tell me that? I would have come. For you, I would have come."

Stiles shrugged lazily. "I did," he mumbled, his eyes unable to stay open. " 's in the… desk."

The dream fell apart. He was swimming in a cacophony of old conversations with Derek, interspersed with the conversations he'd always wanted to have. He dreamt of conversations at the theater, before the mysterious caller had turned out to be the duchess. He dreamt of meeting Derek outside the courthouse and then suddenly dancing with him. The conversation was always the same, some variation of Stiles trying to tell Derek how he regretted not sending his letter, how he wanted Derek to visit, how he was sorry for being angry when Derek was probably just in shock. But he lost connection with each dream before he could hear Derek's responses, before he could catch a glimpse of that beautiful smile.

He woke late in the morning. He could tell by the brightness of the sun through his window despite the curtains, and by the sounds of the volunteers with the animals when he went to open said curtains. Curiosity pulled at him. No one had come to wake him. Surely the morning post had been delivered, and certainly there had been some new mail from Goodwater. Besides that, Stiles was hungry. Would there still be food from breakfast waiting for him?

The house was mostly empty as he wandered downstairs. A few servants bustled about, dusting and ensuring the house was insulated enough for the dropping winter temperatures. One lit fires in all the rooms, and one was rolling out a rug to lessen the draft.

The dining room was empty, but a note led Stiles to the kitchens, where a lovely older lady handed him a plate of food, kept warm by a lid and it's vicinity to the kitchen fire. Stiles didn't even leave the kitchen. He ate while sitting on a counter just out of the way of the maids. They smiled at him, a lord eating so sloppily in their presence, and a few even teased him. They'd known him just long enough to reach a joking point in their relationship.

"My lord, would you not be more comfortable at the dining table?" one asked. Stiles, to his discredit, hadn't learned most of their names.

"I'm fine right here, if that's alright with you ladies. The dining room is very quiet and lonely." He wiggled slightly where he sat and smiled at them. "It's much more fun in here, watching you work."

Two girls blushed and a young porter rolled his eyes. Others laughed softly so as not to offend him. A young boy came to the side door then. The door was sawed in half width-wise, allowing the top to open separate from the bottom. The boy leaned over the bottom half and called out for payment for the paper. The porter hurried over, dropped some coins into the boy's hand, and the boy handed over the newspaper. Then he wished them a good day and hurried away.

"Anything interesting, Alec?" one of the scullery maids asked as she finished scrubbing the breakfast dishes.

The porter grunted. "I mean, Baron Posey is funding a new mill that they asked for two towns over, but we knew that. Uh… There's unrest in Gévaudan. The Earl is under investigation, but the paper obviously can't tell us for what just yet. But the gossip in town is that it's for murder." He gave a snort. "I hope they find something this time. That whole county would do better with a new lord."

"Oh, read the section on marriages!" one of the older ladies called out across the room. "I love me some good old-fashioned romance!"

Stiles grinned around his food while the others laughed. Alec obliged. He read out a few of the marriage announcements grandly, as though doing a performance. Plenty of men and woman were newly wed, both noble and common, and Stiles even noted some same-sex couples getting the spotlight. He laughed along with the others, oo-ing and ah-ing at all the right places as Alec read the tiny stories. Then Alec frowned.

"Ah, hang on, there's a goofy posting!" he said in a huff.

"Goofy?" the older woman asked. "How do you mean?"

"Well it says the groom, but then it just says 'has announced an interest.' That's all the information it gives. What's he trying to do? Scare up a bride or something?" Alec dropped into a chair, the arrogance of the posting clearly upsetting him.

"Now, Alec. Maybe he's not had any luck the old fashioned way. He's puttin' his feelers out there in a new way, you see?" One of the maids came up and poked him in the nose, as if that were an example of putting feelers out.

"Well anyway, some of us are single," another woman said, which was met with a hearty cheer from the others. "So tell us who's in the market!"

Alex, with a renewed sense of excitement, stood up and cleared his throat. "Ladies and-," He paused and bowed his head to Stiles, "My Lord." Then he resumed his theater announcement voice. "The Daily Posey would like all the eligible men and women of our beautiful country to know that Lord Derek Hale, heir apparent to the honorable Earl Beacon, is in the market for marriage!"

The news was met with a chorus of appropriate oo's and ah's, and some asking others who this Derek Hale even was. On his corner of the counter, Stiles found himself suddenly and intensely not hungry. He forced a smile when a maid turned to him for his reaction, but then he quickly excused himself while they were lost in the tizzy of the news.