So awhile back some people were asking for Derek's POV when he found out Stiles' was dead and him discovering Stiles was still alive. So I wrote some bonus scenes of exactly that.
The first one takes place during Chapter 16 and the second would take place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20.
The air was damp in Beacon as Lord Derek Hale, heir apparent to the Earl of Beacon, rode home in his carriage. The soggy nature of the ground didn't help to alleviate his tension or general disposition, and that combined with his naturally surly appearance to make him look like the most unapproachable bachelor in all the country. Perhaps in all the world.
Bachelor. He felt the inclination to smile, but it didn't get far. He didn't feel like a bachelor. It was true that he was not publically courting anyone and that he showed no affection for anyone outside of his family, but then no one outside of his family was aware of the letters he'd been writing for the past several months. Few at all knew that he'd gone to visit his most hated acquaintance for the sake of the man writing back to Derek.
Stiles. He was a scribe. No. He was an ex-lord. Goodness, he could very well still be a lord and they just didn't know it! As soon as Derek heard word from his uncle, it wouldn't matter what Stiles' current station was, because Derek would see to it that Stiles received, if not his old title, a new title and all the respect and luxury that could merit him.
He'd barely left Gévaudan – it hadn't even been a full day – but he already missed those eyes and those moles. He pressed his fingers to his lips as he remembered how he'd kissed each of those moles the night before. The feeling of them was gone from his skin, but the memory hung around him like the warmth of a fire. Though there had been no penetration, they'd had a rather wonderful night of sex.
Even someone as imposing as Derek felt the blush hit his cheeks at the thought. Despite Stiles' thoughts on the matter, it really had been only Derek's second time being intimate with anyone. The lord had never had a chance to get that far with Paige – the most they'd ever done was steal a few caresses in alcoves and the odd kiss or two. No, Derek would never admit to who exactly had gotten his clothes off. Partly because he couldn't remember why he'd even done it. Sure, she'd been attractive, but she wasn't truly Derek's type of build. Somehow she'd said all the right things, and the clothes had come off. Derek remembered it like being mesmerized by a serpent. He regretted every touch, and even that encounter had not progressed to intercourse. No, he'd pretend that night never happened until the day he died.
But Stiles was different. Derek felt a hazy joy when he thought back on the night – joy and a definite lust. However he had no time to lull in that state. The majority of his mind was taken up by two much more dismal thoughts.
First, he'd left Stiles behind in the household of two nefarious persons with a history of violence against Stiles. How could Derek have done such a thing? He was leaving Stiles to a life of broken bones and hidden bruises and barely enough food to subsist on. Guilt stirred in his stomach, and he could only console himself by remembering that he could go back. In a few days – perhaps as soon as tomorrow – he could turn right back around and return to Stiles. He had to get the disinherited lord out of that place.
He wanted Stiles to move into the Hale House, honestly. He'd be safe and well cared for and respected. He'd be… He'd be with Derek, and that was all Derek really wanted in life at the moment. Surely he'd remember his duties and his obligations soon enough, but Derek would put as much energy into his fantasies as possible until someone forced him out of it.
Stiles would come to Hale House. They would be together for as long as Stiles would have him – possibly forever? But first Derek had to get him out of the Argent Estate, and he'd already failed that once by leaving.
The second dismal thought was the reason he'd left at all. His father, the Earl of Beacon, was gravely ill. He'd become weak and sick two days before Derek had received word of it, and the doctors weren't sure what the cause was. The letter had said last night was the turning point. Either the Earl began to improve in condition or they had to prepare for the worst. He could pass at any moment. Stiles, whom had already lost his parents, had urged Derek to return home in case the worst should come to pass.
The wet weather did not bode well for the situation, but the reaction of his family when he set foot in the house would be the only clue he'd need to know which way the wind would blow tonight. If their faces were long, Derek would need to prepare – not only for the death of his father, but to become the new Earl of Beacon. The transition would be miserable from his father's death and also arduous in the length of time it would take to complete.
Stiles had lived with the Argents for almost five years already, he rationalized. Even if the worst should occur with Derek's father, Stiles could certainly live a few more weeks in their care without too much incident. Right?
Finally the carriage pulled up in front of the large double doors that led into the main hall of the Hale House. The butler opened the door and assisted him out, but Derek's eyes were beyond him. He was scanning the steps and the doorway, searching the visible windows.
"Vernon, my mother?" he asked, glancing finally at the servant.
The dark skinned man nodded, but his expression revealed nothing. "She's in with your father, Sir."
Vernon Boyd was a stupendous and dedicated head butler despite his younger age in comparison with his predecessors, but his lack of enthusiasm about most things made it very hard to read the situation. Though Derek tended to find the attitude interesting, and sometimes even amusing, it was less than ideal for the current atmosphere.
Without another word between them, Derek strode off up the stairs and into the house. His shoes had barely hit the hardwood when his niece collided with his legs. She giggled and mumbled some kind of gibberish while holding her arms up. Derek lifted the toddler effortlessly.
"Where's your mother, hm?" he asked as he looked around.
"Der-Der," the girl said, trying to say his name and patting Derek on the chest.
Laura, bless her, appeared then in pursuit of the child. "Derek!" she exclaimed, coming over to the pair. She held her hands out and the toddler obligingly reached back. Once her daughter was on her hip, Laura looked back at Derek. "You arrived sooner than we expected."
"How is he?" Derek asked, dread settling in his gut.
The feeling dissipated partly when his sister smiled. "Thankfully, he seems to be regaining his strength. The doctor says he may beat this soon." Then she frowned. The toddler cooed and Laura bounced her slightly while she spoke. "I'm sorry we dragged you away from the Argent Estate. I know you were rather invested there. Did you figure everything out?"
Derek shook his head and the siblings walked toward the stairs, which led to the second floor and their parents' bedroom. "Nothing since my last letter to you. I was still waiting on uncle's response when I got your missive." He frowned too, his forehead drawing deep lines. "I'm glad father is improving, but I still feel uneasy. I left Stiles behind."
Sighing, Laura let down her squirming child at the top of the steps. "You did what you could, Der. And you can continue to help when our family crisis is over. You have plenty of time."
"I know." He wasn't sure why that felt like lying.
When they entered the room, the Earl was lying down but awake and smiling at his wife, who was sitting on the bed beside him. Talia Hale, Countess of Beacon, looked unnaturally puffy – a sign that she had been crying, and Derek felt his heart squeeze. His mother was the picture of a strong leader, always graceful and wise. She was diplomatic and balanced her husband, whom had a tendency to be impulsive and rash. For his mother to be crying his father must have truly come to death's door. But she was smiling now, dragging the backs of her fingers along her husband's jaw. In her other hand, she held her husband's hand and was pressing her lips tenderly to his knuckles.
The Earl and Countess looked up slowly to see who had come to see them, and then his mother was on her feet. She crossed the room with all the grace she normally showed and embraced him. "Welcome home," she said, voice soft but strong. She did not sound concerned or wary. That was a good sign. "How is your Stiles?"
Derek cleared his throat. "First, how is father?"
"Father is fine," the Earl barked from his bed. He frowned petulantly. "I've never been better. I want to go outside."
His wife laughed gently. "I'll arrange for a chair to roll you out later. Rest for now and we'll get some good food in you." Talia pat Derek on the shoulder and smiled conspiratorially. "We'll discuss your adventures when I return."
Then she was in the hall, off to fetch a few servants to assist in the task of getting a man outside when he could barely sit up. Rolling his eyes, Derek turned his back on the door and went to his father's side.
"Seriously, father. How are you doing?" Derek asked. "I feared the worst."
The Earl grunted. "I must have eaten something nasty. I was taken with terrible stomach pains and then I couldn't stay on my feet. Your mother sent for the doctor, but he was useless. Said he couldn't account for my symptoms. He's been feeding me junk for days only for it to come right back up."
Laura sighed loudly behind Derek. "The doctor prescribed him a liquid only diet. You know how much father dislikes soup. But it's clearly working, because he kept down his breakfast this morning and the color is back in his face. And as you can hear, he's back to being sarcastic. I think he'll be alright."
"Good." Derek's shoulders finally relaxed and he let out a long breath. "Very good."
There was more discussion about the illness and the medication being used to fight it, and even some talk of what would happen in the very far, distant, almost too remote future when somehow the Earl did pass on. That made Derek laugh despite himself. His father always talked like that, like he was immortal and nothing bad could ever last in their family. His positivity hadn't rubbed off on his son too hard over the years, but Derek soaked it up this time, because he needed to believe that he would figure out his own problems when he left again.
Food was brought up and they ate together, even Laura's child and husband joined in. Laura had married a Viscount, always the example of living up to your full potential, and had a beautiful daughter from it. The toddler was eager to grab anything within reach and provided a much needed levity to the whole situation.
After eating, Earl Beacon was too tired to follow through on his plan to go outside. His illness was still with him, though his stomach let him eat again. The rest of the party dispersed and congregated in the sitting room downstairs.
"Now tell me about your man," the Countess said, sitting her son down on the smaller couch so that he couldn't back away from her or escape her inquiries.
So Derek talked. It was impossible to keep the attention of a toddler, but he knew the other three sets of ears were paying attention, even when the parents had to look away to watch the baby. He told them about riding with Stiles and how they had to meet in secret because the Argents would abuse Stiles if they found out. He tried not to linger on the details of the abuse, knowing full well that Stiles hated being gossiped about, and instead focused on how the servants seemed to like Stiles – at least most of them. A few gave him a wide berth, like his station in life was contagious.
Laura and his mother asked endless questions, with eager voices and open expressions. His brother-in-law just asked how long until Peter's letter would arrive. It was a good question, and not one Derek could answer. The letter would undoubtedly arrive at the Argent household and need to be forwarded. That or Stiles could hold onto it for him until his return, like collateral. The idea was kind of… cute. Derek tried not to smile about it.
Laura and her family departed for the night when it became obvious that their little girl was too tired to be practical. Derek gave them each a hug, and a kiss on the head for his niece, and then they were gone. His mother stood then too, a tired sigh seeping out of her.
"Perhaps we should all retire," she suggested. Try as she may, she couldn't hide the teasing grin that wanted to pull across her face. "I believe your father will wake up and pout about missing out on the gardens soon enough, and you are late for a pleasant dream about your little ex-lord."
"Mother," Derek scolded. "He's not mine… I mean, I haven't asked him to be mine… yet." Great. Now he was blushing again.
His mother chuckled and gently placed her hands on his cheeks, the way she used to do when he was a child. "And what exactly are you waiting for?" she asked. "An invitation?"
"I…" Derek couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure, he knew he loved Stiles already and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the younger man, but he'd thought his parents would put up more of a fight about it. "I wanted to get yours and father's blessing first."
"Consider it given." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Your father and I have been discussing the possibility of your choice since you left. We knew it had to be serious if you were willing to be in the same house as Lady Katherine Argent for a month."
It felt a bit like self-sabotage, but Derek had to say it anyway. "He has no prospects. He's virtually a commoner. In a way, it'll be like stealing from the Argents."
Talia Hale laughed loudly once. "That's almost better than a title," she joked, then sobered. "Derek, there are other ways to keep our title and lands in the family. We want you to be happy. You haven't been happy in such a long time."
Derek covered his mother's hands with his own. "I've been happy here with you and father," he said.
Pursing her lips, the countess shook her head. "No, my dear. You were existing. You were playing a role, fulfilling a duty. Watching you regain your vigor for life, even when it was just an interest in the morning post, has been such a joy for me. I will not let you fool yourself into thinking your duty must stop you from following your heart."
She was so well spoken and so kind. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it as 'I love you'. She smiled at him, and he knew the message got through.
The whole household was woken up the next morning by an absurdly early postal delivery. Even the servants were barely stirring when the bell rang again and again and again. By the time Boyd got to the door, Derek was awake and lazily pulling on his clothes. Only important messages were sent so early – as in, from someone in the royal family or emergencies in the county. As the heir apparent, Derek was used to the responsibility of answering these letters, or at least delivering the message to his father. With the Earl's current state, Derek would likely be in charge of the whole process.
Still, it was absurdly early, and Derek had just been in the middle of a wonderful dream. Whomever had sent the missive had best be someone truly important, or Derek may be tempted to make the process take longer than required… as revenge.
Boyd met him on the staircase, letter held up for his inspection.
"Thank you," Derek murmured, speaking softly to hide the sleepy rumble in his voice. He just wanted to go back to bed, where he could continue dreaming he'd brought Stiles home with him.
Boyd nodded and left him standing on the stairs. Lazily, Derek leaned on the banister and pried open the letter. It bore the seal of a scribe and came from the Argent Estate, but the writing was unfamiliar to him. Not Stiles then. Perhaps Gerard's scribe instead?
To Lord Derek Hale,
I write to inform you that a letter arrived for you at the Argent Estate from your uncle. It revealed the deception you tried to pull on our honorable family, and we are all sickened by your audacity. Of course, you are no longer welcome within our borders, by order of the Earl. If anyone recognizes you, or anyone in your family, in Gévaudan without an express invitation, the offender will be detained indefinitely. We hope we have made ourselves clear.
Do not bother coming to retrieve your lying lover. He has been dealt with in a manner that suited his many offenses. His blood repainted the lower landing, and his body has already been taken from the house. What ditch he's in now, we do not know, nor do we care. Were it not for your station, I assure you, you'd be joining him. For the disgusting sham you pulled, you'd deserve it. Twisting the arms of our Lady and Earl, fooling them into believing you were an honorable, upstanding lord, and all the while using them as mules. It's downright disgraceful.
If you're considering taking this letter to the court, know that the Earl has no part in its writing. You cannot prove or disprove anything written, and in the court of law my words would hold no water. I work for the betterment of the Earl, and my loyalty will not be swayed. I spit on you, though, Lord Hale. I spit all over your name and hope this brings you pain.
La Loba
Derek didn't hear anything when he hit the stairs, and he didn't see anyone who came to check on the sound either. He just kept rereading the lines. 'His blood repainted the lower landing, and his body has already been taken.' No. No it couldn't be true.
"What's happened?"
Jerking his head up, Derek came eye to eye with his mother. She was bent over him on the steps, where he'd collapsed. He tried to speak, but it felt like the air had been stolen from him. In his hands, the letter shook. After a heavy swallow that felt like it got lodged in his throat, Derek managed air.
"We- We need to send someone to the Argent Estate," he said, trying to sound in charge but only managing a whisper. "Send a- a doctor. Maybe?"
Brow knitting together, the countess took the letter for herself. He watched her eyes scan the page, watched her frown deepen and bore into her usually lovely features. And all the while, he just kept thinking back to Stiles on the steps when he was leaving. Stiles had smiled, but Derek had barely risked a glance at him. Was that to be the last time he ever laid eyes on Stiles? That nervous half glance through the crowd of other nobles? No, it wasn't possible. Stiles couldn't-
His mother was up and calling for Boyd. Derek's hand numbly curled around a post in the banister, but his mind had not cleared yet and so he lacked the senses needed to stand. He stared at nothing, his mind reeling.
'I won't hold it against you if you don't come back.'
But Derek was coming back! He was going to get Stiles out of that house, no matter the cost, and- He wanted to keep Stiles safe and- Stiles couldn't be gone. He couldn't be gone. The letter had to be a trick.
When his mother returned and tugged on his arms, Derek allowed himself to be led down the stairs. He shook his head. "Who is La Loba?" he murmured. "I don't recall a La Loba there."
"Sit down, my dear," Talia said, easing him onto a couch. "I've dispatched a man to the estate on our fastest horse. He will surely return by tonight and we will know the truth of the matter."
"It was Earl Gevadan," Derek growled lowly. "If anyone's hurt Stiles, it was him. If he's broken a single bone, I'll-"
The countess wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him close. She hushed him gently. "No need for that. Not yet." Her fingers were in his hair, but they didn't calm him. "But if the worst should come… I'll write to the queen directly. Someone must finally hold that man accountable for his actions."
If need be, Derek would raise his own army for the cause. But with his heart slamming anxiously in his rib cage and his mind spinning, he couldn't fathom how he'd even begin. For now he could only wait and pace and hope the messenger brought back good tidings.
Food held no appeal for Derek in his nervous state. Even the decadent spread they had laid out for dinner tasted like sawdust on his tongue. His eyes were constantly drawn to the sky outside. The sun had set and left barely a glow behind it. The messenger had not returned.
In the drawing room, he sat at the desk and rubbed his fingers across his aching forehead. He should have gone to the estate himself. Damn the need for propriety and sending word. He should have been the one to make the ride. And damn the logic that tried reminding him that he had not been fit for riding that morning and that the letter threatened any attempt.
God, he shouldn't have left Stiles behind. He should have come up with some excuse to bring him home. Anything! Or otherwise met him on the road and secreted him away. Damn all this waiting as they tried to do things the legal way. The Argents never waited.
As the sky became black, Derek could hear Stiles in his mind. 'I'll be okay,' Stiles said. 'I'm stronger than he thinks I am.' Damn, how many times had Stiles repeated those words? 'I'm okay.' 'I'm fine.' He wasn't fine at all! He was in pain, and he was on alert every moment of the day!
Derek had seen it every time they snuck away together. Stiles was always listening for eavesdroppers and keeping an eye out for movement. The only time he'd noticed Stiles just relax was… His chest hurt. The only time Stiles seemed relaxed was when Derek was kissing him in that dark study, and then again that last night when they'd had sex. He could take Stiles' mind off that terrible place, but it wasn't a fix.
Damn, why had he left him behind?
The knock came just after Laura retired to bed, so Derek answered the door. It was the messenger. He was breathless in haste, and his horse was ragged on the path. The countess waved the servants in its direction, and they instantly ran to tend to the beast. Derek had eyes only for their servant.
"Well?" he asked after giving the man plenty of time to catch his breath.
The man gave a brief shake of his head. "My apologies, my lord," he began, and Derek already felt his foundations crumbling. "I asked all around and everyone says the same thing. There was a great argument following the arrival of the post yesterday, just before lunch. They could hear the Earl and scribe shouting. But by the time anyone arrived on the scene, it was too late. Lord Argent took charge of… of moving the body, my lord." The manservant winced, noticing the expression on Derek's face that even Derek couldn't spare attention to. "My deepest condolences. I-"
Derek waved the man off but then turned and walked away first.
He held his breath until he reached the study, then locked himself inside. Only then, alone in the dark, did he choke. His knees hit the rug in the center of the room, and he shook his head back and forth. No. No, no, no.
'I just need a moment. Just- Just don't go anywhere, alright?' He remembered the squeeze of Stiles' hand in his as they sat against the stables.
Don't go anywhere. Don't go. "Don't go," Derek said in what little breath he could manage.
He couldn't handle it. His mind tried to conjure an image of Stiles' lifeless body being carried out, of the servants forced to clean up the blood, of Stiles being beaten to death. Every vision fell apart before it had halfway formed. He couldn't handle it.
Derek grabbed at his chest and gasped for air. This was entirely his fault. He'd written to his uncle, and it was his uncle's response that had led to the beating. He should have known his uncle had no tact, that he would not be careful with his words. And he should have known the Argents would not respect his privacy. He'd brought this pain, this outcome on Stiles.
Stiles' death was entirely his fault.
He cried in the dark study, and for two days following could not be prevailed upon to be of any use to anyone.
Several Weeks Later.
The days had begun to blur. Derek was functioning. Derek was doing his job. Derek felt hollow.
After their father had regained his strength, Laura and her family had returned to their own country home, but not before Laura gave Derek the longest embrace he could ever remember receiving. By then Derek had extricated himself from solitude, but he was not the man he'd been before the news, or even the man from before the letters from Stiles had begun. He was despondent, even when he tried to smile for his family. He'd never been so reclusive and hard to speak to. Even servants who liked him a fair bit more than they should stayed out of his way.
But at least he was functioning. Right?
"I'm trying," he said one day when his father found him in the study again. Derek's head rested in one hand, the other holding a pen.
"I know," the Earl said, not unkindly. "And I know I'm not as eloquent as your mother, but I'll try too. Derek, you're doing a marvelous job as my second, but you must understand that grief will not leave you simply because you try to ignore it. When my father died, well… Sometimes it still overwhelms me."
"Grandfather died twelve years ago," Derek mumbled, confusion clouding his brow. His eyes were on the document before him, but his mind was doing the math. If his father still ached for his grandfather, then-
The Earl nodded solemnly. "Yes. Loss never truly leaves us be," he said. He was standing much like a soldier, as if the posture would give him strength. "You can't prepare for that, but I wanted you to know. So… – So don't try to rush the process. You're doing a fine job."
It wasn't rousing or even particularly helpful, and yet Derek responded with, "Thank you, father." He knew the man meant well, and maybe those words would be a comfort later in life. For now, it was hard to think of a time when his every empty moment wasn't filled with grief and guilt.
"Yes, well, that's not all I came in to speak to you about," the Earl admitted. He rubbed his nose, a sure sign of his embarrassment. But embarrassed about what? "A reporter is due to visit today. I've been meaning to warn you, but the timing never seemed quite right. His report is about the county affairs – how public works are coming along, any new additions to the Hale family, that sort of business. It shouldn't be too painful, and we'll all be sitting for it together. That being said, if any of the questions are too much for you, your mother or I will take charge of them. And by that, I mean your mother. She's better at noticing that sort of thing."
That sounded more like his father, and Derek actually managed to smile. "Thank you," he said again, meaning it this time.
Speaking to a reporter was not something he enjoyed much on a regular day, and he only assumed it would be worse in his current mental state. Still, it was part of the job and he couldn't avoid it.
These days, Derek preferred to work as much as possible. It kept him distracted. However, in preparation for the reporter, he finished up early and went to become presentable. One servant drew his bath while another helped him choose an outfit. When he finished bathing, he was helped into his clothes and even handed the comb he used to fix his hair. All of the help was normal, of course, but ever since returning home from the Argent Estate, Derek took more notice of all the luxury afforded him by his position and wealth. These were luxuries Stiles had not had, perhaps even when he had been the son of a Baron. Had Stiles known the title was still his, he may have preferred to do many of these menial tasks on his own anyway.
Derek glanced to the desk in his room, where a note from his uncle was still folded up on the corner. It had been there for weeks: the letter explaining that Stiles had never lost his title, that his imprisonment – er, employment – with the Argents was a sham. It was the letter mailed to the Argent Estate, which had eventually been forwarded, seal broken, to the Hale House. The lord sighed.
As usual, Stiles haunted his wandering thoughts. He needed to get a handle on things if he was to be coherent during the interview.
As Derek descended the stairs, a knock came at the door. Boyd answered it and graciously accepted the letter from a postman. The dark man's eyes scanned the address as he shut the door, and when he looked up he saw Derek stepping onto the bottom floor.
"Perfect timing, my lord. A letter for you." He held the envelope out.
"Thank you." Derek took it in his hands and banished the worry that accompanied the motion. The last time he'd gotten a personal letter, it held terrible news. But this time he did recognize the script. It was from his sister Cora.
Dear Derek,
You will never believe what I'm about to tell you, but I will tell you anyway. My lady heard a rumor recently about a particularly talented actor residing in County Posey, so we travelled south to see the man in action. At the conclusion of the play, she sent for him and offered him to audition for the royal theater troupe. But that is not the point of my letter, obviously. You don't care about some actor.
What will entice you, brother, is that I spotted a very familiar face in the local Baron's box. Believe that I would never lie to you. It was your scribe, Stiles! He walked with a slight limp, but he was most certainly alive! The many reports of his demise are obviously exaggerations!
Of course, I had my lady send for him, and I threatened to end his life myself because of the pain he's put you through. Be proud of me that I restrained myself, because it was not easy. He claims to have been writing to you this past month, but we both know you have received nothing. I'm not sure if I believe him. I do, however, believe his anger when he got defensive about you. He believes you have slighted him and told me to deliver a message to you.
I'm sorry, Derek, but he does not want to see you. It is his wish that you do not come to Posey to see him. I would suggest you write to him, but I'm not familiar with his temper. Would he consider that against the order not to visit? If it were me, I'd write either way. If it were me, we both know I'd go anyway. But I know you, and you won't go against him. You're a fool, but I understand where you're mind is at. Even if you can't go to him, I needed you to know that he is alive.
Stiles isn't dead, Derek. He survived Earl Gévaudan. Don't be a fool forever. Take this second chance for what it is before I must kill both of you to spare the world of your idiocy.
With Love,
Cora Hale
P.s. Another odd note. I swear when we last wrote, you said our uncle discovered Stiles was a Baron. He was dressed fine enough for the position at the theater, but he acted as though any sort of noble address was inaccurate. Either your scribe is the most humble man in existence (unlikely) or he still has yet to be informed of the news. Perhaps you should visit and enlighten him. I'm certain that would shock him twice over.
Derek couldn't breathe. He tried to read the whole letter over again, to make sure he hadn't missed anything, but his eyes kept jumping to the end where the revelation was short and simple. 'Stiles isn't dead.'
Stiles wasn't dead! He was alive and in Posey! If the letter had not been from his sister, he would have doubted every word, but Cora was not a joker and she was the only other Hale to have seen Stiles in person. If she said it was Stiles, then he believed her.
He had questions about many things Cora wrote: Stiles wrote letters? He had a limp? What was he wearing? Did he look healthy? Happy? Who was he with? Where was he living? – But he didn't have time to write a response, and he couldn't concentrate to pick out the more important questions anyway. His mind buzzed with elation, a level of which he had not experienced in weeks.
Stiles was alive.
He covered his face with his hand, trying to hold himself together when he wanted to burst into rays of sunlight, but he left his eyes unobstructed. He needed to read the words a few dozen more times. He wanted to soak them into his soul.
"Are you alright, dear?" His mother stepped up to his side, concern on her face. When Derek pulled his hand away, she saw the smile trying to crack his face in two and her worry turned into surprise. "What on Earth-?"
Derek handed the letter over, but he spoke before she could actually notice anything but the handwriting. "Stiles is alive," he said.
The countess gasped. "For certain?"
"Cora swears it to be true. She's spoken to him." His stomach was knotting with excitement and he ran a shaking hand over his face.
"Well this is wonderful news!" His mother moved to embrace him but he shook his head to stop her.
"No. I mean yes, it is. But he doesn't wish to see me." One problem was replaced by another. Why was life so complicated? He shook his head again. "Never mind that. This is brilliant news. After the interview, I'll send out some inquires. I'll… I'll come up with a plan of action."
His mother reached up and cupped his cheek. "That's my son," she said fondly. "Win his heart back. And this time, bring him home to meet the family."
"As you command, Mother," he said fondly.
The reporter arrived a few minutes later, and Boyd led the man into the sitting room. The Hales residing in the house were relaxing there, waiting – Derek in a chair and his parents sharing the couch. They were thanked for their time, precious as it was, and then the questions begun without further ado. All three Hales took turns answering questions – Derek with more interest and vigor than anyone had expected.
Then came the section of questioning the elder Hales had dreaded originally.
"Lord Hale, you're set to inherit, am I correct?"
"If my father were to leave us, I believe I am ready to take over his duties. But hopefully that will not be for many years." Derek glanced at his parents, and his father gave a self-satisfied nod.
"Of course, of course. But with all due respect, Sir, you're not getting any younger either. You have recently celebrated your thirty-second birthday, if I'm not mistaken. Are you not courting? Plans for marriage? Could there be a countess in the near future?" The weasel of a man leaned precariously forward on his seat, his every attention on Derek.
Normally the questioning would have grated on Derek's short nerves, but today was different. His mind instantly swirled back to the letter from his sister. 'Stiles is alive.' If he could win Stiles' affections again, there was every possibility that Stiles could join their household for good. Derek had already received his parents' approval.
He smiled slightly, his eyes not seeing the reporter. "I do have my mind on marriage these days," he admitted. His father badly hid a surprised choke as a cough. No doubt the statement came as a surprise from his lately despondent son. Derek had neglected to update his father before the interview. Oh well. His mother was smiling.
The response sent the reporter into a tizzy of excitement, and he scribbled something furiously on his paper. "Ah, and may I inquire as to the lucky lady, or- or lord?"
"You may not," Derek responded, easy going. "And I would request that you not speculate either. I assure you, no one you ask will have any useful information on the subject."
No one outside of his family knew of his affections for Stiles, and most had no knowledge of the scribe to begin with. Derek had heard no new information about county Goodwater, so even over there people were uninformed.
The interviewer asked a few more questions, trying to gain insight into the matter, but Derek was short and unhelpful in his responses. Eventually the questions returned to the current Earl and Duchess and their business ventures. This allowed Derek to sit and soak in the information of Stiles' exaggerated death.
Stiles did not yet know he was a Baron. Soon, however, someone would tell him, because someone was clearly priming him for society if he was dressed as a gentleman at the theater. Perhaps once he was healed from whatever gave him the limp, perhaps when he was more settled, perhaps a lot of things needed to happen first, but eventually that someone would tell Stiles the truth. Stiles would go to reclaim his county, his inheritance, his birthright.
And Derek would be there to help. He made a mental note to discover how county Goodwater was currently operating. Then he, or maybe his father, would write a letter to whomever was in charge. When Stiles went to claim his property, the good word of an Earl would help smooth the complaints and show Stiles had support.
Derek smiled. An Earl's word would, indeed, be nice, but he could think of one thing better. Stiles had helped a duchess, a duchess who was now aware of Stiles' lineage and title. If an Earl's word could ease a transition of power, a Duchess' word could silence all objections and ensure the transition completely. When this interview was over, Derek would write back to his sister and to Duchess Roden as well.
He had a lot to do, and he wasn't sure how long he had to do it. But Stiles was alive, and he wasn't going to let that opportunity pass by. He'd failed Stiles before. Now it was time to do everything in his power to help him.
And if Stiles still had feelings for him… that would just make everything that much brighter.