Ciel had not been entirely eager to talk with his uncle last night, but Sebastian deemed Alexis a worthy mentor anyway. How could he not have recognized it sooner? Though Francis was the definition of order and class, Alexis was a father figure, a graciously warm man who would be happy to sit one-on-one with Ciel and illustrate the truths of adulthood. At any rate, he seemed to embody all the qualities that Tanaka said would most benefit Ciel at this stage.

Sebastian would make certain to speak to the marquis about his newfound duty come sunrise. But before that, there was shopping to be done.

Peverel's Honor was stocked with only non-perishables, and even that supply was meager. There was sugar, but none of it brown, olive oil, but not extra-virgin. Because the Midfords had not intended to stay this long either, the house was almost empty of food: only bread, eggs, and eight rashers of bacon remained for breakfast. This would all have to be remedied, and it could be done much more quickly on Sebastian's own.

Before leaving for Oxford's market, Sebastian lit a fire in the fireplace of the house's hunting lodge-style main room. Ciel and the Midfords considered the antlers and redwood paneling a bit tacky, and only seemed to keep it that way for posterity's sake — Ciel's great-grandfather had been an avid hunter. The family spent very little time in that area, despite how large of a space it was. The reason for the fire was not so much to warm the room as it was to heat up the flat iron so that Sebastian could properly tend to Ciel's clothes on his return. He balanced the iron above the flames on its proffered hanger, and then he was out the door.

Sebastian was at the early market when the sky had gone from amethyst to rich pink. He bought a pork shoulder that was just the same in color. Then he bought rump steak and chicken liver and ground sausage, and slid coins to the butcher until it was clear he wouldn't leave without the lamb chops that most resembled jasper marble. He purchased the whitest milk and a brick of yellow butter and a mature pale cheese. Then there were jars of pickled pearl onions, full to bursting, and great, earthy potatoes, and baguettes that crackled beneath the gentlest fingertips. There were brown eggs and imported sherry and a bundle of thyme like a bouquet. The farmers at their stalls marveled at this butler, whose master had clearly instructed he buy nothing less than the finest goods. What was especially impressive was that the man carried all this food in a crate in his arms, as if it were no more than a box of orphaned kittens…

Back home in the kitchen, Broglie, Paula, and Hammond watched in equal awe as Sebastian turned this treasure trove of ingredients into pâté, scotch eggs, Cornish pasties, pork pies, hot cross buns, and quiches, all before eight o'clock. "Be certain that these keep cold and these keep warm," Sebastian directed the Midford staff, "while I see to it that breakfast is made."

Paula returned to Sebastian's side while he fried yolk-drenched bread in a pan. "We cannot thank you enough for all of your help this morning," she said, in a voice made both light and heavy with relief. "None of us have proper kitchen experience, and we were worried when we discovered the Midfords wanted to stay till Easter Sunday. We knew few restaurants would be open that day to accommodate them, and those that were would be full. We were completely uncertain about how to proceed with meal preparation during their extended stay. Your presence here is truly a godsend, Mr. Michaelis."

Sebastian smiled in a way that could pass for appreciation, instead of the amusement that it was. "What I find most curious are the circumstances that have led the Midfords to remain in Oxford this long. Last night's party and today's cricket match — it surprises me that the marquis and marchioness were not properly informed of these events before they arrived."

"That was the truly strange thing about it: nobody was," Paula said. "The party for the benefactors and the cricket match — all of this was planned at the last minute, within ten days' time."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, genuinely perplexed. "And despite that, quite a number of guests seemed to be visiting the Goodes's residence last night."

"Mr. Goode's parties are very popular with the gentry," Paula explained. "The first party of the year is usually held closer to the social season, you see, and I'm sure people took measures to be certain they could make it. It's a fine opportunity for the benefactors to speak with other parents about sons and daughters, to hint at matrimony and compare wealth." The maid hid her smile behind her hand. "It wouldn't be any of my business, but Lady Elizabeth does like to play at matchmaking herself. She tells me much more than I ought to know."

"But was there any explanation as to what caused the change in plans?" Sebastian pressed.

Paula thought for a second. "Yes… Supposedly it was to have the students' families in-town for Easter. Then the boys could have their fun playing cricket and the parents could be sure they attended church on the Holy Day. It did all seem rather sudden. Weston has never done anything like this before."

How peculiar. "I see." With a small flick of his wrist, Sebastian was able to toss four strips of bacon so that they all flipped in the air and landed back inside their pan upside-down. Paula was immediately distracted by his performance and clapped.

"Amazing! How did you learn to do such a thing? Ah, but really, everything you've done this morning has been amazing… So much food and in such a short time! And you don't even seem harried!"

Sebastian dipped his head modestly. "If I could not do this much, how could I call myself a Phantomhive butler?"

Paula laughed, as if that were a joke. "Surely that can't be the standard! This amount of work is nearly inhuman."

"Quite the observation," Sebastian simpered. He transferred the bacon over to a tray, the French toast into a silver chafer. "A light breakfast should be acceptable today, considering the picnic lunch will begin before noon. Now, if you would, tell Hammond to bring this to the dining room in half an hour, so that the rest of us may tend to our masters and ladies, hm?"

"Of course, Mr. Michaelis! Right away!"

Sebastian smirked to himself as Paula hustled off. How amusing it was, that she found his food preparation the unbelievable aspect of his job. The true impossibility of his title had much more to do with the 'Phantomhive' part than the 'butler.'

And he did have to wonder, as he brought the tea upstairs, what sort of Ciel he would see today. Perhaps one with as black a countenance as witnessed after the Shrove Tuesday party? Or with that fragile annoyance that came from being all too tired? Though he'd brought a sweet Munnar tea as a peace offering, Sebastian predicted something terrible might happen to it — he just hoped that that "terrible something" didn't involve spoiling his gloves and the carpet beneath them.

He knocked on the door and awaited his fate.

"Come in." It was a toneless voice. Sebastian abided it.

Ciel was sitting upright in bed, lower body snug beneath the covers, staring pensively at his butler. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his eyes lidded in passive scrutiny. "Good morning, my lord," Sebastian said. He placed the tea tray on a marble-topped parlor table and went back to close the door. "I'm pleased to see you awake on your own today. I hope you are feeling properly rested." When he glanced to Ciel next, the boy's hand was lazily pointing a pistol at the demon's head.

"This had better not make any damn noise," Ciel drawled, and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. Sebastian's fist was clenched by his side. It wasn't often that Ciel wanted him to use a demon's trick to solve things, but sometimes it was required, as it usually was when bullets were involved.

The boy smirked and stashed the now-empty weapon beneath his pillow. "There you are, a breakfast fitting of your ilk. Eat up."

Sebastian knew better than to argue this order. He tossed back the three metal lozenges, feeling their cold slug down his throat. They wouldn't hurt him, but they would weigh inside him for a few hours before the ichor and matière obscure that made up his viscera would completely dissolve the obstruction. "My lord—"

"Things have been far too easy for you lately," Ciel interrupted, though his voice was even. "The Queen hasn't requested our services in months. But that doesn't mean I can allow my weapon to rust, now, does it?"

Sebastian felt something sinister and loyal flash inside him. The feeling of old times, the hunts for a cold-blooded foe… yes, he missed those days. But Ciel was not reminiscing. This was still a punishment for yesterday's impertinence. Sebastian bowed his head over the tray, pretending not to know this. "A wise thought, my lord. You yourself are in mint condition. Were that anyone but myself, your aim would have been fatal."

Ciel reached out for the teacup when it was handed over. He was studying Sebastian with his eyes. He sniffed the air. "You smell like pig fat."

"My apologies, my lord. I've just finished making breakfast; you'll find it in the dining room downstairs, when you are ready." Sebastian handed the young master today's copy of the Daily Telegraph. Ciel flared the newspaper open with a few shakes and stuck his face right into it.

As his master read, Sebastian moved over to the armoire to put together today's wardrobe. "There is a small chill in the air this morning, but the weather has grown fairer with the rising of the sun. It would be best to go wearing a coat, and then you may remove it, if you so choose." Ciel grunted in acknowledgement, absorbed in the text. "I'll be back momentarily."

The base of the flat iron over the fire was glistening bright. Sebastian used a hook to remove it and then wrapped the handle in a towel before transporting it back upstairs. He set the hot iron on a bar of soap he'd placed on the ironing board. Then he dampened the clothes just slightly with drops of water before setting to work. A normal person would need the clothing to retain much more water before ironing, but Sebastian's care and skill made this unnecessary.

He promptly had a pair of black trousers creased and a vest uncreased to perfection. The vest itself was a lovely piece, white with a muted gold tapestry brocade — it would be a shame when the young master outgrew it. Next, he chose one of the high collar shirts Nina sent and a black, lightweight overcoat. He pulled the ensemble together with a deep green silk puff tie with tone-on-tone paisley.

The clothes were still warm when it was time to get dressed. The boy beneath the fabric spoke not a word as the attire was tugged at his ankles and wrists, smoothed across his shoulders and back.

"There we are." Sebastian leaned away to assess his handiwork. "All that's left is the young master's hair."

Sebastian went to the armoire and came back with a comb, pulling vibrant gray strands neatly along the scalp until they fell like obedient rivers around the boy's ears and forehead. "Very good. You look quite ready for the day, my lord."

"About time. I'm starving." Ciel turned away from the demon, striding towards the exit in spat ankle boots, the same handsome black as his trousers. Before he could reach the door, he stopped. "Oh, Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord?" Sebastian finished putting away the board and iron, now cool.

"I want you to slick back your hair today. The way my aunt likes it." Ciel's stature didn't change but his words were poignantly enunciated when he said, "I know it's not your ideal fashion, but I think she may have a point of her own. Don't you? "

Hammond and Broglie were happy to lend some of their pomade, an awful substance made of bear fat that left a greasy residue on Sebastian's fingers, uncomfortable even once his gloves were adorned. It would absorb into his skin soon enough, but his hair would stay styled back as long as Ciel insisted on it. Sebastian's tastes tended to fall in line with older beauty standards, but his opinions on hair differentiated entirely. This style showed more of his forehead than he liked, made his hair artificially shiny. In his opinion hair should be tamed, cut, and cleaned regularly, but should not be so sullied with these unnatural substances. It was lovely enough when treated with care — why anyone would slick back their soft mane with lanolin and lard until it resembled the shining shell of beetle was beyond this demon's reasoning.

But it had to be done… and when that sorry task was finished, Sebastian left the servants' quarters in the direction of the dining room. Passing through the main room on his way, he immediately noted Alexis standing before the kindling left in the fireplace, admiring an eight-point rack mounted above it. Sebastian realized his good fortune at finding the marquis alone. Now was the chance to introduce him to the idea of being Ciel's guide.

"Good morning, sir," Sebastian greeted, with a slight bow as he approached.

Alexis smiled brightly, with his eyes closed, in Sebastian's direction. "Good morning to you, too, Sebastian." When his eyes opened, he blinked and then laughed. "Well, that hair is certainly different from the usual! It looks as though my wife got ahold of you, hm?"

Sebastian smiled badly in place of an answer. "Different, yes… Beg your pardon, Lord Midford, for my abrupt change in topic. I regret that I must speak to you plainly for a moment. I have a rather personal offer in regards to my young master. You'll have to excuse my sudden and forward nature. I promise I only ask this out of high regard for your expertise."

Alexis turned the rest of his body to face him with solemn curiosity. "Oh? What could this be about? By all means."

Sebastian thanked him and clasped his hands behind his back. "The young master is of an age," he began. "You may yourself remember what it is to be so young. It is a complicated time for him, one riddled with questions and… new experiences."

A knowing smile slowly spread across the marquis's face. "Yes, absolutely. It was for Edward, for myself, and no doubt for Ciel, too."

"Absolutely, sir. So I suppose it is of no surprise to hear that my lord is in need of guidance. I can think of no one better to teach him. I don't ask this as if to say you aren't already an exemplary figure to him. Simply put, he is in need of someone who can answer all of his questions without judgment, someone he can already trust. Of course, I say none of this as a command—"

Alexis raised his hand to silence him. "Sebastian, please — let me spare you the embarrassment of further speaking," he said with reassurance. "Allow me to handle the rest of the discussion from here. I'm sure whatever you've already talked with Ciel about has been more than your position should require. You poor fellow!" Alexis laughed.

The marquis seemed to quickly catch on to Sebastian's request; he even seemed to know that Ciel had put his butler through some trials. "It isn't an impertinence to be asked anything by my master," Sebastian said. "I merely believe a family member would be much more suited to the task of educating him. I think the young lord turns to me because I am the most accessible. Though you have surely proven yourself an available resource to him at all times, if you were to make it quite clear he could speak with you about anything and everything, I feel it would bring him some comfort."

"You are too kind," Alexis laughed again. "I don't know if it will bring him comfort to speak with me now, but he may well thank me in his adult years." He clapped his hands together. "I'm glad you felt like you could approach me, Sebastian. In any case, I suppose it's about time I got on to breakfast. Are you going to the dining room as well?"

Sebastian bowed again. "I am indeed. Thank you for listening to my humble words, sir. Your graciousness is very much appreciated."

Though pleased with his success, Sebastian had a strange sensation that that had gone… a little too well. It was curious that Alexis had already predicted talking to Ciel would involve a bit of arguing here and there, which may keep Ciel from truly appreciating the advice until he was older. But then again, Alexis had raised Edward, so he probably had a much better idea of what to expect from a fourteen-year-old boy than Sebastian had. So Sebastian doubted the human's expertise no further, and felt satisfied that a teacher for Ciel had been swiftly pinpointed.

In the dining room, Ciel and Aunt Francis sat across from each other. She was looking at him sternly but not angrily, while he was staring at his plate with a sort of aloof discomfort, mopping a square of French toast around in some syrup. "Well, what could you two be talking about?" Alexis asked as he took his place at the head of the table, Sebastian standing along the wall behind his master.

Francis leaned back in her dining chair. "I was just telling Ciel that, no matter what criticism he receives today or rumors he hears about the party last night, it is best to stay dignified in the face of it."

Ciel ate his forkful and continued to analyze his plate. After giving his nephew a glance, Alexis hummed an understanding tone in the back of his throat, and reached forward a fork and knife to take some French toast for himself. "Well, that is true. It's a new day, and a new chance to prove yourself. But understand, too, that no matter what rumors are passed around, your aunt and I will stand up for your reputation. "

The boy was clearly uncomfortable beneath the gazes of two adults who looked at him not like he was the imposing Earl of Phantomhive, but just another aristocrat boy who'd stepped a toe out of line and needed a lecture. Ciel took a long time finishing his bite. At last he swallowed and wiped at his mouth delicately with his napkin. "Thank you, Uncle, but I don't care what anyone says about me. The people who consider last night's incident valuable gossip simply aren't worth acknowledging. I've merely decided to ignore them."

Alexis and his wife turned to each other. "Well… All right," the marquis said to Ciel at last. "Good… Good. I'm glad you aren't feeling… intimidated." Francis shot her husband a look, and Alexis raised his shoulders and dropped them, as if to say, "I wasn't sure how to respond to that."

"Ciel," Francis went on in her hard tone, "you seem to be forgetting that you are at fault for this, not the people who decide to talk about you and Lady Dawes. I don't want to see any of last night's attitude in you today. If anyone approaches you, you speak politely. You apologize if necessary. You bow your head. Do you understand?"

Ciel bristled. Sebastian could imagine the clenched jaw, the only thing keeping back a sharp retort. There was a slow, very begrudging nod instead.

How the boy hated being told what to do! Especially by anyone who considered him naïve and in-need of their direction. What made it all worse, of course, was the fact that Ciel knew he deserved it. If his aunt and uncle said nothing to curb his behavior, they would be even less respectable. And so, with dignity marred, Ciel swallowed down their commentary like bitter medicine.

Lizzie came in a second later to save the atmosphere, giving a twirl in an elegant emerald walking suit, dripping with so much white lace on the jacket's bell sleeves and ruched skirt that she seemed hemmed in snowflakes. Compared to her mother's own high-collared brown walking suit, which was all angles and shapeliness, it was as though a peahen had raised a swan. Then the conversation turned to reminding Lizzie not to spin too much or her ankles would show, and how fun it would be to see Edward bowling, and Ciel was left alone.

By half past eleven, the Midfords and their procession made it to the sprawling lawns surrounding Weston's cricket fields. Half a mile away, the school buildings' red bricks shone with young sunlight across a glittering expanse of Thames' water. Spring had come to Oxford on the perfect day. Students were beginning to fill the pavilion. The few visiting families that had arrived early were picnicking as well and were scattered throughout the lawn. Some groups sat on blankets in the grass, while others had brought chairs and tables and ate as they would in their own homes.

The Midfords went with the latter option. Sebastian had lashed four chairs and a small, round metal table to the roof of the carriage. He, Broglie, and Hammond carried the furniture now to a spot beneath a wych elm on the cricket field's outskirts. Paula had one of the three picnic baskets — she and Lizzie shared the handle of another, the lightest basket, Lizzie having clamored for the sheer experience of it. Sebastian had the heaviest basket in his right hand, the same arm wrapped around the seat of an outdoor chair. His left arm hoisted up the table, the underside of its base resting atop his slick hair.

Hammond was looking at Sebastian with bafflement. "How in blazes do you hold all that?" He himself bore only one chair, a tablecloth, and the box for cutlery. Considering the distance they had to walk from the carriage, for the average human that was a fine load.

"When one has the strength, it all comes down to a matter of balance," Sebastian answered cheerily. Middle-aged Broglie had to stop and take a rest halfway to the tree, so Hammond waited with him, shaking his head as Sebastian proceeded onward with all the effortlessness of a tightrope walker.

Beneath the elm, Lizzie had opened her basket and was admiring the presents inside. "This all looks so scrumptious!" she sang. "Can we eat right away? Before it cools down too much? Please, Mother? There are hot cross buns, so we have to eat them while they're hot! It wouldn't be right not to!"

"If you promise to stop kneeling in the grass like that, yes, we can eat," Francis reprimanded, but had to smile at her daughter's barely-contained excitement, the bounce of her candy floss curls.

Broglie and Hammond had just caught up to the group with their chairs and placed them in a ring around the table so that their masters may sit. Lizzie moved her chair closer to Ciel's, touching his fingers to get his attention and pointing to some swans far off in the pond, swimming in tandem. Paula helped Sebastian fill the plates with squares of cheese and pickled onions, pâté and thin slices of baguette, semicircles of apple and lovely fat grapes, and of course the buns Lizzie anticipated.

"So yummy!" she crooned immediately after her first bite. "Sebastian's cooking is the best in the world!"

"Too kind, as ever, my lady," Sebastian said, a hand placed where his heart would have been.

"Your cooking is fine," Aunt Francis said. "I'm much more satisfied with your current hairstyle. Usually I have to remind you to look like a proper gentleman. Did my teachings finally sink in?"

Your teachings, or a certain pair of metaphorical fangs, Sebastian frowned, watching Ciel polish off a bun and lick at the end of his thumb.

As time grew closer to the match between Weston's Green and Red houses, the lawns began to fill up completely. Where at first families had spread out their picnic blankets and wicker furniture far apart from each other, now the crowd had no choice but to sit packed together like tinned fish. A particularly large group was staked out just to the left of the little Midford gathering. Two young ladies with glasses of lemonade stood to stretch and take a turn around their blanket, their gossip leaking over their shoulders as they passed.

"… I heard it happened at the Goodes's party last night."

"Did he really say that? I wish I'd been there to hear it for myself, but my father doesn't donate."

"I wasn't there either. But as far as I know, it really happened."

"Do you think he'd had a bit to drink?"

"To make such a statement? I hope he had a lot to drink!"

The women tittered into their hands, clearly trying not to sound too scandalous, but the Midfords had heard enough. They conspicuously turned to Ciel to gauge his response.

Ciel's eyes were closed as he took an especially large bite of a Cornish pasty. When he finished chewing, they were still staring. "I told you," Ciel sniffed, "they can say whatever they want about me. I don't care."

Aunt Francis narrowed her gaze after the two magpies. "Making assumptions about imbibing though — what rubbish! … You didn't drink anything, did you?"

"No, Aunt Francis…"

"Good."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around one of Ciel's, puffing out her cheeks. "No one ought to be talking about my fiancé like that, especially if they weren't there!" she declared, as if her mother hadn't given her that same scolding last night in the carriage.

"It's right to ignore the gossip-mongers," Uncle Alexis said. "What matters is that we know what happened. They can pretend to know all they like, but it will never change the truth."

Still, Francis made sure to glare at the women when they returned to their starting place minutes later, their lack of discretion likely perturbing her more than their conversation's subject matter. The friends were still babbling loudly and didn't notice her expression.

"Well he is here today, so he must be serious about what he said!"

"Did you see how fast those boys were, practicing? Like a couple of greyhounds, back and forth between the wickets! They must know about his proposal too."

"I don't know how I feel about the competition though. I think it discourages sportsmanship."

"Oh, it's still all in good fun! Besides, it's not as if they're gambling. In the end, everyone wins."

"But twenty-five pounds per point the winning team scores! What an incredible donation. If I were Mr. Fairclough, I'd be sweating under the collar."

Lizzie and Alexis looked confused, but Francis and Ciel's eyes immediately widened with understanding. Sebastian smirked from his place beneath the tree. He'd too understood. "Make your apology gracious and allow me to do the rest… You can be certain that I will keep tonight's incident from traveling farther than Mr. Goode's doorstep." That was what Henri Fairclough had promised Ciel at the party, though his plan to fulfill said promise had been unknown at the time. Apparently this plan involved making a donation to Weston so enormous that no one even remembered Ciel's outburst: the gossip today would consist solely of Fairclough's deep pockets, and how well the boys would play to assure the most money for their school. A professional game of cricket could reach over two hundred points — the students likely wouldn't reach a score that impressive, but even half as many pounds, multiplied by twenty-five, would be a load off one's wallet. For a middle-class gent like Fairclough, it was expected to be toppling.※

The marchioness pressed her thin mouth to her knuckles. "That... was far too generous."

Ciel swallowed. "I agree."

"What was far too generous?" Alexis asked.

Francis shook her head. "Later. Ciel, we must make sure we find Mr. Fairclough and thank him before the game ends today. I don't know why he thought he needed to do something so utterly outlandish, but he still deserves our gratitude."

"Yes, ma'am." Ciel had gone polite with shock — he stared at his empty white plate on the table fixedly. He seemed to be trying to work out why anyone would do such an incredible favor for him.

Then the start of the first inning announced itself with an uproar from the students in the pavilion as the two teams made their way out to the field. Lizzie sprung to her feet and bounced on her toes when she recognized Edward amongst the players. The rest of the family also stood as Weston's orchestra struck up the first notes of "God Save the Queen." Ciel mumbled over the words; Sebastian could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the boy's brows were knitted, thoughts tumbling about in his brain.

The anthem ended. Students in coordinated uniforms came together in a ring. A coin was tossed by one of the umpires, and though the viewers could not tell who won the flip, Green House was batting first. As the players got into position, the band struck up again, this time with "Georgia Camp Meeting," and Lizzie's interest was taken by the game. She was not particularly competitive, nor did the sport intrigue her more than other recreation, but she did want to be in the thick of things, because she loved to have something to talk about later on. Ciel was staring off into space, unmoving, thinking intensely. Between the two children, there was such a fierce concentration that neither budged when Sebastian placed a tray of petit fours on the table for dessert.

Uncle Alexis did reach for one. "Something on your mind, Ciel?"

Ciel blinked back into focus. "Well, yes," he admitted. "I can't stop thinking about Mr. Fairclough… I met with him last night by chance and told him about… er, what I said. We've only been distantly acquainted — he's been a major consumer to Funtom Company. I met him for the first time at the Goodes's party, and he assured me that he would keep rumors from spreading about the… altercation with Lady Dawes. I didn't think much of his claim; I didn't think there was really anything he could do. Evidently, there was. The proposition that Mr. Fairclough made, to award the school twenty-five pounds per point scored by the winning team… I can't help but feel he did that so as to distract everyone from me."

Alexis's surprise had been growing in his expression throughout that explanation. "Goodness," he finally breathed, adjusting his tie, "but to do something like that, without a second thought… you would have to be—"

"Intoxicated," Aunt Francis filled in. "I changed my mind: I think those two young ladies had a point after all. What Mr. Fairclough comes across to me as is a wastrel. We asked him to do no such thing for us. This was all of his own accord."

"I still need to thank him," Ciel insisted. "I ought to give him something in return… I'll just let him know the next display window is his, no bidding necessary."

"No, you will not," Aunt Francis chastened. "Then you would be saying that you acknowledge this as an exchange, not a favor. Certainly thank him, but no more than that. I don't need my nephew getting in financial straits with such a blatant spendthrift."

"Dear, this money is being donated. He's not a spendthrift, he's a philanthropist," Alexis said kindly.

Ciel's fingers flinched. He found philanthropists overbearing.

"Either way," Aunt Francis continued, "he isn't someone we're familiar with. And I have especial trouble with people who so eagerly bandage a wound with money."

"Y-You don't really think he's a philanthropist, do you?" Ciel asked, a little rushed.

That was when Lizzie gasped and pointed to the field, where the players were switching positions. "Edward's bowling now!" She hopped to her feet, made her way around the picnickers, and dashed over to the chalk lines that divided the playing area from the spectators. "Edward! Your sister's watching you! You can do it!"

"Lizzie! Don't distract him! And stop jumping around!" With a small groan, Francis lifted her skirts and tagged after her giddy daughter. Lizzie kept waving at Edward, who scratched at the back of his neck but, Sebastian could see from afar, grinned hugely at the attention from his little sister.

Ciel sighed, leaning against the metal leaves that made up the support of his chair. "I'm glad Aunt Francis went with her. I don't feel like running about right now." Then he reached forward to the petit fours on the table. "And I want to try some of these."

Alexis laughed twice. "Well then, since the ladies are gone, this might be the perfect opportunity for us to have a talk, hmm?"

The chocolate hesitated before Ciel's mouth, and he grimaced. Being with Elizabeth suddenly seemed the better option.

"Uncle…" he began unsteadily. "Can't we talk after the match, back at home instead? I don't really want to think about last night right now. It's such a nice spring day, after all. Don't you think it would be better not to spoil it?"

"It is a nice spring day," Alexis agreed. "In fact, it's the perfect sort of day for what I really want to talk to you about."

"What you… really want to talk to me about?" Ciel repeated, in a tone less than enthusiastic.

Uncle Alexis didn't start his speech right away. He surveyed Ciel from where he sat with a hand to his chin, a gentlemanly smile lifting up one cheek. Ciel pressed himself into the back of the chair, tapping the metal armrests with his fingertips, a look of suspicious uncertainty clouding his eye. He didn't know where this conversation was going to go, but it was clear Ciel already didn't like it. Sebastian kept himself busy packing away silverware and containers into the baskets, pretending this scene held no interest to him whatsoever.

After a long minute, his uncle said, "Ciel, you're growing up to be a fine young man."

"Erm, thank you," Ciel said flatly.

"I mean that," Alexis insisted, mistaking his nephew's wariness for disbelief. "You are very mature for your age. In many ways, I forget you aren't already an adult." Ciel's lips parted in an imperceptible huff. He despised being told he was a youth. "In your fourteen years, there's been a lot you've had to learn on your own. And, in certain cases, I believe it is better to learn from firsthand experience. In other cases, we need to be taught. Finally, there are lessons we could uncover ourselves but would appreciate guidance on. The trouble arises when we struggle to ask for that guidance."

Ciel lowered his eyelids, bearing, for once, the classic expression of a judgmental adolescent. Meanwhile, Sebastian couldn't have been more pleased. The marquis offered his knowledge in a way absolutely fitting of Ciel and his past predicaments. Certainly it would take the boy a while to warm up to the idea of sharing his trepidations, but Alexis's proposition was thus far going very well, in Sebastian's opinion.

"Sometimes we don't ask for guidance because we feel ashamed or embarrassed," Uncle Alexis continued. "Our society teaches us what we should and shouldn't say. But between family members, no questions should be disallowed. That is what family is for."

"…" Ciel tilted his chin away. "Why are you telling me this all of a sudden?"

Alexis, tactfully, did not divulge Sebastian's prodding. "The timing seemed right, it being spring, and it being just the two of us at the table, without your aunt or cousin to listen in."

"The timing seemed right for… what?"

"To talk about life," Alexis said. "I was your age, once. I remember what it is like to have a hundred questions and not know how to begin asking them."

Ciel was flabbergasted. "A hundred questions on what? "

The marquis smiled again. "Men. Women. The duty that comes with marriage — the act that all of us one day perform, if we wish to carry on our bloodline and plan for the future. Edward especially needed this information, being surrounded by several young men with their own opinions and no experience at all in the ways of love. English society is too eager to keep young minds away from this knowledge, but I believe it is wrong to. Copulation is very much a part of life. It is as natural as breathing. We can scorn intimacy as much as we like, but it simply cannot go away — and so I want to make sure you are aware what the truth of it is, so that when your time comes, you do not feel addled about what to do."

Oh, dear. Evidently, the marquis had not understood what Sebastian had requested of him after all.

Throughout that dissertation, Ciel's face had been drained of all color and then splashed with it, now a hot beet red from chin to ears. His mouth and eyebrows quirked, unable to find the words or expression to respond to all this adequately. Any other time Sebastian would have been desperately restraining himself from laughter, and no doubt the Undertaker would find this scene alone worth a secret or two. But, unfortunately, Sebastian knew what he was bearing witness to was a failure on his part and the part of the marquis. The last thing Ciel would be was willing to talk to his uncle now.

As Alexis launched into an extended explanation for why this sacred topic need not be so taboo, Ciel slowly slid the petite four between his lips and began chewing to buy himself some time. He looked around for an escape, scarcely moving his head, and at last found an out.

"O-Oh, look! There's Mr. Fairclough by the mid wicket!" Ciel interrupted. He laughed hastily and popped out of his chair. "I had better go thank him for yesterday before he moves off somewhere else! Excuse me, Uncle—!"

Ciel weaved through the throng like there were hounds threatening his heels. That descriptor of his escape would certainly buy another tidbit from the Undertaker — but what was gained could not compare to what was lost.

"Hmm." The marquis settled one elbow on the armrest and rubbed his chin with the other. "Maybe I was being too boring…"

Sebastian didn't respond. He watched Ciel dash up to Mr. Fairclough, Fairclough turning when Ciel called out to him. He smiled broadly at the boy as he caught up. There was too much sound interference to hear what they were saying, and Sebastian could only see Fairclough's face, as Ciel's back was turned. He made out the following lip readings in order:

"So, we meet again!" ... "For what?" Laughter. "I told you I would, didn't I? I'm as good as my word." A more serious but still jovial expression. "Lord Phantomhive, you are so humble. If it brings you comfort, I was going to make such a statement regardless." ... "All right, you caught me; it isn't a complete truth. However, for the sake of my client, I did want this cricket match to be especially exciting, and the promise of monetary winnings has the students at top-tier, I'm sure!" ... "Yes. My client is a benefactor himself — not much of one for parties, though. A very solitary sort. That's where I come in." ... "Would you, now?" Ciel gave a furtive glance back at his uncle, a ways away, and nodded fervently. "Well, if the Earl of Phantomhive himself wants to know, I would be more than obliged to explain what I do! Let us walk the perimeter while we talk."

That was when the two began to pace the opposite direction along the outskirts of the cricket field, Fairclough's face no longer visible from Sebastian's angle. He had gathered enough from the conversation to know that Ciel had engaged Fairclough so as to avoid facing Alexis again. Sebastian sighed, unable to follow the pair, though rather appreciative that the marquis didn't ask him for a critique. Elizabeth and her mother returned not long after anyway, and Alexis and his wife were able to talk while their daughter struggled to stay seated due to the intensity of the match.

At this point, the pavilion had turned into a collective shout as the students, made wild with competition, chanted the color of their house or the house they wanted to see win. Even some of the noble gentlemen lost their heads over this mere college match, jumping up out of their chairs on occasion while their wives looked away in embarrassment or tugged them back down by their sleeves.

By the time the match was nearing its close, the score was Green-111 to Red-107, and the tension was at its peak. Two young men by the pavilion even got into fisticuffs over something no doubt trivial, and it was broken up almost as soon as it began. As the game was in its final minutes, Ciel had still not returned to the table.

The marchioness would never lose her composure over a sporting event, even with her son pitching an incredibly tight game. "Where is Ciel?" she leaned over to ask her husband. "I don't want to go looking for him in this crowd after the match ends. Everyone will be leaving at once, and it will be too easy to miss each other."

"I'm not entirely sure," Alexis answered. "He went to go speak with Mr. Fairclough about an hour ago and hasn't returned since."

"Allow me to go looking for him," Sebastian offered. "It may be he forgot the exact location of the picnic and became lost."

Alexis nodded. "That's a high possibility. We'll stay put and wait, in case he comes back."

Sebastian stepped over skirt hems and stray legs and baskets with uncalculated ease, sensing for his master's soul and following its pull. It was possible that Ciel had gotten lost among the masses, but Sebastian highly doubted that: Ciel's sense of direction had always been strong. Indeed, after five minutes of brisk pacing, Sebastian noted him by the pond, still beside Mr. Fairclough, though the two of them were no longer alone.

A pair of adults and a pair of children were standing before the young master and the gentleman, a family most likely. Sebastian did not recognize the two adults, both dark-haired and tall, a sure coupling of beautiful aristocrats. The daughter, farthest from Sebastian, had her face blocked by her mother's shoulder. However, the youngest member of the family, a skinny black-haired boy in a Weston school uniform, scuffing at the grass with his toe, was immediately recognizable.

"We've been looking all over for the Midfords and for you," Lord Reubin was saying. "I suppose this is what they call 'two birds with one stone.'"

Lady Reubin nodded, more to her husband than anyone else. "We can't appreciate what you did for our son enough. Can we, Lyle?" The little Heathcliff was then taken by his wrist and turned around to face Fairclough. "Say thank you to Mr. Fairclough, Lyle. Without his intervention, you know you wouldn't be in school right now."

Lyle's gratitude was evidently not up to snuff, as his father reprimanded, "Raise your chin now, Lyle, so that we all may hear you." The second attempt didn't look much better than the first. Lyle's father relented, but his mother leaned down to him and said something sternly into his hair. "I'm beginning to understand the purpose of your profession," Lord Reubin continued; Lyle went back to kicking at loose earth. "I never realized how difficult it is to communicate with the school board until, well… we had to. It really is a unique job though. And you said you came up with it yourself?"

Fairclough waved his hand. "No, no, I didn't come up with it — I just happen to know the clever gentleman who did. Funny how many questions I'm getting about my profession today! Lord Phantomhive has been an exceptional ear this afternoon. Then again, I suppose I did make some people worried with my financial proposition last night. How kind and unexpected for others to be so considering my purse. I wish I could assure everyone, this is a well-paying business. I doubt it will be long before every college of prestige has their own public relations committee."

"Every college! Well, that would be bad for you, then, wouldn't it? Competition."

"Perhaps, perhaps! But my partners and I have a niche market that I'm not sure the school itself would be able to capitalize on."

"How much you've already considered the future of your service!" Lord Reubin said with intrigue. "I'm glad to hear that you're doing well. If times get rough, however, please do know I'd be happy to help endorse."

"Isn't that a glorious offer!" Fairclough exclaimed. "Your good word, I believe, would be more ideal than funds at this time, should you meet anyone in a similar predicament."

There was a sudden roar of human noise when the game ended in Green House's victory. "One hundred and fourteen points," Lord Reubin read aloud from the scoreboard across the way. "My, those boys played like champions out there."

"Are you in the Red or Green House, Lyle? Or one of the other two?" Mr. Fairclough asked.

Lyle was turned to the side when he mumbled, "I'm a Violet Wolf."

"A wolf? How very imposing," Fairclough commented.

"Wolves can bite even with their heads cut off," said Lyle suddenly.

"Goodness. Where did you hear such a thing?" Lady Reubin choked.

"You shouldn't talk so darkly," Lord Reubin scolded.

"Cheslock taught me that," declared Lyle, "but I know plenty of worse things."

Lady Reubin then took Lyle by the hand and marched him a short distance away.

"I'm sorry about him," Lord Reubin sighed.

"Don't be," Fairclough said. "And now you'll have to pardon me, as well, for I should have met up with my client a while ago. I've certainly been keeping him waiting."

That was when Ciel spoke up. "You should have told me sooner, Mr. Fairclough; I've been delaying you from your work."

"I lost track of the time," Fairclough admitted. "You had me wrapped up in a good conversation. I was happy to have it."

"Please, do what you have to do. I'm glad we got a chance to speak with you today." Lord Reubin extended his hand to shake it with Fairclough's. "Lord Phantomhive, as I said before, I'm lucky we met up with you, too, because we've been walking around the lawn, trying to find the Midfords. We'd love it if everyone could come to our house for dinner tonight. Would you mind showing us where you and your family are sitting so that we can extend the invitation?"

"Certainly. Mr. Fairclough, a pleasure," Ciel said, with an honest warmth, as he turned away.

"And to you too, Lord Phantomhive. Any time," Fairclough returned in the same tone.

Ciel led the way for the Reubin family, the daughter pacing briskly along with her father, mother walking behind with the son kept close. Moments after parting, a voice rang out, "Fairclough! Where the devil have you been?!" A serious, mustached fellow was sprinting over to the aforementioned man, his expression riddled with impatience. Ciel turned to the scene, but it was too late for him to overhear the discussion between his newfound hero and the man who shouted at him. But, tucked away in the field of departing civilians, it was not too late for Sebastian.

"Our client has been waiting all afternoon for you!" the serious man barked. "I can't make anything happen without you, you know. You're the one with all the charm and ideas. I'm just there to execute them."

"Calm down, Romilly," Fairclough sighed. "He had the game to keep him occupied, didn't he? I'm sure he was quite satisfied to watch. Those boys were really playing today, after all."

"And so were you," Romilly sniffed. "What were you doing, talking with that kid for so long? He isn't even a student."

"That 'kid' is Lord Ciel Phantomhive," Fairclough corrected. "Speak with more dignity, why don't you? He may be young, but he's high-titled. And he's a good acquaintance of mine."

Romilly had a look of sharp confusion on his face. "You've not been yourself today, Clough."

"Let's just say…" Fairclough paused for a moment. "Let's just say, I'm beginning to understand my job on a more personal level. That's all."

Sebastian felt a sudden tap on his shoulder and turned around. A middle-aged gentleman in a boater hat had his arm outstretched.

"Excuse me, good man," the stranger said, "are you all right? You've been standing there for a long time, still as a statue."

"… Yes." Sebastian began to walk back in the direction of the Midfords, aware he should arrive at the same time or shortly after Ciel did. "I'm quite well. Pardon me."

Behind him, Sebastian heard the man say, "He was making me nervous like that. He was staring as if he'd seen death itself."

The Midfords did join the Reubins for dinner and stayed until half past nine. Lizzie was delighted to gush about possible marriage proposals of the social season with Jane, while Alexis and Francis informed the Reubin parents about their experiences with Weston. Ciel and Lyle gave more attention to their roasted game bird and fiddleheads. It wasn't until Mr. Fairclough came up in conversation that Ciel said much of anything at all.

"He's the reason that Lyle got a place secured at Weston," Lord Reubin enthused. "He was able to convince the board of trustees to accept Lyle, despite his prior expulsion and his entrance in the middle of the school year."

"It can be so difficult to get your foot in the door," Lady Reubin said. "These colleges can be so incredibly closed-off, especially if you're not enrolled in them. I don't know what he said to get them to listen to us, but that Mr. Fairclough must be fantastically convincing."

"And here I was, thinking he was some sort of philanthropist," Ciel mused. "He's more of an entrepreneur, except that the clients come to him, rather than the other way around. Trustees and principals ask him about how they can increase donations, and he reaches out to the alumni and delivers their ideas to the school, and vice versa. It seems as though this system of communication has increased financial support for colleges exponentially. I expect this business model will catch on in a multitude of fields before long."

"So, that's what you got caught up talking about with Mr. Fairclough!" Alexis laughed. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gone off to for so long."

In response, Ciel concerned himself with a very long sip of water.

He wasn't out of the clear once they made it home either. As everyone walked upstairs to settle down before bed, Alexis called out to his nephew, who was on his way to his room, "Ciel, about our conversation earlier—"

"Y-Yes, I remember it!" Ciel practically squeaked, his shoulders seizing up. He had made it halfway to his bedroom without talking to anyone and victory was in sight. "I understood, if I have questions I'll be sure to ask, now I'm tired, so I think I'm going to do some reading and go to sleep, goodnight!"

"Ciel, hold on…" But the boy had already hotfooted into his room down the opposite hall and closed the door.

The marquis shrugged at Sebastian, who had been left in his master's wake. "Well," Alexis half-laughed, "no one can say I didn't try."

"Certainly, sir," Sebastian agreed, for it had indeed been no more than a try.

In the bedroom, Ciel was standing in the center of the carpet, his hands pressed over his glowing face. "Why in God's name," he said in a muffled snarl, "is my uncle trying to… teach me about… carnal knowledge? "

Sebastian decided to dance around the truth of the situation. "His intentions were well-meant, I'm sure."

"Oh there you are, agreeing with them again," Ciel spat. He tore off his suit jacket and tossed it aside. "Why does everyone seem to think they know what's best for me these days? My aunt thinks I need lessons in humility, and my uncle…" Ciel flushed again. "You'd think he'd realize that the Queen's guard dog isn't so ignorant about the truths of… procreation! Honestly! "

Ciel plopped on the edge of the bed with his arms folded. Presently, his jaw tightened. "Maybe it's all right if he thinks I know nothing about that," he finally said, with a soft poison lacing his words. "It's better than him knowing how acquainted I really am."

Sebastian stood by, saying nothing. Eventually, Ciel took a breath out his nose, undoing the knot on his eye patch. "Draw me a bath, Sebastian. Standing around in all that grass and pollen this afternoon has made my skin itch."

Whether physically or metaphorically, Ciel had been far away from Sebastian all day. He wasn't present during the bath either. He seemed to stare at nothing and said nothing as Sebastian scrubbed a warm washcloth in the valley between his shoulder blades. But the demon was distinctly aware that, if he took too long between applications of a sponge or hand to Ciel's person, the boy would startle beneath that touch, a singular flinch, the sign that his millisecond-long journey from thought to reality was not at all a pleasant one.

※: Initially, I had £100 pounds equal to $50,000, judging by an online calculator. Further research has showed me that £100 was a fair amount of money at the time, but nowhere near the definition of ridiculousness I had it sound. So I upped the ante to £25 per point scored. It's not exactly easy to calculate what that equates to in modern day standards; it could range anywhere from £2,146 to £27,330, depending on a lot of factors I'm not smart enough to explain. This information was obtained from a website called Measuring Worth, where you can find a less bad explanation of how this stuff works.