Chapter Text
( prologue ! )
A lady should not gossip.
A lady should not make the first move.
A lady should not make crude jokes.
A lady should never call upon an unmarried man in his home.
A lady should never address a gentleman without an introduction.
A single lady should never walk out unchaperoned.
A lady should never look back at anyone on the street.
A lady should not have an interest in politics.
A lady's place in society is to marry, have children, and keep a nice household.
These are some of the many rules Leah Barrett abides by to be a proper woman in society, a role she has been groomed for since birth. To make it far as a woman, one mustn't stray from the rules built for them, even if they disagree. So why did her parents have to make her walls crumble down? Set her up for failure from the beginning. Was it greed? Selfishness? Or perhaps this is their sick way of caring for their daughter. Perhaps it was a mistake.
"You were not meant to be extraordinary, Leah. You were meant to be tolerable."
"You were born at the wrong time, to the wrong parents, with the wrong temperament. I do not know what to do with you."
"A daughter’s duty is to be presentable, obedient, and silent. You fail at all three."
“You would do well to remember that you are neither son nor heir. Do not overstep yourself.”
“A proper girl does not need love to thrive—only discipline.”
“You are not ugly, Leah. But beauty is wasted on a girl who cannot behave.”
The words of her parents had stuck right into her head, messing with the girl's mind beyond belief. For ten years of her life, Leah had always been told that she was lower compared to a man. The only thing expected of her was to marry and have children, so why must they rub salt in the wound? Something in her brain had reset, fixing itself into a mindset not many women in the 19th century could bring themselves to have.
This mindset of hers. It messes with her greatly. It makes her feel different and out of place, more so than she had felt before. The only person she could express these thoughts with was her closest friends, refusing to consult with her mother out of fear of being judged. Maybe this is what her parents wanted all along. To break her down in the hopes that she would fix herself and stick to it.
═╬
"I had thought your first request to be some manner of childish jest. The second, perhaps an impulsive whim. But a full month of this? You are either insufferably determined or outright mad."
Lucius Barrett, a refined businessman known around Britain was seated at his desk, observing the young earl sitting across from him. The man's right brow was cocked, elbows on the table to rest his chin on his conjoined hands in the hopes of being able to deduce something about the boy who had been harassing him for the past month. A butler clad in black stands not far behind him, an unnerving and permanent smile stuck to his face.
"I do not act on whims. You may refuse, but I will not stop asking."
A smirk settles itself onto the face of the young earl, a boy the ripe age of fourteen with the gall to ask a business partner for his daughter's hand. Ciel Phantomhive, a stoic and arrogant boy who had broken off his engagement with Elizabeth Midford almost exactly four months ago. He had done it for both of their sakes, the boy knew he could not give Elizabeth the love she wanted and deserved which led to the harsh, but quick end to their engagement. In search of a new one, he recalled a beautiful girl he had seen at balls on occasion. Leah Fleur Barrett.
═╬
People. Many people. The ballroom was far too crowded for Ciel's liking, sticking himself to a wall in the corner of the room. It has been a mere two months since the boy had broken off his engagement with Elizabeth, forcing himself to socialize for the sake of upholding his reputation. A man of honor would never end an engagement, as to spare the girl any discomfiture, but Ciel isn't exactly the most normal nobleman is he?
"You don't want to dance, Young Master?" Sebastian leaned down to whisper in Ciel's ear, attempting to coax the boy to socialize while simultaneously teasing him.
"You know I don't dance," Ciel's tone was a snappy one, sending a glare to the butler standing by his side. The young earl's words slowly trail off into silence, looking out into the crowd of people before his eyes settle on a particular form. What he saw across the room managed to bring him at a loss for words, recovering quickly but his gaze seemingly locked on its target.
Brown hair that went down to her mid back, dull blue eyes, porcelain skin, and cherry-tinted lips. The epitome of beauty is an understatement of what the girl appeared to be, no one could deny that. Ciel could recognize the woman she was standing next to, the wife of one of his business partners, Lucius Barrett, a hearty man from the States who moved to England to expand his business.
Leah stood by her mother, practically attached at the hip while the older woman socialized with the other guests. Such a shy girl for her age, thirteen, and yet was scared to leave her mother's side. Making up for her beyond-shy demeanor, the young lady was quite observant, catching Ciel's eye with her own before a flush covered her face and quickly diverting her gaze. She wasn't the average age for courting just yet, a couple of years too young, but that never stopped offers. Though her parents never accepted.
A hum escaped the lips of the stoic boy, narrowing his eyes as he sat in deep thought. The way she carried herself and her soft demeanor were practically the complete opposite of Elizabeth. Ciel needed a new wife, and Leah was who he chose to run after. Someone who would not get in his way, someone who wouldn't annoy him, someone who came from a good family.
She was perfect.
═╬
Lucius narrowed his eyes at the small boy sitting across from him, trying to read what he could be thinking to continuously ask him such a question. It was not that he did not think Ciel was a good boy, from what the man had seen he would be a good fit for his daughter. But after the cancellation of his last engagement, it was a risky move to accept this.
"One would think you have more pressing matters to attend to than pestering me for a marriage contract," Lucius was past the point of exasperation. This proposal was being seen as a business matter between the two, so he treated it like one.
"If I did not have pressing matters, I would not be here at all. I would have what I want and you would be a far less irritated man," Ciel let his voice falter but didn’t break his gaze, keeping up with his serious demeanor.
A silence fell over the two aristocrats. Ciel kept his mouth shut and Lucius sat in deep thought. The two had been discussing the subject of Ciel taking his daughter's hand in marriage for the past two hours—not including the many other times this had happened in the past month. A stubborn father and a stubborn brat of a boy were not the two ideal souls to be having this conversation. Letting a sigh escape through his nose, Lucius stood from his seat and stuck his arm out from across the desk, giving Ciel the best firm and frightening look he could muster.
"Very well. If only to spare myself another month of this ceaseless petitioning," Lucius fought the urge to strangle Ciel for the countless hours of his time that had been wasted. Despite seeming so reluctant moments ago, connecting like this with a company like Funtom was almost too good to be true. "It seems I have little say in the matter. You are as insistent as a plague and twice as inconvenient."
"A pleasure, Lord Barrett. You have been most accommodating," Ciel lifted his hand before connecting it with the older man's, giving it a firm shake. The earl got what he wanted—almost. Now it was a matter of being introduced, followed by a proper proposal which the teen was not looking forward to.
Standing on the other side of the door, Leah had her hand sitting on top of the handle to the door of her father's study. She cracked the door open just enough to see inside the room without being noticed, watching the two men shake hands and examine her new fiancé. The girl faintly recognized Ciel, just a little with the view of the eyepatch. She quickly closed the door and scurried away.
A stifled chuckle came from Sebastian, seemingly the only person in the room to notice the girl peering in and hearing the sound of her steps running down the hall. She knew she's not supposed to eavesdrop on her father during his business meetings, but that never stopped her.
Running down the halls of her family manor, Leah scrambled about before approaching her mother in the drawing room. The girl's arms are flailing before stopping in front of her mother, Vivienne, voice turned up three octaves,
"Mama! Is father marrying me off to a pirate?!" Leah's voice was shrill and she practically cried to her mother, eyes closed and shaking her head as she ran about the drawing room.
"Of course not! You can be aggravating, but your father would never do such a thing," Vivienne set down her embroidery with a thinly veiled look of annoyance. "Besides, pirates don't marry."
The flailing from the thirteen-year-old stopped, an embarrassed and quiet 'oh..' made its way past her lips.
"Now, what have you been told about peeking in on your father's meetings?"
Leah sweat nervously, pausing in her tracks as her cheeks heated up into a bright red. It had been a while since her last strike of peeking, well for getting caught at least, but now the girl had told on herself.
"Don't do it.." Hanging her head low to hide her red cheeks, Leah pursed her lips as she recalled the numerous talks she's had with her parents about spying on her father in meetings. She couldn’t help that she was so nosy, she had been doing it since childhood.
The woman suppressed a chuckle at the antics. Vivienne also hid her smirk when she caught a glimpse of her husband standing in the doorway with the Earl Phantomhive.
"Leah, dear. Come and meet one of my business partners."
Turning her head at the sound of her father's voice, Leah observed them from over her shoulder for a moment before she quickly turned her entire body to face the two men. The sound of her short heels clicked against the floor as she took a couple of steps closer, her eyes trained on Ciel's face.
"Leah, this is Earl Ciel Phantomhive," Lucius began by introducing his daughter to Ciel, watching when she gripped at her dress to curtesy. "Ciel, this is my daughter Leah Barrett."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise.."
A silence fell over the two teens, Leah drew her eyes to the ground in embarrassment when she was unsure of what else to say.
"Would you like to go for a walk in your garden?" Ciel asked, training his gaze into the girls eyes that could not bring themselves to meet his own.
The young lady nodded her head, stepping past the two and down the hall, looking back as she guided Ciel through the manor. Humming a silent tune to herself, Leah nodded in acknowledgment to servants they passed before coming across the door to the manor's garden and pushed it open to allow the two of them outside and lead Ciel further out.
Staring up at the sky, Leah got lost in the clouds, forgetting that the Phantomhive boy had been tagging along. The girl could stare forever, letting the breeze run through her hair and bring her to a peaceful state, though she was brought out of her head when she heard the sound of Ciel clearing his throat. Turning around to face the sound, Leah was stunned and a light pink made its way to her face when she saw the boy kneeling before her, boxed ring in hand.
"Leah Barrett, will you marry me?" Ciel's words were dull, lacking emotion to such a special question.
"I assume I don’t have much of a say in the outcome of this?" Staring down at the boy, Leah shifted on her feet uncomfortably.
"Your father has already agreed, yes,” said Ciel with a small nod of his head.
Leah fell into silence, contemplating her future and staring mindlessly amidst such an important moment in her life. She had always pictured marrying for love, finding a man she truly felt something for, not being a business deal between two men. The teen's gaze dropped lower, eyeing the ring sitting in the open box. 'I could grow to love him..'
"Yes."
Sticking her hand out with closed eyes, Leah welcomed the feeling of Ciel sliding the diamond ring onto her finger. Admiring the stone, a shine reflected in her eyes as she felt a warmth settle in her chest, letting her head drift up to catch her parents watching from one of the windows.
"Follow me, we can get to know each other." Leah spoke timidly, beckoning Ciel closer.
Making her way down the paths of the garden, the two stopped before a bench and sat themselves beside each other. Quiet and awkward words were exchanged between the new couple, doing their best to learn something about the other. It wouldn't be so hard if both of them weren't as quiet and shy, but the progress was there and they had plenty of time to get to know the other.
═╬
It seemed the standard is what Leah would conform to, she was engaged now and just a few measly years away until she will be married. Or at least that's what she would tell people.
It wasn’t a crime to bend a few rules. She refused to be a weak woman, to fall into the hands of every conniving man she met.
After all, what else did women wish to do. To have the chance at a life men had. A family such as the Barrett’s, a prestigious name even after spending years in the Americas, no less was to be expected of her.
“If my parents had their way, I would have been nothing more than a name on a marriage contract and a quiet face at dinners.”
Notes:
also if anyone tells me you’re character seems like some odd version of elizabeth i will castrate you. i already think that to myself leave me alone😞
comments are very welcome by the way!! i love getting them❤️ lack of them often makes me feel like i’m talking to a wall so if you have anything to say, i’d love to hear it :)
i also have a discord server if you’d be interested in joining! (https://discord.gg/vTBdyFRmZC) it has early access chapters and exclusive oneshots & scenes, scenes rewritten from other characters point of view, it’s alice in wonderland themed, you get pinged for updates, there’s silly server emojis, sometimes i give out sneak peeks for upcoming chapters + more!!! there aren’t many people in it, but we’re nice and love to chat!
Chapter 2: | 01 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl decides to join him for dinner. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i used to really dislike this chapter, but it grew on me a bit
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter one ! )
"It is time to get up, My Lady."
The curtains to the once-dark room are drawn open, hitting her face and causing Leah to shift in discomfort. Lifting a hand to her eyes, the teen sits up in her bed and gives the butler an annoyed look, the man's blonde hair sticking out through her tired and hazy view of the world.
"Thomas? Why are you here this morning? Where is Anna?" Leah reluctantly tears the plush blanket from her legs, eyeing her butler with a look of displeasure that he is the one to wake her.
"I am afraid Anna is busy with something this morning, I am here in her stead," Thomas bows apologetically, knowing how much the girl seems to dislike him, "Will you be skipping breakfast again, My Lady?"
A silent nod is the only response the butler gets from Leah, disregarding the cart to instead walk towards the teen's closet and pick out her outfit for the day. Pulling out a gentle blue dress adorned with ribbons and lace, Thomas sets it on the bed before fetching the accessories to match.
"I shall dress you, My Lady."
Scoffing, Leah crosses her arms and turns her head away, sticking up her nose with a dissatisfied noise.
"I am too old for that now! A man that is not my husband shouldn't see me in such a way!"
"I apologize, My Lady. I will blindfold myself and do it that way."
Thomas is quick to pull a blindfold out of his pocket, seemingly carrying it the entire time which causes the teen to look in dismay.
"Why do you just happen to be carrying a blindfold on you?!"
"That isn't important, My Lady. Now let's get you dressed."
Sighing with a kick of her feet, Leah stands from the bed and strips herself of her nightgown as Thomas blindfolds himself, covering his sharp blue eyes. ‘ How is he supposed to see what he's doing like that?’ However he'll manage, it isn't important to her as she settles the corset over her torso and turns around to allow the butler to tie it. As much as she dislikes Thomas, he does know just how tight she likes her corset to be.
Seating herself on the edge of her bed, the noble lady lets her butler slip her dress on, removing the blindfold to kneel and place her shoes on her feet.
"Today's agenda only consists of your visit to Phantomhive Manor."
A nod and a hum come from Leah in response, standing from her bed and waltzing over to her mirror. The Barrett girl places her accessories on, wrapping the choker around her neck and putting her earrings on as she allows Thomas to simultaneously brush her hair and put it up. Leah has always strived to look good, perhaps a bit obsessed with her looks, and visiting Ciel certainly never helps. Nothing ever stops her from going above and beyond.
Now ready for the day, Leah bids Thomas goodbye before setting off down the hall in an excited manner. Visiting her betrothed is always something she enjoys, even if he never seems to be all that happy. Bumping into a firm back, the girl nearly stumbles back onto her bottom before she's grabbed by the arm.
"My.. You feel like a freight train."
Leah looks up at the sound of her older brother, Daniel's, voice, and a frown makes its way onto her face. She didn’t even notice him. Perhaps she should be paying attention to where she walks.
"Sorry.." Leah mutters, looking down at the ground to avoid her brother's gaze as he towers over her, "Try to not be in the way next time."
Daniel doesn't seem to hear the second part of her sentence, just chuckling to himself before continuing down the hall to the manor's library. Waiting until her brother is out of view, Leah is quick to pick up her running again, giggling as she sees a maid standing outside the door. A clear signal that a carriage is ready to take her to Ciel's manor.
"Say hello to Ciel for me!" Her father calls from the stairs, looking down at his daughter. Beside the man is his wife, Vivienne bidding her daughter a silent goodbye.
An unimpressed smile sits on Leah's face, swallowing her annoyance and nodding to her father's wish. ‘Those two seem to be in a good mood today.’ Shaking her head one last time, Leah makes her way out the door and helps herself into the carriage, cheerfully kicking her feet once it sets off to the Phantomhive Manor.
═╬
Leah claps quietly as the carriage arrives at the Phantomhive Manor, horses slowly pulling it to a gentle stop. Swinging the door open, the girl helps herself out and speed walks up the steps and to the door, lifting a delicate hand to knock. Within just a few moments, the large double doors open and Sebastian is smiling down at her.
"Lady Leah? What a surprise! What brings you here today?" Sebastian wears a surprised look, eyes wider than usual as he looks down at the girl standing before him.
"I came to visit Ciel, of course! Did you not get the letter I sent yesterday?" Leah's voice trails off in confusion, a pout beginning to form on her lips at the thought of her letter not being delivered. Her face feels slightly strained at dramatically displaying her emotions, as though she is in a play. She does this every time she visits Ciel.
"Oh. Your letter! How could I forget? Welcome back, M'lady,” Sebastian lies through his teeth to not upset the girl, though surely it would be better to have been honest. Now she will intrude on Ciel and his dinner later and getting her to leave will be a chore.
"Is Ciel in his study?"
"Yes, as he always is, M'lady.."
Saying a quick thank you, Leah forces herself not to run through the halls, instead walking briskly towards the stoic boys' study. Humming a happy tune to herself, she lets a smile work its way onto her face the closer she gets to the door.
═╬
In the nearly three years since the teens had gotten engaged, Leah changed immensely. She had matured both physically and mentally, 'blooming' as her mother would say. The girl's shyness had died down, still there but quite dormant compared to before. But now, she seems far more open and dramatic. A false display that she keeps up and no one in her family bothers to question it.
Ciel had certainly spoken too soon when he thought she wouldn't annoy him. Though Leah isn't nearly as bad as Elizabeth, she still has her moments where she leaves Ciel mentally exhausted after a visit. Putting both girls together is like a tornado to the boy, he is somewhat glad that Leah isn't particularly fond of Elizabeth's personality at times. Which seems hypocritical with how much she copies it.
Not to say Leah is mean. Elizabeth often agitates her, striking her nerves and draining her social battery beyond repair. As annoyed as she could get with the whiney girl, she could never bring herself to be rude to her. Elizabeth was never mean-spirited after all. Taking on the role of the girl's friend, Leah would spend time with Elizabeth —often reluctantly— to be nice and keep the girl satisfied. She does have her moments where she likes Elizabeth, even if some would say it may be awkward to be friends with your betrothed's past fiancé.
═╬
Knocking quietly on the door to Ciel's study, the girl smiles to herself when she hears his soft 'come in' from the other side. Opening the door, Leah bounds into the room with the dress of her skirt following in tow.
"Hello, Ciel!" she says cheerfully.
Surprised by the sudden entrance, Ciel nearly drops his pen. "Leah? What are you doing here?!"
Pausing in front of his desk, Leah stares blankly at her betrothed and takes in his startled tone. There's a wave of silence that follows, creeping its way through the air before it gets cut.
"I came to visit you! It's been two months since we've seen each other! I told you in my letter that I would be visiting today. Oh, and my father says hello," Leah nods along to her words, clasping her hands together as she looks down at Ciel's seated form.
"Letter? What letter?" Ciel's brows furrow as he tries to recall if he received any letter from Leah, face unchanging when he can't think of anything.
"You did get my letter, right? Sebastian says you did!" Tilting her head in confusion, yet another pout begins to form on Leah's face, leaning her hands onto the desk.
Ciel starts to slowly shake his head but stops in his tracks when he sees a face peering in through the door, dragging his eyes away from his fiancé’s face and onto Sebastian. Squinting his eyes, he stares incredulously and his thoughts jumble as he tries to make sense of what the butler is signaling before focusing back on Leah.
"Ah, now I remember. I apologize, seems it slipped my mind with my work and such. How long do you plan on staying?" Ciel exhales through his nose in disappointment, realizing he'll have to spend some of his day keeping up with a lie. He can only hope she doesn't ask him anything about the contents of the letter.
"Trying to get rid of me already?" Leah smiles teasingly, admiring the face of her betrothed. "I'll be staying for dinner and leave shortly after!"
"I'm having a guest over for dinner. I hope you don't mind sitting in on business chatter."
"Oh, I don't mind! I'm here to spend time with you after all, it won't be much different than when you are just being unresponsive."
A deadpan look flashes upon the face of the earl, choosing to ignore her comment on his unresponsiveness.
"I'm afraid I don't know what to do to keep you entertained, I was planning on doing my work, I'm quite busy as you know," says Ciel.
Pursing her lips, Leah puts her finger to her chin in thought and taps her heel against the floor. Ciel owns many board games but that doesn't seem to interest her before settling on an idea,
"We can play cards! I've been practicing just for you. I know how much you enjoy it!" Leaning forward, Leah claps joyfully with a wide smile spreads itself across her face. She had picked up many things that Ciel liked or enjoyed, wanting to find ways to bond with him and get him out of his shell.
"Practicing.. for me?" Ciel's words come out slow, stunned as he takes in the words of the girl standing across from him.
"Practicing, yes! In my free time away from my lessons I make my brother play with me," Nodding to herself, the girl recalls the amount of effort it took to get the idea of how cards work into her brain. "Thankfully my brother tolerates me, I'm afraid if he didn't love me as much as he does, he would have killed me by now.."
An understanding hum leaves the sixteen-year-old, moving his head in acknowledgment and leaning his elbow onto the armrest of the chair.
"Your lessons, how are they going?"
"I'm so glad you asked, they are going swimmingly! I've finished most of my language courses, nearly done with dancing, and I am faring well with poetry though I can't say I enjoy it. What is the news of yours?"
Leah can't deny how happy she gets when Ciel asks about her, always excited to share new information with the boy and talk his ear off. Ciel isn't much of a talker so typically the conversation is left to be carried by her, so giving her an easy topic idea is always a help, and it makes her feel like her betrothed cares about her daily activities.
"Fencing is alright I suppose.. I can't say the same for dancing."
"Yes, you do have two left feet."
"What?!"
Covering her mouth to avoid letting a giggle slip, Leah bites down on her lip and forces a closed-eye smile. Ciel has never been good with dancing, even he can admit it, yet whenever she calls him out about it he still tries to act as if no one has said it to him before.
"At the last ball we attended together you kept stepping on my toes! I had bruises on them for a week.." Looking down, Leah sees flashes of herself repeatedly saying 'Ouch!' and examining her feet when she arrived home, purple taking over her once pale skin. ‘ For someone as light as Ciel, you wouldn't think it would hurt so much if he stepped on your feet.’
"Uh- I-" Ciel stammers for an explanation, a flush covering his cheeks in embarrassment when hearing his betrothed's words, "I am not that bad!"
"If telling yourself that helps you sleep at night.."
There's a twitch in Ciel's eyes, taking a deep breath to distract from the fact that he was just inadvertently insulted. The Phantomhive forces the edges of his mouth to move themselves up, reaching into his desk to pull out a box of cards. Releasing the cards from their confinement, Ciel waves his hand as a signal for Leah to sit in the seat across from him, getting a delighted sound in return.
═╬
An hour passes of the two talking and enjoying their game of cards, and Ciel has beaten Leah three times in a row. Despite all of her practice, Ciel is much more skilled than her and always seems to have a trick up his sleeve. ‘ Perhaps I should practice more?’ Losing doesn't upset the teenager, though it does discourage her from feeling like learning paid off. After all, she's always been much more book-smart than game-smart.
"You're too good at this, Ciel.." Leah sulks in her seat and stares down at the cards in her hand, "How do you always have the right cards?"
"Luck, I supp—" Before a prideful smirk could settle itself onto Ciel's face, the Earl is cut off by the sound of an explosion in the distance.
Turning around in her chair, Leah gives an incredulous look towards the door of her fiancé's study. Such a noise would strike alert in anybody, especially one as sudden as the pair have just heard.
"Oh my, what was that noise?" Leah glances back at Ciel, furrowing her brows at the deafening silence that now fills the room.
"I'm sure it is nothing to worry about," Ciel starts, trying to dismiss the girl's worry, "It is probably that no good chef of mine partaking in his usual shenanigans."
The ghost of a scowl can be seen on Ciel's face if you stare hard enough, the thought of his incompetent servants is one he prefers to not welcome into his mind.
"Bardroy? Is this a normal occurrence? Perhaps we should check on him to be sure he is alright!" Leah exclaims, a daunting feeling haunting her previously chipper mood.
"No need, I am sure Sebastian is on top of it," Placing a spade on the table, Ciel shows a lack of interest in the matter at hand, "You shouldn't worry yourself with what the help is doing."
Staring down at the set of cards in her hand, the girl huffs to herself before reaching her hands down to take another card from the pile.
"I suppose so.."
═╬
Down in the servant's quarters of Phantomhive Manor, smoke fills the kitchen, and coughing echos from all directions. With damaged hair and covered in ash, Bardroy smiles cheekily at the butler who appears far from impressed.
"All three of you have made a mess as usual. How did this happen?" Sebastian's voice is filled with nothing more than disappointment, having just seen the disaster Finnian and Meyrin have caused themselves.
"There was a lot of meat to be cooked for dinner, and it was going to take a long time," A disgruntled pause rips itself through the chef's sentence, "I used me flamethrower.."
A sigh of irritation escapes Sebastian, trying to recollect his thoughts in such disarray. Despite this being such a common occurrence, it never makes it easier to accept the behavior.
"Must you all do this when we have the Lady Barrett and Sir Damian as guests this evening?" The servants huddle together and shudder at Sebastian's serious demeanor, ready for what feels like the hundredth scolding.
There is a prolonged silence as Sebastian creates a separate plan in his head, wondering how he can fix such mistakes this time. Glancing over toward Tanaka, a lightbulb practically lights up above his head.
"Everyone. Listen closely and do exactly as I say, understand? We must be quick about this. We might save this night yet," Moving around the counter, Sebastian prepares to set up what is needed, "And Bardroy, please lock away your flamethrower when the Lady is visiting. She has expressed a heavy distaste for loud and sudden noises. I'm sure you've startled her."
A look of guilt is sewn onto the chef's face, scratching the back of his head as he tries to form an indirect apology. Before any words can leave his mouth, Sebastian quickly ushers the servants to start working, cutting their 'fun' short.
═╬
Upon the arrival of Sir Damian, the young couple move themselves to the drawing room in preparation to entertain the guest. A board game Leah has never seen before is sprawled across the table the teens are sitting by, observing the odd nature of the game. 'Body is burnt by raging flames..? What kind of game is this?'
"Buona sera, Ciel! Are you well?"
The silence of the room is quickly filled by a powerful voice, that of Sir Damian making his entrance to the drawing room. Standing from her once seated position, Leah plasters a smile on her face to do her best at being welcoming. After all, this is a chance to show off her skill of entertaining guests, yet another thing to ensure that she is a perfect future wife for the Earl beside her.
"You came, Damian," Ciel's voice is rather unenthusiastic, the blank eyes of his unchanging.
The faintest bow comes from Leah, enough out of respect but not enough to show she is of higher status, trying to be most hospitable despite the man being more Ciel's guest than hers.
"Ah, who is this fine lady?" Sir Damian approaches the two, arms outstretched in an attempt to hug the Earl, "A sight for sore eyes!"
With a flushed face, Leah clears her throat as her fiancé unwillingly takes the affection from the Italian. The shy personality of the girl may have relieved itself, but it never entirely left and she has always struggled with meeting new people.
"Leah Barrett, daughter of Marquess Barrett," Leah places a hand to her chest as she introduces herself, "Ciel's betrothed."
"Ciel never told me he is engaged! Why hide such a thing? The bride-to-be is certainly something worth flaunting," Sir Damian smirks to himself, nodding to the girl.
An unimpressed look is quick to be hidden on Leah's face, not appreciating being spoken of as nothing more than a pretty face, though making no objections to his words. In such a high-class society, even in the lower classes, women aren't held in much regard, something the girl has always despised.
"Perhaps I should go for a walk in the garden? I have never been one for board games." Leah forces a smile on her face, hoping to get out of the situation now that the factory manager has run his mouth.
"Stay," Ciel voices from his now seated position, staring up at his fiancé with a knowing look.
Pursing her lips, Leah gives Sir Damian one last forced smile before shuffling to seat herself once more. 'I should have left when Ciel mentioned a dinner guest..' Setting her hands in her lap, the girl examines the game board as she had been earlier, still off put by the horrific nature of the game.
Seating himself as well, Damian settles before taking a glance between the two youths.
"Are we to talk business with the Lady in the room? We wouldn't want to bore her!" Damian lets out a hearty laugh, finding his nonexistent joke funny.
"I don't mind, talk away," Leah takes her turn first, spinning the dice, moving five spaces, and leading her game piece to a safe spot.
"I see. Well, the progress we've been making with the East Indian Factory is quite astonishing. We already have the makings of a top-notch staff," Italian accent cutting through the air, Damian spits his lies before he is cut short by Ciel.
"Bewitched by the eyes of the dead. What terrible luck. It appears I lose a turn," Ciel's words are met with a faint chuckle, Sir Damian wanting to continue their discussion.
Leah sits idly, waiting for her turn and paying little mind to the two men who discuss business before her. She has seen her fair share of meetings between businessmen, courtesy of spying on her father, and this one has a lack of interest in her.
"Right now is the perfect time. We should begin expanding the company and building a strong labor force, it would—" Sir Damian is cut short once again by Ciel.
"Go on. It's your turn," Pressing his back against the chair, Ciel folds his hands together and keeps with his reserved manner.
Damian lets out a crisp breath of air when he is interrupted, holding back a look of irritation. The Italian man is not here to talk about the game, which Ciel and Leah are much more focused on.
"Oh, yes. I just spin this then," Spinning the dice, Sir Damian lands five like Leah had before him.
"Okay there, five spaces. Now, what I wanted to ask you. Perhaps you could contribute another twelve thousand pounds to support our expansion? I believe it will be quite a profitable venture for you, my Lord, and I would consider it an honor to help expand the Funtom Company.."
Twirling the dice in her manicured hand, Leah chews on her bottom lip and observes the two men seated beside her. Picking up her game piece, she moves it three spaces, 'burnt at the stake'. A low hum escapes her, only able to assume that's certainly not good.
"Lose a leg in the enchanted forest. And it's your turn again. I lost a turn, remember?" Damian is stunned for a few short moments when Ciel speaks, finding trouble focusing on the game.
"Oh, I see," Sir Damian leans forward in his chair, spinning the dice before it lands on its side. "Right, I move six."
"You don't. That's three." Ciel is quick to enforce the rules of the game.
"What exactly is the point of this game?" Leah mumbles under her breath, brows furrowed as she tries to figure out what the end goal is meant to be.
"What? But.."
"You lost a leg, if you recall. Now you only move half the number of spaces."
A nod comes from the girl, her brain consuming the information as it is spoken.
"Yes, that would make sense.." Placing her chin on her hand, Leah pays little mind to Sir Damian who begins to chuckle at the board game's nature.
"Oh my, haha. This is a gruesome board game, isn't it? Is there no way for me to restore my leg, then?" The Italian appears amused, though Leah can't help but feel he's overcompensating.
"I'm afraid once something is truly lost, sir, that one can never get it back again," Ciel leans across the table, snatching Damian’s piece out of his hand. "Your body is burnt by raging flames."
A quiet gasp escapes Sir Damian before he glances down at the board, eyes closing themselves into a smaller shape when he notes what part of the board his piece is sat upon. Burnt at the stake.
"Well, I don't suppose that is entirely true! I once lost my favorite toy and couldn't find it for weeks before it was finally found and returned to me! I had almost lost all hope that I would never see Lord Ducky again.." Replacing the once cold atmosphere at Ciel's previous statement, Leah tries to uplift the feeling in the room with a ridiculous story from her childhood.
Staring at his fiancé with an incredulous look, Ciel can't find it in him to form a comment on her speaking of a toy after something with such a serious undertone. However, a loud laugh is quick to interrupt his train of thought and drive his gaze away from the more innocent girl, listening to Sir Damian make noise across from him.
═╬
In the kitchen, Bardroy cuts off the burnt piece of the meat with a cleaver, a content Finnian watching from the other side of the counter with a smile on his face.
"How is it going?" Sebastian walks into the doorway, observing the chef as he goes about his appointed job.
"I'm doin' it like you said to," Bard turns around, holding up the meat with the cut side to show the butler, "Is this really want you want?"
"Yes, that looks excellent." Sebastian praises, head turning to his left at the sound of a yell.
"Sebastian! Found 'em!" Meyrin comes running down the hallway, happily exclaiming with a high pile of boxes stacked in her hands. "Aah!"
The clumsy maid's happiness is quick to fall short though, tripping over her own feet and sending the boxes and herself flying into the air. Effortlessly catching the boxes with his feet and hands, Sebastian stares down at Meyrin who collides with his chest.
"Oh, honestly. How many times have I told you not to run inside the manor, Meyrin?" Sebastian gently scolds, observing the bright red face that looks up to meet his. "And again with the loud noises. Now what if I hadn't caught this and you startled the Lady Barrett?"
Squealing in embarrassment, Meyrin hastily retracts herself from Sebastian, scrambling back at having caught herself in such a manner.
"I'm so sorry, sir! My glasses cracked and I can't see a thing!" Meyrin apologizes loudly, face still flushed as she keeps a few feet distance between the butler and herself.
Kicking the last box up from his foot, the demon butler graciously catches it on the pile of the rest.
"These are the last items we needed for dinner." A smile sits upon Sebastian's face, turning his attention to Bardroy and Finnian who now watch the the doorway.
"Splendid work, everyone. And now I believe you can leave the rest of it to me and relax for a bit. But I need you to do well, very well, during dinner tonight." The closed-eyed smile continues to paint Sebastian's face, trying to get his point across to the usually incompetent servants.
"He said it twice.." Bard mumbles.
"Ooh, that's serious," Finnian responds, keeping his eyes on the butler from his spot safe in the doorway of the kitchen.
═╬
Back in the drawing room, Ciel and his two guests have continued their conversations and game. The three are then interrupted by Sebastian opening the door, allowing himself in.
"Pardon the interruption, but dinner is served," the butler announces, the previous smile on his face gone.
"Oh, dining out in that exquisite stone garden? Shall we go, my Lord?" Sir Damian begins to rise from his chair before halting his movements at Ciel's voice.
"Very well, we'll finish the game later," Ciel states, not bothering to glance up at the Italian.
"Oh, is there any real need to finish it? It's obvious I'm going to lose," Sir Damian puts a fake smile on his face, one that Leah can easily detect. She knows those looks from anywhere, the same ones she gives to Thomas when he is getting on her nerves. The same ones she gives to other people to seem likeable.
"I'm not in the habit of abandoning games halfway through," Rising from his seat, Ciel takes a few steps forward.
"How childish," Sir Damian fails to conceal his voice to a quieter tone, finger to his eyebrow with a light glare towards the young Earl.
Facing his head around, Ciel looks at the Italian from the corner of his eye when he hears the words leave his mouth clear as day. Both Leah and her betrothed watch as Damian stumbles over his words, trying to excuse himself.
"Oh I, I mean that sometimes it takes a child's eyes to see what's really important. It's a true gift. Maybe that's what's made the Phantomhives the nation's foremost toy makers. If certainly impresses me!" Sir Damian follows suit in rising from his seat, the glare from Sebastian going unnoticed by him.
Stomach faintly grumbling, Leah glances around in embarrassment to make sure no one hears. Skipping breakfast, and now lunch has certainly taken its toll on her. Feeling hungry and exhausted, she wants to wait no longer.
"Please do wait to continue your business chatter at the dining table, I am feeling rather famished and would prefer to not be kept up in here much longer," Leah moves around the table, hand placed on her forehead theatrically. If there's one thing she's good at, it's getting out of conversations. That and being dramatic.
═╬
Lights circle the perimeter of a platform placed above raked sand, a long dining table sat square in the middle, with two chairs on the end and one in the middle. The group of three sit quietly and listen as Sebastian explains dinner, taken aback when they see it.
"On tonight's menu is a dish of finely sliced raw beef donburi courtesy of our chef Bardroy," Sebastian speaks, having the dishes placed in front of the dinner guests as they stare down with confused faces.
"A pile of raw beef. And this is dinner?" Sir Damian holds a shocked expression on his face, eyes wide open at such a foreign concept to him.
"Yes, but surely you have heard of it? This, good sir, is a traditional Japanese delicacy, a dish offered as a sign of gratitude to someone who has accomplished important work. That, sir, is the wonder of donburi!" Sebastian goes on a long spiel about the food, sending Damian into a winded state.
Staring from her side of the table, Leah glances at her bowl with an uneasy look. She didn't expect something so out of her usual comfort zone, a picky eater at heart that will be thoroughly disappointed if she doesn't enjoy the food.
"Is he always like this?" Leah turns her attention to Ciel, acknowledging the behavior from Sebastian that she finds rather unusual compared to the normal quiet she sees from the butler.
"No. This is just Sebastian doing more than he needs to," Ciel gives his butler an unimpressed look but doesn't comment any further, letting the demon speak for him.
"This is a token from our master, to show his thanks for all your hard work on the company's behalf. He wanted you to know that it's much appreciated," returning to his normal self, Sebastian watches as Damian sinks into his seat with a bemused look.
On the sidelines, the servants admire from a bush amongst the garden, wearing headbands adorned with leaves in an attempt to blend in.
"Now that's our Sebastian for you!" Finnian's eyes sparkle at the sight.
"He saved the day." Baldroy's voice is lower than it typically is, a couple of inches behind Finnian.
"Ho ho ho.." Tanaka comments, a cup of steaming green tea sits in his hand.
"Excellent, what an inspired idea! The legendary Phantomhive hospitality in action!" Sir Damian exclaims, arms outstretched as Ciel and Leah already begin eating their meal.
Standing off to the side, Sebastian has Meyrin with a cart of wine, hand outstretched to her.
"The vintage we are pouring tonight was specially selected to compliment the flavor of soy sauce. Meyrin." A low hum leaves Sebastian when he notices the maid isn't moving, "Now Meyrin."
Leah watches from her seat at the table, carefully placing the meat in her mouth and chewing slowly to try and become used to the texture. The girl's head tilts when she notices that Meyrin's face turns a stark red, Sebastian leaning down to her ear, hand barely covering his moving lips.
"Why are you just standing there? Pour the man a glass of wine." Sebastian urges, brows furrowed at the maid's antics.
As Meyrin approaches the table with shaking hands, wine bottle clasped tightly between them, the servants in the bush watch the nervous woman's behavior with mumbled comments.
"Sebastian is watching me. I can't take it. Don't look at me that way!" Leaning her hands down, Meyrin miscalculates where the glass is due to the crack in her lenses, now spilling wine all over the tablecloth.
In the bush, the rest of the servants watch in horror at the scene.
"Meyrin, stop it! Can't you see you're spilling the wine?" Finnian's voice however is not loud enough to be heard.
Dining with a content aura surrounding her, Leah doesn't even notice the chaos beginning to form around her. When the tablecloth is ripped from under everyone's plates, she can't help but gasp at the clattering sounds of the dishes.
"Oh my!"
"Oh? Where did the tablecloth go?"
Finnian and Baldroy are quick to rush to the scene, grabbing Meyrin on both sides of her arms and starting to drag the dizzy maid out of sight.
"A speck of dirt, most unsightly. I had the cloth removed so it wouldn't distract us. Think nothing of it," Ciel speaks with a light smirk on his face, holding a piece of raw meat in between his chopsticks before swiftly taking a bite.
'That pair are so strange.' Leah thinks to herself, awkwardly continuing to eat her dinner and trying to not acknowledge the now missing cloth.
"Please accept my apologies, sir. Do continue. Enjoy the meal at your leisure," Sebastian bows from beside Ciel's chair.
"Oh, Oh my! Lord Phantomhive, once again you have truly impressed me. What an able butler you've acquired." Sir Damian chuckles when he observes the butler clad in black not far behind his master.
"Pay him no mind. He merely acts as befits one of my servants," Ciel smirks, proud though knowing he did none of the work.
"My master is quite correct about that. Naturally, you see, I am simply one hell of a butler," Glancing up at Damian, there's a strange look to Sebastian that Leah can't place her finger on.
Shifting his head with a begrudging 'humph.', Ciel puts his attention back onto his dinner and fiancé who has been oddly quiet the whole time. However, when he looks her way, a faint smile works its way onto his face when he sees her immersed in her food, resulting in her silent nature.
═╬
Returning to the drawing-room, the trio find themselves back in their original seats, staring at the untouched board game. With a glance out the window, Leah knows her time at the Phantomhive Manor is soon coming to an end, a puff to her cheeks at the thought.
"That was a thoroughly enjoyable dinner, my lord. Now then, about the contract.." Damian is quick to want to get back to discussing business, barely seated himself, and wants to go home soon.
"Before we discuss that, we must finish the game," Ciel sits down himself, keeping his gaze on Leah who flattens out her dress skirts in her chair.
"Ah, yes of course. I do have a pressing appointment, perhaps another ti—" Sir Damian is interrupted by Ciel once again.
"Children can be very demanding about their games. Surely you wouldn't want me or my betrothed to get upset," a sly smirk settles itself on Ciel's face, staring down the Italian across from him.
"No, no of course not. Perhaps you would permit me to use your telephone?"
The two teens watch the man walk out the door, catching a glimpse of Sebastian also allowing himself in. A comfortable silence sits over the engaged pair as they are served tea, though with their sips they don't appear all that delighted.
"What is this? It smells terribly weak," Ciel stares down at his cup with an unpleased expression.
"Out of consideration for our guest, I brought some Italian tea."
"Italian?"
Watching the butler and his master speak over the matters in which the tea is from, Leah quietly excuses herself to the restroom. Pushing the door to the drawing room back open, she does her best to recall the layout of the manor, though not without a struggle on her end.
The only sound Leah can hear is that of her shoes, pressing against the floor with each step she takes. Amidst her maze-like troubles, she's completely unaware of what is truly happening in the manor tonight.
═╬
After her not-so-brief trip to the restroom, Leah starts her way back to the drawing room. It had taken it an estimated ten minutes just to find the room, now it will take her another ten to find her way back.
'How embarrassing.. I can't find my way around my future manor. What kind of lady am I?!'
Going through numerous halls and multiple rooms, Leah wanders aimlessly without a staff in sight. A nearly permanent pout is etched onto her face, walking around with her dress skirts in tail.
Before long, she finds herself back in the hallway leading to the drawing room, though not feeling relieved as it all looks the same to her. Glancing inside numerous rooms, her ears twitch at the sound of a scream she can just barely make out, eyes widening and almost jumping out of her skin.
"What was that?!" Leah exclaims, flailing her arms around as she searches the rooms faster.
Finally coming across the drawing room, she holds herself back from slamming the door open and examines Ciel from her spot in the doorway.
"I heard a scream! Are you alright?" Leah asks, getting closer to the boy to inspect him.
Ciel sits up in his seat at the sudden intrusion, surprised to see Leah bursting through the door. He had almost forgotten she was here, she was taking so long in the restroom that it was almost as if she disappeared for a moment.
"I am quite alright. That scream wasn't me," Ciel reassures Leah, nodding along to his words.
A quiet breath of relief leaves the girl, shoulders dropping from their previously tense position. The worry she had just felt struck her like lightning, if her hair could stand up on its own, it would be doing so.
"That is good.." Leah smiles softly, brushing a stray piece of hair past her face, "Well, I suppose I should just bid my goodbye now. My parents will want me home soon."
"You aren't going to stay for dessert?" Ciel asks, tilting his head with an expectant look. Despite not wanting her there earlier, he appears slightly reluctant to let her go just yet.
Pausing in her spot, Leah taps the side of her face with one of her delicate fingers, thinking to herself. It wouldn't hurt to stay an extra half hour, would it?
"I suppose I can.. I don't have much to do tomorrow anyway. I'm sure my father will understand," Leah swiftly moves to return to her previous seat. "He does seem to adore you, after all."
Letting out a held-back snort, Ciel smirks to himself at his fiancé's words, allowing her to finish up her remaining moves on the board game.
"Is Sir Damian not joining us for dessert?"
Notes:
“black butler manga fanfiction” i chant to myself at 3 am while basing chapter one off the anime
Chapter 3: | 02 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl participates in an unexpected ball. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
did i say chapters on saturday? yes.
am i going to post on a random wednesday anyway? yes.
i’m literally writing chapter eight as we speak so i have plenty of chapters on standby😭also i feel like the first three chapters (black butler arc) are the most boring so just bear with me here it gets better + mc isn’t fit in as much so i feel like that also adds onto it
Chapter Text
( chapter two ! )
"I don't believe this is a good idea, Elizabeth.."
Watching as her friend speeds around past her, Leah tries to coax Elizabeth out of decorating Ciel's manor. The pink and frilly decorations litter every corner her eyes can see, a stark contrast from the usual darker tones of the Phantomhive Manor.
This isn't what the Mason girl had thought her day would consist of when Elizabeth asked her to tag along to a 'party', so you can only imagine her horror when the carriage pulled up to her fiancés home. Then when she learned that Ciel himself wasn't even home, it only worsened the feeling of potentially upsetting the boy.
Since Leah and Elizabeth's arrival, the more rational of the two have spent their entire time trying to coax the hyper girl out of her shenanigans to no avail. In such a situation, there is little Leah can do to fix it. If she takes down the decorations, Elizabeth will cry, but if she lets it happen, Ciel is likely to be upset as well. No one wins in this scenario.
"Don't be silly, Leah! Surely Ciel will love this!" Elizabeth chimes, placing hats on the servant's heads.
"I must disagree!" Leah grabs ahold of Elizabeth's arm, a soft attempt to prevent the girl from continuing.
"I'm just making Ciel's manor even cuter!" With a happy squeal, Elizabeth removes herself from Leah's grip.
A defeated sigh leaves the Barrett girl, giving up and allowing Elizabeth to continue her reign of terror. Busy in her head, she barely notices the sounds of the servants 'welcoming' home Ciel to disaster.
"These ribbons are good, too." Elizabeth starts, "But these satin roses are the cutest !"
Pulled out of her thoughts, Leah turns her attention back to her friend, deadpanning when she notices Tanaka in a wig.
"I hesitated a little but like I thought, you wearing that is totally adorable!" The shrillness of Elizabeth's voice hits Leah like a bullet, all hope out the window, "You look like Antoinette!"
"Is that so?" Tanaka responds, giving one of his signature laughs.
Letting a giggle escape her at the sight of the older man in a wig and frilly clothes, Leah fails to recognize the sound of her fiancé making his presence known. Or Elizabeth making it known.
"Ciel! I wanted to see you!" Elizabeth rushes towards Ciel, enveloping him in a tight squeeze.
"E.. Elizabeth!" Ciel stammers in surprise.
In the back of the cousins, Leah stands with an uneasy smile on her face. For the past hour, she had been making failed attempts to make her friend stop her antics before Ciel returned home. Now it's a little late for that.
"I tried to stop her.." Leah shakes her head in dismay, trying to disassociate herself from Elizabeth's decisions.
"No, no, no! Call me Lizzie! Aren't I always saying that?!" Elizabeth continues to squeeze Ciel as hard as she can, "Just as I thought, no matter how many times I look at you, you're the cutest!"
Standing awkwardly to the side, Leah tries to give Ciel smiles of encouragement. She knows how hard Elizabeth can hug, it is just her manner of showing love. It can be hard to recognize that as your first thought when she is squeezing you to death and practically shaking you around.
"Ahem.. Miss Elizabeth.." Sebastian starts, losing Leah's attention.
Making her way to her fiancé, who is now on the floor, she leans down in an attempt to get a look at his face. Ciel is currently standing hunched over, and what looks to be faintly shaking which strikes a small worry in Leah.
"Are you alright?" Leah asks before her attention is swiftly pulled away to the servants holding back laughter.
Turning back in Sebastian's direction, Leah notices the ridiculous hat adorning his head. Just beside her, she can hear Ciel beginning to chuckle, sparking giggles on her own.
"Ahh! It's so cute!" Elizabeth squeals, hands clasped together, "You're always wearing black, so I thought those colors would be good!"
Biting down on her bottom lip, Leah covers her mouth with her right hand in a feeble attempt to hide her laughter. The look Sebastian sends the servants is certainly one that would scare her on an average day, but with the addition of his hat, she just can't take him seriously.
"Regard for the things I wear, that sort of regard for me.. it is a great honor." Sebastian places a hand on his chest, mustering up one of his best fake smiles.
"More importantly, Lizzie," Ciel starts with a clear of his throat, "Why are you here? What about Auntie?"
"I wanted to see you so I rushed out in secret and came here!" Elizabeth cheerfully says, bringing herself closer to Ciel, "I brought Leah along with me for more fun!"
An awkward wave leaves the Barrett girl, still not wanting any part in the blame for this.
"Only Thomas knows I left.. so don't mention this visit to my father! He'll be very displeased to know I'm missing my Latin lessons." Leah smiles with shame at her words, recalling her morning.
═╬
Flipping the pages of her book, Leah sat in the armchair, harboring a bored expression across her face. One of the last things she wanted to do was spend her morning reading 'How to be a Proper Lady', but that is what she had at arms reach.
The sound of the door opening had drawn her out of her thoughts, glancing up to be met with the sight of Thomas. Out of all the people she would have wanted to see, Thomas was not one of them.
"What do you want? Go away." Leah waved her hand in the direction of the door, trying to make the butler leave.
"Lady Elizabeth is at the door, she would like to speak with you," Thomas spoke with a monotonous tone, head lowered so some of his blonde hair covered his eyes.
Blinking in shock, Leah tilted her head at the announcement of her friend's arrival. What could Elizabeth possibly be doing here?
"Well then, take me to her," Leah demanded, hand on her hip.
Shutting the book and leaving it to lay alone on the seat, Leah followed after Thomas who stopped for only a few moments to allow her to catch up. Walking briskly, the teen barely acknowledges the butler walking alongside her in their silence through the halls.
Leading up to the front door, Leah noticed the cheerful blonde talking off the ear of one of her maids. Sighing in hidden irritation, mixed with some surprise, she stepped closer to her friend and prepared herself for interaction.
"Elizabeth? What are you doing here?" Leah asked, walking with a tilt of her head before stopping in front of her.
"I'm going to visit Ciel! I'd like for you to come with me." Elizabeth smiled joyfully, grabbing Leah's hands in her own.
A smile of pity worked its way onto Leah's face, paired with a slow shake of her head at her cheerful friend's words. If she was to leave now, she would upset her governess and get into trouble with her parents.
"Oh but Elizabeth, I'm expected to begin my Latin lessons within the hour.. then poetry, and in the evening I'll be practicing with my sword." Leah pouted and squeezed Elizabeth's hands with her own.
Elizabeth glowered at this information, holding Leah's hands tighter which pulled a strained gasp from her end. Forcing a cheery smile onto her face, it became a real one when Elizabeth started to shake her head with a voice of laughter.
"You're always telling me about how you can't stand poetry! There is no harm in just missing one lesson! I left in secret." Elizabeth sang, not hearing the reality of her words.
"You left in secret?! And you're dragging me into this?!" Leah gaped, not wanting anything to do with this situation. If Elizabeth's mother happened to come by looking for her, she didn't want to take the fall for having her friend in her home.
"No one has to know! Won't you come with me? Please?" Begs left the girl clad in pink, pressing her face close to the taller of the two.
Opening and closing her mouth in the manner of a fish, Leah did not know how to respond. If she says yes, she will face repercussions when she returns home. Yet if she tells Elizabeth no, she will whine and cry, likely to make Leah feel guilty about it. Turning around to face her silent butler, she squinted her eyes at him before she spoke.
"I'll be taking my leave, Thomas. Don't tell a soul about this." Leah used a hushed tone as if she believed someone was listening in on the conversation.
"My Lady, I must advise you that this is not your brightest idea. When Governess Catherine is to find you are missing for your lessons, she will certainly be upset and inform the Lord and Lady of the house." Thomas attempted to intervene, looking down at the two teenagers planning their escape.
With a scowl on her face, Leah rolled her eyes and turned her head away from the man. How dare he say such a thing to me. Pulling her hands from Elizabeth, she took slow steps in the direction of the door, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
"If anyone is to ask for me, tell them I am sick," Leah stated, gesturing for Elizabeth to follow her who was now squealing in happiness.
Watching from the open doorway, Thomas couldn't bring himself to react. It was not the first time Leah has done such a thing and it definitely won't be the last.
"That girl.. she just creates more work for me."
═╬
"In secret?" Ciel begins to sweat, "What were you thinking..?"
Leah forces a smile, ignoring how her friend is all over her fiancé. She cannot blame her though, he is still her cousin. Or perhaps it's the fact that Leah has never been one to consider the emotions of those she doesn't deem her 'favorites'. The girl also fails to notice the servants behind her in dismay at the news of Elizabeth being Ciel's previous fiancé.
"If you two left without saying anything, then your parents must be worried. Sebastian contact—" Ciel's sentence is cut short when he is grabbed by the back of his coat.
"Ciel! Come here!" Elizabeth forcibly drags her cousin into the ballroom, "Look, look! I made the ballroom cute too, didn't I!"
Both Leah and Ciel are looking around with perturbation, despite Leah having seen the decorations being set up herself. The once bland ballroom is now filled with large bows, silks, and toys. Just by first glance, you can tell who entered the room, almost as if Elizabeth has a special signature.
"How did you manage to get the stuffed animals all the way up on the chandelier?" Unable to take her eyes away from the piece on the ceiling, Leah truly wonders how Elizabeth is capable of such things.
"Hey Ciel, since it took a lot of work to make the ballroom like this," Elizabeth starts, hands clasped together with the brightest of smiles, "Let's have a dance party today!"
'I'll dance with my cousin as an escort!' Elizabeth squeals once more, much to Leah's dismay.
"Wha.." Ciel trails off with a twitch to his eye, a look of irritation clear as day.
"Wear the clothes I picked for you, Ciel! You too, Leah!" Elizabeth sings, "I think it'll definitely be cute!"
The pair beside Elizabeth try to sway her mind to no avail, it was almost as if talking to a wall.
"Hey, who said it was fine!"
"Elizabeth, I think you should listen to Ciel.."
Despite the efforts of the two, Elizabeth is quick to scurry off in her world of thoughts. Elizabeth runs off, leaving a trail of happy noises for those to follow. Honestly, who would?
"Listen to what.. Hey!" Ciel exclaims, "Listen to what people are saying!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't think it would go this way." Leah apologies, looking off to the side to avoid the slight shame of her involvement.
Shifting his gaze to the face of his fiancé, Ciel's expression almost softens before quickly returning to his hard exterior. This is behavior he expected from Elizabeth, but not Leah.
"Do you know what your father will do to me when he finds out you are here?!" Ciel speaks in an anxious tone, sweat falling from his forehead at the thought.
"That is exactly why we won't tell him! Sebastian will be contacting nobody." Leah nods to confirm her words, taking Ciel's left hand in her own.
The moment is short-lived when Ciel tries to counter her words, met with yet another girl scurrying out of sight. Left with Sebastian in the ballroom, Ciel huffs in irritation at what this night will bring.
═╬
The joyful voice of Elizabeth powers over all other sounds in the ballroom, still decorated to Elizabeth's liking. Leah stands not far from her friend, picking at the dress with her fingers to adjust it around her figure while Meyrin switches between helping both girls.
"I think blue will definitely suit Ciel. When I saw the clothes I bought for Ciel in London, I fell in love instantly!" Elizabeth smiles with her arms outstretched by her side, paying little mind to Meyrin who is kneeling behind her. "Your dress also looks amazing, Leah! I saw the fabric and immediately knew it was something you would adore!"
Leah flashes the Midford a smile, glancing down towards the dress encasing her body. It is that of an apricot orange, a color Leah believes to be most unflattering on her. The dress has a large skirt and simple chest piece, accompanied by a cropped top coat in a deeper shade of orange, similar to Elizabeth's outfit with a headband holding a flower adoring Leah's head.
"I believe the shoes you bought are a size too small.." Leah shifts in her spot, wincing at the squeeze but makes no further complaints.
"Oh is it?! I'm so sorry, I hadn't realized!" Shifting towards Leah, Elizabeth pouts when she apologizes for her mistake but her mood quickly shifts when she acknowledges Meyrin.
"Oh! That's right!" Elizabeth starts, "How about I invite you to the party too! I'll make you cute!"
Shaking in her spot, Meyrin's cheeks grow a flush across the apples, joining her hands together at the fingertips.
"But then.. I'm super far-sighted so if I don't have these I can't see anything!" Meyrin gasps and holds onto the sides of her glasses with her index fingers.
"It'll be fine if you see it from far away!" Elizabeth chimes, trying to coax the maid.
Amid the chatter of the ballroom, the mood is quick to shift when Ciel makes his presence known. The boy wears a tailcoat more stylish than that he is typically seen in but wears a similar shade of blue, a cravat with decorated ends covering most of his neck, and an evening hat with striped fabric sits atop his head. Leah flashes the Earl a smile but is not given one in return.
"Do it that way," Ciel states, hands behind his back with Sebastian standing not far behind him, holding his cane.
"Ciel!" Both Leah and Elizabeth announce in unison, though one takes their welcome to a much higher level.
"You're so cute ! My eyes weren't wrong!" Elizabeth bounds towards Ciel, grabbing him by the hands and spinning him around.
Watching the scene, Leah and the servants watch in a mix of dismay and shock. How that girl has so much energy is beyond me.
"Elizabeth you shouldn't fling people around like that!" Leah tries to interject, though does not attempt to move any closer in the chance Ciel's body collides with hers.
The Barrett girl's words are met with little reaction, Elizabeth barely containing her excitement to show off her work. Stretching a gloved hand out in the direction of the servants, she revels in their costumes.
"Look, look! Everyone else is cute too, aren't they? I've let them come to the party too!"
Standing towards the wall, three of the servants are dressed up to match a nonexistent theme. Tanaka is covered in a traditional gown and black wig, holding a fan and a headpiece sitting center on his head. Finnian holds an embarrassed smile, dressed in a maid outfit with cat ears upon his head to match. To the very right, Bardoy wears a look of displease, a wig with bows covering his typical blonde hair, a middle school girl outfit that shows off a piece of his stomach and hairy legs.
"But Ciel is definitely the.." Elizabeth trails off, noticing the family ring that encases Ciel's left thumb.
"Ciel! Where's the ring I prepared for you?!" Getting close to his face, Elizabeth keeps a tight hold on her cousin's hand, "There was a ring that matched the Western-style clothing, wasn't there?"
"Ring?" Ciel tugs his hand away from Elizabeth's, "This ring is fine."
Ciel makes his way to stand closer to Leah, examining the dress that suits her body. Despite Leah’s distaste for the color, her fiancé can't help but think it looks nice, though it is more of a color Elizabeth would wear.
Dark energy emits from the girl across the ballroom, lips pursed in anger. The emotion is out of character for Elizabeth's usual cheerful personality but does remind those of her mood which is quick to shift.
"No! I went to a lot of trouble to make everything adorable!" Elizabeth objects, holding out a gloved finger and pointing it toward Ciel, "Only the ring is totally not cute!"
The sound of sniffles begins to emerge from Elizabeth, but her hands cover any glimpse one could see of tears staining her eyes. If only tears were staining her eyes.
"Are you saying you don't want the things I brought back for you, Ciel?! You're terrible!" Elizabeth whines, rubbing her hands across her eyes.
"Surely a ring isn't worth this much of a fuss, Elizabeth? The color is similar enough to match Ciel's outfit, it isn't that serious.." Leah tries to console her friend, though with terrible attempts.
"That's not it.." Ciel sighs, closing his eyes over his cousin's behavior, "This ring is.."
Elizabeth pulls a fast move, diving in the direction of the betrothed teens. While Ciel's hand is flexed to show the ring, she easily manages to slip it off, maniacal giggles escaping her.
"..Mine now!" Elizabeth sings, ignoring the protest coming from Ciel's end while Leah watches in surprise.
"I took it! This ring is super old!" Elizabeth holds the ring up to her left eye, looking through the hole as a gleam of light shines on the band, "The size of the one I chose is better, too.."
"Give it back!" Ciel shouts.
There is an air of silent horror that surrounds everyone, the tone of Ciel's voice almost haunting. All the servants, save for Sebastian stare on with wide eyes. Leah does the same, taking cautious steps back from the situation while desperately eyeing Elizabeth in the hope she can read her face.
"Give that back, Elizabeth!" Ciel demands, left hand outstretched towards the girl.
"Wh.. Why are you mad like that?" Real tears sting Elizabeth's eyes this time around, "I worked.. so hard."
Ciel's stern gaze doesn't falter at his cousin's words, staring on with those dull eyes of his.
"Why is he mad? Elizabeth.. are you ridiculous? Anyone would be mad if you snatch an item off of their hand!" Leah's nose scrunches at the Midford girl's behavior, not understanding her logic.
"I just made you cute!" Elizabeth clenches her hand, yelling back in retaliation with red cheeks, "So why are you mad like that?! You're terrible"
My god, this girl will drive me insane..
"This ring, I.." Raising her hand above her head, Elizabeth slams it down with force before she shouts, "Hate it!"
Everything in Leah's vision seems to slow, a look of terror written across her face. The ring hits the ground, shattering the gem and disconnecting the band. Amid the chaos and her brain running two hundred miles an hour, she barely has time to register a reaction to Ciel raising his hand, bringing it down to slap Elizabeth.
As quickly as her surroundings slowed around her, Leah regained her composer and stepped forward to grab ahold of Elizabeth. Before her attempt could work, however, Ciel's hand is stopped by the infamous butler clad in black standing behind him.
"Young master." All of the nobles stare with wide eyes, Ciel the first to break it when he turns his head to view Sebastian.
Swear pours down the face of the Phantomhive, holding eye contact with the demon. Breathing in exasperation, Ciel barely notices Sebastian repeating himself and Leah taking the chance to move Elizabeth further away.
"You've forgotten your long-awaited new cane." Sebastian wraps his arm around his master from the back, shoving the piece into his hand.
Ciel looks down at the now shattered family heirloom solemnly, watching Leah carefully approach him. The two don't pay attention to Sebastian explaining the significance of the ring to Elizabeth or the girl's loud tears, instead focusing on each other while Ciel calms himself.
"Just breathe, Ciel.. I'm sure there is some way to fix it.." Leah makes yet another bad attempt at comforting, though trying her best to make her fiancé feel even the slightest bit better about the situation.
"That sort of.. Important ring.." Elizabeth struggles to find words for the item she's now destroyed.
Letting the sweat dry upon his face, Ciel keeps his attention on the ring while his breathing steadies. Softened eyes meet Leah's own, the dull blue she's grown to appreciate, but her growing smile dissipates when Ciel shakes his head. Kneeling on the floor, everyone watches as he picks up the remnants of the ring.
An outstretched hand fails to reach Ciel when he approaches the open window in the ballroom, throwing the pieces out. Shock is an understatement for the reactions of those around him.
"Ciel?! What are you doing?" Elizabeth asks anxiously, running towards the window to look out as if she'll see anything.
"I don't care about that thing.." Ciel closes his eyes, lowering his head towards the floor, "It's just an old ring."
A faint 'Ciel..' escapes Leah's mouth, watching the display before her. After so many years spent with her betrothed, trying to learn more about him, she knows that statement is far from true.
"This ring is proof that," Ciel's grip around his cane tightens, "the head of the Phantomhive house is 'Ciel Phantomhive'."
The servants, unmoving from their spots, stare in surprise at their master's words—such a serious display of emotion, matching nothing of the outfits they currently wear.
"What's with that face?"
"B.. but..."
Reaching up to grab his hat, Ciel pulls it from his head and lowers it towards his chest. Pulling a handkerchief from its hidden confines, he passes it to his cousin.
"It's a terrible face. And you call yourself a lady." Ciel taunts, his face previously full of emotion now looking void, "I wouldn't want to invite a lady with a face like that to a dance, would I?"
Leah watches this all unfold from the sidelines, gloved hands fidgeting at the turn of events. She knows this entire idea was Elizabeth's, and she's currently the upset one, but Leah can't help the faint feeling of jealousy that gnaws at her heart.
"Let's forget those bad things and dance until dawn with evening party etiquette, shall we?" Outstretching his hand towards Elizabeth, Ciel smirks, "M'Lady?"
"..Yes." Elizabeth places her gloved hand in Ciel's a smile blooming.
The five servants observe the cousins with happy smiles, enjoying the now lightened mood.
"It really is like a dream!" Elizabeth sings, dancing around the ballroom with Ciel.
Alone in the corner, Leah watches with a neutral expression, matching empty eyes. For a ball, three people are not ideal. Three people if you only count the nobles.
"May I have this dance, My Lady?" Turning her head at the voice pulling her from her thoughts, Leah looks up to see a smiling Finnian with an outstretched hand.
A smile slowly grows on Leah's face before she places her hand in the gardener's, "You may."
Following the cheerful blonde closer to the center of the ballroom floor, Leah's eyes meet Finnian's own, sending him a cute smile. Teaching the gardener how to do the waltz, the pair giggle across the dance floor when Finnian adds his playful touch.
"You're an amazing dancer, My Lady!" Finnian admires, a closed-eyed smile sitting atop his face.
"I've learned from the best, of course. And now you are learning from the second best!" Leah laughs when Finnian spins her, her dress skirts flowing with her movements.
As the cousins twirl not far from the playful pair, Elizabeth admires Leah and Finnian with her spinning vision.
"Oh, Ciel! Look at them, aren't they so cute?" Elizabeth smiles with shining eyes.
"Hmm?" Peering over his shoulder, Ciel gets a glimpse of his fiancé happily dancing with the gardener, "Yes, they are a lively pair I suppose."
Ciel and Elizabeth's dance eventually come to a stop, separating from each other after the physical activity. The Phantomhive is left feeling indifferent, a stark contrast to the girl who swoons beside him when recollecting her thoughts on the dance.
Though the cousins have halted, Leah and Finnian continue to dance in mutual excitement. After many failed attempts, the gardener has finally grasped ahold of how to do the waltz.
"You're getting it, Finny!"
"I am!"
Spinning the younger girl in his arms, Finnian laughs cheerfully now that he is no longer nearly causing the both of them to topple over. The happy moment is short-lived however, the two are caught when the sound of a throat clearing is heard from their side.
Ciel stands beside the pair with his eyes upon Leah, "May I steal my fiancé?"
"O, Of course, Master!" Finnian flushes, letting go of Leah who smiles in return.
Replacing the gardener in his spot, Ciel grabs ahold of Leah's hand with a dull look. His hand makes its way onto her back, slowly pulling the two of them into a calming dance, a much different energy to the cheers Leah and Finnian were just sharing.
"You interrupted just as Finny was getting ahold of it.." Leah teases, feigning a pout.
"Oh? Would you rather dance with my gardener than your fiancé?" Cocking a brow, Ciel smirks in response before twirling Leah in his arms.
"What if I would? Finnian is a nice boy." Leah giggles, hardly taking herself seriously while she enjoys her time with her betrothed.
Shaking his head with a smirk, Ciel continues to waltz with Leah as they make a playful conversation. Behind the pair, Elizabeth happily dances with Tanaka and Finnian trying to coax Bardroy to dance with him. Keeping her joy internal, Leah admires how Ciel is seemingly much better at dancing than last time, tightening her grip around his hand.
"You've gotten better?" Leah asks, her blue eyes meeting his own.
"I have. Are you content with me no longer stepping on your toes?" Ciel jokes, smiling down at Leah.
"I am.."
As the night bleeds on, the festivities must come to a close. The three nobles now gather closer, no longer dancing but ready to retire to bed.
"I suppose it is time for me to return home now.." Leah trails off, upset that her night is coming to an end.
"Must you go? Why can't you stay the night and leave in the morning with me?" Elizabeth begs, resting her hands on her friend's right shoulder.
"My father will kill Ciel and me! I'll never hear the end of this from my mother."
"Doesn't your father like me?"
"Yes but leaving the house without permission.. sneaking off to my fiancé's house without a chaperone? Staying until the moon is up? He can excuse dinner, not this!"
Whines come from Elizabeth but no further protest, hugging her friend goodbye while Tanaka pulls up the carriage.
"You're acting as if we'll never see each other again, Elizabeth.. There is always next time!" Leah tries to cheer the girl up, successful before Sebastian drags her off to one of the guest rooms.
"Well.. goodnight then. Do make it home safely." Stepping closer, Ciel looks down at Leah, a hint of a smile on his face.
"I'll have a maid call your telephone.." Leah giggles.
Wrapping her arms around the boy, Leah envelopes Ciel in a hasty hug. Her arms are warm around the boy, feeling his own but not relishing in the moment. Pulling back, Leah makes her way towards the front door, waving with a somber smile.
"Goodbye!"
═╬
In the moving carriage, Leah sits sprawled across the seat. An unladylike way to be seated but the teen has little care, hidden from any prying eyes due to the late hour. Her shoes are laid across the bottom of the carriage, the too-tight accessories long forgotten.
When the Barrett girl finally arrives home, she can only pray no one has noticed her arrival. Diving down to grab the shoes, Leah opens the carriage door only to be met with the face of Thomas.
"Welcome home, My Lady." Thomas extends his hand out for her, eyes not meeting her own.
"Thomas." Leah replies, "Carry me."
With widened eyes, Thomas doesn't hesitate to take the noble in his arms. Adjusting his hands around her, he carries Leah bridal style before sending the carriage off, observing the teen below him.
"Has anyone noticed my absence?" Leah asks, ready to yell at the man depending on his answer.
"No, My Lady. I worked diligently to make sure no one stepped foot in your room. I told them that you didn't wish to see anyone." Nodding to his words, Leah mumbles a quiet 'Good' under her breath.
Sneaking around the back of the manor, Thomas has no problem carrying the weight of Leah, still moving fluidly. Hair moving in the wind, Leah keeps a tight grip on the shoes in her hand, refusing to look at the butler holding her.
"Is it alright if I ask why you are in different clothes than when you left? Or perhaps why you are not wearing shoes?" Thomas inquires, digging his deep blue eyes into Leah's dull ones.
"Don't question me, Thomas."
Chapter 4: | 03 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl gets kidnapped. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
wow you get to see thomas and his shenanigans!! i still wonder why i wrote his character
black butler arc is concluded tho!! yayay (probably the second worst chapter after the first one💀)
also, completely irrelevant information but ciel is meant to be 6’1 - 6’2 (about 185 - 187 cm) and mc is meant to be about 5’9 - 5’10 (about 175 - 177 cm)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter three ! )
"Somehow, there seems to be a rat in here, too."
Inside a plain room of the Phantomhive manor sits a large pool table, surrounded by The Aristocrats of Evil and Leah. Azzurro is bent over to take his shot, the other seven watching on in anticipation of his move.
Madame Red and Chlaus stand off towards the wall, peeping through their hats. Diedrich is leaning back in a chair some feet away from him, a man with a scar on his face at the head of the table. To the opposite of Azzurro is Lau, and seated in a large chair is Ciel, Leah not far next to it.
"How long do you intend to let that harmful animal that scavenges for food and spreads disease around do as it pleases?" Diedrich voices, munching on a sandwich.
"Shall we let it do as it pleases?" Lau smirks and asks, "Or shall we make it swim?"
The faces of the aristocrats shift to more serious expressions, going unnoticed by Leah who is keeping herself busy by twirling the cue around in her hand.
"Yes, he always aims for the nine-ball." Angelina looks down, "Will you pass again, Count Phantomhive?"
"Pass." Ciel leans back in his chair with a smirk, "The ball that you can't help hitting is an un-hit principle."
"That's a good judgment. When will the rat be exterminated?"
"Soon, I've already received the ingredients from Chlaus."
Chlaus pays little mind when his name is mentioned, attention left to the drink kept towards his lips. Lau is now taking his turn, striking the ball with a harsh 'clack' that sounds in the room.
Despite understanding little of what the others around her are talking about, Leah remains content to move herself to the pool table to take her turn—leaning down, the sixteen-year-old squints her eyes, trying to gauge her move and hitting the ball. Ultimately missing, the girl steps back quietly.
"I'm not that good at this game.." Leah pouts, pushing her head next to the cue grasped in her hands.
"Don't fret, you did say this is only your third time playing billiards," Lau reassures, flashing one of his signature cunning grins.
Adjusting her shoulders, the pout on her face lightens up a bit. Although she doesn't share much in common with anyone in the room, the adults, minus Ciel, are doing a good job at keeping her content.
"We will eradicate the rat that finds its nest after we break a few of its bones," Ciel leans forward in his seat, gripping the cue with both of his hands, "When can I receive the compensation for it?"
"..You Vulture.."
Ciel doesn't falter at the words from Randall, but his expression tells a different story. No longer smirking, there is a darker aura painted across the teen's face and a faintly tighter grip around his pool cue.
"Do you possess the right to insult our crest? You, a bloodhound that can't even catch one rat?" The man voices.
Glancing around, Leah notices the shift in the air between the two noblemen. The feeling sinks into her skin, eating away at her in a way that makes her want to back away from the situation. ‘What in God's name are they talking about?’
"Too bad. It's a fall."
Letting out a breath of air, Lau leans to his left with a hand on his hip, "Billiards is hard.."
"It is, isn't it?" Leah responds, standing beside a chair where she presses her back against it.
"Next is the Count. What will you do?" Azzurro looks behind himself to ask, observing the boy, "Will you put an end to this waiting game?"
With a push of his hand, Ciel stands from his once-seated position and walks in the direction of the pool table. Brushing past the older man, he doesn't bother to look up at him and keeps his gaze straight ahead.
"And? When will you be able to prepare the compensation?"
"Th.. This evening."
"That's fine."
Glancing behind him, Ciel gives a dull look in acknowledgment before approaching the table. Leaning down and aiming his cue, he focuses on the man rather than the balls.
"Afterwards a carriage will come to pick you up. Please wait for high tea to be prepared."
Clenching his teeth, the man bites back the words he would like the say to the boy, opting to glare.
"Will you aim for the nine-ball with the remaining three-ball?"
Shifting his cue, Ciel uses his fingers to grip the stick, "Of course."
"How about a look at the skill of this game's prodigy?" Diedrich smirks, a hatted man doing the same to his far right.
"'Greed' will destroy your body, Ciel!" Randall exclaims.
Smirking at the man's words, Ciel lets out a faint 'ha' before hitting the three-ball. Watching in wonder, Leah is surprised when the balls around the table collide, coming back to the nine-ball and shooting it into the hole with a thunk.
"Greed, huh?"
═╬
Sebastian stands in front of the other four servants, staring in dismay at the chaos before him. Bardoy is dressed ridiculously, sporting odd glasses and Finnian is wearing a cat suit. For the most part, Tanaka and Meyrin seem normal but are partaking in the act. Anna, Leah's lady's maid, stands not far away from the Phantomhive servants but doesn't participate.
"..What are all of you doing?" The butler asks, unable to hide his look of upset and confusion.
Multiple screams come from the lot, running around and wrecking more havoc than the rats. Warns to not come in their direction are heard, but not particularly obeyed. Watching in utter confusion, Anna dodges flying objects and rat traps thrown her way.
"'What', you say.. We've decided to capture the rats!" Bardoy yells in frustration, Finnian sprinting not far ahead of him with a cat biting his head.
"Aha.. And that is..?" Sebastian trails off, obviously seeing that the scenario is not playing out well.
"Sebastian!"
Turning his head at the sound of a voice, Sebastian is greeted by Ciel with his fiancé merrily walking beside him.
"Young master," Sebastian responds in acknowledgment.
"Tonight, escort Duke Randall by carriage to his mansion," Ciel orders, "Will you take care of the carriage?"
Just behind the three, the servants are still screaming at the situation. However, neither noble seems to bat an eye. Leah assumes Anna can take care of it, always putting her trust in the older girl.
"Leave tonight's plans open."
"Understood."
Sebastian grins, "Then when I finish the preparations for the carriage, I will bring up some afternoon tea to your room."
Placing a hand to his chest, Sebastian's grin falters at the continued commotion. A mousetrap is stuck to Meyrin's hand, and Anna trying to pull it off. Finnian is still being bitten on the head, tears streaming down his face, and Bardroy somehow manages to get his head stuck inside a pot.
"I have prepared apple and raisin dip pie for today's snack. I will bring it to you when it's baked, so please wait just a bit."
"Alright," Ciel replies, walking past the chaos with Leah who happily follows behind him.
"..Now then." Sebastian starts.
Diving down to the floor, Sebastian swings his hand before grabbing ahold of the two rats. Bardoy, Finnian, and Meyrin watch in shock, still a mess.
"Now. Please do your work without playing around. We will be having guests tonight." Sebastian states, walking towards Tanaka to throw the two rats into his net.
" Whoa .." The servants say in unison.
Further down the halls, Leah and Ciel are quietly entering his office. When Leah had originally tried to follow her fiancé around, the boy tried to deny her but when she started to beg, he couldn't bring himself to turn her down. Primarily because everyone knows that once Leah starts begging, she won't shut up.
Stood with his back against the wall and papers in his hand, Ciel closes his eyes in frustration while the girl giggles beside him.
"How can this house's servants always be so peaceful?" Ciel sighs.
"They are a lively bunch, aren't they?" Leah smiles along with the words of her betrothed.
Hands begin looming from behind the pair, slamming onto the teen's mouths and receiving sounds of shock. Struggling in the arms of her captor, Leah does her best to swing her body around and elbow the body behind her.
Sadly her efforts are futile, eyes grazing Ciel's face before the two fall unconscious. Their bodies grow limp and fall against the bodies behind them, no longer able to struggle due to the gas in the cloth.
═╬
Outside a prestigious building are men dressed in black suits, guarding the permitter. Inside is a much different story, Leah and Ciel are unconscious and tied up. Leaned against the wall, the teen girl is barely conscious to hear any words being spoken, trying to breathe through the pain that riddles her body.
"The backside of England's public, 'The Order.' The traitor will be bitten to death by our power, by the Queen's Watchdogs." Eyes flickering through multiple quick blinks, Leah brings her eyes up to meet Azzurro.
"I have come to take over the dirtied part of the government that has spanned many generations. The evil royal family. How many street names have they been burdened with, and how many families have been crushed?" Azzurro monologues.
"Who would've thought that the president of the world's best toy factory is just a boy? Right? Ciel Phantomhive." The young boy lifts his head in acknowledgment of his name, an angered look paired with frowning brows painted across his face.
Shifting in her spot, the brunette struggles to make any adjustments to the bindings around her body. The belts are uncomfortably tight, digging into her arms and faintly chafing her pale skin. Her dress is also tattered, small stains of blood lay across the soft, pink fabric that originates from the liquid dripping from her nose.
Leah can't bring herself to look at the boy beside her, scared of what she'll possibly see if she does. Pursing her now cracked lips, she glares up at their captor through her lashes.
"Looks can be deceiving. Well, it's oddly understandable that the king of a toy palace is a child." The only word that can describe the tone coming off the Italian is that of prideful annoyance, an ugly smirk that shows off his teeth.
"It really was you. Ferro family.. Azzurro Vener." Ciel says.
"You know, little Phantomhive, the Italian mafia finds this country bothersome," Azzurro reaches up to scratch his head, cigar in hand, "It's really a pain."
A dog growls in the background, "All of the English and their goddamn tea-stained heads!"
The pair of teens stare up at the man with empty eyes, faces littered with bruises and blood. Though somehow, it's almost as if the Barrett can pull it off, the dried red accentuating parts of her unblemished skin.
"Think about it. What's the most beneficial market for people like us?" Azzurro asks matter of factly, "It's not cleaning up, carrying things, nor woman, nor spare parts. It's drugs, ya' know?"
The man continues, "Even so when we came to this country, thanks to the successful glares of the watchdogs, we haven't been able to catch a single relaxing scent."
Outstretching his arms with a disconnected aura surrounding him, Azzurro lets the smoke from his cigar swirl into the air. Unnerving Leah and causing her to go into a fit of coughs, she can't help but interject for the sake of being a nuisance.
"My father is going to kill me when I get home.. Arriving like this, surely he'll lock me away until I'm old." Leah whines, sparing a thought as to what her father would think.
Snarling at the idiotic words leaving the girl, Azzurro delivers a blow with his foot to her side. Releasing a yelp, Leah's body falls to her left, leaning her head against the floor as a way to comfort herself. Beside her, Ciel sends harsh glares to Azzurro standing above them.
"It was an order from the Queen not to let the dealers do as they please with their drugs." Stating the information with a firm voice, Ciel stares at the man as if he's dumb, irritation written all over his face.
"Ah, come on, don't be so stubborn. This is why I hate the English," Azzurro laughs, "The Queen! The Queen! That's all they ever talk about."
"I'm not English.." Leah mutters, keeping her gaze trained on the floor.
"Shut up, bitch!" Above her, Azzurro cracks and kicks her again. Coughs sound from the girl, curling in on herself against the soft material of her dress.
Watching the scene play out in front of him, Ciel's demeanor has a small shift to it. Sharp glares are currently the only thing the boy can muster so he does just that, lifting his head to look Azzurro right in the eye.
"Don't touch her!" Ciel barks, the rough words bouncing off the walls of the room.
Placing his foot against the head of the Phantomhive, Azzurro pushes him back with a roll of his eyes, "In the end aren't we two sides of the same coin? So I just want us to cooperate a bit."
"Sorry, but I have no intentions of conspiring with a filthy rat." Peering through the corner of his eye, Ciel observes his fiancé lying on the floor. Upset he can't do anything and annoyed that Leah was brought into this, the boy can only reply to Azzurro's words.
"You may say that, but what about the others? Right now it might be only the watchdogs who are scared and obedient. I guess Ciel Phantomhive is someone who cleans out corruption," Inhaling some of his cigar, Azzurro pulls it away from his mouth and lets it move through the air,
"Even though I specifically made it so that I wouldn't sell in Italy.. I didn't expect to be tracked this early on."
'God.. Does this man ever stop yapping like a dog?' Leah thinks to herself, uncurling her body and wincing as she straightens her back. Subtly scooting over towards Ciel, she pays little attention to the things Azzurro is saying.
‘I feel like I should be more worried than I am..? So why aren't I? This man could kill us if he wanted to, and I'm in no position to defend myself. Why do I feel so calm at the proposition of dying?’
"If you're lying about where the goods are kept, you'd better run home while your neck's still attacked, little runt." Pulling Leah out of her inner monologue, Azzurro holds his cigar between his teeth while he speaks.
"If I don't return, evidence will soon make its way to the government from Chlaus. It's a shame, huh?" Ciel smirks, dried blood coating small patches of his face. Comparing the two teens, Ciel has certainly taken a worse beating but Leah seems to be handling it worse.
"Don't mess with adults, 'Little Master'!" Pulling out a gun, it makes a clicking sound that causes Leah's eyes to widen. Gun aimed in her fiancé's direction, there's a deafening silence and a ring in her ears.
Ciel appears far less phased by the predicament than his fiancé, only giving Azzurro a blank stare. However, the girl beside him is entirely ready to beg for their lives if she needs to. 'If Ciel dies now.. I'll have to find a new fiancé. So many years of my life were potentially wasted on one boy. Will my reputation be ruined?!'
"We're already keeping your servants waiting," Azzurro keeps the gun cocked, legs crossed as he sits upon the table, "Where are the goods? If you don't spill quickly, I'll kill your servants one by one."
A noise of alert escapes the sixteen-year-old boy but nothing further, placing his head down to stare at his lap with a grin, "It would be nice if cute little puppies were able to 'fetch'."
Azzurro releases a breath of air, a chuckle following before he deals a harsh kick to Ciel's head. Effectively knocking the younger male further on the floor, he picks up to phone and lets his cigar hit the floor.
"Ciel!" Leah screams, making struggling attempts to shift herself closer to her betrothed. With his face out of her view and not responding to her words, the only thing she can do in this situation is let dread and worry consume her.
"Did you hear me? Negotiations are over. Kill him!" Stomping on the cigar, Azzurro speaks his orders into the phone.
═╬
Back within the walls of the Phantomhive Manor, Anna is hastily walking down the halls, her dark brown hair following suit. The reason for such haste? Discovering that the Lady is no longer in the house, courtesy of the letter Sebastian read.
Panicked breaths sound from the young woman, trying to keep her composure despite the situation. Turning the corner and seeing Thomas, she fights the hesitation to break the news to the butler. Keeping up with her quick pace, she stops before the man and angles her head up to see his eyes, her brown ones meeting his deep blue.
"Someone's taken Lord Phantomhive and Lady Leah.. They're no longer in the house," Anna says shakily, her dull tone not matching her current distress.
Looking away from his current task, Thomas furrows his brows at the sound of such information, "What do you mean taken?"
"I mean someone has kidnapped them," Reiterating her sentence, Anna puts on a firmer tone to get her point across.
A prolonged silence sits over the pair of servants, sharp tension making its way through the air. Sharing a look, Anna tilts her head when she receives a little reaction from the man before her.
"Do not worry, I shall take care of it," Thomas closes his eyes and tilts his head downwards, trying to ease Anna's worries.
"Wha—" Anna's sentence is quickly cut short.
"I said don't worry, just ensure that there is no possible way Lord Barrett hears of this. This will be solved soon enough." Starting down the hall, Thomas adjusts the gloves around his hand before forcing the maid a smile.
Wrapping her fingers around the windowsill, Anna's brows furrow as she watches Thomas walk away, "Sebastian said he's already solving it!"
Thomas stops in his tracks, a smirk making its way onto his face. Turning his head to give Anna a side view of him, the butler licks his lips to distract from the look of mischief growing on his fair skin.
"Then I suppose I shall have some extra help.." With his final words, Thomas sets off down the halls, leaving a confused Anna behind him.
Following the scent and sound of the 'fun', Thomas is quick to fall into step beside the running Sebastian, "Why hello. Nice afternoon, isn't it?" Thomas speaks with little interest in the demon beside him.
Sebastian glances to his right at the sound of a voice, meeting the gaze of the blue-eyed butler beside him. A smirk makes its way onto the demon's face, finding amusement when he realizes that he'll have someone accompany him.
"Ahh.. Thomas. Trying to find the Lady, are you?" Sebastian cocks a brow, "The car ahead of us most certainly has information."
Speeding up his pace, Thomas gives a quick nod to the sound of Sebastian's words, using a one-legged jump to boost himself into the air. Landing on the back of the men's car, he mockingly chuckles to himself at the sound of their phone conversation before slamming the palm of his hand toward their faces.
Disregarding the now destroyed car, the blonde butler only bothers to rip the phone from their hands, leaving Sebastian to do the rest of the work. Lifting the phone to his ear with a gloved hand, his face remains stoic while staring off into a line of trees.
"Hello? I am a member of the Barrett household. I hope our masters haven't been troubling you," Thomas fights a laugh at the sound of surprise coming from the other end of the line, "Hello? Is something the matter?"
There's an unsettling silence from Azzurro's end of the line before a faint 'woof' can be heard, "Understood. Right away. We'll come for you soon, so please wait a bit longer."
Clicking the mobile phone shut, Thomas shifts his attention to Sebastian beside him on the hood of the car, questioning away at the two men seated before them. Extending an arm to the pair, he tauntingly waves the phone in their direction.
"Thank you for returning the phone," Thomas says with a smirk.
"First, your owner's name, please, gentlemen," Sebastian asks, watching the ones grip on the steering wheel tighten, "Come now. I'm not a very patient person. You don't want to end up like Humpty Dumpty, do you?" There’s a condescending tone to the black-haired butlers voice.
Terrified looks are some of the only things the two butlers can make out on their faces, finding amusement as they tell their secrets, "The Ferro family's Azzurro Vener! He's setting up a hideout north of the East End."
"Is that so?"
"..Yes. We were o—only hired out!"
Hopping off of the car hood, Thomas slips the phone into his shirt pocket and leaves the rest to Sebastian. It's only when the raven-haired butler lets the car fall from the cliff, that Thomas lets out his long silenced laugh as he watches the men go down.
Opening his watch with a sigh, Sebastian begins walking away, "Oh dear. It's this late already. At this rate, I shall be late for dinner."
"Late for dinner? If I don't have the Lady returned home in one piece, Lord Barrett shall have my head." Thomas purses his lips, following after the Phantomhive butler.
═╬
Suppressed amused giggles leave Leah as she watches Azzurro begin to walk around and bark orders, holding her chin up with the floor.
"Those brats' watchdogs are on their way over! Lock down the door and have the men on their guard!" Azzurro yells, watching the other men grab guns, "Have every entry point secured, he must be caught! Don't let him set a single foot in here!"
Turning her head to get a look at Ciel, the brunette feigns a smile, "My.. What do you think is happening?"
Outside of the mansion, Sebastian and Thomas effortlessly manage to sneak past the men filing out. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, the pair observe the perimeter of the building.
"Not bad, I like this mansion's style," Sebastian comments.
"Wha.."
"Why are you here?!"
"How the hell did you get in?!"
Giving the men an unamused expression, Thomas barely shifts from his spot beside Sebastian, "You were all too busy to notice our entry."
"What's with the tailcoats? Who are you?!" One of the men shouts, all of them having their guns pointed in the butler's direction.
"Us?" Sebastian asks, "Ah, forgive me. Allow us to introduce ourselves."
"I am a Phantomhive's butler."
"I am a Barrett's butler."
Surrounded by the bodies of the men, Thomas barely acknowledges the mess while he checks his watch. With a shake of his head, the blonde steps around the body, a sound of discontent leaving him.
"We must get going, it is five thirty, and we don't have much time left," Thomas snaps his watch shut, "We are in somewhat of a hurry, are we not?"
Approaching the large double doors and stepping inside, the demons are quickly interrupted by the sounds of shouting and guns firing. Dodging the flying bullets, Thomas watches as Sebastian grabs the coat hanger, swiftly attacking the men with the end of it.
"I don't have time for this," Thomas states firmly, pushing through the hoard of men with brute force.
Once again surrounded by nothing but bodies, the butlers are far from impressed, glancing at their watches.
"Five thirty-four."
Pushing through endless sets of doors and armed men, Thomas and Sebastian are begrudgingly met with yet another group of them.
"There he is! Kill him!"
Releasing a sharp exhale through his nostrils, Thomas briefly clenches his fist, "Just how many men does this Vener fellow have?"
Running throughout the dining room, the butlers swiftly dodge all of the bullets with plates. Barely avoiding a graze, Thomas sends a harsh kick to the side of a man running up behind Sebastian.
"Call back all the guards! Beat this guy to a pulp!" One of the men calls out.
"These vermin have wasted so much of our time. Five thirty-eight."
Observing the raven-haired butler throwing countless pieces of silverware, Thomas furrows his brows as he watches the men get pierced one by one.
"You fight with silverware?" Thomas quirks an eyebrow.
"Why, of course," Sebastian smirks in return, ignoring the shouts of the men surrounding them.
"They're only butlers! Why are they so strong?!"
"Alright, that should be about it."
Staring up at Sebastian hanging upside down from the chandelier, Thomas wastes no time to continue moving throughout the mansion. Squinting his eyes, he attempts to make a lucky guess to the next room.
═╬
"Why did it suddenly become quiet?"
Watching the Italian with a bemused look, Leah now notices the lack of sound she could faintly hear just moments ago, "What's wrong? You don't enjoy hearing your thoughts?"
Clenching the gun in his hand tighter, Azzurro growls at the snarky remark from the teenager. Lifting his hand, he strikes down Leah's head with the butt of the firearm, effectively knocking her out, much to Ciel's displeasure.
The doors opening are the first sound to be heard in the room, followed by two pairs of glowing eyes that morph into shadows. As Thomas and Sebastian file in, Azzurro lets out a sound of shock and hurriedly aims his gun at the now-bowing pair.
"We thank you for looking after our masters." The butlers speak in unison.
Taking a moment to glance around the room, Thomas suppresses the urge to lunge at Azzurro when he notices Leah unconscious on the floor.
"Ha. I never thought you could single-handedly take on all those men," Azzurro chuckles, "I was expecting some sort of superhuman, not two butlers in black tailcoats."
Continuing, Azzurro keeps his gun aimed in the direction of Sebastian and Thomas, "Who are you really? Killers sent by the Phantomhive to save their young master? An undercover special task officer? You two can't really be just some butlers."
"No, we are just your average butlers."
"You may be average. Not me."
Sebastian sends Thomas a tight-lipped smile regarding his comment, trying not to roll his eyes at the overly confident demon.
"Really? I've never met butlers of your talents before. I'm impressed. However," Azzurro reaches down to pull Ciel up by his hair, "If you want to save them you'll have to go through me first."
Thomas releases a sigh of disdain, "I don't have the time for this."
"You don't want to see your cute little masters with a hole in their head, do you? You're smart butlers, you should know what to do, right?" Azzurro mocks the pair of demons, loaded gun pressed against Ciel's temple while Leah lays not far behind them.
Reaching into Thomas' pocket, Sebastian begins to retrieve the phone from Thomas, "The thing that you wanted—"
Before Sebastian is capable of completing his sentence, a bullet goes through the head of the two butlers. Numerous bullets are fired in their direction, leaving holes throughout their body at the surprise attack.
"Seb.." Ciel's eyes widen.
Behind a painting, a group of four men in suits stand with their guns cocked, observing the butlers that now lay across the floor.
"Ah, they're dead? What fools, I've won this one," Azzurro smirks while bringing Ciel close with a fistful of his hair, "Even though they failed to save you, it was still quite touching, brat."
Continuing to spout irrelevant nonsense, Azzurro happily accepts his win, "Don't blame us for getting rough with you, brat. I won't hurt you, your organs will be worth quite a lot. The girl is definitely a pretty penny."
Eye twitching at Azzurro’s words, Ciel keeps his right closed now that Azzurro uncovered it. Unable to contain his irritation any longer, the Phantomhive calls out in annoyance.
"How much longer do you intend to play around for?" Ciel ignores the sound of surprise from Azzurro, "Do you plan on sleeping on that hard floor? Hurry up and get rid of these guys."
The bodies of Thomas and Sebastian start to twitch, stopping their fun.
"I'm— This is impossible!" Azzurro shouts, worry stricken across his face.
Getting back on their feet, Thomas spits his bullets back into his hand while Sebastian goes on his monologue, "Who would have known that technology would improve this much? It's incomparable to that of a century ago."
"We'll be returning the favor with these." Shaking the bullets around in their hands, Thomas and Sebastian throw them out, sending them through the men that circle them.
"Oh dear, look what you've done. How could you put so many holes into my coat?" Sebastian sighs.
Thomas interjects, scowling at the raven-haired butler, "No one cares about your tailcoat. Look at what's been done to the Lady!"
Centering his attention on the unconscious Leah, Thomas makes sure to not step any closer. As worried as he may be, provoking Azzurro could mean her death.
"Idiots. Are you still going to fool around?" Ciel glares.
"I will always faithfully stay by your side, so please do not worry." Sebastian muses.
After a ridiculous, one-sided fight —Thomas was the only one who was acting ridiculous— the young nobles are returned to the safety of their butler's arms.
Undoing the bindings around Leah's body, Thomas huffs in irritation at the sight of her, "Her precious skin.. littered in bruises. Just terrible."
Giving Thomas an odd stare, Ciel holds any questions he may have as he is lifted from his spot on placed on an armchair. "This time the game was quite unentertaining."
"Wait! Wait a minute, aren't you two just some butlers?! I— I don't want to die here!" Azzurro screams in agony while grasping his right arm, "Please use me as your hostage. I will pay 5,000, no! 10,000 sterling to you. I will amend my wrong ways and turn over a new leaf.. So please, have mercy on me!"
Turning his head in irritation, Thomas growls in denial as he continues to observe the harm done to Leah's body. Leaning down to brush a strand of hair from her face, the demon can't help but admire the beauty, ignoring the end to Azzurro happening just a few feet behind him.
═╬
Approaching the Phantomhive Manor, the demon butlers carry their respective master's bridal style. Due to the somewhat rocky ride, Leah is pulled from her unconscious state and looks up at Thomas with glassy eyes.
"What happened..? My head is killing me." Leah pouts, leaning her head against the blonde's chest before closing her eyes once again.
"It doesn't matter, you are safe now." Thomas glances down at the young girl, not bothering to feign a smile or look of comfort.
As the group of four gets closer, the Phantomhive servants are quick to run over at the sight of their disheveled appearances. While Meyrin and Bardroy move in to get a closer look at Ciel, Finnian observes the bruising on Leah.
"Oh my! Lady Leah, how could.." Finnian trails off, worry evident on his face.
"They only had a fall," Sebastian assures the other servants.
"'Fall' is not the word I would use," Leah grumbles under her breath.
Shifting around in Thomas' arms, Leah does a once over on herself before breaking into a small sweat, "If Father sees me like this, he'll never let me leave the house again!"
Barely acknowledging Sebastian making his little scene, Thomas runs a hand through Leah's hair before dropping her beside Ciel.
"We shall have you stay at the Phantomhive Manor while you recover. When you are presentable, you'll return home." Thomas nods at his own devised plan to keep both Leah and himself from being murdered by her father.
"Staying at Ciel's manor? Oh, how lovely!"
Notes:
“how many time skips do you want?”
yes.writing this fic genuinely has altered my brain in a way i just don’t know how
Chapter 5: | 04 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl learns of jack the ripper. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
posting early cause i got somewhere to be tomorrow. i might post chapter two of red butler arc tomorrow if i’m feeling nice
there’s a very small quality upgrade in my writing starting here + chapters start getting a tad bit shorter.
also guess who got to start writing circus arc!!🤭
and a small special thanks to anyone that’s kudos, bookmarked, or subbed :) it’s really cute thank you😭❤️ i mainly just write this fic for me, despite how boring it is just pretty much being a character insert into the plot so seeing other people kinda enjoy it is nice to see.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter four ! )
"Goodness sake, where did they put the tea leaves in this house?"
Seated in one of the chairs not drowned in random items, Leah watches as Madame Red, Lau, and Grell search every nook and cranny of the room, Anna stationed a couple of feet behind her. The room that was previously decorated quite nicely is now askew, leaving a mess in the group's carelessness.
"I can't find them either.." Lau remarks, staring into a vase while squatting on the floor.
Breathing out a concerned sigh, Leah can hardly believe her eyes at how none of the adults seem to think trashing a room that isn't theirs is a bad idea, "Perhaps we shouldn't make a mess.." Trailing off, Leah sets a couple of books to the side.
Bending in her seat, but overall unmoving from her position, Leah makes small attempts to tidy the room and ignores the faint 'nonsense' that leaves the older woman in red. It's not worth the effort, however, as Ciel and Sebastian have already seemed to arrive to take in the group of five leaving part of the young Earl's townhouse in disarray.
"Madame Red?! Lau?! Leah?!" Ciel exclaims, observing the damage with small beads of sweat running down the side of his face, "Why are you here.."
"Ah, he came back so quickly," Madame Red looks up in surprise at the sight of her nephew, "Since my cute little nephew is in London, how could I not come to visit you while I'm here?"
Besides Angelina, Lau smirks at Ciel's arrival, "Hey, Earl. I've heard that many interesting things happen here."
"Hello, Ciel! Lau invited me to tag along, isn't that kind of him?" Leah muses before pushing herself up from her seat, and approaching her fiancé with a bright smile drawn across her face.
Holding back a sigh when he sees the bundle of brown hair, Ciel allows her to envelop him in a chaste, but rather tight, hug. The Phantomhive awkwardly places his arms around Leah in return, making small pats on her waist and feeling the soft fabric of her carnation pink dress.
Putting more thought into his betrothed's statement, Ciel's brows are quick to furrow in confusion, "Lau invited you? You're friends with Lau?"
"I don't know if I would say, friends .. I think acquaintances is a better fit." Leah says with uncertainty, nodding her head to her words.
Across the room, Lau makes playful sounds of disapproval at the teenager's response, "Aww.. I would say we are friends, are we not? You're friends with Ran Mao, after all, that makes us friends!" Lau smirks, wrapping an arm around Leah's shoulder.
"Well— I suppose.."
"You're friends with Ran Mao?"
Leah turns her head at Ciel's question, blissfully ignoring his faint look of disapproval, "I would like to think so, yes! I speak with her to practice my Chinese, sometimes I struggle with the grammar. Lau introduced us." she smiles.
Brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the brunette smiles when she recalls the eccentric lady she's grown fond of. Out of all the friends she can have, Leah always manages to find them in the most random places.
"You speak Chinese?" Ciel stands beside Leah, dumbfounded at the new information. The young Earl is even more confused when his fiancé doesn't acknowledge his question and gives him an unnerving smile.
Seated around a long table, the aristocrats peacefully enjoy a cup of tea, taking sips and enjoying the aroma. On Leah's side of the table, she sits a decent distance away from Ciel while playfully twirling the liquid in her cup, aimlessly whispering to Anna.
Gently holding a teapot in his hand, Sebastian has a cloth situated beneath it and a slight tilt to his head, "Today's tea is a Jackson's 'Earl Grey'."
"It's the same kind of tea, but yet the way you make it makes such a difference~" Madame Red lifts the cup to her lips, "Grell, you should follow his example."
Behind Angelina's chair, Grell dips her head and wears a disappointed expression, "Y.. Yes."
"Anyways," Madame Red starts, eying Sebastian to her left, "No matter what, every time I see you, you're still so handsome.. Why don't you simply quit working here and come serve me!"
Stroking her hands across Sebastian's bottom — in a rather quick manner — Madame Red laughs to herself with a satisfied smirk across her lips. Watching in disdain, irritation, and perhaps a little disgust, Ciel coughs from his end of the table and calls out to his aunt, which all he receives is a quiet 'I'm sorry' with flushed cheeks.
"Let's talk seriously now," Ciel sets down his cup of tea and adjusts himself in his seat, resting his left arm on the armrest, "I've heard about the case of prostitutes being murdered on the streets lately."
Leah's cup clatters at the sudden change of topic, surprise written all over her face. Placing a pale hand over her chest, the young girl lets out a breathy gasp and a faint 'oh my'.
Observing from her seat, Madame Red smiles at the teenager's behavior, "Ciel.. You can't just say such a thing around a lady!" she says, teasingly shaking her head. "But I do know of it yes. What are you planning?"
Lau's signature expression remains as he glances in Leah's direction, smiling and pushing a pastry her way. Ciel on the other, sighs at his aunt's words, remembering his fiancé is in the room and not nearly exposed to such topics as Angelina is.
"Pardon me," Ciel leans back in his chair and crosses his right leg over his left, "This isn't just some ordinary case. The killer's ways are very special— no, I should say, abnormal. That's why 'she' is so concerned about it."
"What do you mean?"
Plate held under his arm, Sebastian speaks up from behind Ciel's chair, "The murdered prostitute was called Mary Ann Nichols. The wounds looked like they were from some kind of sharp tool, using quick cuts, with a painful death."
"The police and other prostitutes call the murderer Jack the Ripper ." Ciel butts in, placing his fork in his mouth.
From her seat, a grimace invades the face of the brunette, not accustomed to hearing such a thing. Leah has spent so many years of her life heavily sheltered — like most young girls — so to hear even a faint depiction of murder, it's hard to take lightly. 'How is no one else batting an eye to this?'
"I just wanted to know the circumstances sooner, so I rushed to London, too."
A chuckle sounds from Lau, slowly taking a sip from his teacup, "The Queen's Watchdog has already been dispatched but I'm not interested. However.. do you have the guts to go to the crime scene?"
"What do you mean?" Ciel asks.
Lau lifts himself out of his chair with a creak and makes slow moves towards the Earl, "I smelled a wild beast at the crime scene, the murderer is definitely an abnormal madman."
"Will you be scared, Earl of Phantomhive?" Lau questions, bringing his hand up to lay a gentle touch upon Ciel's left cheek.
Gaze lowering, Ciel's eyes take on a darker tone, "I came because I was worried about my fiancé. I don't need to answer your pointless questions." he says, his voice lowering an octave.
Looking up at the mention of her, Leah's eyes drift to the scene casually being displayed to her right. For what seems to be a split second, there's a smile on her face before it disappears just as fast.
"I thought you said you came because you wanted to know the circumstances?" Leah pouts, lowering her teacup to spin it on the saucer.
A brief silence fills the room before Angelina bursts into a short fit of laughter, hand on her forehead while doubling over in her seat. Wiping a tear from her eye, the red-haired woman barely notices the deadpan expression on Leah's face who was entirely serious with her question.
Ignoring the atmosphere in the room, Lau grabs ahold of Ciel's arm and begins to drag him, "Come take a stroll with me!" Lau has an overly happy smile on his face, attempting to run.
"Wait a minute!" Ciel yells in exasperation, struggling to keep up due to being caught off guard.
Releasing a sound of irritation, Madame Red shoots Lau a nasty look, "Seriously! I rarely ever get to have some afternoon tea with the Earl, but I can't even enjoy it in peace? I want to go too." The woman demands. "Lau, where is this crime scene?"
"Don't you know, Madame?" Lau glances behind himself to ask, "Don't ask me.. I don't know the way either."
"You talk so arrogantly, yet you don't even know where it is?!" Madame Red shouts, irk marks appearing on her forehead when she sees Lau.
Pushing her teacup to the side, Leah watches the scene before her until she decides to join in on the fun, happily walking herself closer to the other group of aristocrats. Leah waves for Anna to follow but makes no other effort, positioning herself beside Ciel with a blissful smile.
"Can I come along as well?" Leah asks, clasping her hands together at the thought of an afternoon out with her betrothed.
Shaking his head, Ciel looks towards Leah but doesn't meet her eye, "No. This is nothing a lady needs to see or hear about."
"But Madame Red is going, why can't I?"
"Because Madame Red is older. You are still young."
"We're the same age, Ciel! You're going, that isn't fair!"
"It's not about fair! My aunt is accustomed to this, you are only used to sitting inside all day."
"I want to go."
"No."
"I want to go!"
"No!"
"It isn't fair if everyone else goes and I have to go home!"
═╬
The group of seven stands before a run-down building, the sign reading 'Undertaker'. Much of the outside and its decorations appear deteriorated or taken over by grass and dirt, seemingly unused. The coffins and headstones add a gothic effect, but would also be seen as odd to the average person who passes by.
Merrily clapping her hands together, Leah keeps her arm linked with Ciel's, and a bright smile adorns her unblemished face, "Isn't this lovely?" she chirps.
"I could have been even more lovely had you listened to me when I said not to come," Ciel grumbles, keeping his arm loosely tucked at his side while his betrothed clings to him.
Taking a moment to glance at his aunt yelling at Grell, Ciel releases an unamused sigh before setting on walking inside the building. Leah, barely a step behind Ciel, stays tucked near his side as she observes the dingy contents within the walls.
"Are you there, Undertaker?" Ciel calls out.
Hardly even a moment after Ciel speaks, there's an unsettling voice that fills the air. The sound rings out from all directions, surrounding the group as everyone except Ciel looks around with uncertainty.
"Hi hi.. I knew that you would come.."
A creek settles over Leah's ears as she watches the cover of a coffin pull back, revealing Undertaker's grinning form hidden inside, "Welcome, Earl.." he starts, earning screams from everyone —save for Ciel and Sebastian — "Do you want to see how it feels to sleep in my custom-made coffin?"
Undertaker brings his hand closer to Ciel's face, brushing against his lips with a gentle touch, "I didn't come here to play today.." Ciel says, giving the grey-haired man an unimpressed look.
"You don't need to tell me. I know why you came." Undertaker giggles, lifting his left hand to touch a nail to his bottom lip, "With just one look~ I can tell what's on your mind." Flashing his long nails, the man gets a look at Leah, grinning ear to ear, "Since the Earl went out of his way to visit me, I'll certainly do everything I can to help."
"You know something?"
Ignoring Ciel's question, Undertaker moves around the room with a wave of his arms, "Please take a seat first, I'll go make tea."
"Sit where—?"
"Why not just sit on top?"
Everyone looks around in uncertainty when Undertaker blatantly suggests sitting on top of the coffins, staring down at the wooden caskets. Leah decides to step up first, reluctantly releasing her arm from Ciel's but gracefully takes a seat on the top, waiting for the rest of the aristocrats to follow.
"Now then," Undertaker opens a jar of biscuits, a beaker filled with tea stationed before him, "You wanted to know about Jack the Ripper? Everyone's been scared because of this disturbance.." he looks out at the group, not acknowledging their uncomfortable stances, "But this isn't the first time I've handled this kind of thing."
Clenching the beaker in her hand, Madame Red looks towards Undertaker in concern, "Isn't this the first time? What do you mean?"
"It's happened before," Undertaker speaks while simultaneously chewing on a biscuit hanging from his mouth, "A case where prostitutes were killed."
Leaving his spot, Undertaker takes his jar with him to playfully shake it in front of Leah and Ciel, offering to only be quietly denied by the pair, "In fact, the way they were killed was very similar too."
"But in the beginning, the police didn't think much of these cases." The grey-haired man continues, "Though the murdered prostitutes all had something in common."
Ciel's eyes widen, "Something in common?"
"What is it?" Sebastian continues.
"Well now, I wonder what, I wonder what it is indeed." Undertaker sings, closing the lid to his biscuit jar, "Is it bothering you?" he teases.
"I see, so that's how it is." Lau smiles, "You're very good at doing business, Undertaker. How much money do you want for this information?"
Stricken with surprise, Undertaker blinks slowly, "How much money?!" Getting uncomfortably close to Lau, he brings his hands near the man’s chest and grins. "I don't want any of the Queen's money!"
The two women in the room watch Undertaker's behavior with shock and unease, an energy matched by Lau at the man's sudden closeness. Leah takes small and continuous sips of her tea, trying to ignore Undertaker who is starting to unsettle her. 'Ciel always seems to know the strangest people.'
Turning his head away from Lau, Undertaker directs his gaze to Ciel, "Now then, Earl.." Doing the same as he did with Lau, he's within the young boy's face in seconds, holding the sides of his face with clothed hands and a laugh, "I only have one requirement.."
Strange giggles leave the man as droll drips from his lips, a permanent smile etched on his face. Leaning closer to Ciel, Leah pushes her lips together, "This man is quite strange, no?" she whispers but is waved off by her fiancé who meets her eye.
"Show me a 'first-rate laugh'. If you do, no matter what you want to know, I'll tell you!" Undertaker laughs eagerly along with his words.
Ciel turns to Sebastian, "Weirdo."
Beside the young Earl, his butler can't bring himself to deny his words as he watches Undertaker slump over a counter. Taking it upon himself, Lau steps forehead with slow strides.
"Earl, if that's the case, let me handle this."
Within many failed — and depressing — attempts, Sebastian is finally able to make Undertaker crack, nearly destroying his outside decor in the process. However, Leah is still a bit upset that Ciel covered her ears, preventing her from hearing Madame Red's inappropriate joke.
The front door opens with a creak and a smiling Sebastian peers from inside, a giggling and shaking Undertaker in the background, "Please come back in. Let's continue our discussion."
Walking back inside, everyone gazes wearily at the drooling Undertaker but says no more, shifting back to their original spots. Sticking close to Ciel, she drags Anna alongside her to vent her frustrations about the grey-haired man before her.
"Come.. Continue, whatever you want to know is fine.." Undertaker releases more strange laughs, leaning back with a euphoric look. As euphoric as he can look without his eyes being shown, that is.
Leah seats herself back upon the coffin, pulling Anna beside her so she's now in between the woman and Ciel. Quietly clearing her throat, she leans into Anna's ear, "This man is quite strange, is he not?" she asks with a lowered voice.
"He works with dead bodies. You can only expect someone so sane in that line of work, Mistress." Anna holds her typical tone of voice, that of someone with a dull personality and entirely uninterested. Yet she seems involved in the situation.
"Why did I come here, again?" Leah asks, hardly noticing when Ciel takes the beaker of tea out of her hands.
"You threw a fit."
"I did not throw a fit!"
Sucking in a breath, Leah readies herself to explain her actions but her voice falters when she feels a pair of hands around her. One lanky hand had a loose grasp on her neck and she can feel the fingernails faintly scratching her skin through her neckpiece, another sits on her lower abdomen, feeling through her corset.
"If he had to act within such a short time, he should slit the throat first. Then proceed to cut open the stomach. It's easier to succeed this way." Undertaker giggles into the young girl's ear, enjoying how she stiffens under his touch.
Poking a pointy nail to her cheek, Undertaker closes in on her and invades her personal space further. "From the looks of the culprit's work, that cruel accuracy wasn't carried out by a normal citizen." Pulling his head back, the grey-haired man turns to peek at Ciel, "It had to have been someone experienced. You should've been able to figure that out too, Earl." he creepily smiles.
A look of disgust paints Ciel's face before reaching a hand out to Undertaker's, firmly pulling them away from Leah's body. There is a faint 'Don't touch her' that can be heard but no further commentary is made as the young Earl stands from his seat, ignoring any of Undertaker's words to pull Leah to stand beside him.
Sebastian approaches the pair from behind, lifting Ciel's coat to place it on him. Stretching out his arms, the boy beckons the rest of the group to follow him as his arms slip into the sleeves. "The world of darkness has the world of darkness's rules. He wouldn't murder random people for no reason. There must be an influence manipulating him from behind." he speaks.
"I won't be scared, no matter what tricks the Queen's lackeys want to use, I will solve them all." Madame Red and Lau appear neutral to Ciel's words, "Sorry for intruding, Undertaker."
Leaning away from Ciel, Leah gets close to Anna's ear and gives her a wide-eyed look, "Maybe it's not just that Undertaker fellow.. I think all of them are insane." She breathes, squinting her eyes at the rest of the aristocrats.
═╬
The group now sits within a moving carriage, a faint rattling noise filling their ears and slight shakes to their movements. Leah is seated beside Ciel and across from Lau, a content smile painted upon her face with a somewhat squished Anna to her right. Surprisingly, the teen doesn't have much interest in the subject at hand but chooses to listen, playing with the gloves encasing her hands.
"What do you think after hearing that?" Ciel asks, sporting a rather uninterested demeanor as he leans on his elbow.
Finger on his chin, Sebastian tries to get his thoughts going, "I've been thinking.. The murderer should be 'an anatomical expert', but also know where the police are when they commit the crime." Sebastian explains, "The culprit could be taking away the organs for some kind of ceremony or because they're with a 'black magic cult'."
"Then right now.. Where do we start from? It's 'The Season' right now, there are so many people gathered at the capital!" Madame Red says in exasperation, hands out while she stares down at her lap.
There's a small gasp that leaves Leah as she turns her head to Ciel, "Can you believe my mother won't be debuting me this season? Tragic, I must say.." Leah places a hand on her forehead as she speaks dramatically.
"You aren't even finished with your studies, are you? It makes sense. Most girls your age still don't debut for another year or two." Ciel grumbles, dragging his eyes across her face.
Leah pouts at her fiancé's words, "I'm nearly finished my studies! I only have some Chinese and embroidery left.."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll debut next year, darling! Your mother will want to get you out into society before you marry Ciel, and that could be any year now!" Angelina cuts into the young aristocrat's conversation, smiling down at Leah with a maternal aura.
An irritated flush covers the Phantomhive's face at the mention of marriage, recalling that it's expected he get married within the next few years. It's not so much that he minds marrying Leah, rather the process and knowing he's in a lifetime commitment is his problem.
"I hope so.. There's only so much you can do inside all day. That's why I'm always trying to accompany you, Ciel! I go whenever my father allows it." The Barrett girl clasps her hands together, sending Ciel a soft smile. Amidst her interaction, she hardly realizes the conversation shifting back to its original topic.
"There's no way we can investigate clearly during 'The Season'," Sebastian smirks, eying a confused Lau at the mention of waiting for the season to end.
Madame Red starts, "Let's just say we can't investigate clearly.. shouldn't we at least be able to compile a report on the suspects?!" she furrows her brows, seemingly struggling with her thoughts.
A shared glance between Ciel and Sebastian goes unnoticed by the rest, "Please wait a moment." Sebastian places a hand on his chest, "As the Earl of Phantomhive's butler, how could I not be able to accomplish such a small matter?"
Ciel gives a prideful smirk while Leah and Anna exchange a subtle look, "Then, I'll immediately go investigate and quickly research all the suspects' reports." Sebastian says with a smile.
Sebastian, the ever so elegant butler, bursts open the door to the moving carriage, startling the passengers inside. Calling back to Grell guiding the carriage, he speaks with the seemingly nervous woman before shifting his attention back inside the moving vehicle.
"Then, please excuse me if I leave now." Slamming the door shut, Ciel appears unphased after previously shooing the butler off. The rest of the group, however, is very much filled with concern and surprise.
"Wait a minute?! Isn't this horse carriage still running?!" Madame Red shouts, Lau beside her as they peer out the window.
Staring off at the space that Sebastian previously occupied, Leah turns to Anna with a questioning blink. "My.. he is just as deranged as Thomas." she breathes out, which earns a faint giggle out of the maid.
Out of the blue, Leah begins to feel a sudden disinterest in the conversation. Pursing her lips together, there's a look of frustration in her eyes as she zones out, eyes trained on the floor of the carriage. Leah's hair bounces to the movements of the carriage, no longer participating as Ciel, Madame Red, and Lau discuss Sebastian.
═╬
With the townhouse in view, the aristocrats finally return from a long carriage ride. Stepping down from the carriage, Leah gratefully accepts Ciel's hand as her heels make contact with the ground, Anna following not far behind her. Forming a small — and not so organized — line, they make their way towards the front door.
"Haa~ We're finally back home." Lau gives a relieved smile, "My back hurts.."
Towards the back of their little line, Madame Red practically fumes, "We only arrived so late because Grell went the wrong way!" The older woman yells, barely hearing the 'sorry' coming from Grell over her voice.
"Calm down, Madame Red. Let's first have a cup of afternoon tea and rest," Lau glances back at the red-haired woman, opening the door to the townhouse. "Ok..?" his words fall short when he notices Sebastian standing before him.
"Welcome back. I've been waiting for everyone for a while."
Ignoring Sebastian's bow, Leah and Ciel file into the house while Madame Red and Lau stay behind them, staring at the butler clad in black. The two teens hardly pay attention as Sebastian explains the tea and dessert, filing to the next room.
Feeling an overcoming sense of fatigue, Leah releases slow blinks and looks back towards the maid following her, "Anna, do find the softest chair in this house. I'm feeling rather tired.." she drones, noises of discontent leaving her.
"Are you alright?" Ciel shifts his attention to his fiancé, dropping his interest in the snacks to worry about her sudden tiredness.
The Barrett girl gives a cute smile, closing her eyes as she shifts closer to Ciel until their shoulders touch. "I'm sure I am fine.. It's not uncommon for me to feel fatigued for no reason."
Ciel's nose scrunches at Leah's words, "Perhaps you should see a doctor about that?" he suggests, trying to make his concern more loud than it is.
"She has," Anna mumbles, passing by with a chair in her arms.
Nodding along to the words of her lady's maid, Leah pushes her hands together. "Yes, my father has already had me see a doctor. At first, they said I was just being a woman but after hours of research, Thomas found a reasonable diagnosis that the doctors agreed upon." Leah purses her lips, "Iron deficiency anemia, I believe. Currently, I just stay on a diet with a good amount of iron to relieve the symptoms. That's why my skin is so fair!"
The pair of teens pay little attention to Sebastian reading his list of suspects, moving to the parlor so they can enjoy some tea. Taking a seat — not before thanking Anna for grabbing the chair — Leah leans into it comfortably and removes the gloves from her hands.
"Iron deficiency anemia? What is that?" Ciel questions, crossing his right leg over his left.
Putting her gloves down on the table, Leah watches Anna leave the room, "Supposedly my body lacks iron and red blood cells. This causes symptoms of fatigue, paleness, shortness of breath, weakness, rapid heartbeat, headaches, hair loss, lightheadedness, cold hands and feet, and irritability. I do believe I suffer from all of those, except for hair loss.." she breathes shakily after her list, catching her breath as she smiles.
"Can you do anything about—"
"The doctors suggested iron tablets but I thought they tasted horrible so instead I am on an iron-rich diet."
Ciel hums at the explanation, folding his hands together with a nod. Glancing over at the girl, he tries to hide his concerns for her and listens out for the voices that slowly approach the door. "Well do make sure to stay on top of your diet."
A cheesy smile leaves the Barrett girl, leaning her head on her arm in a feeling of ecstasy at Ciel's words.
"No promises."
Notes:
sadly due to my mc and her character, i can’t insert her much into red butler arc so it’s not the most interesting to read :/
she would die before seeing ciel cross dress and i don’t want her to know reapers or demons are a thing just yet + the fight between sebastian and grell and madame red’s death (but she will find out about reapers in a future arc!)
Chapter 6: | 05 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl attends a ball and funeral. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
sometimes i’m compelled to post all the chapters i already have written but then i worry that one week i’ll have no motivation to write and won’t be able to post for one or two weeks :/
early hour post cause i’m awake and i’ll be busy later today and wanted to post part two of red butler. it’s lowkey kinda bland so i figured just do it in one go since the interesting meter is low
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter five ! )
"It's wonderful that your mother allowed you to attend the ball!"
Standing close to the refreshments table are Leah and Elizabeth, the pair adorned in extravagant dresses for the occasion. After hours of begging, Leah proved it worth it when her mother finally caved in. Elizabeth herself followed a similar strategy, though Francis seems slightly more lenient at the idea than Vivienne.
The young Barrett is dressed in a powder blue dress made of some of the highest quality fabric, bringing out the color of her eyes. Numerous small details surround the skirt as the top half is accentuated perfectly by her corset, followed by a pearl neckpiece that compliments her skin tone. Many eyes attach to her, capturing her every move through the ballroom. Brown hair also falls across her shoulders, curled at the end, and put up in a half up-half down style.
Despite having previously been upset that her mother wasn't going to be debuting her this season, Leah now appears reluctant due to the attention she gathers, "Yes.. Amazing, isn't it?" she fights back a sigh, opting to pick up a glass and sip at the liquid she's unfamiliar with.
All Leah and Elizabeth are capable of hearing is the immense chatter that fills the room, nearly drowning out their voices if they don't speak loud enough. Not far from the teenage girls stand their mothers and surprisingly, Edward, conversing while chaperoning the pair through the night's endeavors.
"Just look at all the beautiful dresses!" Elizabeth sings, hands tightly clasped together as she observes the other women in the room. Carrying herself away from Leah, she darts around the ballroom to begin interacting.
Watching her friend practically disappear before her eyes, Leah fights back another sigh, "Wait up!" Discarding the drink in her hands, the brunette begins to chase after her friend, unable to hear Edward attempting to call her back.
"I was going to ask to her dance.." Edward says with a look of defeat.
"You'll find the chance." Vivienne smiles, taking a sip from her glass of lemonade as she watches her daughter run off.
Across the room is a different story, Ciel wears a pink and black dress to disguise himself, utterly regretting all of his decisions. Trudging through the ballroom with an eye out for Viscount Druitt, he can't shake his disdain for his current situation.
"I really do not want my fiancé to see me like this.." Ciel's mind flashes to a vision of Leah, already picturing how she would react to seeing him in such a way. The thought of the shock, then gossip surrounds his brain in a thick fog.
"That head-piece is so exquisite!"
Sebastian and Ciel turn their heads at the speed of lightning to the sound of an all too familiar voice, eyes immediately settling upon the blonde and brunette pair. In between the two women, Elizabeth compliments any lady she comes across while Leah attempts to keep her on a leash and drag her away.
Glancing ahead of her, Elizabeth's eyes light up at the sight of Sebastian trying to whisk Ciel away, "That dress that girl is wearing is so cute!" she yells, but her voice dies down when the Phantomhive can break the line of sight within the large crowd of people in the room.
"Hm? Where did she go?" Elizabeth asks while turning her head every which way.
"She must have seen something that caught her eye. Or wanted to get away from you. Most strangers don't appreciate being chased.. even if you have good intent." Leah folds her hands near her abdomen, subtly messing with the fabric of her gloves.
Ducked behind a table, Ciel and Sebastian are mere feet away from Leah and Elizabeth. There's a tall and extravagant cake between them, which unlikely catches the eye of his fiancé, "Why are they here?! Anyway, let's go to where the ladies are.."
"Oh Elizabeth, look at the cake! It's beautiful." Leah muses, admiring the intricate details that surround the dessert.
Shifting her attention from the task of trying to find the mysterious woman, Elizabeth is just as content at the sight of the cake before them, "It is! We must have a slice together when they cut it!" She nods.
"I— I couldn't.." Leah breathes out, placing a hand lightly above her stomach with knitted brows. Even though she's thin, she can never shake the insecurity she developed during childhood, learning she was bigger than other girls.
"Nonsense!"
"How strange.." Sebastian whispers, "For your fiancé and cousin to be here, it is quite unexpected."
"Regardless of the disguise, if we meet.."
"You'll be found out."
Ciel's face fills with panic at their words, "If he discovers me, I won't be able to investigate!"
"Further, everyone here will find out that the young lady is you," Sebastian replies with a monotonous tone.
Sheer dread overcomes the Phantomhive, "If people find out I'm dressed like this, it'll be the ultimate humiliation for the Phantomhive family!" Ciel tries to hold his voice back from a shout, "If it comes to that, I'd rather die! Anyway, we cannot.." he trails off.
"Viscount Druitt is so handsome tonight!"
"His light golden hair is like gold thread!"
Viscount Druitt stands confidently a few meters away, conversing with guests. To no one's surprise, women speak of his looks from any corner of the room.
Reluctantly approaching the man, Ciel tries to keep his composure and act as he would a lady. As in copying how he sees Leah act. Unluckily for Ciel, he's barely able to get a word into the Viscount before the dreadful voice of Elizabeth emerges from behind him.
"Ah! Found you!" Elizabeth calls out, starting to approach excitedly.
Barely an inch behind her, Leah is tugging on the girl's arm and trying to pull her away, "Stop chasing people! Can't we get a snack or something?" she huffs.
Cursing under his breath, Ciel is quick to dart off and away from the pair, "I was so close too!"
"The girl in front! Please wait!" Begs Elizabeth, nearly unaffected by Leah's attempts to drag her back.
It's an annoying game of cat and mouse, with an extra player to intervene. Ahead of the girls, Sebastian leads Ciel through the people. But not far behind them, Leah rolls her eyes at Elizabeth who never seems to know when to give up.
Hand in the air, Sebastian waves over a butler, "Gentleman, please give a glass of lemonade to those ladies." he says while whisking Ciel away, pointing in the direction of the young Earl's fiancé and cousin.
Elizabeth holds initial confusion at the sudden offer of lemonade but Leah appears more than pleased, giving her a chance to catch her breath after the brisk walking to keep up with Elizabeth. Holding the glass between her gloved fingers, the Barrett girl hides her unstable breathing to take large gulps of the liquid while Elizabeth merrily chats away to more women around them.
Unfortunately for Leah, her break is short-lived when Edward quickly approaches her from behind. Gently grazing a hand past her shoulder, the older boy smiles widely, "May I have this dance?" he asks.
Fighting back a startled gasp when Edward suddenly appears behind her, Leah gives a lopsided, but soft smile, "You may."
Walking towards the dance floor, Leah gives one last look in Elizabeth's direction as they leave her behind, only praying she doesn't cause the unidentified lady any more trouble. But while distracted by her friend, she hardly notices that she brushes past Ciel who stands tightly next to Sebastian.
Guiding Leah to the dance floor, Edward takes her right hand in his left and places his free hand around her waist, leading the two of them in the dance. The dance is a classic waltz, one of the first dances that many learn. Following the music, their steps move in sync and Leah's dress skirt flows with her movements, her unlowered hems freely brushing across her ankles and calves.
"I'm glad I caught you in time. I thought you'd spend your entire evening chasing after Elizabeth," Edward chuckles, twirling the shorter girl in his arms.
Keeping her eyes trained on his, Leah smiles. "I was preparing to. Balls are a lot less fun than I thought they would be.." she complains.
The brunette's words earn a chuckle from Edward, both of whom barely notice Ciel and Sebastian just a few feet away from them. Somehow Elizabeth doesn't either, fixated on her cousin in the pretty dress yet is incapable of recognizing him. That could be explained by Ciel ducking his face out of their view whenever he can.
When the song ends and everyone returns to their original states, Leah lets go of Edward and returns to Elizabeth's side, brushing her shoulder past Ciel's and muttering a quick apology. Approaching her smaller friend, Leah's brows knit together when she realizes she is just staring off into the distance. Or more so, a particular boy in pink.
"Elizabeth?" Leah calls out, lowering her head to come between Elizabeth and the form her eyes are fixated on.
Blinking in surprise, Elizabeth looks up to meet the blue eyes that bore into her green ones, "Oh, Leah! How was the dance with Edward?" she asks.
"It was alright.." Leah shrugs, "What are you looking at?"
"The girl in that beautiful dress! I still haven't gotten to talk to her.." Elizabeth leans to look past Leah's shoulders, "But here's my chance!" she announces, setting off with a pep to her step.
Leah sighs in irritation as Elizabeth begins to approach Ciel, currently in an uncomfortable conversation with Viscount Druitt. 'That girl never knows when to give up.'
Ciel himself is practically shaking in his shoes, knowing of the two familiar figures who are quickly closing the distance. In a quick matter of luck — aka, Sebastian — Ciel's initial worry of his life being over is somewhat reassured in a matter of seconds. Watching the butler wearing a masquerade mask slam down a cupboard between Ciel, Leah, and Elizabeth, he hides his surprise at the demon's sudden plan.
"The ball is at its peak, so at this time, may all the gentlemen and ladies watch this magic performance I shall do with this cupboard!" Sebastian announces. "That gentleman," he shifts his attention to Lau, "Can you assist me?"
Lau's signature smirk paints his face, "Me? Why of course."
Leah and Elizabeth both watch in amusement and wonder, eyes sparking with sudden interest.
"This is an ordinary cupboard. I will now enter it."
With the rest of the guests enamored by Sebastian's display, no one notices Viscount Druitt and Ciel sneaking off away from the party.
"After I go into the cupboard, tie it up tightly with these chains," Sebastian explains to Lau, handing the chains over to him. "And then these swords will be used to pierce this cupboard."
Drowning out the last of the explanation, Leah finally racks her brain to recognize a familiar face. "Is that Lau?" She questions, furrowing her brows before looking to her left to see Madame Red. 'I suppose Ciel didn't come after all?'
As much as the Barrett enjoys being in her thoughts, the train is quickly interrupted when she is brought back to hear Lau make exaggerated noises while impaling the box with Sebastian inside. The guests all look with utter shock and worry at multiple swords stabbed into the cupboard, a smiling Lau to accompany it.
"He suddenly went from the top?!"
"He really did it without restraint!"
Lau, who seems entirely proud of his work, sparkles, "Alright, let's see if he's alright?" he suggests.
Taking the swords out of the cupboard and undoing the chains, the door to the cupboard ominously begins to swing open. Everyone watches in silent worry before bursting into shouts of surprise when Sebastian steps out completely unscathed.
"Impressive!"
"A miracle!"
"Wow!"
"Bravo!"
The room is filled with sounds of applause, replacing the previous silence that could be cut by a knife. Stepping away from Elizabeth, Leah slowly walks over to Lau and Sebastian who she can now see.
Clapping cheerily, Madame Red has the smile of a happy child, "That was quite impressive, Sebastian!"
"Sebastian? If everyone else is here, then where is Ciel?" Leah questions, tilting her head.
"You can never be too surprised with that boy! I'm sure you're glad to be here though? How was your first ball?" Angelina gives a smile to the young Barrett.
"Well it's not my first.. but honestly. Never again." Leah sighs. All the attention she received, even without having to interact with anyone, was enough for her. Then following such a hyper Elizabeth around all night? The brunette is more than glad her mother chose to not debut her this season.
═╬
"What's the meaning of this?!" Ciel shouts, slamming down the latest newspaper. "The Viscount didn't go anywhere last night!"
It is another day in Ciel's townhouse, but not a particularly welcome one with the latest news. Around the room, the aristocrats are stationed in different spots of the room, holding the newspapers to observe the headlines displayed in bold words.
"If the suspect could not carry out the murders.. it's an impersonator.. no, it's possible there were others from the beginning." Lau speaks, standing in front of a bookcase.
Madame Red furrows her brows, "Meaning the Viscount isn't involved?" she asks.
"I have to come up with something again.." Ciel sighs. "We have to narrow it down. Sebastian, organize the list." Ciel demands.
Sebastian places a hand on his chest, "Your humble servant understands."
Later that same night, thunder and lightning crash around the townhouse. Leah and Madame Red sit around a small table, Ciel in his lounge chair a slight distance away. The trio are all wearing their sleep attire, paired with simple robes wrapped around themselves.
"There are four and a half million people in London alone. During the season party period, there's be even more." Ciel groans, smacking the papers on his left with the back of his hand. "If we relax the requirements, the pool of people increases even more."
"You're still working?" Leah questions, tilting her head to which her untied hair follows.
"Leah. Madame Red."
"Sometimes you don't need to work so hard." Madame Red smiles, holding up a box with the design of a chess board on the front. "Want to relax a bit and play this?" she asks.
"International chess, huh? It brings back memories.." Ciel says.
"Is that so? Because Sebastian was coming, I got this out from the attic!" Madame Red muses. "Come! Take a break! Take a break!" Angelina chants, pushing some papers off of the table.
"Grell, please prepare some tea!"
"It's already late so I've prepared herb tea made from wild roses," Grell explains, placing a cup in front of each aristocrat before pouring them a cup.
Hesitantly picking up her porcelain, Leah sniffs at the liquid before bringing the cup to her cherry-tinted lips. Taking a small sip, she recoils in her chair at the salty taste, spitting it back into the cup and placing it back on its plate.
"That's repulsive.." Leah sighs, leaning back in her seat.
"This tastes bad!" Madame Red shouts, "Why is herbal tea salty?! And you call yourself a butler?! Do it again!" she demands.
Grell shakes in her shoes, looking at her master, "Even so, I'm still a butler!" she tries not to raise her voice in response.
The red-haired woman lets out a breath of irritation, not bothering to listen to Grell's continuous apologies. Turning in her seat to observe the butler clad in black, she leans a head on her hand, "That butler of yours, whether he's capable or just a workaholic.. that's not much?" she questions.
"This is nothing," Ciel states in response.
"Since he's so capable, you should just make him do the investigation on the Viscount instead." Madame Red suggests.
"That is my 'power' and 'hands and legs'." Ciel holds up a horse piece, "Sebastian is merely one of my chess pieces. It is not possible to move the chess pieces without me, the person behind it. If I won using a free moving piece, that would not be to my credit." Ciel says.
Placing his horse piece on the board, he snatched up one of Angelina's pieces. Madame Red seems to be slightly surprised that her nephew has managed to snag another, trying to think of a new strategy.
"The one who gives the order will always be the master. Without my command, he will—"
Poor Leah has begun to tune out the conversation, eyes flickering closed out of utter boredom. The sound of the rain doesn't make her feel any better, slowly lulling the teenager to sleep in her seat.
Minutes pass before anyone has noticed Leah fell asleep. The first to notice was Madame Red, checking on the girl in her odd silence after she made her turn on the board.
"She fell asleep?" Angelina questions, which prompts Anna to walk over.
Glancing down at the chair, the maid sighs as she observes the sleeping brunette. Hair slightly sprawled across her face, parted lips, and faint breathing is displayed, all while sitting in an uncomfortable position.
"I will have her moved," Anna bows, "Please enjoy the rest of your night."
Before Anna has to chance to attempt to lift her mistress out of the chair, Sebastian places his papers down to walk over, "Allow me." he leans down to pick up the young Barrett.
"My, she's lighter than I thought she would be.." Sebastian says in surprise, fighting the urge to begin throwing her around from how little effort it would take.
Anna glances up at the butler, "Yes, she has a habit of not eating. It's been more noticeable over the years." she says, now walking with Sebastian toward Leah's designated room in the townhouse.
Most of the walk is silent, a silence that can't seem to decide if it's a comfortable one or not. Anna's dull personality makes it hard for her to entertain conversation, rather than choosing to focus on getting Leah in bed. Thankfully the townhouse isn't as big as a mansion, making it easy to reach the room.
Moving ahead of Sebastian carrying the young lady in his arms, Anna opens the door for him and stands to the side as he shuffles inside. Adjusting the girl in his arms, Sebastian pulls back the blankets and lays her beneath, turning back to Anna.
"Goodnight.." Sebastian smiles, walking out the door.
Approaching the sleeping Leah, Anna hardly pays Sebastian any mind as she prepares her mistress's items for tomorrow. "Goodnight."
═╬
It's only a matter of months before a multitude of people are gathered in a chapel to attend the unexpected funeral of Madame Red, the air filled with sadness and tears. Leah stands close to the coffin, observing Angelina who now lacks color with a blank look.
However, underneath her tough exterior, the girl is fighting back the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. "I feel like you understood me in a way.. Even if we didn't speak much." her voice wavers, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Just as Leah lays the flower in her hand beside Angelina's head, the doors to the chapel swing open, prompting everyone to look back. Ciel stands front and center, Sebastian behind him to the side holding a hat to his abdomen with a solemn look.
"Ciel..!" Elizabeth exclaims, standing a few feet away from the coffin herself.
Releasing a breath through her nose, his fiancé watches as he walks closer with a crimson dress slung over his shoulder, "I knew you'd show up eventually." she gives a sad smile.
Leah steps back from the coffin, giving Ciel space to say goodbye to his aunt. Watching as the Phantomhive sits atop the podium holding the coffin up, she watches warily when Ciel swings the dress on his aunt and gently touches her face.
"You know white flowers and subdued clothes do not suit you. What suits you is passionate red. The color of licorice burning in the Earth." Ciel leans down to place his face closer to Angelina's, "Aunt Ann."
Just as Ciel finishes speaking, red flower petals begin to flood into the chapel. Everyone looks up and around in surprise, gasps filling the room while Sebastian stands outside with a carriage full of petals. Aiming her head up, a couple fall on Leah's head and face, causing her to release a small giggle.
Pulling away from his aunt's body, Ciel gives her one last look, "Good night, Madame Red."
Leah, Ciel, Sebastian, Lau, and Anna all stand by Angelina's grave. The young Barrett stares down at the touched dirt, solemnly holding her hands together to give silent remorse. Beside her, Anna keeps a hand on Leah's shoulder in comfort but makes no further moves.
"You did not inform the Queen of Jack the Ripper's true identity?" Lau asks.
"I did not think it necessary." Ciel replies, staring at the headstone, "After all, Jack the Ripper is no longer in London."
Looking up in confusion, Leah turns to Ciel with knitted brows, "Who was Jack the Ripper?" she questions.
Meeting his fiancé's eyes, Ciel feels the sorrow pouring from them. Unable to break the truth, he decides to leave her in ignorant bliss. At least for the time being.
"Do not worry about it.."
Notes:
what did i tell you.. boring arc :p
i hope anyone reading is enjoying anyway though!! feels like i’m still yapping into the void but i guess that’s better than google docs and my wall. (i talk to my wall so much it’s like my one of three friend💀)
Chapter 7: | 06 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl celebrates his seventeenth birthday. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
!! THIS CHAPTER REQUIRES INTENSE EDITING AND REVISION, TAKE ITS MEDIOCRACY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT !!
posting early cause i’m almost positive my cat is going to die within the next few days and when that happens i’ll be knee deep in depression for like a week. if i don’t post saturday, i don’t. if i do, i do. atp i might as well abolish the schedule but i’m trying to keep my sanity here😭
did i really take elizabeth out of this chapter? yes. what are you gonna do about it.
i remember writing this at like 3 am cause i couldn’t sleep so this probably isn’t the best, i was kinda running off fumes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter six ! )
"It has been a while since we last met, Marquess Barrett."
In a not-unusual turn of events, Lucius Barrett decided that some days ago, celebrating Ciel Phantomhive's seventeenth birthday was the absolute best idea. Luckily for the young Earl, he was given a notice a few days in advance. However, he thought it would only be Lucius and Leah, not his wife and son as well.
"As always, you have arrived earlier than expected," Ciel gives a lopsided smile, his disheveled hair on display.
Letting out a hearty chuckle, Lucius reaches out a hand to ruffle the boy's hair, "Of course! We need all the time we can get to celebrate." he muses before observing the Phantomhive further. "Did you just get out of bed?"
Before Ciel has a chance to respond, Leah appears behind her father's shoulder. "You look a mess!" she smiles teasingly, earning a scoff and a small slap on the arm from her mother.
Brushing off his fiancé's words, Ciel greets Leah and Vivienne before his eyes fall upon Daniel, Lucius' oldest child whom he rarely hears of. The two meet at about the same height, but Daniel seems stockier compared to the younger boy.
"Daniel.." Ciel starts, "Pleasure to see you."
Daniel Barrett, the heir to the Barrett name, is a nineteen-year-old boy. Brown hair and blue eyes, similar to Leah, and could probably pass as her if you put a wig on him. His tall stature is one quick to intimidate, along with his harsh resting face that speaks an air of composure and authority.
Giving the younger boy a once over, Daniel nods at nothing in particular, "Ciel."
Bounding over towards her fiancé, Leah envelopes him in a hug, "We get to spend the whole day together! Isn't that wonderful?" she smiles brightly.
"Wonderful.." Ciel mutters, trying to ignore that her grip slowly grows tighter.
"Leah, have some decorum!" Vivienne scolds, shaking her head from her spot next to Lucius.
Rolling her eyes in defiance, Leah hardly looks in her mother's direction, "I'm just hugging him, Mama! It's not like anyone can see." she whines.
Speaking up from behind them, Sebastian gives a fake smile, "Shall we tour the manor?" he suggests.
"Firstly, I will lead you to explore the garden, the winter roses bought from Germany are exceptionally beautiful," Sebastian explains as he leads the Barrett family through the Phantomhive manor.
Cracking open the door to the garden, Sebastian is met with the untimely sight of Finnian cutting off the heads of the flowers while singing a tune.
"Hello, Finnian!" Leah calls out, hoping the gardener is even outside.
Retreating from his original plan, Sebastian shuts the door and turns around with a smile, "I have made a mistake." he states. "I actually wanted to let you explore the main hall."
Turning back around — much to everyone's confusion — Leah listens to Ciel worry about what could've possibly happened in the garden, Daniel walking beside her to look suspiciously at the young Earl.
"Why? Since we are already here, we should start exploring from the garden!" Lucius questions.
"No. Please come to the main hall. This way please," Sebastian leaves no room for denial. "It was an oversight on my part!" he says while standing, using an arm to gesture where to go.
"It is currently the time whereby the roses of the Christmas season as well as those bought recently from Germany bloom at their peak. Please come to the main hall as the view of the flowers will be better, you will be able to see the garden from there. It is our wish to provide you with the best scenery blooming flowers in the day." Sebastian explains.
Daniel and Leah, having mastered the art of tuning others out, hardly listen to the butler speak about the garden and flowers. Leah herself tries her best to ease the tension between her brother and fiancé, though it particularly seems one-sided on Daniel's end.
"I refurbished the main hall a few days back, I have taken the liberty to order a wallpaper with a lovely design from France.." Sebastian says, cracking open the door to the main hall before shutting it just as quickly when he notices to sight of Meyrin breaking dishes. "I have made a mistake."
Fighting back a groan of irritation, Leah holds onto Ciel's arm and peacefully follows any orders as the group walks around the mansion. Her parents however still can't shake their questions when Sebastian yet again tries to divert them elsewhere.
"I think we should proceed to the greenhouse to have tea."
Furrowing her brows, Vivienne stares at Sebastian in confusion, "Why? I thought we were here to view the main hall."
"No, we shall have tea first."
Once again, Sebastian sticks out a hand to lead the way, "The four of you have been stuck in a cramped carriage for such a long time, both of you must be tired. I'm so sorry for not realizing this sooner.. I have already set up a resting corner in the greenhouse. Anyway, please proceed there to help yourself to the snacks and enjoy a cup of tea!"
Stopping towards the greenhouse, it's once again ruined.
"I have coincidentally purchased some excellent tangerines from Spain and I have been intending to use Ceylon tea grown in Dimbulla to serve you orange-flavored black tea." Sebastian smiles as he speaks before an explosion sounds from behind him and all he can muster from himself is that soulless smile and silence.
Daniel lets the silence continue for a few moments before fighting back a sigh, "Have you made a mistake again?" he asks.
"Perhaps we shall just explore the stables instead? It might not be suitable for the ladies to explore but I'm sure you won't mind?" Sebastian suggests, earning shrugs from Leah and Vivienne.
Out in the stables, it's nowhere near less calm when Leah gets a view of the horse. She's pushed away from Ciel in mere seconds to approach the animal, petting it happily as if it were her cat.
"Oh, you are just so cute!" Leah exclaims, running her fingers over the horse's mane.
Putting a hand under the horse's chin, Sebastian glances towards Vivienne, "What do you think of this, Marchioness? I have specifically bought a horse with a blue-black coat as the Young Master's personal horse. It has always been my wish to show this to the Marchioness." Sebastian kisses up to Leah's mother.
"It is indeed a splendid horse! It has a nice build and possesses a good look," Vivienne looks in wonder as she and Lucius approach and get the best look they can with their daughter all over the animal.
Observing the horse, Lucius smiles down at his daughter's blissful smile while coddling the animal who seems to pay her no mind. Squinting his eyes, the Marquess' son turns his head towards the Phantomhive and mimics a happy smile.
"Ciel, so you want to go hunting with me right now?" Daniel asks.
Looking towards the boy in confusion, Ciel raises a brow, "With you?"
"This is a good opportunity to show everyone what sort of man my daughter is going to marry." Lucius eggs on, staring into the pools of blue.
"Or perhaps," Daniel starts, "Hunting is too strenuous for the Earl Phantomhive who possesses the small, skinny build of a girl?" he teases, a smirk making its way onto his face.
Looking towards his future brother-in-law in agitation, Ciel calls out for his infamous butler, "Sebastian, go make preparations."
"Competition! Competition!" Leah quietly sings to herself, secretly praying for the downfall of her older brother.
═╬
It isn't long before the pair are on their respective horses, trotting past the trees with rifles on their back. Ciel sits on his particular horse being led by Sebastian, Leah sitting close against him with her legs hanging off as she observes the scenery. Not far behind them is Daniel, staring at the young Earl's back with a glare of determination. Even father behind, Lucius and Vivienne enjoy a calming walk.
Looking around, Sebastian tugs on the lead, "Young Master, this way."
"Does your butler serve as a hunting dog as well? I've heard many stories from Leah," Daniel speaks.
"You can put it that way," Ciel shrugs, steadying Leah so she doesn't fall off. "It is somewhat true."
Leaning closer to Ciel's fast, Leah pays little mind to the hitch in his breath and flush that begins to cover his face as she whispers. "Listen.. you have to beat Daniel. I want to see the look of sheer disappointment on his face when he loses so I can laugh at him for the rest of eternity for losing to you." she stares into Ciel's eyes, an almost deranged look shadowing her own.
Blinking back his questions, Ciel shakes his head to instead listen to Sebastian. Today, Ciel will certainly see a different side of Leah. One that is only brought out when she gets to torture her beloved brother.
"We shall start from the vicinity of this area. The rules are, that the area where you can shoot is bounded by a perimeter of twenty-five kilometers, and also, it is forbidden to shoot birds that are situated lower than the height mentioned. Is that alright?" Sebastian looks around as she explains, pulling a watch from his pocket.
When no further objections are made, Sebastian smiles and begins the time on the watch.
"We shall begin now. The time limit is three hours."
Swerving his horse to the left, Daniel stomps off without a word. Riding off into the trees, the boy pulls the rifle from his back to situate in his lap, eyes moving faster than average to scan every piece of area surrounding him.
"Leah, you should get off the horse. I'm unable to hunt like this.." Ciel sighs which prompts a noise of surprise from the girl.
A pout leaves Leah, "But I am seldom able to be with you like this.." She nearly starts to whine.
Bang!
The three not within the trees shift their attention to the sound of a gunshot, shot by none other than Daniel who is taking this competition beyond seriously.
"One to zero," Sebastian states.
"Sir Daniel certainly lives up to his name, he managed to shoot down a bird as soon as the competition started." Sebastian puts a finger under his chin. "It seems like he is a bit too tough for someone like you, Young Master." he teases.
Staring with knitted brows, Ciel is quick to pull the rifle into his lap and cocking it, earning a half-compressed scream from his fiancé.
"Even though I feel a little bad for your brother, I'm not losing at anything that has the word competition written all over it." Ciel smiles before heading Leah off the horse, "Leah, stay here with Sebastian as it is going to be dangerous, understand?"
The only thing Ciel receives is a hum as Leah moves to stand beside Sebastian, watching as her parents finally catch up with content smiles on their faces.
"Why don't I get to go? I want to watch!" Leah complains, her signature pout covering her usual smiling face.
Vivienne smiles softly, running a hand over his daughter's hair and admiring her glacial green winter dress and attire, "Don't throw a fit, Darling. It is just dangerous for you to be in the middle of hunting." The older woman explains.
"I'm not throwing a fit!" Leah yells, but before she can truly begin to throw a fit, Sebastian intervenes when the sound of gunshots rings through the air.
"Five to four. The competition seems to be heating up, we should start cheering them on."
═╬
The result, thus far, is a tie. This not only results in an annoyed Daniel but also a crying Leah when she gets a glimpse of the dead animals. Thankfully it was easy to calm her down, which is key for sticking her at a dining table with a glass of apple juice. On either end of the table, Ciel and Lucius sit at the head. Beside them are their respective partners, Daniel sitting across from Leah.
"Let us conclude this with a draw, what do both of you think?" Sebastian asks.
"I cannot take this lying down!" Daniel starts his theatrics, "I won't be appeased unless there is a victor."
Ciel smirks with an elbow on the table as he watches the boy on his left, "I agree with you this time, Daniel, even though occasions whereby I agree with you are rare." he mocks.
"In that case, we shall determine the winner through another competition in the afternoon."
With the confirmation, Daniel seemingly reverts to his original self for a split moment when he glances at his sister sitting across from him. The sixteen-year-old is happily sipping on a glass of juice, dry tears still staining her cheeks but the previous wailing has come to an end. A mischievous smile spreads across his cheeks, Daniel shifts around in his seat to kick the girl beneath the table.
Slamming down her glass with a scoff, Leah glares harshly at her brother, "Did you just kick me?!" she complains.
"No." Daniel lies.
"Yes, you did! I felt it, the table shook!" Leah fights, gripping the tablecloth.
Daniel continues his lie, much against his father's warning look, "I didn't kick you! How do you know it was not Ciel?" He teases.
"Because Ciel is mature enough to not kick someone at the dining table!" Leah controls her urge to lunge across the table, barely noticing the shadow looming behind her as she argues.
Looks of horror replace the annoyed one around the teenager, watching as a large bear emerges from the trees. Screams sound and for half a second, Leah's face changes to one of concern before being slammed out of her chair.
"Leah!" Ciel shouts, moving his body to cover her own with a hand digging into her hair.
As Ciel is accepting his death in return for saving his fiancé, a multitude of gunshots sound before a silence fills the air. Aiming his head to glance away from Leah's brown locks, Ciel notices the once moving bear no longer shifts. Daniel stands across the table with a cocked gun, aimed directly at the bear that once stood in the spot.
Everyone releases a breath of relief, the danger and Leah's impending death put to a halt.
"Sixteen to fifteen," Sebastian announces.
Looking back towards the bear, Leah begins to sob once again as she rips herself from Ciel's grasp, crawling over to the dead bear. "Why would you kill it?!" she cries dramatically.
"It was going to kill you! What was I supposed to do?!" Daniel shouts, throwing the gun to the side to approach his — once again — upset sister.
"Let me die! He could've had a family!" The Barrett girl cries, ignoring the arms of her older brother wrapping around her.
Rubbing his hand up and down Leah's arm, Daniel does his best to comfort the younger girl, "You have a family too. We would all be devastated if you died." he sighs.
With a twitching eye, Leah speaks little words before attacking her brother, hitting him without much effort before being pulled away by her father. 'Why can't he be eaten by a bear?'
In an attempt to diffuse the situation, Lucius holds Leah in his arms while approaching Ciel with a satisfied smile. "You are indeed worthy of my praise for the bravery you have shown, at the time when you have it your all to protect my daughter," he speaks with gratitude. "I owe you one. You are worthy of being my future son-in-law, Earl Phantomhive."
"I say rematch! I want Daniel to suffer nothing but humiliation." Leah huffs.
"Perhaps another time, Darling.." Vivienne sighs, fixing a piece of hair that had come out of place on Leah's head.
═╬
After another horse ride — a calming walk for Marquess and Marchioness Barrett — the aristocrats arrive back at the Phantomhive manor to be greeted by the servants who are beyond disheveled, save for Tanaka.
"Welcome back!" Bardroy, Meyrin, and Finnian yell cheerily.
"Why does everyone look like this?"
Holding up an unappetizing cake, Finnian gives a bright smile to his master, "This was made by all of us!"
"We even used roses for decoration!" Finnian gestures towards depressing, dying flowers.
"I made a donburi filled with the Young Master's favorite food!" Bardroy smiles proudly.
"The table settling was done by me. I followed Mr. Sebastian's style.." Meyrin looks down bashfully, view of the messy table behind her.
Observing the chaos, Leah shakes her head slowly, "I should be more thankful for Thomas.." she whispers, which earns a giggle from her mother and brother.
Walking past his family and the mess, Lucius sneaks up on Ciel to give him a tight hug, "Happy seventeenth birthday, Ciel!" The older man ruffles his hair and lifts him off the floor, "I'll be counting on all of you to take care of my daughter and her husband in the future." Lucius says as he simultaneously shifts his attention to the servants, Ciel still in his arms but now back on the floor.
Smiles fill the room, except for Leah who still pouts over the bear.
"Thank you very much!" Ciel smiles, subtly shifting away from Lucius and back towards Leah's side, almost using the girl as a shield from her father.
Later in the evening, the group is content to sit in the parlor, surrounded by warmth and calm conversation. Vivienne managed to stop Leah from plotting to murder Daniel, despite the constant defiance that came from the girl.
Finnian glances outside the window to see the falling white specks from the sky, "Look! It's snowing!" he announces.
Approaching the window with a blissful smile, Leah releases a sound of amazement at the snow she can see as it falls out of her view. "It's beautiful!" she sings as though she's never seen snow before.
Following behind his sister, Daniel drops his tough facade to wrap an arm around the younger girl, softly smiling and pulling her closer. Waving Ciel over to join them, he watches the snow with the eyes of a child, similar to that of Leah.
"When do you plan on marrying my daughter?" Vivienne appears behind Ciel to speak in his ear, "You won't be young forever." she urges, already picturing the planning and trying on wedding dresses.
"Don't rush him, Mama!"
Notes:
had to introduce mc’s brother somehow or else there’d be like no point for him to exist other than being mentioned like two times (you’ll see him a little more later anyway)
francis’ lines fit him decently anyway so😒
Chapter 8: | 07 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl meets an Indian prince. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
so um my cat did die🧍🏻 this is being written like an entire day after these other notes and um idk what to say i’m just beyond sad now
honestly fuck my schedule i post when i want🙏🏻 i shall try to stay to at least one chapter a week though because what else do i do with my life anyway
i tried to post this fic on tumblr but it was genuinely so tedious and i hated the app to the point where it made me beyond irritated and i spent an entire half hour yelling at any minor inconvenience. so um.. never again.
start of the final not as interesting arc!! don’t get me wrong, i love black butler, red butler, and indian butler but my GOD writing them was just too boring for me😭
also if anyone ever notices an error please tell me!! i genuinely tweak when i reread my chapters for like a fourth time and notice something that just constantly managed to slip past me. or just feel free to comment :3 i like talking to people and i don’t bite. even if i seem like i do >:)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter seven ! )
"—But turns out, I had just been seeing things."
An opium den fills with smoke on the East End, but that somehow doesn't deter the young Leah Barrett from hopping over any time she likes. Ignoring the fact that such a place is not fit for a lady, she sticks around to speak to Ran Mao and tell the female attendants any story she can bring to her mind, as she's doing now.
Seated in a plush chair, Leah wears a cherry red dress, a headpiece, and shoes of a similar shade. The soft brown locks she prefers to wear down are halfway pinned up, lower pieces left to lay across her shoulders with slight curls added to the end. Anna is, of course, stationed behind her to act as a chaperone despite telling Leah they shouldn't go.
Parting her lips to speak, Leah is unexpectedly interrupted when a pair of footsteps descend the staircase into the den. Both Leah and Lau look up to be met with none other than Ciel Phantomhive, an only natural look of displeasure displayed due to the smell in the room. And perhaps the numerous women surrounding Lau as well.
"Welcome, Earl! Long time no see!" Lau smiles and Ran Mao shifts on his lap to view the young boy, "How have you been? Wasn't it your birthday recently? Congrats." he tips the long pipe in his right hand.
A flush spreads across Ciel's cheeks but it doesn't do anything to hide his look of irritation, "I don't really care about such things." Ciel mutters before standing straighter. "I have something to ask you." he says, eyes trailing to his right when he notices his fiancé in a chair not far from them.
"Leah?! What are you doing here?!" Ciel yells in surprise. The Phantomhive is never all that shocked to find her in unexpected places, but this is farther from her normal.
Giving a sweet 'Hello', Leah smiles softly and holds her hands in her lap. "I told you, I'm friends with Ran Mao. I like to visit from time to time." she explains, choosing not to acknowledge any strange look Ciel gives her.
"Does your father know about this?" Ciel raises a brow in disapproval and lifts a hand to waft some smoke out of his face.
There's an awkward silence that stills the room, "He knows I am out of the house, yes." Leah blinks to her vague answer.
"So he does not know you're here?"
"He knows I'm not at home."
"But not here."
"Technically speaking, yes.."
Pursing his lips in disappointment, Ciel fights the urge to shake his head while turning his attention back to Lau. Ran Mao staring at him from Lau's lap causes the boy some small discomfort but he doesn't dare shift in his spot, standing tall.
"The Earl had to come all the way to Anagura to ask me about 'that' incident.. Am I right?" Lau questions.
A pair of female attendants approach Sebastian, offering him to smoke, which he denies. In Leah's small corner, she looks over at Anna with squinted eyes.
"What incident are they speaking of?" Leah whispers, the air leaving her lips tickling Anna's ear.
Anna shrugs, face never once contorting to change its expression. "I'm afraid I don't know, Mistress."
"How can you not know?" The Barrett complains.
"I can't know everything.. I spend most of my days inside the manor as well." Anna sighs.
Releasing an irritated huff, the teenager folds her arms over her chest. 'I most likely don't want to know. But I do, so I must know.' Flickering her eyes towards Ciel, Leah tunes back into his conversation with Lau.
"—Allows me to do business in the underworld of this country."
Ciel stares forward, "So."
"Well, firstly I also want to ask you one thing," Lau starts, continuing when Ciel gives a sound of question. "What exactly is 'that' incident?"
A dark aura surrounds Ciel at Lau's words as his eye twitches in irritation. The Chinese man can only bring himself to smile, ignoring the energy that is emitted due to his behavior.
═╬
To no one's surprise, walking through the East End of London is none other than Ciel, Leah, Lau, and their respective servants. Despite initial reluctance on her fiancé's end, Leah naturally squeezed herself into the situation as she always does, giddily walking alongside the blue-haired teen.
"So you want to arrest that mischievous kid." Lau walks a little ahead of the engaged pair.
"Since there are no casualties it must be because he's targeted upper-class citizens or soldiers," Ciel mutters.
"Setting an example for the common people?" Questions Lau, "It must be tiring for you, Earl."
Ciel huffs in annoyance, "Nonsense."
Strolling behind his master, Sebastian walks alongside Anna, "Nevertheless, we have walked for a long time now so where is this stronghold of Indian people?" The demon glances off to his right and past Anna's head, observing the buildings they pass.
The group walks a few more feet before coming to an unexpected halt. Shifting her attention to the Chinese man in front of her, she can recognize the smile she knows to be his 'trouble' smile.
"Ah sorry, I got lost in the conversation so it seems that we are lost now!" Lau apologizes, forcing a grin.
"Of course.." Leah sighs, walking ahead of the group.
Ciel naturally follows after the Barrett, catching up with little effort, "Well firstly we'll return to.." his words at cut short when he collides with someone's arm.
A man older than Ciel stares at his face for a moment, a vexing look etched onto his face. Thinking quickly, the man doubled over to hold his side in feigned pain.
"It hurts! My ribs cracked!" The man yells, drawing the attention of others on the street.
Leah and Ciel stare in shock, "What?" They say in unison.
"Someone, come and help!"
"Are you ok?!"
"What's wrong?"
"He is so cruel!"
"Oh.." Lau sighs.
Now surrounding the group are a multitude of Indians, whom Leah swears were not there before. Grabbing onto Ciel's arm, the brunette sticks close to her fiancé's side, Anna keeping a hand on her shoulder as well.
Leaning down to grab Ciel by his outer coat, the Indian man brings his face closer, "Showing up in a place like this.. you're asking for it!" he looks the Earl over. "Those clothes you have there are quite nice young man. A noble, eh?" The man asks.
All he gets in response to his question however is Ciel slapping his hand away, locking firm eyes onto the man standing before him. This doesn't ease the man's attitude in the slightest, if anything, it rosés more anger from him.
"Pay me consultation money!" The man shouts with an outstretched hand, "Strip off everything you have and give it to me!"
Silence and an unimpressed expression sit in Ciel's bubble, but Leah seems much more concerned about the problem at hand. "Pardon?"
"It seems we are caught amongst some irritating punks yet again, Young Master," Sebastian says, scanning the people that circle them. "Shall I..?" he asks, a question directed towards his master.
Ciel stares with an air of authority, "Dispose of the right away."
"As you wish," Sebastian smirks and pulls at the end of his gloves, preparing to give a show. However before he can start, the man speaks again.
"I'll tell you.. all of us here despise nobleman. They brought us all the way to England and then dumped us like trash! All you British are selfish!" The man shouts, his nose scrunching tightly.
"That's right!" A band of voices agree.
Leah glances around, giving all of them a strange look. "Well leave me out of this, I'm not British.." her words only gain a slight nudge from Anna to quiet her down. Anna is quite lucky Leah is so fond of her, as the girl holds back an urge to scream at the maid for touching her in such a way before remembering it's one of her favorite people.
Surprisingly enough, Leah considers Anna a friend despite the difference in social standing. The Barrett's lady's maid is only seven years her senior and they've spent countless hours together. Naturally in her adolescent years, Leah grew to think of the girl in the way someone would their older sister. She partially raised her after all.
"Because of you guys, we ended up living like miserable gutter rats!" Shouts the man, pulling a knife from his pocket.
"That's right!" The others shout in unison.
"Our country was walked all over by your shoes"
"We'll give you a taste of how it feels to be plundered and humiliated!"
"That's right!"
"First of all, I have something to ask all of you!"
"That's right! Firstly we have something to ask!"
The man raises the knife above his head with a deranged look in his eyes, "If the answer is useful, I will treat you to some delicious food as a reward."
As other voices shout in agreement, Leah deadpans at their words. 'How come everyone we run into just happens to be insane?'
"Wait a second.. that's not how it goes."
Approaching the unruly group is Prince Soma, his loyal butler Agni following in his footsteps mere feet behind him. The prince's face seems quite serious as he comes to a full stop,
"We're searching for someone. Have you seen any Indians who look like this?" Soma pulls out a poorly drawn picture of a woman, holding it up with his index finger.
Everyone stares at the prince in confusion, save for Leah's confusion which is due to looking around and noticing a lack of a certain Chinese man. "Where has Lau gone?" she questions, furrowing her brows and wondering how he could've possibly just snuck away.
No one answers the girl as the people keep their attention on Soma, especially the man who started the entire ordeal. "What the?!— You're in the way you bastard." he yells, holding up his knife to the prince's face.
"How rude.. calling me such things." Soma pushes past the man, ignoring his protest as his eyes settle on Leah, Ciel, and their respective servants. A glare forms in his eye but he finds it hard to not see Leah covering her ears at the man's language amusing, being entirely unserious in such a situation.
"He has a butler.." Soma stares, "You are a British noblemen?" he asks.
Ciel remains aloof, "So what if I am?"
"Then, I shall side with the people of my country. Agni.." Soma glances towards his butler, "Defeat them."
An aura surrounds Agni as he becomes even more serious than he was before, yielding his right arm. The bandages are slowly unwrapped, revealing what looks to be a normal hand to everyone else.
"Your wish is my command." Agni responds, "I will swing this fist blessed by the gods for my master's sake."
Sharpening his gaze, there's barely time to react as Agni turns on his heel, fist colliding with Sebastian's left arm. A startled gasp leaves Leah, taking a couple of steps back until she bumps against Anna who, despite being scared under her unexpressive structure, holds a firm grasp on her upper arm.
Much to Ciel's dismay, he is picked up by Sebastian as the demon dodges and takes hits from the Agni's blessed fist. Holding him like a doll, Sebastian pays little mind as he locks in for his safety.
Amidst watching the fight, the other Indians are reminded of their original plan. While the first man they encountered runs up to Sebastian, another man attempts to get close to Leah, reaching out a hand to her.
Taking a disgusted step back, a harsh gleam flashes across Leah's eyes. "You dare try and touch me with your filthy hands?!" Raising a hand, the brunette brings it crashing into the man's cheek, effectively knocking him to the ground.
"Where did you get such strength, Mistress?" Anna asks, a rare look of surprise painting her face.
"I'm not sure.. I swear I didn't have it until now." Tilting her head, Leah tries to recall any time she's had any sense of strength. For many years, if she didn't have a weapon, she was practically useless in a fight. 'Perhaps it's something that developed recently?'
"Hey! We barely stepped foot in this place and those guys picked a fight with us! Do all Indians act like barbarians and Indiscriminately attack the British?" Ciel complains, trying to get Sebastian to put him down.
Soma side glances at Ciel with a raised brow, "What?" he turns his attention back to the group of Indians who originally attacked. "You lot! Did you really attack these people for no reason?"
"Eh? A reason.." One man asks.
"That's not right! Picking fights without a reason is childish. Agni," Soma shakes his head and huffs in annoyance. "Our brothers are the wrong ones here. We shall help this boy now!"
A faint 'Yes, sir!' leaves Agni and everyone stares in confusion. Before long, Agni is standing on top of a pile of men with a bright smile on his face as he looks at his prince. "It is done, Lord Soma."
"So you guys.." Prince Soma bends down to retrieve Ciel's hat. "I hope you're not hurt or anything?" he asks.
"No," Sebastian replies.
Soma approaches Ciel and slams the hat down on his head, earning a noise of surprise, "Also boy, this kind of area isn't the place for someone like you to wander about. Especially a lady." he trails off to look at Leah. "So anyhoo, I'm in the middle of a search so need to split."
Giving one last glance as he walks away, Agni follows behind after a quick bow and leaves the rest entirely confused.
"Well he seems nice, I suppose," Leah breaks the silence.
A voice sounds from behind them, causing them to turn, "Yes, those two are amazing."
Ciel and Leah stare up at Lau admiring from the roof of a building, trying to hide their agitation with his antics.
"And what exactly have you been doing?" Ciel asks.
Lau smiles brightly, "Just waiting for the right chance to jump in."
"I believe you truly mean that you were just going to stay up there until the situation was resolved." Leah stares up at the man, completely unamused.
Lau can only flash the teenager a smile in response before making his way down from the building to rejoin her and Ciel.
Uninterested in the conversation turning back to Soma and the men that attacked them, Leah walks off down the street with Anna on her trail.
"Don't walk off, Mistress. It's dangerous.." Anna advises, working her shorter legs to keep up with Leah's pace.
Turning her head to glance over the maid, Leah hums quietly. "Do arrange for some clothes to be gathered for me, I shall stay at Ciel's townhouse!" She orders.
"Does Ciel know you'll be staying?" Anna tries her best to not question Leah when she is asked to do things, but it can be hard when she's always doing things she's not meant to be doing.
"I'm sure he won't mind. He's never complained before.." The Barrett urges.
Sighing through her nose, Anna nods and plans to make the preparations for herself. However, the maid hardly has much time to think when she constantly has to keep track of Leah, simultaneously having to meet her pace before she falls behind.
═╬
Inside Ciel's townhouse, the Phantomhive and his fiancé stand inside and overthink the encounter. Well, Ciel is doing most of the thinking. Leah admires the snowfall that she was previously pulled away from by Anna, who managed to succeed in getting the necessary supplies for the girl to stay at the building, much to Ciel's initial dismay.
"How tiresome," Ciel complains, an irritated and tired expression painting his face. "Fancy calling me out to London because of this boring case!" he fumes, stomping through the house.
Leah follows Ciel naturally, but rather than sticking close to him like she normally does, she walks with Anna. Biting on her bottom lip, the girl turns to her maid and trains her eyes on the floor,
"Do you think it would be inappropriate to take my hair down?" The teenager asks with a tilt of her head, keeping her voice down so no one else hears. Leah doesn't want to complain of a headache but her hair has been up all day and the loud noise from earlier didn't help.
Anna parts her lips, "Mayhaps—"
"Young master! Welcome back!" Behind a wall, Tanaka, Bardroy, Meyrin, and Finnian all cheerfully welcome the Phantomhive.
"Hello, Finnian!" Leah happily greets the gardener with a gleaming smile, waving both of her hands.
There's a faint flush that covers Finnian's cheeks as he waves back, "Hello, My Lady!"
"Well now. You two must be tired due to the cold. I will serve you tea immediately." Sebastian smiles while holding up his right hand.
Ciel releases a tired breath, "Instead of English tea let's have chai, that would be better."
Before Leah is capable of complaining to Anna about her fiancé's tea of choice, the front door to the townhouse abruptly opens. Everyone turns their heads to get a look, only to see Prince Soma and Agni.
"What the?!"
Soma looks around in wonder, "It's a lot narrower than my palace." He speaks, head aimed up.
"Why the blazes are you here?!" Ciel yells, forgetting Leah is beside him to hear his voice dig into her ears.
"We met just earlier today? Did you forget?" Soma gives Ciel a strange look. "Besides, I saved you. In India, it's common to welcome and entertain benefactors. We even have a saying for that 'entertain the guests even if you must sell your treasures.'." he explains.
Leah wrinkles her brows, "Well.. this is England, not India. We don't follow the same customs as you." she points her nose away, yet again earning a nudge from Anna to shut her mouth.
The Barrett sends a warning glare towards her maid, hardly paying attention to Soma who's now asking for a bed. 'I'm so sick of having to deal with these strange people.'
Breaking her from her thoughts is Agni who is halfway up the stairs, "Prince! I found it!" he cheerfully announces.
"Listen to me!" Ciel yells.
Soma walks up the stairs, still observing his surroundings, "However narrow it is, I've decided to stay here." The prince announces.
Leah and Ciel both trail after the Indians, the Phantomhive still trying to protest,
"Wait a minute! Why do I have to look after you guys?"
Taking a seat on the bed, Soma leans on his arm before fully moving onto his stomach, "I didn't really consider staying at an inn. Is it common in England for people to kick benefactors out into the cold?" Soma asks.
"Yes," Leah states.
Ciel tries to not start shaking with anger, "Apart from that. Just who the hell are you anyway?" he demands an explanation, face written in utter irritation.
"Me?" Soma asks, lifting his head to the side. "I'm a prince."
"This person is the twenty-sixth child to the King of the Princely State of Bengal," Agni explains, pointing a hand to Soma who is now lying on his side. "Prince Soma Asman Sandal."
Soma has a faint smirk on his face, "I'm going to stay for a while, alright."
Unmoving from his spot, Ciel bares his teeth with a twitching eye. He took it somewhat well when his fiancé invited herself to stay, but now an Indian prince who doesn't listen to a word he says. The Phantomhive is close to exploding in his shoes.
"Then as a symbol of our new friendship, this Agni will serve you chai!" Agni joyfully holds up an item in his hand. "On a cold day, chai tea with ginger can't be beaten!"
Heading off to the kitchen, Sebastian follows closely behind Agni and tries not to complain about him stealing an aspect of his work. Leah however groans in annoyance,
"I don't like chai!" she whines, nearly stomping her feet in the manner of a brat.
Anna, observing the behavior of her mistress, tries to laugh it off even if she can't. "Mistress, you seem a bit.. tired. Why don't you retire to bed early?" she suggests, trying to allude that the teenager is cranky.
"No!" Leah huffs, turning away from her lady's maid.
Not seeming the mind the Prince's arrival, the Phantomhive servants gleefully listen to Soma tell them all types of stories and facts about India. But behind them, Ciel is trying to keep his cool.
"It seems like there is going to be some lively times ahead, eh Earl?" Lau laughs along with his words.
There's a long silence that sits with Ciel as he listens to all the noise around him before finally cracking.
"Get out!"
Notes:
mc and ciel are so i hear a symphony by cody fry coded.. WHAT?? who said that..
..it’s most definitely from ciel’s perspective
anyways it’s wild to me that trying to reread chapters 1-3 is like pains me but i can read chapter 5-what i have written with like no problem.
do i yap too much in my notes?? i’m sorry i’m such a talker😭😭
Chapter 9: | 08 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl accompanies him on his daily schedule. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
knowing 14 people get an email when i update is lowkey a little scary🧍🏻 shivering in my timbers as i hope they like the next chapter
this chapter is another i’m iffy about but there’s no going back now!! (i’m too lazy to rewrite things after i’ve deemed them fine. which is why chapters 1-3 haunt me the way they do)
here’s an entirely random fact that no one asked for: mc was born blonde but her hair became darker with age, so her hair color technically counts as dirty blonde but because of the intensity of the color, she just refers to it as brown. as well as me to avoid general confusion and for people to make a more accurate depiction in their head🥰
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter eight ! )
"It is time to wake up, Miss."
Light streams into the room through the curtains, illuminating the skin of Leah who peacefully sleeps in a bed. Brunette hair encases her face, brushing against her pale skin as her eyes occasionally twitch, the long lashes moving along. A small streak of drool is almost past her chin and threatens to pool onto the pillow, the consequences of breathing through her mouth as she recharges her energy.
After being in a bad mood the night before, the girl did in fact retire early like Anna suggested. Leah practically melted into the warm sheets as soon as she hit them, sprawling out and falling asleep mere moments after her head touched the pillow. It seems her morning won't be as glorious though.
Agni leans his face in close to the teenager, staring down at her sleeping face, "Miss Leah.. it's time to wake up." The butler tries not to be too loud, but his past ten attempts to wake her haven't succeeded and he's beginning to wonder if he should pull her off the bed.
Rolling over onto her left side, Leah's eyes remain shut as she groans in her sleep. Wrinkling his brows, Agni finds it hard to believe anyone can be this heavy of a sleeper.
"Miss?" Agni asks, tilting his head.
There is a prolonged silence that fills the room, save for small chirps of birds from outside the window. The light shines on her eyes, and being half awake makes Leah's eyes begin to flutter. But much to Agni's surprise, the Barrett's reaction to his presence is anything but welcoming.
Staring blankly at Agni's face, it takes Leah a few long moments before she can comprehend who has their face so unreasonably close to hers. With a gasp, she sits up with haste and leaves Agni little time to dodge her head, "What are you doing in here?!" she tries to not shriek.
The brunette has the look of a deer in headlights at the sight of Agni, now scrambling to get out of bed and cover herself with the plush blankets. Leah has only ever allowed one male, Thomas, to enter her room and see her in such a way, so any man other than him — even another butler — is unwelcome.
A look of surprise paints Agni's face, staring at the girl who now stands tense and practically dragged the entire blanket off the bed just to cover her already clothed body. "Good morning..? I wanted to inform you that breakfast has been prepared!" Despite Leah looking terrified of him at the moment, he still wears his brightest smile.
"That is reasonable enough for you to enter a lady's room?!" Leah harshly questions, frantically shaking her head along with her words.
Agni gapes, "Well—"
Cutting off Agni is the entry of Anna who stops in her tracks at the sight of him, slowly closing the door behind her.
Smiling down at the maid, Agni places his hands together, "Namaste, Anna."
Anna gives an uneasy smile, "Good morning, Agni. May I ask what you are doing in the Lady's room?" she moves across the room to stand by Leah's side.
"I wanted to wake her for breakfast," Agni explains.
Nodding slowly, Anna side-eyes Leah who still stands tall and tense, "Well you don't have to worry about that.. It is my job to attend to the Lady in the morning." The maid confirms, flashing a kind smile.
Agni blinks in realization, "Ah, then I shall wake Sir Ciel instead. I apologize for the intrusion." he gives a quick bow and is out the door before the two women can blink.
"What is wrong with him? Coming into a lady's room like that.." Leah complains, letting the blanket drop to her feet and reveal her silk nightgown.
Anna moves over to the closet and prepares the girl's outfit for the day, "Perhaps things are different in India?" she suggests, pulling out a dress and shoes.
Grumbling in response, Leah moves to sit on the bed and let herself be dressed. The Barrett is naturally in a beautiful cerulean dress, decorated with small ruffles in the fabric that compliments the winter weather. Her shoes are a similar color, paired with gloves to cover her hands that she doesn't bother wearing at the moment.
Styling her hair, Anna decides to leave it down but curled, accompanied by a simple ribbon that goes around the top of her head. The night before, Leah and Anna discussed if it was in fact alright for her to keep her hair down. They decided that since she has yet to debut into society and is still sixteen, it shouldn't be a problem. Finally, to pair with her hair Anna uses a sheer rouge on Leah's cheeks to compliment the color of her lips.
Leah stands from her chair, turning her head at the sound of what she believes to be Ciel yelling, "I don't want breakfast.." The teenager complains, pouting her lips.
"You should eat, Mistress. You didn't eat dinner last night. If you continue the way you do, you'll just be bones soon.." Anna advises, walking with her to the door of the room.
"Perhaps that would be better," Leah mumbles, letting herself out the door.
═╬
In the well-decorated dining room of the townhouse, Leah stares down at her plate hesitantly, moving the curry around on her plate. Seated beside her at the head of the table is Ciel, Soma across from the Phantomhive while Lau is across from Leah, servants stationed behind their masters. The room is relatively quiet, save for occasional sounds of silverware clashing.
Giving the prince a frustrated look, Ciel decides to be the first to break the silence, "..So? How long do you two intend to stay in my house?"
"We'll leave once our work is done," Soma speaks while stuffing his face with French toast, Agni leaning down to refill his cup of tea.
An irk fights its way to make itself noticeable on Ciel, "And that is.." he trails off, looking for a straight answer.
Lau shifts his attention to the prince, spoon in hand, "Aren't you two looking for someone?"
Not bothering to place the usual feigned smile for Ciel on her face, Leah takes small bites of the french toast on her plate. There was an initial reluctance to try the prawn curry, which wasn't as bad as she anticipated, but the girl prefers to stick to the food she knows better. Sipping on her cup of tea, she occasionally lifts her eyes to observe the other inhabitants of the table.
"So what if they are? And why do you need to stay here also?" Ciel irritably complains, directing his attention to Lau.
"What's wrong with me staying here?" Lau laughs.
"Oh yes, we're looking for a lady," Soma nods as he chews, leaning down to pull out a poorly done drawing, "This lady." he hands it over for closer examination.
Holding the piece of paper in his hand, Ciel lets Sebastian, Lau, and Leah get close to see as well. They all hold a confused expression, trying to make out something from the drawing.
"Her name is Mina. She was a maidservant at my palace," Soma says, stuffing his face with food and leaving stray crumbs on his cheeks.
Ciel stares, "This is.."
Knitting her brows, Leah puffs her cheeks in the hopes that would make it any better, "Do you perhaps have a more.. professionally done drawing?" she treads lightly, trying not to offend with her words.
"I drew that. I drew it so good that once you see her in person you'll recognize her for sure! Isn't she a beauty?" Soma appears proud of his amateurish art, partially blind even.
Placing her back against the chair, Leah subtly side-eyes Anna who got a glimpse of the drawing herself.
"Sebastian, can you find her with this?" Ciel asks.
The butler in black sweatdrops, "Even for me, that's.." he stutters. "I'll try my best then."
The drawing of Mina makes its way to Lau's hands, "I have never seen such a beautiful lady~" he gives a concerned smile.
"Of course! She is the most beautiful lady in my palace!" Soma releases a breath of air. "Thanks for the meal." he presses his hands together, crumbs decorating the perimeter of his mouth.
Ciel turns his head back towards Soma, "So, why is this woman in England?"
Unsurprisingly, the Phantomhive doesn't get his answer. Soma and Agni both abruptly leave the table, racing over towards a statue that was not previously there, kneeling to begin praying.
"Listen!" Ciel yells in frustration.
As her fiancé, Lau, and Sebastian gather to observe the two Indians and the statue, Leah stands from her chair. Glancing around the dining room, the Barrett huffs and signals for Anna to follow after her, walking out of the room.
"Is there anything to do today?" Leah complains, trying not to let her boredom get to her too quickly.
Anna follows close behind the girl, trying to think, "When Lord Phantomhive is not busy you could be with him.. For now, perhaps practice your studies?" she suggests.
The teenager pouts, "I have finished my studies. The only one I continue is my sword lessons. When do those end anyway? Surely there's nothing more to learn." Leah moves further down the halls, the sound of her heels against the floor echoing.
"Lady Barrett says you shall do them as long as necessary. That is why you practice at least once a week." Anna explains. "How about you play the piano? It has been a while since you practiced the pianoforte."
Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Leah thinks over her options before rolling her eyes, "I suppose that'll do."
A piano can faintly be heard from a secluded room in the townhouse, housing Leah and Anna. The Barrett is seated before the instrument, letting her thin and long fingers dance along to keys to play the tune to Moonlight Sonata.
Standing not far behind her, Anna listens and nods along, occasionally correcting a small mistake if necessary, "You're doing quite well, Miss!" she smiles.
Hums sound from the teenager, trying to drown out the strange sounds she's now hearing. Previously, she was hardly able to make out the sound of Ciel's violin but she found it peaceful. Now the music is replaced by a piece she's never heard before.
Playing for a few minutes longer, the piece finally comes to an end as Leah's hands rest against her lap, feeling the soft material of her dress skirts. "What now?" she asks.
"You can join Lord Phantomhive in his art studies?" Anna suggests, despite knowing the Barrett's distaste for art.
═╬
Seated beside Ciel, Leah reluctantly paints the display before her with intricate work. Although she's never been fond of art, she studied it at a young age and learned quite well. The only downside, it often makes her head hurt.
"Look for balance calmly and bring out the depth." Sebastian guides, allowing Ciel to focus on the display and canvas.
Soma speaks up from behind the earl, "What? Drawing a bottle is boring, isn't it!" he deadpans, turning to Meyrin and pointing at her. "Drawing a picture is better with a naked woman, right? So, woman! Undress!" Soma says, earning a disapproving gasp from Leah.
Meyrin immediately flushes at the prince's words, stumbling back and falling against Lau, "I will only undress in front of the man I love!"
"May I help?" Lau offers.
Eye twitching in irritation, Ciel kicks both Agni and Soma out of the room, "Get out!" he shouts.
"They are a lively duo.." Leah mumbles, making small brush strokes across her canvas, already nearly done with her piece.
Ciel huffs and returns to his seat, "Annoying is what they are." The Phantomhive glances at Leah's canvas, surprised at the work. "How are you already that far?!"
Glancing at her fiancé, she shrugs, "I just work quicker than you, I suppose." she purses her lips, taking a moment to look over her drawing.
There's a faint spark of admiration in Ciel's eyes, observing his fiancé in wonder. Due to not seeing each other often until about a few months ago, they never got to display their talents much to the other. The Phantomhive still learns new things about Leah daily, the list of things she is capable of seems endless to him.
"I feel like some of my skills disappeared..?" Leah pouts, "Did I not do better work at fourteen?" she asks Anna, letting the insecurity get to her.
═╬
Ciel and Leah now observe a group of toys placed around a small tree, toys made for the Funtom Company. The Phantomhive currently holds a stuffed rabbit, hugging it tightly against him to feel the material. Leah on the other hand fiddles around with a stuffed bear but quickly loses interest, looking at the other today.
Sebastian speaks up, "The samples of the limited Christmas goods from our Yorkshire factory have arrived."
"It feels good now that they remade it," Ciel says, releasing the rabbit to hand it over to Leah who glances at it with glistening eyes.
"Next, the production plan for next year has arrived from headquarters," Sebastian reads from a clipboard while following Ciel, "It seems new products like the Christmas Cracker are having favorable sales at the Herriot Department Store."
Ciel holds a popping toy in his hand and pulls the string to release the confetti, "Though since our kid customers are the majority, we need to keep producing new toys." he explains while he parades around the room.
The calm in the room is short-lived however when Soma and Agni burst into the room, startling Leah who squeezes the stuffed bunny a bit too hard.
"That's it. I have thought of a new business plan for you!" Soma smiles proudly, Agni behind him with a piece of paper that reads 'Business Plan'. "Look at this!"
The Indian pair get closer to Ciel to show him the drawing, an elephant with the words 'by Soma' beneath it. "A doll in the image of the Indian God Ganesh! But get this.. somehow.. the nose.. moves!" Soma excitedly exclaims, Agni smiling while he lifts another drawing to display the elephant with its nose in a different position.
"Get out!" Ciel shouts, once again kicking them out.
Leah holds the rabbit close to her, admiring the cute toy, "You don't have much patience, do you?" she smiles, trying to divert his attention.
"Not for them!" Ciel yells.
═╬
"Hmph.." Soma sighs in boredom, half of his body on the floor while the other half is on the rug. "What time will you finish? And just what the hell are you doing?"
Ciel yells in frustration, "Shut up! I can't concentrate!" The earl can hardly hide his anger anymore, fencing sword in hand.
Unlike Leah, Lau, and Anna who were originally in the room to just watch Ciel practice, Soma and Agni are once again getting on the boy's nerves and interfering with his schedule.
"No need to get mad." Soma purses his lips.
Ciel breathes in irritation and snatches the sword from Sebastian's hand, wielding two. "I get it.." he tosses one in Soma's direction. "If you want my attention that much, then be my opponent."
Soma catches the foil and swings it around, "I have only studied martial arts like Kalaripayattu and Silambam though. Meh, have it your way." Soma looks towards Ciel and smirks, "So if I beat you, you will play with me?"
"Only if you win." Ciel glares, "If you lose then you must be quiet and keep out of my way."
"Five bouts in three minutes. The one with the highest score wins." Sebastian announces, watching both boys on opposite ends of the room, getting into position. "So.. let's start!"
Almost immediately, Soma runs for Ciel who stands still, lifting to strike his opponent only to realize the fencing foil bends.
Turning back to look at Anna, Leah ignores the sounds of the clashing swords, "Is this fencing? I don't think I've seen it until now."
"You've never seen fencing, Miss?" Anna furrows her brows, "But you take your sword lessons."
"I take sword lessons, yes. Lessons that are nothing like this.." Leah turns back to observe how Soma and Ciel play. "Mine is much more.. violent? Less agile. I'm taught how to take out an enemy quickly and dodge their attacks but in a manner different to this." she explains.
Despite the amount of years she's spent with the Barrett family, there are quite a few things Anna hasn't seen and one of those is what happens behind closed doors between Leah and a sword. The maid has only ever seen the aftermath, a sweating, and slightly disheveled Leah. Whoever did better during the training would reflect on her mood.
"This feels like child's play compared to what I do. Perhaps I should have Elizabeth teach me," Leah tilts her head, observing quietly until she gasps when Agni intrudes to strike Ciel's arm.
Rushing over, she gets on her knees to observe Ciel's arm as his face contorts in pain, gently taking hold of it and trying to massage it in the hopes it makes him feel better, "Are you alright?" she questions, ignoring Sebastian kneeling to ask his master the same thing.
"Ci— Ciel sir! My deepest apologies! My body moved on its own when I thought the prince was going to lose!" Agni frantically apologizes, holding up the foil in his hand.
Approaching Agni from behind is Soma, a happy smile on his face, "Ahahaha Agni! You have protected a master's like me really well. I praise you! Agni is my butler, he's all mine!" Soma sings, "In other words, I won!"
"Tha—" Ciel tries to interject, fighting his urge to push Leah away from his arm.
Picking up a fencing foil is Lau, tossing it to Sebastian, "Here, you should take reprisal for your master, butler."
"What are you going to do?" Soma asks teasingly.
Sebastian kneels to take one last look at Ciel who faintly enjoys his fiancé's attention, "It's because you were being mean to a novice who didn't know the rules."
"Wha—" Ciel becomes frustrated once again.
"However," Sebastian starts, standing from the floor. "When the master is injured like this, as a butler of the Phantomhive family, I cannot ignore it. Moreover, we are behind the planned schedule by ten minutes." his expression darkens.
"That's your real motive isn't it?" The Phantomhive stares at the back of his butler's head, glaring harshly.
"Interesting.. this is good. I shall allow this duel!" Soma smirks.
Agni gets into position.
"Agni! In the name of Kali the Goddess, you can't lose!" Soma encourages.
Sebastian takes position as well.
"Sebastian. This is an order! Silence that brat!" Ciel demands.
"Jo ajna."
"Yes, my lord."
The young Barrett continues to gently poke and prod at Ciel's arm, trying to relieve him of the dissipating pain, "I'm glad Thomas isn't here. He would entertain this behavior."
"What do you have against that butler anyway?" Ciel questions, simultaneously focusing on his fiancé and the two butlers gracefully dodging the other's attacks.
Leah shrugs, puffing her lips, "I don't know.. For as long as I can remember, he's gotten on my nerves. He follows me around everywhere, tells me things, and bothers me. I can't stand him. At least Anna knows when to leave me alone." she complains, moving his fingers up to the boy's wrist.
"Sounds like Sebastian," Ciel comments, earning a small giggle out of his betrothed.
The fight is suddenly halted by unforeseen circumstances, drawing Leah's attention away from Ciel. Fiddling with the now-broken sword, Sebastian smiles wearily.
"Oh my, the sword has broken."
This garners shocked looks from everyone in the room besides Leah, as they hadn't anticipated that being the outcome.
"This means that it'll be impossible to compete anymore, so this match ends as a draw?" Lau proposes.
"Ciel's butler is also pretty strong. Agni is the strongest fighter in my city! This is the first time somebody draw-ed with him!" Soma smirks, not noticing the bewildered expression from Ciel. "I'm impressed! Ciel's butler, seeing that you are so skilled, we shall stop for today!"
Sebastian bows, "It is my honor."
Ignoring the thanks and breaking away from Ciel, Leah travels across the room to pick up the fencing foil previously held by Agni. She squints her eyes to examine it before shifting her attention to Lau.
"Would you like to play with me, Lau?" The teenager smiles.
Lau smirks as he glances at the young girl, "But one of the swords is broken? Surely that wouldn't be fair.." he teases.
"Just dodge! I haven't learned traditional fencing. Something different, I'm sure you can manage." Leah gets herself into position, allowing Lau time to settle himself.
The rest of the room inhabitants look their way, watching the calm before Leah suddenly runs to strike. Ciel and Sebastian both stare incredulously, seeing Lau barely have a moment to move out of the way.
"Leah..?" Ciel questions.
Swinging the sword about, Leah watches as Lau manages to dodge her attacks, smiling as she tries to be more aggressive. Anna behind her finally understood just what exactly was happening behind those doors, staring in surprise.
Leah swipes the sword to her right, grazing the Chinese man's arm, before pushing herself back with the heels of her shoes. Her flowing dress skirts follow after her every move, a stark contrast to the current display from Leah.
Lau lets out a laugh while moving around the room, "You got me there."
"And I'm about to get you again!" Leah raises her voice before bringing herself closer to Lau, finding the one moment his guard is done before swiping the sword across his neck.
Ciel, Soma, and their respective butlers all stare in shock, not accustomed to seeing a woman twirl around with a sword, acting as if she isn't focused on points that would kill a person. Glancing at Leah's smiling face, her fiancé watches the twinkle in her eyes, seemingly unbothered by performing the way she did in front of men.
Giving a performative bow, the young Barrett drops the fencing foil to the floor and brushes a piece of hair behind her shoulder before turning to the rest of the group.
"I win!"
Notes:
i love how i skip out on writing so much dialogue from the manga because “they yap too damn much” as if i myself don’t talk up a storm💀 beware: this happens in the last chapter of indian butler arc
but i’d assume most people reading this have read the manga anyway?? so i mean what’s the point if other people also know. and i really don’t care for writing like 9 paragraphs of just a singular person going on a tangent about some topic never brought up again. if you haven’t read the manga tho, you aren’t missing out too much with any dialogue i skip😭
Chapter 10: | 09 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl spies on an indian butler. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
anyone else genuinely start tweaking when they see one of their favorite fictional characters being shipped with another character or their canon love interest? i do that with elizabeth and ciel i was looking at an art book and had to put it down and started rocking back and forth i’m insane. anybody? no? i’m just crazy? i need to be locked away? ok
the gifs at the beginning of my chapters are lowkey so tedious like i find them on pinterest but to put them on ao3, i have to find it on google to get the link and sometimes it takes forever to find them
and omg y’all should’ve seen how excited i got when i checked my stats and saw i got two comments. i audibly sighed when i looked to find out it was a bot😞
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter nine ! )
"Aren't you quite popular these days, Earl.."
The sitting room of Ciel Phantomhive's townhouse is once again occupied by himself, Leah, and Lau, a faint sense of deja vu overcoming the trio. For as often as they find themselves in there, the encounters start to feel the same at some point. The only thing missing is the nonexistent silhouette of Madame Red in her seat.
Seated in a chair in front of a long bookcase, Lau holds the newspaper up for him to read, "To be honest those two have been ultra suspicious from the get-go."
"That is true though.." Ciel looks annoyed as he opens an invitation, "I just can't see why those two would cause trouble."
"They seem nice. As strange as they are," Leah comments, fiddling with the fabric of her navy blue dress.
Ciel huffs as he looks towards Lau, "If they are criminals why would they come and stay with me of all people?" he questions. "They are not really all that suspicious at all, right?"
"Well then.." Lau smiles. "It would be pretty neat if it were nighttime soon, don't ya think?"
═╬
Later that night, Ciel and Leah both watch as Soma and Agni prepare to leave the building.
"We're off then!" Soma announces, Agni bowing at the door behind him. "Go get some sleep you two."
Releasing a noise of irritation, the Phantomhive watches them leave while his fiancé beside him yawns. "Are we following them?" she asks.
Parading through the streets, Soma and Agni visit buildings and shops and show their drawing of Mina, looking for the missing woman. Not far behind them, Ciel, Leah, Lau, and Sebastian watch from a wall, observing their whereabouts.
"It really does seem like they are just looking for that person.." Lau speaks with knitted brows.
Ciel shivers in his spot despite wearing his winter clothes, cold air releasing from his mouth. "In this country, the best place to look for news of that person would be in a club or a pub. It really seems like they aren't up to something."
"I told you. They are just a bit.. eccentric," Leah points out, shuffling closer to Ciel in the hopes of warming herself up. The fur of her winter coat slightly obscures her eyes, two little pom poms hanging from a string.
The group watches as Soma storms out of the pub, angrily stomping with Agni following him.
"It is now one am," Sebastian points out, checking his watch. "I predict they will return home soon. We should go home also."
═╬
Back at the townhouse, it is now two forty-five in the morning when Agni finally makes his move to leave. Lau seems surprisingly alert despite the time, however Leah and Ciel are practically falling asleep on each other, struggling to keep her eyes open.
Dropping lower on the roof, Sebastian hangs upside down and looks at the three through the window. "Young Master, he's making a move."
Ciel slowly blinks, trying to shake away the sleepiness. "Good, so—"
"Wait!"
Standing in the doorway is none other than Prince Soma, "You! Let me come also." he asks. "I have been aware for some time that Agni goes out while I'm asleep. I want to know what he is up to."
A silence falls upon everyone before they seemingly agree, preparing to put on their winter clothes to venture out in the snow at the late hour.
"No one let Anna know I'm doing this. She will be displeased.." Leah complains, yawning as she wraps her coat around her thin body.
═╬
Venturing through the snowy streets, it takes some time before they stop by a large manor, two men stationed at the front of the large gate. Agni is seen walking through, briskly entering the building, and doesn't notice the group following after him.
"So.. he went inside this building?" Lau questions, looking up at a tree peeking over the gate.
"This looks like.." Sebastian trails off.
Pressing his mitten-covered hand to his chin, Ciel's brows knit together, "Maybe finally we can see what is going on."
Cocking her head back, Leah stands closely next to Ciel and keeps an arm intertwined with his, bouncing in her spot to try and combat the cold. "What are you talking about?" she questions. 'Good Lord, it feels like my hands are going to fall off..'
"What's that supposed to mean?" Soma's tone is harsh as he begins to question things. "Who lives here?"
Lau presses a hand to the prince's shoulder, "Settle down, Prince. No need ta' panic." An uncovered hand goes to his chest. "If you go in, you shall see the horrible truth.. you and I.. eh?"
"In saying that you mean you have no idea what's going on either?" Ciel deadpans, trying to ignore his fiancé occasionally poking a cold finger to his cheek.
Lau flashes one of his ridiculous smiles, "Yes. So who lives here?"
"This is the home of Harold West Jebb. He is involved in the import of various goods," Ciel explains. "I've only met him once while off duty. He is rather creepy, not to mention his criminal record."
Slipping a hand out of her mittens, the brunette giggles to herself before pressing a freezing finger to Ciel's cheek. Her fiancé isn't as amused as her, feeling the cold radiating off of her and swatting her uncovered hand with his covered ones, giving a quiet 'your hands are freezing..'.
"Imported goods, eh? Then me and him are in the same business," The Chinese man smirks, folding his arms together.
Pressing a hand to his chin in thought, Soma side-eyes Lau who's a little in front of him. "Why would Agni want to visit such a person?"
"He mostly imports Indian spices and teas," Ciel says. "He runs a general store named 'Harold Trading'. He also runs 'Harold's Hindustani Coffeehouse'." The young Earl's sentence finishes a little abruptly, once again swatting Leah's hands away with more purpose.
"Mina's name appeared on some of Lord West's papers," Sebastian moves himself around to stand in front of the group, wall to his back. "According to what I read, business mostly took place in the Bengal area. The hanging incident may have hurt the business, however.. It seems such damage was avoided due to Lord West being absent while the incidents took place."
Ciel cranes his neck to look at the top of the gate, "I guess we'd better go in then.."
"If it's your wish," Plucking Ciel and Leah from their spots, Sebastian places his master under his arm and holds Leah up above his head, jumping over the gate with ease.
"Hey, you!"
"Oh!"
"I do believe it is much faster this way," Sebastian quips, placing the aristocrats down gently. "Do forgive me for handling you like that, My Lady." The butler bows as he kneels to fix their coats, Lau watching above while perched on the gate next to a struggling Soma.
Leah purses her lips in annoyance, not noticing the group of aggressive dogs approaching them. "It's alright."
Unlike the two on the ground, Soma does notice and tries to alert them, "Ciel! Leah!"
Finally glancing at the dogs that rapidly approach, baring their teeth, both Leah and Ciel stare in worry as the demon beside them radiates an odd energy. Discretely trying to place herself in front of her fiancé, Leah tries to use herself as a small shield to which Ciel holds a firm grip on her arm through his mittens, pushing her back to his side. But before their attempts to place each other in front of the other can be effective, the dogs seemingly walk away.
"Huh? The dogs are backing off?" Soma questions in surprise.
Sebastian smirks while Ciel beside him looks far from impressed, "Such cowardly dogs Lord West has raised."
"Yo, Earl!" Lau calls out, swinging a group of keys on a stick while an unconscious man lays behind him along with a door. "Look over here! Over here!"
Staring at the Chinese man in shock, everyone examines his calm demeanor.
"Aw come on now, I just put them to sleep it's not like they are dead!" A smile leaves Lau while he wags his finger.
"So what," Ciel releases a breath into his mitten, grabbing Leah with his free hand to make her follow. "Let's get a move on."
Escaping the cold, the group files into the building, Sebastian leading the way. As they enter, they notice a lack of guards but still try to be discreet, despite Leah's shoes making small click sounds against the floor.
"No guards inside?"
"I can hear two people," The demon butler hardly has to glance around before his eyes fall upon the stairs. "Let's go."
Venturing up the stairs and through the halls, they slowly get closer to the source of the voices.
"You did a good job."
Leah holds her breath to take her lightest steps, trying not to make noise with her heels or whine at the deer head mounted on the wall.
"Why give me that expressionless face?"
The group slowly peers into the open door, nearly stacked on top of each other to get a look. Leah and Ciel stay the lowest to the ground, their winter coats brushing against each other. Sebastian is slightly higher than them with Soma using him to lean against, Lau at the top but with the worst view inside the room, instead opting to listen the best he can.
"Take a cigar and loosen up a bit, alright?"
Inside the room are two plush lounge chairs, the longer one seating a disgruntled Agni as Harold waltzes around the room, a newspaper in hand.
"These are grade A Havana cigars. I got these babies from James Fox, he has a royal warrant," Harold seemingly flexes the lit cigar in his left hand, ignoring how Agni chooses to be unresponsive to his words.
"Oh well, it's your problem." Harold swivels on his feet, "Everything is going as planned. In one week it will all be decided." he leans down to take ahold of Agni's bandaged hand, "Only with this 'right hand of God' will I realize my dream."
The group stares at the display, Leah attempting to stay interested in the boring conversation.
Harold inhales another puff from his cigar, "I've been planning this for three years. So I'll definitely complete it."
"And if I accomplish this," Agni starts with a hesitant look. "Mina will—"
Everyone's looks heighten at the mention of Mina, only for it to be destroyed by Soma who bursts through the door. Soma finds it hard to contain his anger as he sharply glares at Harold and Agni, who are more than surprised at his sudden intrusion.
"You said Mina?!" Soma shouts.
"You fool!" Yells Ciel, both shocked and frustrated that Soma would interrupt when they were just about to be able to hear potentially viral information.
Approaching from behind the teenage aristocrats, Sebastian places a hand over Ciel's mouth and an arm around Leah, slowly pulling them away from the door. "Shh.. He would recognize our faces. Let's just wait for now." he whispers.
"He wouldn't recognize my face, I don't believe my father speaks to this man.." Leah tilts her head, finding no recollection of ever seeing Harold before.
Ciel glances at Leah from the corner of his eye. "Your father is well known and you look a decent portion like him. Even if he doesn't immediately recognize you, it's still a risk." The young earl harshly whispers, earning an annoyed hum from his fiancé.
Shifting his attention back to the room, Soma currently holds a tight grip on Agni's shirt. "Agni! What's going on? You know where Mina is?!" Soma shouts.
"Ah, so this is your master? Agni?" Harold smirks.
"You.." Soma slowly turns his head to glare at Harold, "You were the one who kidnapped Mina?! Agni!" he lifts an arm to point at him. "Beat this guy!"
Behind his prince, Agni wears a conflicted expression with clenched teeth, balling his fists but making no move to obey Soma's orders.
"Agni! What are you waiting for?!" Soma yells, bringing his pointing hand down.
Lifting his arm, Harold nonchalantly points at Soma, cigar in hand. "Agni. Throw out this fussy prince."
"Huh?" Soma stares in shock. "Can't you hear me?" He tries to speak to Agni.
"It seems they are starting to argue.." Sebastian says monotonously, still peering into the room while Ciel, Leah, and Lau appear more disinterested.
"Well, back to what we were talking about before.. it seems Lord West is involved," Ciel shifts his eyes to watch Leah playing with one of the pom poms attached to her coat. "It also seems that this has something to do with the black market."
Lau smirks and rests his head on his hand, squatting on the floor, "So then this is in the Earl's jurisdiction. Since the black market is involved."
"Indeed," The Phantomhive glares in annoyance. "Reporting this to the yard could be problematic. Perhaps we should just go home now.. That would be nice but I have another idea. I want to watch West for a while longer. This time I will save that foolish prince."
"But won't he recognize you?" Sebastian tilts his head.
"Yes."
"Leave it to me. I have a good idea."
Discreetly moving from his spot beside the door, Sebastian takes the mounted deer's head from the wall and places it over his head. This behavior doesn't impress the aristocrats but they decide not to question it, placing trust in the butler as he stands on the sidelines and waits for a chance to intervene.
"Is this really what I'm losing sleep for? How boring.." Leah whines, pouting her lips.
A quirked brow appears on Ciel's face as he side-eyes his betrothed, "No one told you to come along. You invited yourself." he mumbles.
Turning her head to look at his deep blue eyes with her dull ones, the young Barrett glares. "Oh. So that's how it's going to be, Phantomhive?"
"Phantomhive? Going back to informal formalities? Is Daniel possessing you?" Ciel stares at Leah incredulously, noticing the shift in her tone.
"If that's how you want to be, then yes!" With a huff, Leah turns her kneeling body away from Ciel's.
Lau chuckles watching the exchange, marveling at the earl's unimpressed look. "Now, now.. Don't argue little ones. You'll give us away." The Chinese man lightly scolds the pair.
"Little ones?!" Leah turns herself back around to stare at Lau in exasperation at his word choice, mouth nearly gaping at his audacity.
Before Leah has a chance to throw a fit at Lau, Ciel promptly shushes his fiancé by placing a hand over her mouth. Small muffled words leave the girl as Ciel shifts her closer so they can watch what's going down in the room, realizing Sebastian had a chance to intervene amidst their arguing.
"Who the heck is that?!" Harold shouts in disbelief like anyone would to seeing a deer head on top of a body wearing a suit.
Sebastian turns his uncanny accessory to Harold before bowing entirely, "I am a deer sent to collect the prince."
"Using a stuffed deer.. Good one, Mr. Butler," Lau stares up at the empty spot on the wall that was previously occupied by the deer head.
"How is it good?" Comes from Ciel, who doesn't agree with Lau's praise.
"I can't believe he's being serious about this.. It reminds me of Thomas. And I hate when Thomas pulls shenanigans like this," Leah is also one to complain about Sebastian's methods.
Harold stands taken aback, "This is probably one of the Prince's spies! Agni!—"
"No, I am just a deer to the core," Sebastian cuts in.
"Destroy him!" Harold shouts, pointing a sharp finger in the butler's direction.
Agni hesitates, "Destroy him? I can't.."
"Shut up! Do you want me to take back my promise? I order you to do this! Do it now!" Demands Harold.
For the most part, Agni is silent as he falls to his knees, clenched hands, and a lowered head, "My God.. I only wanted to serve him. This right hand I use only for his sake.." The Indian man continues, begging for forgiveness while removing the bandages from his hand.
Watching from outside the door, Leah and Ciel both seem surprised at the turn of events happening before them. They are also unable to take it seriously with Sebastian standing behind Soma, deer head still intact.
Turning her head towards her fiancé, Leah lets the hood of her winter coat slightly obscure her eyes. "Would now be a bad time to ask if you'll be attending my birthday celebration?"
"Your birthday isn't for another few months, why are you asking now?" Ciel's brows knit together.
"My father was talking about it and I said I want to be like a princess and he took my words seriously so now he's planning in advance.. If you are going I would suggest preparing your best attire," Leah purses her lips, recalling Lucius ferociously making plans in his study.
The young earl fights back a groan, "Your father spoils you a bit much." Ciel treads lightly with his word choice, careful not to set the girl off.
"Are you saying you won't spoil me when we marry?" Leah pouts teasingly, knowing fully well that she is naturally spoiled due to her position in society.
A heavy flush makes its way over Ciel's cheeks, "That's not what I'm saying! It's just—"
Hardly having any time to finish his sentence, Ciel is cut off by Lau abruptly grabbing Leah and lifting her up to carry her, earning a small noise of surprise but no further complaints from the girl. It isn't until now that Ciel realizes the loud crashes in the room are becoming too frequent, along with yelling, but most come from Harold screaming over his items being destroyed.
"It seems things are getting a bit wild, we should leave Earl," Lau says, walking away as he holds Leah with ease while dragging Ciel with another arm.
"Wait! A commotion this big is going to attract attention! You need to bring him out also!" Shouts Ciel, making sure Sebastian can hear him as he's dragged off by Lau.
Hoisting Soma over his shoulder, Sebastian nods under the deer's head, "As you wish." With that, he goes out the window with a loud crash.
═╬
"It was incredible.." Lau marvels, thinking back to Agni's sheer power.
After the abrupt exit the group made, they are now safely back at the house and out of the cold, adorning more comfortable clothes. Leah in particular sits with her back to the fireplace, choosing not to acknowledge the deer head that now sits atop it.
"He was beyond human."
"It's called samadhi," Soma sits with crossed legs, an irritated look painting his face. "Anyone with it has that power."
Ciel looks up at Sebastian with confusion, an expectant expression. "Samadhi?"
"It's to do with their religion. It's like entering a type of trance, isn't it?" Sebastian starts. "Humans are strange creatures. Their blind belief that they call strong faith can call out enormous strength from within. The Vikings of the past called upon Odin. The holy knights and the crusaders fought in the name of Yahweh."
Sebastian hardly stops to take a breath, "For Agni, his belief in his one true god Soma allows him to use such a power. Something we could never obtain, bred from love and belief. The power of faith ."
The young earl's expression is unimpressed while Sebastian smirks, choosing to look at his fiancé who also doesn't seem to care much for the current topic.
"Then tell me why did he betray me," Soma looks down before swiping his arms to clear the china off of the table in a fit of rage. "How did he leave me behind so easily?!"
Ciel stands from his seat to dodge the flying items thrown in his general direction, "You.."
"Why?! Why is it that everyone around me vanishes?! Why?!" Soma shouts.
"Well if you act like that—" Leah starts before being interrupted.
"Leah Barrett!" Anna appears in the doorway, ready to scold the young girl. "What are you doing up at such an hour?! I have been waiting for you to get you ready to retire."
In her seat, Leah's body tenses as she forces on a tight-lipped smile, staring at Ciel for help. "We just went for a little outing.." she tries to justify, "It's not like I have a bedtime, I'm not hurting anyone."
"Hurting anyone or not doesn't matter. Walk yourself to bed right now before I make sure Lord Barrett hears about this," Anna scolds, walking off to Leah's room to make sure everything is in order.
The young girl lets out a sigh, reluctant to listen to the maid but does so to not risk hearing any more of it from her father. Lifting herself from her chair, Leah moves around Lau's chair to lean down and hug Ciel tightly.
"I had fun!" She smiles, ignoring the heat radiating from her fiancé's face. "Goodnight everyone.."
A faint chorus of goodnight's streams as Leah retreats from the room, leaving an empty seat.
═╬
In the days that follow, Sebastian works hard to try and cultivate a curry that can rival Agni's. It's hard and tedious with Soma's judgment but the demon tries what he can, set on winning to obtain the royal warrant.
"How's it going?" Ciel leans on a cane as he enters the room, Leah attached to his arm with Lau walking behind them.
"Young Master, you shouldn't come down here right now.." Sebastian advises, watching Ciel, Leah, and a kneeling Finnian use their fingers to taste the curry.
Leah squints her eyes at the flavor, "I don't know how much more curry I can handle tasting.. Do find a good recipe soon."
"Three days until the contest," Ciel retracts his tongue. "It looks like you're researching very hard."
Both aristocrats seem finished, walking off towards the door, but not before Leah can give Finnian a kind smile goodbye.
"Oh by the way, for today's dessert I'd like to have gateau chocolat," Ciel says, letting Leah leave the room first. "Bring it to me later."
Walking out of the room with a smirk, Ciel and Leah both set down the hallway with Lau following their footsteps.
"You act as if you want your butler to lose," Lau lifts a hand to his chin.
"Impossible. But instead of getting the royal warrant, don't you think it would be more interesting to see that butler lose?" Turning his head around, Ciel continues to walk while flashing the Chinese man an amused smile.
Shrugging, Lau releases a breath. "The Earl is sparkling~ What a bully."
"Silence," Ciel tries to shush him.
"You love making Sebastian's life harder in the way I love making Thomas' life harder!" A bright smile comes from Leah, shining eyes as she sticks close to her fiancé.
Raising an eyebrow, Lau watches the pair in front of him as they walk.
"What a perfect pair you are."
Notes:
would you believe me if i told you i started writing this because i was sick of trying to read fics and the mc was never just a normal human? i got so tired of that angel/demon/assassin shit. mainly because half the works i like to read for this fandom are way older so it wouldn’t get mentioned or anything like it was just a random and sudden plot point i hate it SO much😭😭
already kinda excited to write the birthday chapter but it’s still a little bit until then
i’m definitely trying to add more original scenes since sometimes i feel like this fic is a little boring since there’s only so much i can change without shifting too far from canon or them being uninteresting. but in a couple arcs from now, there will be decent changes due to a plot point i’m so ready to write🤭
Chapter 11: | 10 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl watches a curry competition. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
let’s pretend this chapter doesn’t exist. when i said i cut a lot of dialogue out of this chapter i wasn’t kidding😭😭 this chapter is the second shortest so far after the prologue which is 2.5k. this is 2.9k. which is why i’m posting this a couple days after chapter nine since this is so short.
i was just not feeling it and tbh half of the dialogue is just some random ass filler that has little relevance and i believe is never brought up again. i wanted this arc FINISHED. and finish i did cause i must’ve been on something with how much i let go. not too proud of this chapter tbh but next chapter is so much better, trust!🙏🏻
also happy one month of this fic being posted!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter ten ! )
"So it's time for the big showdown, eh?"
Inside a large, greenhouse-like building holds the curry fair, and many visitors fill the place to watch the competition. Ciel, Leah, Anna, Sebastian, and the rest of the Phantomhive servants all show up in attendance to see the results of the winner, some more excited than others. Just as the betrothed pair shuffle inside, they are greeted by Lau sitting on a platform, an arm wrapped around Ran Mao who sits between his legs.
"You brought one of your girls even though you would be in front of clients?" Ciel cocks a brow, observing the display.
Pulling her eyes away from an elephant a few feet away from them, Leah's eyes sparkle when she finally notices Ran Mao. "Ran Mao! I didn't think you would be here!" she detaches herself from Ciel's side to wander over to the Chinese woman.
"This is the Ran Mao you speak about?!" Staring in shock, Ciel watches his fiancé who seems ecstatic to see the woman.
"Of course it is.. I met her through Lau, what else could you expect?" Leah tilts her head, standing tall in her pistachio green dress decorated in cute ruffles and bows. A cute headband sits atop her head as well, accentuating her brunette hair which is done half up as usual.
Lau pokes a finger into Ran Mao's cheek, making a small indent. "Ran Mao is my little sister, even though we are not related by blood. Ain't she cute!" he drops his fingers and moves his head back, "I heard that during the contest they would serve curry to the audience, so I figured I could treat this girl."
Rolling his eyes in disinterest, Ciel takes Leah's wrist and moves her along with him as he begins to walk away. Sebastian and Anna stay a short distance behind them but only manage to get so far before Lau catches back up to bother the young Phantomhive.
"So the Prince's butler is really serious?" he asks, bending his body to the side.
Shifting his eye away from the Chinese man, Ciel focuses on the bottom of Leah's dress skirt. "He betrayed the master he regards as a God. Of course, he is serious." Ciel's tone drags.
"It's safe to assume that this is all for the Prince. He was probably told that once the plan is complete, the girl will be returned to them.." Lau recalls what they had seen a couple of nights before, "If so, it sounds like a lie to me."
"Well.. Should we succeed, letting Agni go after obtaining the royal warrant would possibly mean the leaking of his deeds," Ciel closes his eyes, tilting his head down as he walks. "If I was West—"
Lau interrupts the earl's sentence, "You would have him killed?"
"You really think it would be worth killing someone over?!" Ciel sighs in disdain.
"I'd do it if it was me," Shrugs Lau, flashing an ironic smile.
Previously occupied by the decorations around the building, Leah stops looking around in wonder to pay attention to the conversation. "I would appreciate it if you didn't speak about murder on such a wonderful day.." she appears disinterested, almost scolding the boys.
A chuckle leaves Lau, "Ah, yes. I'm sorry, I forgot we have a Lady in attendance."
"That is.. oh my.. if it isn't Earl Phantomhive!"
The group turns around at the sudden voice, only to see Harold West approaching them, removing his hat to place it under his arm.
"Ah.. Lord West." Ciel acknowledges.
Harold smiles brightly at the sight of the younger earl, "Long time no see! It hasn't been since last year's social events if I recall correctly?" his eyes trail off to Leah who stands next to Ciel. "And who is this beautiful young lady?"
"It is an honor to meet you again," Ciel turns his head in disinterest. "This is my fiancé."
Forcing a small smile, Leah gives little effort to bow her head towards the man. "Leah Barrett, daughter of Marquess Barrett."
"Ah, I knew you looked familiar!" Harold's eyes widen in surprise before shifting back to Ciel. "You never change, always wearing a well-tailored coat. So what brand does someone of the Earl's status wear?"
"My butler picks out all my clothing. I don't care at all about brands," Ciel releases a breath, slightly bringing his arm away from his side.
Harold chuckles, "Ha! You never change!" There's a small silence, "Come to think of it, isn't your group competing in this contest?"
Looking past Harold at nothing in particular, Ciel nods. "Yes, I'm considering expanding my business into the food industry."
"I was rather surprised to learn that you would enter. Did you go on a hunt for a talented chef?" Harold asks, not noticing Soma who is spying from behind a tree. "My company can not lose! We have hired a curry specialist."
Ciel barely makes an effort to appear interested, "That so.."
"Between you and I, some spies broke into my home," Harold whispers, recalling Sebastian wearing the deer head. "It was terrible. One of my Galle lamps was broken along with a chess set I got at general trading."
The blonde man shivers, "It scares me to even think of it. Luckily the secrets of the curry were kept safe. I get the shivers knowing that the criminal may even be here." Somehow Harold doesn't realize Ciel and Sebastian's bad attempts at hiding a guilty smile. "Enough about that, I heard that the Queen might be attending the curry show?"
Ciel stares at Lord West rubbing his gloved hands together, "And?"
"Well since King Albert passed away, Her Majesty doesn't appear in public so often. I'd like her to taste the curry we are so proud of in front of the audience before I receive the royal warrant," Harold releases a breath of air, only being met with silence from Ciel and Leah. "Oh. This chat has gone on a bit long. I will see you later."
"Before you receive the royal warrant, eh?" Ciel raises a brow.
Placing a hand on her fiancé's shoulder, Leah giggles quietly. "He sure is confident!"
Ciel looks over at Leah and smirks, "I can't wait to see his face when he realizes he has lost."
"Yes, My Lord," Sebastian says. "Then I will head to the competitor's room and wait."
Shortly after, the competition is set to begin as a man stands on a stage. "We have now come to the highlight of 'The Empire Governed Indian Culture and Prosperity Exhibition'. With participants from famous curry houses throughout London, let the curry show begin!"
"We have prepared a special curry for the guests who are present. Please wait in anticipation!"
With those words, the crowd erupts in applause.
"Now, today's judges are.."
An older man with a light, shaggy beard and mustache stands on the stage. "A palace chef who will not allow any compromises in taste, Chef Higharm."
Next to him is a man with darker hair and a rounder face, small glasses sitting upon his nose bridge. "A tax collector currently serving in India, Mr. Carter."
"And.." Aleister steps out onto the stage, running a hand through his hair. "Viscount Druitt, who has a great love of the arts and food!"
Women in the crowd make remarks about his looks while Ciel fights back a scream in surprise.
Tilting her head, Leah recognizes the blonde man after a moment of observing. "Oh. I went to his ball at the end of the social season!"
"Eh? Wasn't he arrested by the yard?" Lau questions, hand over his forehead to block the light in hopes of getting a better view.
Ciel stares in contempt, nearly beginning to glare. "He probably bribed his way out. How corrupt.."
The competition goes on as planned, a strong showdown between Agni and Sebastian to create the best curry. It's a head-to-head battle, the crowd reacting to the way they curate their food before the curries are opened up to the audience while the judges discuss who shall win.
Ciel and Leah don't stray far from their spots in the crowd, the boy standing quietly while the brunette chats animatedly with Ran Mao. This spans over ten minutes before the judges return to the stage.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," The man announces, holding a trophy in his hand. "After much discussion, the winner of this curry show is.."
Everyone stares in anticipation, wondering if their efforts paid off.
"Harold West Company and Funtom Company! A tie!" As the man raises the trophy above his head, a whip takes it away and into the hand of a man wearing shades.
"Please wait."
A prolonged silence sits over the building, wondering what could be worth the interruption. It's not until Queen Victoria parades in on a horse do people understand who the intruder is.
Bardroy, Soma, and Leah all stare in confusion. "Who's the funky old gran?!" Bardroy questions, pushing his hat up.
Recognizing the face, Ciel pulls himself away from Leah to dash over to Queen Victoria. "Your Majesty! Why have you come here?!"
"Hello everyone," Queen Victoria smiles, placing her shades on her forehead.
"Her Majesty the Queen?!" Shouts sound from all corners of Crystal Palace.
Leah gives a nod in understanding, "That makes sense, I suppose. My mother is always talking about her, which bores my father immensely." her words earn a small chuckle from Bardroy.
"It seems the Queen has something to say," Speaks Queen Victoria's assistant, John, on the ground with a hoove on his head.
"This curry show was indeed exciting. The fragrance permeating throughout the entire room reminds me of a time I had a curry with Albert on White Island," Queen Victoria is helped down from her horse and takes a look at a watch, Albert's portrait sitting at the top. "Oh, Albert.." she cries, falling to her knees as the attendants give her strange looks.
John retrieves a doll made to look like Albert, using it to speak and being entirely serious. "I want to eat this curry with you also!"
"Her Majesty seems like quite the complex character," Lau comments.
Leah raises a brow, "She acts deranged."
The Phantomhive stares in disapproval and annoyance at their words, "Don't talk like that."
"As I received an invitation to be a judge in this contest, I have one vote don't I?" The Queen uses a handkerchief to dry the tears pricking her eyes.
On the sidelines, John still uses the puppet. "Your Majesty, Albert has always been by your side." He whispers.
Leah stares incredulously, "Is he serious?"
Placing a hand over his fiancé's mouth, Ciel shushes her as Queen Victoria announces her pick.
"I have chosen.." The Queen pauses before approaching Sebastian with the trophy. "Funtom Company's butler, Sebastian. This is for you."
Harold West and Agni both stare in shock, "Wh—Why? How can the curry we made lose to a doughnut stuffed with curry?" Harold questions.
"Please look over there," Victoria points to numerous children happily enjoying the curry buns, Finnian as well. "Do you see? Funtom's curry requires no utensils and can be consumed by anyone. Yes, that is right, this is a method that takes even children into account. Everyone is happy, the rich, the poor, the adults, the children. Everyone is equal. This kind of idea is essential for Great Britain as it heads into a new century. I highly approve of the Funtom Company's accounting for our future, the children."
Leah deadpans. "It really isn't that serious."
"Thus, the victor is the Funtom Company!" Queen Victoria announces.
Harold falls to his knees, deeply upset by this information. On the other hand, Ciel and Leah celebrate silent victory, going off to taste the curry buns with Finnian who seems all too happy to be around the young Barrett.
Crumbs around his mouth, Finnian's face flushes when Leah gladly takes a bun from the gardener's hand. "It's good isn't it?" he asks, smiling brightly.
Leah takes a bite, chewing softly before shrugging. "Better than I thought it would be."
All goes smoothly, despite Agni and Harold's disappointment in their loss, until a certain woman makes her entrance to comfort the blonde man.
"Mina?!"
Everyone previously involved with the prince turns at his voice, noticing an Indian woman who is undoubtedly the Mina he has been searching for.
Standing beside Ran Mao quietly chewing on a curry bun, Leah tilts her head to get a better look at the woman. "Hmm.. Soma's drawing didn't do her much justice, she's a lot prettier in person." Lau nods in agreement.
"Prince.. Soma?" Mina asks.
Soma's cheeks flush in wonder and dives in to hold the woman in his arms, "I finally found you! Mina! I've been looking for you! For a very long time! You must have been so worried when you were kidnapped to England! I finally.. finally found you." Soma pulls away from the hug. "You don't have to worry anymore. Let's go home together!"
"Prince.." Mina's face contorts into one of disgust, "Are you some kind of idiot?"
Soma's face pales, "Eh?"
"Who the hell do you think you are, coming this far, just to get in people's way?!" Mina yells. "Come home with you? Don't make me laugh! Who'd want to come home to a place like that?"
"Drama.." Leah comments as she watches Mina complain about her life back in India, getting a nudge from Ciel in return before turning to her faithful maid. "Do you feel that way, Anna?"
A warm flush coats Anna's cheeks in embarrassment, "Of course not, Mistress! It's an honor to serve you.."
"Well, you don't have to lie.." Murmurs the Barrett.
The issue is thankfully resolved, reuniting Agni and Soma, and leaving Mina to live a peaceful life in England.
"It seems like somehow everything's ended up for the best, wouldn't you say? Isn't that good, boy?" Queen Victoria asks, directly a smile at the infamous Phantomhive.
The Phantomhive servants, Lau, Ran Mao, and Leah all stare in surprise at the nickname. "Boy..?"
"Your Majesty, I've humbly asked you to stop referring to me that way.." Ciel's face flushes, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Queen Victoria giggles, "Is that so? But you'll always be that cute little boy to me."
"Boy? Perhaps I should start using that one," Wonders Leah, looking for new ways to tease her fiancé.
This earns a small glare from Ciel as he clears his throat, "Your Majesty, why did you come all the way out here today?"
"I was at St. Sophia University's choir concert, but when I heard that your company was coming to the curry fair, I had to coke and see you. You only ever send letters and never come to visit, after all." The Queen smiles up at the boy.
Ciel fiddles with his hat and casts his gaze to the side, "Someone like me shouldn't be around Your Majesty very often."
"Dramatics.." Leah comments to which Lau promptly covers her head to keep her from talking.
"Please don't say such things. You're so young, but you already perform your duty so seriously, just like your father, Vincent." Queen Victoria places a hand on Ciel's cheek. "Besides that, it's been such a long time since I came to the Crystal Palace. It seems like just yesterday that Albert and I would come here for the opening ceremonies.."
Beneath a cloth, Leah speaks up once again. "Ciel isn't that young, he's getting quite old." she says, making Anna push her aside.
"Albert!" Queen Victoria falls to her knees once again.
John, ever so serious, pulls out the puppet of Albert, "I wish you were here today too~"
The night comes to a close with plenty of congratulations — and tears from Soma.
"How long are you going to keep crying?! You said you were twenty-one? Act like it.." Ciel complains as he goes to pull a handkerchief from his coat pocket, only to see a sealed envelope. "This is.. When did?!"
"Ah, the Queen's servants put it there earlier." Sebastian glances over.
Ciel whips his head around in annoyance, "Why didn't you say anything?!"
"You didn't ask," Smiles the butler in black.
Happily skipping over to her fiancé, she peers over his shoulder to notice him open the envelope and reveal three tickets.
"Couldn't it be a Christmas present?" Sebastian smirks. "For a little boy."
Ciel turns his head and sharply glares at Sebastian who stands a few feet behind Leah, "I'll kill you." Handing the envelope over to his butler, he starts to walk with his fiancé following in step. "..I'm tired. I want to go home and have some tea."
"Oh.. Is it time for me to go home now?" Pouts Leah, having relatively enjoyed her day at the curry competition.
"Yes. You've spent so much time at my townhouse, I'm worried your father will try to kill me. Surely he wants you home?" Ciel allows Leah to place her hand in his, though makes no move to tighten his grip. "By the way, what kind of tickets are those?" he asks Sebastian.
Opening the envelope once again, Sebastian looks down as he completely pulls out the three tickets to get a better look. "Let's see.." he says. "They're.. for the circus."
The tickets read Noah's Ark Circus in bold and decorative letters.
Leaving the Crystal Palace with Ciel by her side and Anna in her shadow, Leah raises a brow at the mention.
"Circus? Those are dreadfully boring.."
Notes:
apologies to soma and agni. i love them but if only this arc wasn’t so boring for me to write, i’d have done more😞💔
i think this is the only chapter so far where i haven’t used my little timeskip/scene divider thing at least once💀
primarily because everything in this chapter happens within like moments of each other so there’s not much need but🧍🏻
Chapter 12: | 11 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl observes a circus. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
to mark the start of what i believe will make this fanfic better (the more interesting arcs in my opinion) we get to see quite a few original scenes this chapter or my own stuff added on!!
did a little “fan service” aka something to make me giggle when i read cause i primarily just write this for me💀
if you’re enjoying this tho, i’m really happy that you are! it’s nice to know that others actually seem to like this, especially when my esteem is kinda low on some days. thanks for any kudos, bookmarks, subs, comments, etc :) never expected it since i originally posted this on a whim.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter eleven ! )
"Mistress, please don't wander off!"
Traveling through the bustling streets of London are the young Leah Barrett and her lady's maid Anna, indulging in a shopping trip at the noblewoman's request. A chill sits in the air for the calm February afternoon, but that doesn't stop the taller brunette from speeding past shops with the intent to find items that interest her.
Sadly for poor Anna her legs aren't much of a match compared to her mistress, leaving her practically sprinting to keep up with Leah's pace. It's a small game of push and shove between other people on the street, constantly whispering quiet excuses while trying not to lose the sixteen-year-old in the sea of people.
"I'm not wandering, Anna. You're just too slow," Leah complains as she glances through windows and looks up at signs, struggling to find a shop that caters to something she may want.
The brown-eyed woman continues to struggle before finding a window as her master stops, giving one last sprint to catch up, her grey-brown hair flowing behind her. Releasing a ragged breath, Anna slows to stand a couple of inches behind Leah, clutching the half-full basket in her hands tightly.
"Your legs are quite long, Mistress.. It can be hard for me to keep up," a sigh comes from Anna once she's managed to catch her breath.
Whipping her head around with a dissatisfied glare, Leah presses her lips together. "Well be faster, we don't have all day." She holds back her attempts at mocking, the noble's impatience today is on clear display and at a higher level than normal.
"Yes, Mistress.." Anna mutters.
Continuing in silence, the pair go a bit slower to put more effort into finding a shop but to no avail. Leah can only let her eyes wander in disinterest before settling on a bundle of fur she almost misses.
The silence the girls sit in is just a little too quiet. It's not until when Anna turns her head that she realizes Leah is gone, completely out of her field of view and striking a panic within her chest.
Scanning her eyes through the crowd, the lady's maid is still unable to notice a sign of her master and begins to walk forward in the hopes of finding her. "Mistress?!" she calls out.
Just about ten yards away from her servant, Leah eagerly follows after the cat she happened to spot when observing the stores. The skirts of her dress move in tow but only work to subtly slow her down, her legs having to put in all of the work to even attempt to catch up to the running feline.
"Kitty! Wait.." Leah pouts, bunching some fabric of her dress in her left hand to make running easier.
Maneuvering around the streets with ease, the cat with the black coat hardly pays any mind to her pleas, twitching ears being the only sign to the animal listening. The feline effortlessly works to lead her through street corners, Leah hardly noticing that she's gone farther from Anna than she originally intended.
A classic game of chase is active but slowly comes to a stop once the cat has led the girl to one of the back streets. There's a still silence that sits in the air and the young Barrett shuffles towards the furry animal, hand outstretched while an exhausted smile stretches across her lips.
"I'm not going to hurt you.. I just wanted to say hello," whispers Leah, fatigued from the running and struggling to catch her breath.
Taking steady steps, she almost manages to brush her fingertips against the cat's fur before it darts away out of her view, soliciting a pout from Leah. A firm 'hmph' escapes her as she smoothes down pieces of her hair and dress, making sure to leave no trace of a disheveled appearance before returning to the more populated areas of the streets.
"Hi hi hi.."
'I'm almost certain I've heard that laugh before..' Leah jerks her body around and releases a noise of surprise, eyes quickly dancing around before landing on a tall figure. Peeking from the other side of a door is none other than a familiar grey-haired man, giggling when the teenage girl finally notices him. Her eyes look up at the sign on the building.
Undertaker.
"Why hello, little one. It's been a while since we've first met," he smiles widely.
Leah huffs in exasperation, "I'm not little."
Uncanny laughs sound from Undertaker but he makes no objections to her words, only slipping out the second half of his body from behind the door.
"Since you're here, would you like me to take your measurements for a coffin?" Undertaker suggests, teeth on display from his wide grin.
There's a silence that drifts between the two, a silent stare down — more from Leah's end as she can't see Undertaker's eyes. — She shifts uncontrollably in her spot but she's always learned it's impolite to decline a man, and from what she's seen, the one before her seems more eccentric than dangerous.
Shrugging her shoulders, Leah subtly kicks a rock with her heel. "I suppose.. but I don't plan on dying anytime soon," she mumbles.
Pointing a long finger in her direction, Undertaker wags her over with a laugh as he walks back inside and grabs some measurement tape, waiting for the brunette to follow him. Doing as he planned, Leah shuffles inside with a wary look and clenched hands.
"Don't be so scared!" Undertaker laughs loudly, observing her body language as he approaches.
Straightening out the measuring tape, the taller man gets to work on jotting down small notes, startling the girl with the sudden, but subtle, touch of his fingers. The grey-haired man moves around, diligently working to get accurate measurements and occasionally moving Leah's berry blue coat or dress out of the way.
A hum sounds from Undertaker, "You're quite large for a woman, aren't you?" he giggles, noting her tall height.
"Excuse you," Leah glares.
"I'm not trying to offend, Lady. Simply pointing it out. You're the Earl's betrothed, yes? I'm sure you'll be wonderful for carrying on the Phantomhive name," Undertaker grins, measuring the length of her arms.
A flush works its way onto Leah's cheeks, standing out prominently against her porcelain skin. Undertaker giggles knowing he's flustered her but their moment halts when the door to the shop is opened.
Walking inside with the basket on her arm, Anna's typically stoic face is one of relief at the sight of the young Barrett. "Ah, Mistress. I knew I saw you walk in here.. I thought I lost you." she clasps her hands together while approaching Leah.
"You did lose me. You just found me," Leah puffs her cheeks.
"We should be getting back. We came all this way to shop," reminds Anna, pointing towards the door.
Before Anna can convince Leah to walk out of the building, the door is opened once again but this time by the infamous Ciel Phantomhive and his butler Sebastian. Walking inside, they somehow don't notice the small group of people standing to the left side of the door.
"Are you there, Undertaker?" Ciel calls out.
Picking up a stray skull that happened to be beside him, Undertaker launches it past Ciel with a giggle and a small welcome, hitting small headstones ahead of him.
"Did you finally want to get into one of my special coffins?" Undertaker brings down his hand that he used to roll the skull like a bowling ball, tossing another up in the same hand. "Well, have a seat. I've just baked a cake."
Shifting his head to look behind him, Ciel's stare is unnerved before settling on his fiancé beside the man. The only thing he can notice is Undertaker getting far too close and writing something down on paper.
"Leah?! Why are you everywhere?!" Ciel yells in surprise.
The Barrett faintly smiles at the sight of her betrothed, "I'm not everywhere. I just happened to be here. Undertaker offered to measure me," she speaks softly, forming a nice hum from her deeper than-average voice.
"We're just finishing up!" Undertaker laughs, placing the tape across her head and jotting down a final note so he can step back.
Leah, having decided to stick around now that she's seen her fiancé, is seated beside him on a coffin, Anna standing behind it and Sebastian looks through reports. No longer measuring the teenager, Undertaker reclines to chew on some treats.
"— Children's corpses, hm..." Comes from Undertaker.
Sebastian stares down at the files, "The surface world has not yet found the missing corpses, it seems."
"And in the Underworld, children's corpses are an everyday occurrence, after all," Undertaker takes a bite from his biscuit. "Which the Earl knows very well, doesn't he?"
Ciel initially reacts in silence, eyes wandering over to Leah who fiddles with the skirts of her dress but decides to speak. "We've brought you the documents. Are there any children you've 'tidied up' amongst them?" he questions.
Handing over the files to Undertaker, Sebastian takes a step back to stand beside Anna. Now sifting through the papers, the grey-haired man houses a smile on his face, leaning his chin on the wood of the counter.
"I wonder, were they there? If I saw something interesting, I think I'd remember~ A first-rate laugh! If you do that I'll tell you anything you want~" Approaching Ciel while ignoring the disdain on the younger boy's face, Undertaker gets close and drools. "You understand, don't you, Earl? You'll have to give me that.."
An uncomfortable look sits on Leah's face, "Freak." She whispers.
Ciel, wanting nothing to do with Undertaker who stretches his hands out to him, calls out for his butler. "..Sebastian."
Before Sebastian is capable of pulling his glove off and getting to work, Undertaker subtly testifies. "You're going to rely on him again?" A gurgling laugh sounds from him, "I wonder if the butler isn't here, is the Earl just a child who can't do anything? Though if it's amusing, I don't care who it is."
With hands on both of his spread knees, Ciel gets flashbacks to Soma and a look of annoyance works its way into his face.
"I'll do it."
Sebastian raises a brow, "You'll do it?"
"Leave," Ciel gently raises a hand to signal for Leah and Anna to do the same as he turns to Sebastian with a serious expression. "Don't you dare peek. That's an order."
"Yes, My Lord." Sebastian half bows with a hand to his chest.
As Leah, Anna, and Sebastian all stand outside the door, they stand awkwardly in their silence while waiting for a noise to sound from inside the building. There were a few long moments of nothing, Leah wondering if it was even working. But just as she nearly started to give up on Ciel, a loud laugh shook the walls of Undertaker's shop.
Opening the door for the women, Sebastian peers inside as Leah and Anna file in and stumble across Ciel whose hair is now disheveled, the coat is no longer on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a popped collar, tie missing, and a flush adoring his face.
"You look a mess.." Leah purses her hips, moving Ciel's hand aside to run a manicured hand of her own through his hair, settling the pieces down to their original spot. This action only serves to deepen her fiancés flush, but this one of no longer from exhaustion but more from her bold actions in front of others.
To the side, Undertaker drools as he laughs. "My.. that Earl Phantomhive would go that far~"
"What on Earth did you do?" Sebastian asks.
Ciel pulls down his sleeves, "Don't ask."
"But, for the sake of the Queen, you'll perform and even do this kind of thing.. You really are a dog." Sebastian teases, a smirk settling onto his face.
"Shut the hell up," Ciel glares but is quick to notice his fiancés's disapproving look at his word choice. "Sorry.."
Shaking his head, Ciel returns to his typical annoyed demeanor as Sebastian gives him back his coat and fixes his tie. "There, I gave you your reward. Now tell me about the children," he demands.
"There aren't any," Undertaker smiles, leaning two hands on a jar and his elbows on the counter.
Ciel and Sebastian stare in shock but Leah groans in disdain and stomps to the other side of the room, no longer wanting to hear anything about Undertaker's games. Standing beside Anna, she crosses her arms with a huff and looks her in the eye, knowing that she won't leave without Ciel but wants to regardless.
"I'm about sick of all these insane people Ciel knows. How come we've never met a normal person through him?" Leah whispers, trying to hide her irritation that's threatening to slip.
Gazing at Undertaker, Anna shrugs. "His line of work is questionable. Surely that means he's surrounded by questionable people as well."
Leah rolls her eyes and adjusts the coat around her neck, ignoring any glance Ciel directs back at her. It's not until the conversation gets mildly interesting that she perks up.
"Does this mean we've got no choice but to examine this circus firsthand?" Ciel questions. "If we've decided, let's go, Sebastian. Contact me if any information surfaces, Undertaker.
Moving swiftly across the room towards her fiancé, Leah gets close enough to almost press an arm against his, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Can I come along?" she pleads.
Ciel flushes from her proximity and looks down at the girl, "We only have three tickets."
"Oh, Anna. You'll be alright waiting outside, won't you?" Leah looks back at her lady's maid, not forcing a smile when she gets a soft 'yes' in return. Turning back to Ciel, she points as if to say 'see'.
Humming in response, Ciel allows Leah to attach to his arm like always as they set off towards the door. The fabrics of their coats rub against each other but before they can step outside, Undertaker cuts in.
"Earl. Keep your soul safe, at least," he grins widely.
Ciel can only stare in confusion and walk past Sebastian who holds the door open. "I know that."
Walking alongside him, Leah places her spare arm on his forearm. "Do take his words seriously! You need your soul or we can't get married.." she pouts.
‘And if you die now, I might be ruined for my behavior.. Not to mention to amount of years I’ve spent with you. Finding a new fiancé would be so tedious.’ Leah thinks to herself.
Yet another flush works onto Ciel's cheeks, but easier to hide as it matches the winter cold. The Phantomhive says nothing as he gets into the carriage after Leah, settling on a spot beside her before watching the girl look out the window and subtly kick her feet.
Feeling the eyes on her, the young Barrett promptly turns her head to meet Ciel's eyes, a small but genuine smile working its way onto her cherry-tinted lips. Reaching out a hand, she takes one of his hands in her gloved ones reveling in the blush that her fiancé can't hide from her in their solitude.
═╬
The ride to the circus is not long, with small talk made between the betrothed teens but they prefer their comfortable silence. Stepping out of the carriage, Leah looks around in childlike wonder at the stalls, tents, balloons, and the people dressed up for the circus.
"Look! They have balloons," Leah excitedly points out, holding onto Ciel's right arm that isn't being occupied by his cane.
Ciel, unoccupied by the balloons but sending Sebastian off to go fetch one, looks up at the side above their heads. It reads 'Noah's Ark Circus' and a chandelier hangs down from the middle. "Is this it?" he questions.
Shrugging, Leah pays little mind but gladly takes the balloon out of Sebastian's hand when he returns, watching as he gives one to Anna who will spend her time waiting in the carriage or walking the circus grounds. There is a small pang of guilt that hits the Barrett's chest but she knows deep down that the maid doesn't mind, she can only hope it doesn't get too cold outside.
Heading inside the main tent on the grounds, they note the spacious interior, numerous chandeliers, and a somewhat large number of people.
"By all appearances, there doesn't seem to be anything unusual but.." Ciel trails off.
Placing a hand on her forearm, Ciel guides Leah to one of the rows for seating and prompts her to walk and take her seat first, shuffling behind her afterward followed by Sebastian. Just as they get seated, the show conveniently starts to begin, Leah watching with her perfect posture in a slight disinterest.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Bots and girls of all ages!" Calls a man from down below, outstretching his arms. "Welcome to the Noah's Ark Circus. My name is Joker. If you'll look here.." Juggling eight balls, they all fall on his head and earn a small laugh from the crowd.
Joker shows off the many performers who stand behind him and wait their turn. "The whole circus is jostling for a chance to give you a fun show!" he announces.
"Here we go! With one shot from the fire-eating man.." Behind him, Jumbo blows a long cloud of fire from his mouth, shocking the audience. "The show of the century begins~!"
Tilting her head, Leah doesn't show much interest in the show, having come along to spend time with Ciel, but tries to enjoy it for what it's worth.
Above them, two small performers start to perform a trapeze act. "Next is our gasp-inducing flying blanco!"
Striking an apple above a woman's head who's attached to a wheel, Dagger winks and wields the weapons in his fingers. "He never misses his mark! The bullseye knife thrower!"
"No music nor anything particularly special.." Ciel mutters.
"Indeed," Sebastian agrees. "There is no sign of the rumored kidnapped children, either."
"And next is— The princess of our circus and her death-defying tightrope walk!" Joker announces, promptly Leah to look up and stare with sparkling eyes at Doll who performs a split on the tightrope.
Up on the air, Doll briefly meets Leah's eyes and watches how she looks up in wonder. There is almost a smile that works its way into her face at the sight of a girl her age acting like a child in the atmosphere of a circus.
Ciel stares onward with a serious expression. "If they don't intend to make a show of the children, perhaps the circus's movements and the children's disappearances are merely a coincidence?" he puts some thought into the scenario.
Snake moves about on the floor, shirtless with snakes wrapped around his arms and body. "Next is a rare snake/human halfbreed. Our snake-man's dance!"
"And finally!" Beast diverts attention to her with a crack of her whip, holding it tightly in her hand with tigers behind her in a cage. "The star of the show, our wild animal tamer!"
One of the tigers is released from their enclosure to stand beside Beast. "For this act, we'd like a volunteer from the audience!" Joker looks around for contenders.
"No matter how you look at it, this theatre-going was a waste of time," Ciel stares on, hardly noticing Sebastian standing up beside him or Leah subtly raising her hand. "It appears the final show also has no connection to the children." he points out before finally laying his eyes on Sebastian. "What is it? Did you find somethi.."
"That really distinguished-looking man in the tailcoat!" Joker points a skeleton finger towards Sebastian. "Please step onto the stage!"
Staring in utter surprise, Ciel starts to sweat as Joker calls his butler down to the ground and all eyes dart to them but calms when he feels a poke from Leah.
"Go."
"Sir."
The crowd watches as Sebastian makes his way down the seats, getting past the gates with ease and steadily approaching Joker and Beast.
"Now, Sir, could you lie down over here?" Joker points to a platform but is surprised when Sebastian speeds past him to kneel with the tiger.
Running his gloved hands along the fur, the demon nearly gushes at the sight. "Aah.. such round eyes. I've never seen such soft, vividly-striped ears.. how lovely." he almost smiles.
Up in the stands, the crowd watches in shock and horror at the scene. For Ciel, the boy is quick to grow displeased when remembering that tigers are indeed cats which easily distract his butler.
"No one you know is sane.. Absolutely no one," Leah whispers, holding a gloved hand to her chin and using the other to keep a firm squeeze on Ciel's wrist in case she sees a man get mauled.
"What's this? It seems your claws have grown a bit too long. To not be groomed.." Covering his face in embarrassment, Ciel tries to pretend none of this is going on. "Your paw pads, too, are plump and exceedingly charming." Sebastian is only able to get in a few more words before the tiger bites down on his head. Not hard enough to break any skin, but noticeable enough to elicit gasps and screams from the audience.
Watching on as Beast cracks her whip to attempt to get Betty the tiger to release the butler, Leah drifts her eyes to the animal instead. A giggle makes its way out of the teen and she points a gloved finger at the feline.
"That tiger reminds me of Sam!" she smiles.
Ciel lifts his face from his hands, gazing up at his fiancé who isn't nearly as embarrassed as he is. "Sam is your cat, yes?"
"One of them. He's the one I talk to you about the most! He can be quite silly like the one down there," Leah nods along to her words and kicks her feet.
The problem of the tiger biting Sebastian is only temporarily solved when the butler stops the animal tamer from whipping the cat, being bitted again to receive more shock from the crowd.
"Eeek!"
"Gyaaa!"
"My, my, what a tomboy."
═╬
"Who said you could go that far?" Ciel holds back his shouts of utter irritation, sneezing and watching his fiancé look like a kicked puppy when he wouldn't let her come close.
The audience now walks outside the tent, the show has come to a close and the sky is much dimmer. It's a soft atmosphere, the sound of chatter buzzing past people as everyone prepares to head home for the night after an eventful show at the circus.
"My apologies. I've lived for such a long time, but it's only cats whose fickle emotions I cannot read." Sebastian cheerily smiles.
Furrowing her brows, Leah continues to walk to turn her head back to get a look at the butler clad in black. 'Lived for such a long time? He only looks to be no older than 30..' Pushing aside her questioning thoughts, she walks alongside her fiancé and makes small, unneeded adjustments to her coat to busy her hands.
"What were you thinking, being far more conspicuous than necessar.. Achoo!" Ciel is cut off by a loud sneeze. "You know I'm allergic to cats! Walk further back!" he yells.
"Sir."
Stopping in place to wait for Ciel and Leah to get a bit further ahead of him, Sebastian is caught by the sound of a voice.
"There you are! Hold on a sec! You in the tailcoat!" Joker waves down Sebastian as he approaches. "I'm really sorry for earlier."
Sebastian shakes his head, "No, please accept my apologies instead."
Catching on the the conversation, Leah stops with Ciel beside a stand to listen in from a distance.
"I was surprised 'cause you suddenly got so close to the tiger. You okay from the bite? Anyways, we've got us a special doctor here, and I was thinkin' he should check you out. C'mon round to the back." Joker explains, extending his bony hand.
Both Sebastian and Ciel smirk, unlike Leah who doesn't understand much of the detail of what they are doing at the circus.
"In that case, I will." Sebastian smiles.
The betrothed teens only watch for a moment longer before setting off toward the carriage, Leah quietly leading the way with her bad sense of direction. Thankfully for them, Anna stands outside the carriage, fiddling with her balloon.
"I hope it wasn't a bother, Anna! It wasn't that fun though, you didn't miss much. Sebastian got bit by a tiger but he's fine," Leah rambles on to her lady's maid about the events of the circus, a small attempt to fill her in on what she missed.
Releasing the balloon into the carriage, Anna opens the door for Leah and Ciel. "I don't mind, I'm not too fond of the circus. The quiet out here was quite nice," she murmurs, watching as the aristocrats settle into their seats.
Humming in response, Leah gets comfortable beside Ciel, who keeps a foot or so distance away from his fiancé to not make her stay beside him as he sneezes. Noting how Anna hasn't climbed in, she peeks her head to the side.
"Are you not coming in, Anna? Surely you're a little cold," The young Barrett suggests.
Anna only shakes her head, leaving the door cracked to say one last thing before shutting it. "I'm alright, I'll wait for Sebastian to return."
Shrugging, Leah places her back against the seat of the carriage. 'Suit yourself.' Idly tapping her feet against the floor, she watches Ciel sneeze a couple more times before digging a handkerchief out from her pocket and handing it to him.
Ciel stares down at the handkerchief for a moment before taking it from his fiancé's thin hands, unfolding it to notice small embroidered flowers on the edge of the fabric. Based on the handy work and it being Leah's, he can only assume it's the work of his betrothed — whom he knows for a fact has learned embroidery — and finds the addition to her item almost endearing.
"Thank you.." Ciel mumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft fabric, and earns a small smile from Leah.
Shifting her attention out the window, she uses a finger to push a section of hair past her shoulder. The betrothed teens are overcome by a comfortable silence between them, only the sound of Ciel combatting his allergies can be heard as Leah battles the sudden fatigue plaguing her.
Blinking a few times, Leah sniffles and places her head against the back of her seat. "I'm quite tired." she yawns softly, holding a gloved hand to her mouth.
"Then sleep.." The Phantomhive tells her, not realizing that would prompt the girl to lay her head on his shoulder without further question. Sitting in their silence, Ciel doesn't bother to hide his flushed face and tries to keep his sneezing to a minimum.
═╬
Arriving at the townhouse, a sleepy Leah is awakened not by the sound of Ciel scolding and complaining to Sebastian, but by Anna in the hopes of moving her to a room. Stepping inside the warm building, the coats of the nobles are taken from their bodies.
"Why did it end up going in that direction?" Ciel questions with an irritated expression, brows knitted.
"Ciel!— You're late! Are your plans for the day over?!" Soma and Agni both step forward to greet the boy, the prince's arms outstretched with a bright smile painting his face. "Teach me how to play chess today!"
Unfortunately for the kind-hearted prince, both Ciel and Sebastian zoom past him in haste. Leah is slow to follow but offers Soma a kind smile and hello, Anna following behind her with a soft curtsy.
"In this case— What's up, Ciel, that's a really sour look! You should at least greet me with a smile!" Soma follows after his 'friend' to try and gain his attention.
Turning his head around in anger, Ciel stops in his tracks for just a moment. "Shut up! I'm busy right now, so shut up!" he shouts. Walking away, he leaves Soma behind him and Leah who unknowingly follows him to his room.
Entering the room, it nearly feels like a small party with the four people now inside, somehow getting past Ciel's radar. "What I'm saying is why did it end up that I was signed up for the circus?!" he complains as he removes his outer coat.
"You were not signed up for the circus. You were signed up for the entrance test. As was Lady Leah," Sebastian glances at the Earl.
"Oh?" Leah asks in surprise, expecting to be met with an explanation but only sees surprise when Ciel turns around.
Ciel stares with wide eyes, "Why are you in my room?!" he yells.
"I followed you," Leah shrugs.
"Well get out! You shouldn't be in here!" The Phantomhive flushes, knowing this is a scandalous position for the two of them to be in.
Leah pouts in disagreement at the prospect of her fiancé wanting her to go away.
“Go to sleep!” Ciel yells, body tense.
Sticking her hands up in surrender, Leah and Anna walk out of the door, the teenager still half asleep and not exactly realizing the extent of her previous situation.
"He can be a little prissy at times, can't he?"
Notes:
how we feeling? excited? got some interesting stuff for this arc planned🤭
i really enjoyed being able to write some of my own scenes, despite how much i procrastinated (cause i do that when i’m just staring at the manga as i write anyway)
comments are SO welcome btw, i literally love them!! (NOT pressuring but they really do make my day)
Chapter 13: | 12 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl joins the circus. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
there are a couple of things in this chapter that foreshadow something in a later arc, see if you can guess🤭
when i tell you i couldn’t find a good gif to match with this chapter i had to just go with something random. (if you somehow couldn’t tell, my gifs always correlate with the chapter in some way, like an action or something)
this one isn’t as interesting as chapter eleven but i think it’s ok. you see mc be a little more quiet and simultaneously dramatic cause we gotta remember she’s a respectable member of society.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twelve ! )
"Whoa, you brought two really cute fellows, huh."
A calm breeze swishes through the air of the Noah's Ark Circus grounds, creating a faint chill in the February air. Despite the cold season, the sun still shines down bright upon the people, working to make it harder to see for Leah's sensitive eyes.
Standing before a group of performers, Leah and Ciel are dressed inconspicuously to perform an entrance exam for the circus. Both teenagers wear clothes in muted shades of brown and white, far from the prestigious clothes they are used to that adorn their bodies on the average day.
Leah herself stands in a simple dress and shoes, shifting uncomfortably against the material but trying to brush it off to not blow her cover. Her hair is not styled this time, lying straight across her back. The only thing to see is the hardly noticeable waves that naturally work through the strands of brown.
Observing the two, Joker stands with his hands on his hips and looks closer at Ciel. "Are you a boy?" he asks.
"Yes, I was a pageboy at the manor," Ciel pauses for a brief moment. "My name is Finnian."
Joker shifts his gaze to Leah who stands tall beside her fiancé, engagement ring no longer sitting on her finger. "You're a girl?" he asks.
"Yes.. My name is—" Leah struggles. "Anna.."
"Are you sure? Your shoulders are a bit broad. And you're quite tall!" Joker comments, earning a look of hurt from the brunette.
Pursing her lips, Leah swallows hard. "I'm sure." she forces a toothy smile.
"Alright.. Well if you join, we'll give you stage names. But cuteness isn't enough to join the circus. If you can't perform, that is," Pulling away from their faces, Joker takes a step back. "What are your strong points?"
Ciel's face blanks, a small bead a sweat dripping down his face. "...Darts?"
"I am good with a sword. I'm flexible and good at mounted archery as well. Or music.. perhaps languages, I'm not sure.." Leah stammers, trying to recall anything she is capable of that could be of use for a circus.
Stopping to think, Joker presses a finger to his jaw, showing off the checked waistcoat he wears. There isn't any silence to accompany these thoughts though, as they are surrounded by small chatter of the people around them to observe.
"In that case, let's do knife-throwing for the boy and contortions for the girl. Dagger, lend him a knife," Joker smiles brightly.
Retrieving a set of pointy knives, Dagger drops them in Ciel's hands with a friendly grin. "Here ya go."
"Hit that target from over here," Joker says, pointing his prosthetic finger in the direction of a board at least ten feet away.
The air goes still when everyone hears this, observing the setup as crickets threaten to fill the tension. Ciel adjusts his stance to hold his knife in the manner he would when fencing, but that hardly helps his case.
"Ah, ah, Boss. you're mean," Dagger grins with a small sweat. "With those skinny arms, he can't reach that."
Joker smiles passively, allowing Dagger to lean on his left shoulder. "It's not mean. It can't be closer for the show," he explains, cockney accent shining through.
Pointing the knife before him, Ciel takes in the encouraging smile from Leah and flings the pointed object with all his might. But to no one's surprise, the knife begins to fall short of its target by a few feet.
"Aaaaaah, yep.." Dagger — and the others surrounding him — give a pitiful smile.
Just moments before the Phantomhive can accept defeat, the knife diverts from its path and slams into the target.
All of the people observing stare in shock. "No way!" Joker and Dagger yell.
Ciel smirks and eyes the smiling Sebastian, once again throwing another knife to which the butler flicks a pebble to change its course. They continue this until thirteen knives have cluttered the area of the target.
"Is this all right?" Ciel asks with a smirk, holding an arm out in gesture.
Walking over to stand before him, Joker crosses his arms with an impressed smile, Dagger behind him observes the target in a sweat. "Seems like you've got control over it. Now let's have the girl do some contortions." he claps his hands together.
Leah shifts uncomfortably in her spot, "But I'm wearing a dress.." she mumbles.
"What was that?" Joker cocks a brow and leans his face in closer.
"I'm wearing a dress!" Leah repeats, albeit a bit too loudly.
Blinking a few times, Joker begins to chuckle. "Oh, don't worry about that! No one's looking, just do your stuff!"
Pressing her lips together, Leah eyes Ciel who only gives her a look to go ahead and fights back a sigh. She starts by pulling her right leg up and positioning it straight next to her torso, Sebastian steps in to move her dress around to ensure that it is covering what it needs to be.
Bringing her leg around behind her, she lifts it to put herself in the needle position. Leah finishes her warmup and moves to the ground, trying not to grimace when she touches the grass and dirt and does a back bend with pointed legs, head nearly touching her behind.
Situating her body in a couple more strange positions, Leah is met with applause and a smiling ginger. Ciel on the other hand, stares in mild surprise that someone of her status is capable of such an act.
"Good job! You can really move your body," Joker nods. "All right, next!"
"Tightrope walking!"
Atop a tall platform sit Ciel, Leah, and Doll. Ciel is standing with his shoes no longer on, clenched hands as he stares down at the ground many meters beneath him. Behind the Phantomhive, Doll tightly secures a rope around his torso while Leah sits beside her, tightly holding onto the bar in fear of falling as she awaits her turn.
"Doll~ Tie the lifeline tightly!" Joker yells up with a closed-eye smile. "It's dangerous if a beginner falls!"
Taking another glance down below, Ciel tries not to sweat out of nervousness. "Can't I do some sort of music test instead?" he asks, raising his voice so he can be heard.
"Hmm? D'you wanna retire already boy~?" smiles Joker teasingly.
"N—No! But if there's something else.." Ciel trails off.
"If you're serious, don't dawdle and do it fast!" Joker calls out, singing his final words.
Releasing a noise in aggravation, Ciel hesitantly moves forward on the rope, leaving Leah and Doll behind him. For a split second, he holds himself upright before nearly losing balance, shaking with barred teeth until he's hit in the side with a pebble by Sebastian in an attempt to keep him up in the air.
"He recovered, he recovered."
Watching as her fiancé drifts further from her, the young Barrett turns to face Doll with an awkward smile in reluctant anticipation for her turn. Doll — dressed in her flowery costume — gives a kind smile in return that reaches her eyes, feeling a faint sense of recognition when she sees Leah's pools of dull blue.
Leah is so caught up in her thoughts that she hardly notices that Ciel has gotten down from the tightrope. It's not until she feels a tightening sensation around her waist that she looks down and sees the rope being fastened, Doll uses most of her strength to make sure it's tight enough.
Clearing her throat, Doll looks at the back of Leah's head. "Sorry.. Needs to be tight," she whispers.
"It's alright," Leah uncomfortably smiles, showing off a nice set of teeth. "Just uncomfortable is all.."
Standing on her feet, she stares down at the ground beneath her and eyes her fiancé who stares back up at her, grumbling as he rubs his behind. Leah takes a deep breath and settles her gaze directly in front of her before moving her bare feet to take her first steps, wobbling on the rope.
Pushing forward, the brunette does surprisingly well with her first couple of steps and only seems to wobble. But on her fifth step, Leah begins to tilt and fights back a scream until she feels something pelt her side and shift her back into place. 'What was that?!'
Leah shakes her head and decides to not dwell on it, going across the rope faster to get the activity over with. Some more wobbles and near-deathly falls later, she finally reaches the other end of the tightrope's platform and releases a victory sigh. Peering down beneath her, she can see Ciel with relief painted over his face as everyone else around him claps and smiles.
"That's great! I didn't really think you'd be able to do it!" Joker claps happily, watching as Leah climbs down from the platform with the rope no longer around her.
Striding over from the ginger's side, Dagger leans on Ciel and aggressively pats his head. "So don't demote these cute lil' kids, Boss!" he smiles, not seeming to notice the look of pure aggravation on the Phantomhive's face as he stares forward.
"Not yet. The boy hasn't done something real important," Ciel perks up in surprise when a bony prosthetic finger is pointed his way. "A big ol' smile!" Joker smiles brightly along with his words.
Ciel's eyes widen, "Wha..."
"C'mon, smile!"
Off to the side, Sebastian is shaking in an attempt to control his laughter that threatens to spill. Leah also giggles but in response to seeing Ciel clench his cheeks and fist, shaking in anger. A pregnant pause fills the room before Ciel lifts his head and flashes his best closed-eye smile, sweating as he tries to not think about his gushing fiancé or laughing butler.
═╬
Only half an hour later, Leah shifts uncomfortably outside of the main tent as she glances down at her new attire.
Her outfit consists of a clean white base. The main piece is a corset that has golden stripes going from the top to the bottom. It displays a heavy amount of skin including her larger-than-average bust and her behind, hardly covered by fabric, stockings that cut off at the top of her thighs come up and sit secured with red ribbon.
The detached sleeves are in a similar style to the corset and are flared near the wrist, with little red hearts sitting at the top near her upper arm. On Leah's lower back is a large red bow with black stripes, and a short top hat having a similar accessory wrapped around its middle. The brunette has tied-up hair that sits low enough to cover the back of her neck while simultaneously showing off a white choker with gold stripes at the top and bottom, accompanied by a simple white beaded necklace. Finally, on her feet are heeled boots in a shade of gold, similar accents dancing across the plane, and a small red gem sitting center of where her foot sits inside the shoe.
As good as Leah looks in the outfit, she's naturally an aristocrat. To be seen in an outfit this revealing is much too scandalous, the style of a prostitute. 'If someone were to me like this—’
"What's taking ya so long?"
Silencing her train of thought is none other than Joker, walking towards her in slow strides under the moonlight. His face is one of confusion as he looks down at the teen, tilting his head as he observes how Leah can't seem to sit still.
"I— I can't go out there like this!" Leah stammers, flushed face taking over her once porcelain skin.
Furrowing his brows, Joker pouts his lips. "Why? Ya look great!" he smiles in an attempt to reassure.
Leah furiously shakes her head, "No! Not at all!"
"Don't be silly, c'mon!" Joker grabs ahold of Leah's wrist and walks her around the tent, dragging her inside with her horrible attempts at protest.
Kicking her feet and trying to remove her arm from Joker's grasp is hopeless for the Barrett, as she is not naturally strong without a weapon the majority of the time. Her fighting only amplifies when others — especially a certain blue-haired boy — come into view.
"Look, your friends are doin' fine! Nothin' you need to worry about!" Reassures Joker, pushing Leah into place beside Ciel.
Cautiously eyeing her fiancé, Leah notices how Ciel's face is just as red as hers. The Phantomhive tries hard to not let his eyes wander and keeps his gaze trained on Leah's own blue eyes, clearing his throat at the awkward exchange and nature of her clothes.
"Everyone! From today on, we have some new friends," Joker announces, looking out towards the other circus members. Dagger observes with a snicker while Doll keeps a more straight face, gaze trained on Leah and Ciel, and Beast looks away in annoyance with crossed arms at Sebastian's presence.
People's eyes settle on Sebastian who kindly smiles in a suit, holding a hat in front of him. "New-comers Black."
"I'm Black. It's a pleasure," Sebastian introduces himself.
Pointing a finger at the brunette dressed rather promiscuously, everyone's eyes follow. "This one is Diamond."
"Hello.." An embarrassed wave leaves Leah with minimal eye contact.
Finally getting to Ciel, Joker smiles brightly. "And this one is Smile!"
Ciel's face contorts into one of aggravated shock, "Sm..."
"Let's get along well, everyone!" Joker wraps his arms around the three, facing them off towards the crowd of mixed reactions.
Smiling in feigned kindness, Sebastian gazes at Ciel who sticks close to Leah's side. "Come on, Smile, greet your elders."
"Eh?" Ciel's eye twitches as he looks out at the people and back and Leah who gives him a faint encouraging smile, still trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's— It's nice to meet you.."
"C'mon, Smile, smile!" Joker nods and raises his voice, a bright smile flashing to show his teeth.
Not long after their introductions, the crowd disperses to go about their typical daily activities. Some stretch and some immediately get to work on their routines but Joker stays behind.
"Now I'll take you on a quick tour of the backstage area," he says, holding out a cane-like item to point at the exit. "Follow me."
Heading out of the main tent, the group of four trudges through the circus grounds under the starry sky. There's a still silence that falls upon them, only being broken by Joker's welcoming voice to point out different locations.
"First, these're the rents you guys'll sleep in. It's where the backstage workers an' newcomers — the 'second tier' members — live," Opening up a tent flap, Joker invites the trio to take a peek inside. The two nobles stare incredulously at the sight. "'About two or three people share a room."
They all take a step back from the tent and continue, Leah sticking close to Ciel's side. However, unlike all the times before, she doesn't firmly attach herself to his arm, instead choosing to let hers occasionally brush against his.
"An' that's the mess hall and the storeroom. S'an important job of the new recruits to provide the grub, so good luck!" Joker points his thumb over before switching to his can, pointing it at a new tent. "The center one is this area's first aid tent. An' the most central ones the main cast's private tent."
Sebastian's gaze darkens when he takes a look over at the tent in the distance behind Joker, casting an askew look at his master. Leah, unsurprisingly, is hardly paying attention and keeps her gaze towards the ground.
"Private?" Ciel asks.
"S'a private room you get if you're real good. Ah, an' that's snake's tent, so stay away from it for your own good. A buncha poisonous snakes're roaming free, so if you get bit even once, you're off to the Underworld," Joker doesn't notice the brief look Ciel and Sebastian share, the younger nudging Leah to make sure she's paying attention and pushing her away from the tents general direction. "Snake an' his friends're still shy, y'know? Careful of their poison, you three. Now, let's move on~"
Continuing about their tour, the four leave the other tents behind them as they turn around. Thin light poles illuminate the area as they pass them by, adding a soft atmosphere to the dark grounds. Their single-file formation is broken by Leah who walks to Ciel's left, judgingly glancing at the tents they pass.
"...By the way. What happened to your right eye, Smile?" Joker questions, not bothering to look back as he asks.
"Eh?" Ciel reaches a hand up to his eyepatch, painted nails on display. "Ah.. This is.. There was an accident.." he murmurs.
"Is that so," Lifting his prosthetic hand, Joker brings it to Ciel's left cheek and looks at him solemnly. "So young, but you've been through a lot."
Ciel watches as the ginger's expression changes to a small smile, patting him on the head.
Sneaking around, Joker places an arm around Ciel and gives a wide grin, showing off a singular sharp tooth. "Well everyone here's been through something, so you'll get along well with 'em."
"Y—Yes," Ciel sweats and removes himself from Joker's grip, opting to take ahold of Leah's wrist and drag her along. "I can't with these people.." he mutters, leaving Joker and Sebastian behind him.
Giggling, Leah falls into step beside her fiancé. "Well.. They're quite nice, I'll give them that."
Approaching a much larger tent, Leah stares up at the top, almost intimated by its size.
"Right, this's the practice tent." Joker opens the tent flap to allow them inside.
Throughout the tent, many individuals fill the inside to practice their acts. Some are on the trapeze while some are on the tightrope, with quite a few practice juggling, and some balance on balls. Even off to the side, there is a caged tiger that only serves to intimidate the young Barrett even more.
"New people practice over an' over here. Aiming at making their debut in a real public performance," Explains Joker, shows off some people climbing poles, jumping on the trampoline, and going through hoops. "Work on the basics first. Warm up carefully and—"
As Joker attempts to get the trio accustomed to their surroundings, noting how they all stare around in wonder or bemusement, he is promptly interrupted by Beast entering the tent.
"Joker! It's almost your turn!" she calls out.
Surprised by the sudden entry, Joker makes no complaints and starts on his way out. "Go ahead an' go all out, you three!"
Ciel and Sebastian both stand as straight as a stick, unlike Leah who is off behind them and staring at an extremely low-hanging chandelier. Reluctantly, the pair begin to stretch. Following in their footsteps, Leah does the same and practices her contortions while hearing bits and pieces of their conversation.
"—Enter the private tent— First-tier members..?"
"—Feel any sign of the children's presence—"
"She wishes for the children's safe return."
The young Barrett never seems to truly know what's going on, only understanding that they are meant to be searching for missing children. 'Perhaps I should stop visiting Ciel if this is the kind of thing I have to do..'
"Hey! Don't stretch so sluggishly, you guys!" Dagger peers down at Ciel who is currently lying against Sebastian's back.
A couple of feet away, a man glances over in surprise. "Boss Dagger, what about your performance?" he asks.
"Today I was the top batter! I'm already done and observing practice," The blonde smiles, tilting his body at the waist before turning to Ciel who is no longer on Sebastian's back. "First you gotta decide your program. What're you hoping for?"
"A program that doesn't involve using my body for something like tightrope walking would be good.." Ciel deadpans as he recalls himself earlier that day. "Seriously."
Stepping up beside her fiancé, Leah can't hide her flush when he looks at her, still holding a hatred for her outfit. "Contortionist," she mumbles.
"Then, I'll be earnestly teaching Smile knife-throwing," Dagger smiles eagerly. "What about you, Black?"
Sebastian's expression hardly moves, "I don't have any particular preferences."
"You've got good reflexes, don't you? If there's something you see and it looks like you can do it, give it a try." Dagger encourages, not expecting Sebastian to speed past him with a simple 'yes.'
Running across the tent, the demon butler is quick to get up on the trapeze and perform a flying blanco. Mere moments later, Sebastian is juggling, followed by pole climbing, passing through fire, high wire, and trampoline. Though, just as he attempts to perform sword-eating, Dagger is quick to cut in.
Waving his hands in a sweat, the blonde stares up at the butler clad in black. "Enough, enough!"
"Show off.." Leah mumbles. "Just like Thomas."
Ciel stifles a giggle, though that isn't hard when he's now aggravated with Sebastian. "Hey! You're getting too carried away! Act a little more like a new—"
"C'mon, honestly! Another super newcomer appeared? I won't lose, y'know!" Dagger smiles brightly with crossed arms.
"See, he already has his eye on y.. Hm?" Ciel turns his head around to look at Dagger with knitted brows. "..'Another'?"
"There's this amazing guy who just joined. Look, over there. He was some sorta government worker and he's totally serious, see." Dagger points up at a tall man on the tightrope. "Hey! Come down for a sec, Suit!"
William, under the name of Suit, glances down and releases a breath of air. "I thought I sensed an unpleasant aura. So it was you, was it? Honestly." Stabbing his death scythe into the floor, Ciel nearly throws Leah out of the way before she can be impaled. "What did you come to fish around for this time? You devilish fiend!" he points the scythe to Sebastian's neck, now gaining a crowd of scared individuals.
The demon remains unexpressive, keeping himself in front of the two nobles. While Ciel is staring in dread, Leah is quick to fix her clothes around to hide any piece that came out of place when she was moved, determined to show as little skin as possible.
"De..vil?" The crowd begins to talk amongst themselves with wide eyes.
"Even under the best of circumstances, in this time of Grim Reaper shortages.. With a demon appearing like this, I suppose it will throw off my schedule." William complains.
Leah pauses and tilts her head. ‘Demon?’
Stepping forward, Ciel begins to come undone at the idea of Sebastian's true nature being revealed. "H..Hey, what the hell are you talking abou.."
Dagger stares incredulously, "Grim.. Reaper.. you.."
"N—No, this is—" Ciel tries to explain.
"Give it up, forehead! You said it with such a straight face, I couldn't tell you were joking!" The tent erupts in applause as Dagger slaps a hand to the side of William's forehead. "Since the first day he came here, this guy's been telling jokes. Stuff like 'How about this soul.' He's a real hardcore occult fan!" he points a thumb to William, who is now smoothing down his hair with a comb.
Lifting a hand, William adjusts his glasses. "Though they're not actually jokes."
"I'll introduce you. These guys just joined today. The blue hair who won't leave the girl's side is Smile," Dagger points at Ciel. "The real pretty girl is Diamond and the serious one is Black."
Confused but keeping her manners intact, Leah gives a small smile accompanied by a wave. Letting yet another person see her in such a way hurts her but the teen has accepted her fate. 'Kill me now..'
"Well, bond over your hopes and get along well!" Smiling brightly, Dagger claps a hand on William and Sebastian's shoulders.
William swiftly turns around and begins to stride back towards the tightrope, "Sorry, but there's no way I'll get along with a savage beast."
Listening to Ciel and Sebastian whisper, as well as the other voices filling her ears, Leah sighs in exhaustion no longer has the will to keep up.
"So am I meant to be left in the dark on this one?" she asks, posture slipping.
Turning his head, Ciel gets a good look at his fatigued and sluggish fiancé before being interrupted just before his eyes can drift, and before Leah can hit him.
"Hey! What're you doing, Smile?! You can't just just stand with Diamond the whole time, you gotta practice so you don't lose to Black! Practice! Both of ya!" Dagger appears behind the two teenagers, wrapping an arm around them before dragging them off to another section of the tent.
'Men are so lucky it is impolite to slap them.. So lucky.' Allowing herself to be dragged, Leah looks to Ciel and drags a finger across her throat, mimicking her want to die in the moment.
═╬
Standing uncomfortably in the corner of the tent, Leah waits impatiently for Ciel and Sebastian to return. The butler had left to follow after William, her fiancé leaving as well to fetch them upon Dagger's request.
After only a few more long moments of waiting, the young Barrett has had enough and walks out of the tent. Shivering under the cold air of the night, she walks until she hears a voice that sounds awfully like Ciel.
"—Hear from some glasses who can't even sneak in properly."
"It's not Glasses. It's Suit."
Rounding a corner, Leah comes across William, Sebastian, and Ciel in a staredown. Under the average circumstance, she would care but the poor girl is beyond tired and not willing to take place in her fiancé's typical shenanigans.
"What is taking so long?" Leah puffs her cheeks. "Hurry back inside before we start seeming suspicious."
Surprised at Leah's sudden entry, Ciel whips his head around before his eyes soften. "Let's go, Sebastian."
With that, the four all go their respective ways and walk back inside the tent, thinking over their interaction.
═╬
"Thanks for waiting! It's time for the new arrivals' room assignments!" Joker sings a bit too cheerfully for the dark atmosphere of the night.
Seated on a crate, Ciel is doubled over in exhaustion while Leah leans against him, struggling to keep her eyes open. Beside them, Sebastian stares down at them with Dagger behind him, arms behind his head.
"Huh, Smile's not very cheerful~ Smile, Smile!" Joker pulls a smile of his own to try and brighten the younger boy's mood, only receiving a struggled 'yes' in response. "For fairness, these're the results of a lottery. Smile's in tent eight. Here's your roommate."
Putting a hand on Doll's shoulder, Joker brings her forward for Ciel to see. The girl is no longer dressed in her circus attire, letting her brown hair down and wearing comfortable daily clothes with two hands in her pockets. She could almost pass for a boy.
"Black's in tent nine," Joker announces.
Ciel nearly gasps. "Seba.. Black and I aren't rooming together?!" he shouts.
Dagger laughs, "Smile really sticks close to Black, huh? You'll be independent soon."
"T—That's not it—" Ciel protests, sweating. "Black and I should be together after all—"
"Black's roommate is Suit!"
The air goes still for a moment when Joker says this, both William and Sebastian giving each other a deep and unsettling glare.
"Wha?!" Ciel yells.
"Black and Smile already get along well, so this is your chance to make new friends!" Dagger smiles, standing close to Joker.
Preparing to walk off, Joker is promptly stopped by Leah approaching in slow, small steps.
"Wait.. I didn't get an assignment," she bites her lips, not looking the ginger in the eye.
Tilting his head, Joker double-checks his paper with surprised eyes. "Huh. How'd I forget about ya? Well, no worries, just go with Smile!" he nods.
This immediately causes Leah to perk up from her half-asleep state, "But Ci— Smile is a man?!" she fights back a yell.
"So?" Joker asks.
"So I'm a woman! I can't sleep in the same room as a man!" Leah nearly shakes in her spot. 'Sleep in the same room as a man?! That is even worse than the clothes. If anyone were to find out about this.. I'd surely be ruined! No one would ever want to be seen with me again. I'd have to demand Ciel to marry me and protect my name.. That—'
A laugh sounds from Joker as he pats her head with his prosthetic. "Nonsense. Now, let's split up!"
Leah barely has a moment to fight before both Joker and Dagger walk off, leaving her in a state of dread and reluctance to move. However, she ignores her reluctance and slowly approaches Ciel and Doll, keeping her gaze trained on the ground.
"It's nice to meet you, Smile! Diamond!" Doll smiles brightly, holding out a hand.
"..Yeah.." Ciel responds warily, shaking her hand. Leah on the other hand refuses, caught up in her thoughts and trying to not contemplate killing herself.
"I will be ruined by the end of this.."
Notes:
having to describe mc’s outfit was lowkey a little rough😭😭 she hates it. so much. her father would kill her if he saw her.
no one asked and you don’t have to listen to me ig but i picture mc to look like francesca bridgerton from season 3 just a little bit (hannah dodd in general but with blue eyes💀) (i would say it doesn’t matter how you picture her but for me personally it kinda does cause mc is meant to be quite pretty)
also, y’all aren’t ready for the bombs that’ll be dropped at the end of this arc.
Chapter 14: | 13 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl fails to thrive in a circus. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
sorry if any characters accent is off in one of my original scenes. it was rough for me, i tried😭
i feel like the quality of this chapter starts to get weird at the end so sorry :/ i’m really sorry in advance like i genuinely have no idea what to do with that scene but i still hope you enjoy :)
also sorry for any future late updates. before chapter eleven was posted i had like no motivation to write for about two weeks so lately i’ve been taking extra time to get chapters finished so i have more done in advance for posting. if i don’t procrastinate TOO much it takes me anywhere from one day to three to finish a chapter so depending on what i’m feeling, i usually only push out like two a week😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirteen ! )
"Hey, can I take the top bunk?"
On the ground of Noah's Ark Circus, there is a small tent, one of many, that houses the members desperate to give a performance. Inside that small tent are Leah, Ciel, and Doll, claiming their beds and settling on for the night.
A separate small bed was moved into the sparse tent, despite the tight fit of three people rather than the preferable two. Doll was gracious enough to let the fatigued Leah Barrett have it, who shivers in her clothes amidst the cold February air and reluctantly keeps her eyes open.
"Go ahead," Ciel looks up at Doll who's already climbing the ladder. "I think I prefer the bottom anyway."
Sparing a glance for his fiancé, Ciel watches as she sets up her bed. Leah's efforts don't exactly show in her work though, as her bed looks nothing like what Anna is capable of preparing.
Once settled on her bed, Doll leans down on her arm to glance at the pair. "S'been on my mind for a while. You two speak some pretty fancy upper-class English, don'tcha?"
"Pardon?" Ciel asks, hearing the rustles behind him of Leah changing her clothes. "R.. Really? It's probably because we've been working in a house since we were little.." he tries to explain.
Placing a nightgown over her head, the brunette removes the pieces of clothing from underneath to not expose herself, regardless of how tedious it is. Leah's attempts at tying it are also a bit futile, leaving the fabric to loosely fall off her shoulders with some movements.
"Blimey. Anyhoo, you just gimme a shout if there's somethin' you ain't 'ettin! There's a long life of circus ahead of you!" Doll smiles brightly before excitedly shuffling some items around. "Oh righ', wanna 'ave some sweets? Them's from the popular Funtom Company! What'd you like, caramel, milk, or strawberry flavored?" she asks, holding out an assortment of lollipops between her fingers.
A weary smile crosses the Phantomhive's face. "Well um, I'll take caramel.."
Doll smiles before her eyes drift to Leah, sitting with an expressionless face as she looks at the floor. "What about you, Diamond? Want one?" she smiles, watching the Barrett lift her head to look at her.
For a mere moment, Leah's eyes seem to sparkle, but they are quick to dim down when her eyes trail lower to her stomach and thighs. "I'm alright.."
"Are you su—?" Despite Doll's kind attempts at trying to include the girl, she's cut off when Leah lies down and turns to face the tent wall, ignoring any further words directed at her.
Brushing off the encounter, Ciel and Doll enjoy their treats until they sleep for the night, trying to combat the February cold.
"..ah.."
"..Le.."
"Leah.."
"Leah!"
Currently shaking awake his fiancé in the dead of night, a nearby candle sits beside Ciel on the floor as he tries to keep his whisper yelling to a minimum. What would normally be no surprise to a servant, the young Earl is learning for the first time that Leah is a hassle to wake up.
A firm hand keeps a grip on the girl's shoulder underneath the fabric of her nightgown, Ciel's fingers rubbing against the lace details and silk. Shaking with a bit more purpose, he glances back to make sure Doll is still fast asleep, noting how she almost snores.
Shifting in her spot on the bed, Leah's eyes blink slowly as she tries to adjust to the darkness, as well as the small light flickering a few feet away from her. She brings a thin hand to her face and gently rubs her eyes, finally awake with a not-so-welcome reaction for her fiancé.
Trailing her blue eyes up Ciel's form, she settles on his face, and amidst her moment of recollecting her thoughts, Leah moves back with a quiet gasp.
"What are you doing?" she whispers harshly, grasping at the blanket to cover her body.
Ciel removes his hand from her shoulder. "We must talk. How are we meant to get into those tents?"
"I don't know, now get away from my bed! I'm in my nightwear, this is beyond scandalous!" Leah knits her brows.
"You don't need to prove your virtue to me. Now is not the time for that," the Phantomhive complains.
Fighting back a scoff, Leah purses her lips. "This is not about my virtue. If anyone were to see—"
"No one is going to see!" Ciel cuts off.
"I am an unmarried lady in my nightwear with my fiancé far too close to my bed. The thought alone is terrible so unless you plan on marrying me in this very moment, get back to your side of the room!" her voice speeds up towards the end of her sentence, slight anger flowing through her words.
Taking a moment to stare in exasperation, Ciel grabs his candle and reluctantly moves back to his bed. "You are so stubborn!" he complains.
"You are just as stubborn. And you wake me up at an ungodly hour and choose to complain about my behavior?!" Leah hisses, feeling irritated after being awoken.
The betrothed teenagers silently stare at each other for a long few moments, taking in their features in the dimly lit tent. Clearing his throat, Ciel glances away when he notes the glimmer in Leah's eye or how the candlelight shines on her pale skin.
"Just.. go back to sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow," he stammers, rearranging his blankets in preparation to lay down again.
Slowly lowering the sheets from her form, Leah shivers when a wave of cold air hits her cheek. "You couldn't have considered that before you woke me?"
"Sleep!" Ciel almost breaks his whisper before blowing out the candle, listening to Leah's shuffling as she gets beneath her blankets.
Letting silence fall upon them, the pair get as comfortable as they can in the atmosphere they are struggling to become accustomed to, falling asleep as they listen to Doll's snores.
═╬
"Get up, Diamond!"
Standing atop Leah's bed, Doll bounces and repeatedly hits the girl with a pillow. After about three minutes of effort, it finally pays off when an irritated huff leaves the one being bounced around.
"What is wrong with you?!" Leah barks, sitting up in her place on the bed.
Dropping the pillow beside her feet, Doll hops down. "You got work t' do!" she stares with furrowed brows.
Holding back a nasty remark, the young Barrett reluctantly swings her legs off the side of the bed and stands, forcing her body to wake up. Waddling over to a corner, she crouches and pieces together an outfit while pouting at the muted colors.
Working quickly, Leah manages to wrangle on her clothes as Doll works on getting Ciel up. Her dress is a simple shade of off-white, accompanied by some browns, a grey scarf, and a brown coat. 'I want to go home.'
"Whatcha talkin' about, Smile?! I said, get up!" Doll raises her voice in response to the Phantomhive's mumbling, acknowledging the sound of Leah shuffling around behind her.
Sitting up with a scream, Ciel scrambles to get his eyepatch on before Doll is capable of seeing anything. However, he is unlucky enough to not notice Leah who sees a quick flash of magenta move before her eyes with a tilt of her head.
"Newcomers 'ave t' get up early an' prepare breakfast!" placing a hand on her hip, Doll stares down at Ciel. "You ain't got the time t' snooze!"
Hardly taking a moment to question the strange color she saw, Leah chalks it up to being tired and reluctantly leaves the tent. Stepping out into the cold air, she immediately shivers when a gust of wind blows by her, pushing her hair to the side and making her capable of seeing clouds of breath.
Doll is quick to follow behind, standing beside the taller girl outside the tent and giving a small smile. Glancing down, Leah flashes a feigned one but maintains a soft look.
This moment is short lived sadly, as Doll groans in annoyance. "You're slow, Smile! We're gonna leave you behind!" she yells, waving her fist.
"I'm going now!" Ciel sweats and tries not to yell back, still half-dressed and getting himself together.
Trudging through the circus grounds, Ciel and Leah struggle to hold overflowing wooden buckets filled with vegetables. The sound of voices fills their ears as they tremble, the Barrett nearly dropping carrots in failed attempts to simultaneously combat the cold that tries to seep through her coat.
'All that sword training and it didn't make me any stronger? What happened to that strength I had when I sent that man to the ground..' she puffs out her cheeks in thought, keeping a steady pace beside her fiancé who glares at the ground.
"What is your outfit?"
Flicking their heads around, the two nobles are greeted by Sebastian who smirks at Ciel's choice of attire. The boy is wearing a buttoned shirt — not buttoned properly — an unbuttoned coat, pants that expose his calves, shoes just barely tied properly, and unkempt hair. Even Leah managed to make herself more presentable.
"It seems that you remain unaccustomed to changing clothes on your own," Sebastian feigns a chuckle.
Turning his head back around, Ciel releases a sound of discontent at his butler's words. "I was hurrying."
"Oh dear," quickening his pace, Sebastian grabs ahold of the strings to Ciel's eyepatch. He carefully undoes the knot and replaces it with his signature one. "You are going to have a difficult time untying a dead knot on your own."
All around them, people gawk at the scene, Leah included, as they watch Ciel's face flush at the interaction and many eyes that watch him. Watching on the side opposite Leah, Doll bursts out laughing.
"Smile, Black ain't your mum!" she shows her teeth, the crowd joining in on the laughter.
Ciel stomps his foot. "No! It's— a habit.. Well, no just sometimes.." he struggles to find an explanation.
Glancing beside him, he watches Sebastian carefully rearrange Leah's attire and fix her scarf much to his dismay. The Barrett — wanting some semblance of home — gladly takes the help.
"Sebastian! Don't treat us as your master while we're here!" Ciel keeps himself a few steps ahead of the demon, trying to keep his voice low. "Leave us be!"
Finishing up his work on Leah, Sebastian closes his eyes in a way to internally bow. "Understood. I shall at once," he whispers.
═╬
Off in a corner on the circus grounds, the betrothed teens sit on boxes and work hard to prepare the vegetables they were given for breakfast. They have spent the last fifteen minutes simply peeling the potatoes and carrots, albeit terribly, but the young Barrett has moved on to chopping the carrots the best she can.
"I hate this. Why must you drag me into everything," Leah complains, doing everything she can to not cut her smooth hands.
Shifting his attention to his fiancé, Ciel gives her a look of disbelief. "I did not drag you into anything! This is all Sebastian's fault," he grumbles.
"You know, when I always come along with you on your little adventures it is because I want to spend time with you but this is not what—" Leah is cut off by Doll waltzing over.
"Smile, what're ya plannin' on makin' from them potatoes with peels thicker than the meat?" she asks before glancing down at a small piece of potato in the blue-haired boy's hand. "Smile! Whaddya think you're doin'?! You peeled that many?!" Doll shouts.
Staring with wide eyes and clenched teeth, Ciel's face flushes in embarrassment once more. "I— I'm sorry!" he apologizes loudly.
Doll reaches down and plucks the piece of potato from Ciel's hand. "Cor blimey, what part of this can we eat..?" Her eyes trail over to the carrots Leah cut. "Well, at least those aren't as bad."
Placing a hand to his chin in thought, Sebastian trains his gaze to the floor until he has an idea.
"It cannot be helped. I shall deep fry them as they are into crisps and make them into fish and chips," he picks up the bucket of potatoes from Ciel's side and begins to walk off.
Leah and Ciel both watch as Doll's eyes light up in excitement, walking off with the butler. "Cor! I love those!"
"This cannot be worth it.." Leah complains, standing from her spot on the box to follow behind them.
═╬
It's not long before Sebastian is capable of fixing the aristocrat's mistakes, serving breakfast in the mess tent with a welcoming smile on his face. The tent is filled with lively chatter as the people eat or fight for food.
Entering the mess tent with quick steps is Doll, dragging Ciel and Leah behind her as she forces them to follow.
"Look, we're going!" Doll acts mildly concerned.
Ciel, struggling to keep up while being dragged, hardly notices that his fiancé manages to slip from the girl's grip. "Going where..?"
"If we don't hurry we'll miss the meat!" she takes the Phantomhive into the crowd of people and shoves her way through. "Hey! Outta my way!" Doll shouts.
Left behind, Leah watches as the people fight to get what food they want for the morning. She stares at the food for a moment — at least what she can see through the bodies — and feels a sharp pang of hunger hit her stomach. Swallowing air, the Barrett walks off to one of the tables and sits with shaking hands, nervously rubbing her fingers as she waits for Ciel to return to her side.
Thankfully for the noble, there isn't much waiting that needs to be done as just within a few minutes, Doll and Ciel both take a seat at the table. Glancing beside her, she notes how Ciel is in shambles, lightly shaking with disheveled clothes and hair that is somehow worse than before.
"What? Looks like you only got bread in the end," Doll stares down at Ciel's bare plate before noticing there is nothing in front of Leah. "Diamond! You didn't get anything at all?" her smile almost drops.
"Yeah.."
"I'm not hungry."
Doll quickly slaps the smile back on her face, brushing off the aristocrat's words. Swooping her fork down to her plate, she begins to load some of her pile onto Ciel's plate.
"Well, that's that. I'll share some of my grub with you! You're skin 'n bones so eat up!" Doll hardly pays any attention to Ciel's thanks and shoves a fork puncturing some potatoes towards Leah's mouth. "You too, Diamond!"
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Leah diverts her head to the right. "I'm not hungry.." she lies, trying not to cry at the food in front of her face.
Ciel lifts his head to observe his fiancé's face. He doesn't understand why exactly she acts so strange around food, but he feels a small itch of concern.
"There ain't no way you ain't hungry! I didn't see you eat anything yesterday, you gotta be—" Doll doesn't have the chance to finish her sentence before Leah manages to run out of the tent. She turns to Ciel. "What's her problem?"
Keeping a light run, the young Barrett leaves the mess tent behind her until she finds a secluded area of the circus grounds. Coming to a slow stop, she listens to people pass by her spot while she attempts to not cry — until she does.
Placing a shaky hand over her mouth, Leah allows a stream of tears to slowly fall from her eyes and does her best to keep her breathing in check. However, it's hard for the girl as she nearly hyperventilates. This crying doesn't get to last long though, frantically wiping her tears at the sound of someone's footsteps getting much too close for her liking.
Stepping around the corner is none other than Joker, looking down at the brunette in surprise. "Oi, lass. What're ya doin' back here?" he asks before noticing the wet gleam on her tinted cheeks. "Are ya alright?"
Running the back side of her fingers across her cheeks, Leah tries to hide the embarrassment she feels at being caught crying. "I'm alright.." she whispers with an undeniable voice crack.
"Are ya sure? You can talk to me," Joker tries to persuade the girl but only receives a noise of discontent in return.
"I don't want to talk about it.." the Barrett clenches her teeth and wipes the last of her tears, struggling to meet the man in the eye.
Looking down with soft eyes, Joker places his real hand on Leah's head and gently rubs. "Well if ya need any help, just come to me or Doll." he reminds. "Why don't ya take a moment and go practice? Get yer mind off things."
A cold gust of wind blows over the pair, causing the brunette to wrap her scarf around herself tighter. Disregarding her wishes of wanting to go home and be in the warmth, Leah speeds off with a nod towards the practice tent and reluctantly walks into the chatter of the other future performers.
Dragging her eyes across the faces of the people, she feels a wave of anxiety at the prospect of interacting with any other them. Whether it be her lacking social skills or not wanting to get close, Leah instead chooses a spot off to the side for herself, trying to think of what she could practice.
'Well I can't do contortions in this dress..' she puffs her cheeks out in thought until she notices one of the balls used to balance. 'That'll do.'
Leah spends most of her time practicing trying to get atop the ball until she is capable, roughly getting an idea of how she is meant to balance. There was a temptation to run over when she caught a glimpse of Doll and Ciel, but she had decided against it after her small outburst from hardly even an hour ago.
Shakily balancing on a ball, her peace gets interrupted by a familiar tuft of ginger.
"Diamond! Could ya take these towels to the shower area? Ya don't gotta step inside, just leave it near the entrance," Joker asks, training his gaze on the Barrett who is trying her best at the circus antics.
Releasing a breath through her nose, Leah gently drops from the ball and takes a look at the towels in Joker's arms. "I suppose.." she replies, allowing the taller male to hand her the towels.
Setting off with a nod, the teenager keeps a steady pace and is once again forced to combat the cold, her naturally cold hands make it feel worse. Leah is far from content but takes deep breaths to prevent herself from throwing a fit or breaking down in front of a crowd.
The girl is certain she is close to the shower area when she hears a louder group of chatter, preparing to divert her eyes but the voices take her attention.
"Wait.. Please stop that!"
"But you're gonna catcha cold like that! C'mon!"
"Stop th—"
The young Barrett, being nosy, purses her lips while she listens to the voices, recognizing the sound of Doll and Ciel. She forces herself to divert her eyes though, reminding herself that she is a lady in far too close of proximity to undressed men. Leaning down, she places the towels on a nearby box and her eyes trail off against her will, landing on the mark now visible on Ciel's exposed back.
Pausing at the sight, Leah's breath hitches as she stares in confusion. This feeling worsens when her fiancé runs directly past her, leaving Doll behind him who desperately chases after him for only a few moments. Leah shakes her head and drops the towels down, lightly jogging in the hopes of catching up with Ciel.
'What was that on his back..? I've never seen anything like that before.' she thinks, giving Doll and the shower area one last look as she walks off.
At first, Leah struggles to find the boy, only being able to use a general idea of where he could have run. It's not until she can hear voices in the distance that she's almost certain she's found him.
"Anyways, we just need to investigate the troupe's tents and we can go home," Ciel says, allowing Sebastian to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
"I thought that you were patiently aiming to be promoted through the troupe?" questions the butler.
Tilting her head, Leah follows the voices to a secluded area.
"I can't mention something that takes so long—"
Turning the corner, the betrothed teens come face to face. Initially, there is silence until the Barrett's eyes trail down, noticing that Ciel is lacking a shirt. With widened eyes, she begins to scream.
Slapping her hands over her eyes, Leah begins to back away from her fiancé who now stares at her with an incredulous look. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she repeats, running away from the scene.
'No one can know about my time here! I shall die before this becomes known to anyone else!' Leah fights back her thoughts with a shake of her head, swallowing loudly as she tries to calm her thoughts and lightly flushed face.
═╬
Later that night, Leah recovers from the oh-so-scandalous scene and is found in a tent, working alongside Ciel and Sebastian to ready the circus troupes for tonight's performance. Both of the teenagers are finally given a window to take a break, the brunette's eye nearly twitching from the constant requests she had been subjected to moments prior.
"Ah.." Ciel sits down on a stool beside her with w plop. "Excuse me.. What should we do while the show is going on—" sharply turning his head around the room, the boy realizes that only a few people remain in the tent.
Standing up at this revelation, Ciel takes ahold of Leah's wrist running towards Sebastian who stands near William at a clothing rack. "Sebastian! His mark missed! We don't know when the next chance will come. Let's get through investigating that tent now! Have it be over within ten minutes!" he orders.
"Please don't pull me up so fast.. Anemia, remember? I may faint," Leah tries to remind her fiancé who now tries to tug her without as much force, noting how her face somehow manages to appear more pale than usual.
Fighting the feeling of lightheadedness, the trio move quickly but they only manage to make it a couple of feet from the tent before they are caught.
"Black! Miss Wendy twist'd 'er ankle, so she can't appear in the performance 'nymore. So Black, please go out in 'er place." Joker approaches them from behind, carrying Wendy on his back with Peter by his side. The show'll be fine if you do it, Black, so I beg of ye. It'll be yer turn shortly, so please get ready soon!"
Sebastian looks down and releases a huff of air, listening to Ciel groan beside him. "'Tis a pity, Young Master. We'll have to wait for another chance." he waits for a response but is surprised to meet silence. "Young Master?"
"We don't need to sneak into that place for long. On top of that, now might be the only time when that person is not in there. Leah and I have time. The tough part is just the venomous snakes," Ciel walks over or a paper taped to a board showing the day's schedule. "According to the program, your debut will end at nineteen-fifty and the encore at twenty. You'll catch all of the snakes in five minutes from now, then appear in the show. Finish your debut at nineteen-fifty, and once you've gone into the back and released all of the snakes, you'll return for the encore. I'll investigate the rest. Let's go!"
Turning around with haste, Ciel runs for the tents with Leah in his shadow who occasionally stops to catch her breath. Now approaching the first-string member's tents, they come to a stop.
Placing an arm out in front of Leah, the Phantomhive stops her from moving any further. "Wait until we are finished. I don't want you to get hurt," he warns, knowing that his true intention is so his fiancé won't question Sebastian on his capabilities.
Giving an exasperated look, the young Barrett doesn't bother fighting, allowing the men to take a few minutes to handle the snakes before she follows in after them.
"All right. You go straight to the show tent. You'll be suspended if you're tardy," Ciel orders.
"Certainly, Sir," making his way to the entrance of the tent, Sebastian opens the flap and looks back. "I will be back at once."
Both of the teens fall upon a comfortable silence and move about the grounds, picking one of the first tents to graze their eyes. Entering, they notice a lack of decor but corsets hang up from the top of the tent, signifying Beast's quarters.
Walking in with quiet steps, Ciel walks towards a suitcase with a framed photo sitting atop it. "This tent looks quite austere." he picks up the photo. "Hm? A photo of children? Are they from the troupe?"
Leah glances down at the photo as well and recognizes some of the familiar faces. "I shall play lookout for you as you search!" she announces.
"You complain about never being told anything but deliberately put yourself in a position where you won't get to learn about our situation?" Ciel questions, turning to show a raised brow.
"Oh, hush! I don't care anymore, I just want to go home.. before any more of my dignity is taken from me," sighs Leah, walking out of the tent and crouching in a corner covered in shadows.
Most of Leah's time spent waiting in the shadows is bleak. The only comfort she receives is the sound of crickets or the trees rustling, saving her from the silence of her thoughts. It's not until she notices Beast approaching her tent that she starts to panic, realizing Ciel is about to be discovered.
Stepping out from the hiding spot, Leah sprints Beast's direction and tries to flag her down. "Excuse me! I need help!" she lies.
Beast turns her head with knitted brows and clenches the blanket covering her chest tighter. "What are you doing over here?"
"I um— got lost! I needed to find the show tent but I fear I just have no sense of direction!" Leah tries to explain, raising her voice to alarm Ciel so he can hide.
Giving a blank stare, Beast turns to point a finger in the tent's general direction. "Over that way," she says.
"Thank you so much!" stutters the Barrett as she runs past her and ducks past another corner once she knows Beast has entered her tent.
Leah continues her lookout once more, knowing it's nearly over when she catches a look at Sebastian leaving the tent to return for the encore. But that means that she now has to panic upon hearing the voices of the first-string members getting louder and runs for Ciel who leaves Beast's tent, ducking behind two boxes to get past the circus troupes.
The pair stay silent to not give their location, the brunette staring at Ciel who appears lost in thought. However, this silence is breached when Doll shines a lantern over their heads, staring down at their crouching figures with wide eyes and face devoid of any expression.
"Hey. What're you doin' there?"
Notes:
“do you ever feel insane writing a fic knowing your mc barely impacts the story majority of the time and hardly ever knows what’s going on?” yes.
mc was going through it a little this chapter.
mc while she’s on lookout for ciel: “THOU SHALL SHOW NO FEAR🧍🏻IN THE MIGHTY EYES OF THE LORD I SHALL HOLD MY POST. THIS IS WHERE I MAKE MY STAND! I SHALL NOT ABANDON MY POST. I AM MY PERIMETER, MY PERIMETER IS ME!”
Chapter 15: | 14 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl worries over her fiancé. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
dj got us fallin’ in love by usher stays on repeat
whenever someone tells me they enjoy this fic i kinda get surprised cause of how.. basic it is y’know? canon/oc + being an oc insert. it’s always a mixed bag when you ask people how they feel about these type of fics😭
so thank you to anyone that has said some kind words :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter fourteen ! )
“Hey. What’re you doin’ there?”
A chill runs through the air as Doll's voice cuts through the silence. Beneath her, Leah and Ciel stare up with wide, alert eyes, knowing they have been caught and their cover is most likely blown. Wind swims through their hair as they stare silently, no one having the courage to break the silence.
Diving to cover their mouths, Doll shares a similar look and forces the teens to press against each other. "Don't move," she whispers eerily.
The quiet of the night is still, rustling leaves filling their ears but fails to calm to unnerving atmosphere.
"Hey, Doll~" Dagger calls out, staring at the girl standing over the boxes. "Doll, what are ya doing?"
Ciel's face flushes under Doll's hand, twitching lightly with small beads of sweat dripping down his face. Now behind him, Leah keeps a hand firmly gripped around her cheeks, preventing herself from making any noise.
"Snake!" yells Doll, ignoring Ciel's noise of protest. "A venomous snake was slithering about. Didn't I tell you not to let them loose outside? You'd better put 'em away in your room properly now."
The betrothed teens peer from behind the boxes, watching Dagger scream at the reptile that Doll holds tightly in her hand. Snake, however, seems to have little reaction upon knowing a snake fully capable of killing a person was freely roaming the circus grounds.
Snake is initially silent as he lets the snake wrap around his shoulder before looking off to the side. "I'm sorry for my carelessness that could have sent you to the next world," he states, turning around to walk towards his tent.
Agreeing with Doll about keeping the snakes away, Dagger also walks off and sighs a breath of relief. Watching the two men disperse, Doll turns back around and hops over the boxes. She grabs ahold of Ciel and Leah's wrists and begins to drag them away from the scene.
"This way. Hurry," she says. Doll leads the nobles past the first-string tents, stealthily moving past objects like the rope dictating the area they should not be in. "Don't touch that rope."
Traveling a bit further, their movement comes to a stop as Doll checks around the corner. Huffing and trying to get air inside of him, Ciel lets out an occasional cough and accepts small pats on the back from Leah who overall appears fine except for a couple of passing shaky breaths.
"It should be fine now since we came so far." Doll continues to look out for any signs of people.
Coughs sound from the blue-haired boy and a visible patch of air leaves his mouth in the cold air, hand on his thigh as he looks at the back of Doll's head with a flushed face. "Why did you help us.."
Doll turns around, staring at Ciel with an odd look. "You still don't get it? It's me," she reaches up to pull off her elaborate floral wig, revealing her normal brown hair with a smile as Ciel nearly screams in shock.
"Freckles?!" Ciel yells. "You're a guy.. yet you wear that costume?!" he stares incredulously as if he has not been dressed in such a way before.
Furrowing her brows, the young Barrett glances over at her fiancé. "You couldn't tell she's a girl?"
"How rude! It's obvious that I'm a girl," exclaims Doll while subtly smiling at Leah. Stepping closer, she takes ahold of Ciel's hand and presses it to her chest. "Here."
Moving back with an uncomfortable shout, clutching his left hand tightly. Leah also stares in shock, mouth wide open at the sight.
Doll moves her hands in the way of a bear. "You can take a peek downstairs next if you want?"
"No, thank you!"
"Have you no shame?!"
Both the Phantomhive and Barrett appear appalled by Doll's actions, Leah taking it much more harshly than Ciel. 'These people are barbaric.. What kind of a lady does such a thing? No shame.'
Clearing his throat with a cough, Ciel keeps his distance with a clenched fist raised to his mouth. However, Doll decides to rightfully interrogate the nobles.
"So.. Why were you in there anyways?" she asks with crossed arms and knitted brows, clearly displaying her displeasure. "Didn't Joker tell you about those venomous snakes?"
"About that.." Ciel starts, his face blanking as he confirms his plan. "I'm sorry! I didn't actually steal anything today though! Please don't boot me out of here!"
Doll and Leah both seem surprised at his sudden outburst, the taller one of the duo not realizing her fiancé would resort to playing a thief. "Today? You.." Doll is at a loss for words.
"Before I became a page boy, I was actually in East End having to do all I could just to survive. I knew it was wrong but I couldn't help myself. The mansion I worked for previously found out about it.." Ciel acts better than many would assume, shocking Leah with his feigned shaking and forced voice. "I..If I was driven out of here, I'd have to live on East End again.."
'A bit dramatic but it's quite believable. Doll seems more on the immature side, surely she falls for it..' Leah thinks to herself, choosing to stay silent and offer the girl a shrug. 'I assume I just play bystander? She has yet to question me.'
Silence falls upon them as Doll thinks before she releases a puff of air. "So you really didn't steal anything, eh?"
"No, I didn't. I swear to God," Ciel confirms, tightly clasping his hands together.
Turning to Leah, Doll eyes her. "What about you? What were you doing over there?" she questions.
For a moment Leah begins to sweat but she is quick to recover. "I was just following him.. Making sure he didn't get hurt or cause trouble," the girl lies through her teeth, flashing a thin-lipped smile she always gives when she is caught.
"Oh well, I have no choice then.." Doll scratches the back of her head and loosens the hold on her wig that sits under her left arm. "It's okay. Anyhow, I owe you."
Ciel feigns a smile. "Thank you so much!"
"I think everyone has some things about them that they don't want anyone to know.. Besides, I did something bad to you today," Doll lets her face soften. "So, I won't tell anyone about this. But now we are even. However, don't steal again no matter what!"
The noble's faces darken at Doll's words about secrets for their respective reasons. They still make no complaint.
"Yes." Leah and Ciel confirm.
Coughs sounds from the blue-haired boy. "Um.. Can I ask you something?" He takes the small period of silence as a go-ahead. "Why does a first-tier member like you share a tent with us?"
"Ah.. I'm just not a fan of private rooms. Staying with someone else seems to make me sleep better sometimes," Doll shifts to face the gate rather than the two teenagers. "I hope that you two don't mind sharing a tent with me now that you know I'm a first-tier member.."
"Of course not."
"I don't mind, I suppose."
A bright smile works its way onto the performer's face. "Neat. So we will keep what happened today our secret," she outstretches two hands towards the betrothed pair.
Ciel is first to take Doll's hand in his, flashing his smile as he grips it tightly with a shake. Leah on the other hand is initially apprehensive but still shakes her hand, offering a small smile that brings out a glimmer in her blue eyes.
Pulling back from the contact, Leah and Ciel wave off Doll as she walks away. The Phantomhive's smile slowly fades, unnoticed by his fiancé who now focuses on her feet, as he begins to lead her away to the tent homing Sebastian and William.
The walk is short. The teenagers share a comfortable silence while they walk with their arms touching, creating a small friction that doesn't work to heat them in the cold of the night. Stopping before the tent, Ciel approaches the opening but looks back when he realizes Leah isn't following.
"Aren't you coming in?" he asks with a raised brow.
Wind flows through the brunette's hair, pushing it against her cheeks and contrasting against her pale skin. "That's a man's tent. I refuse," she says stubbornly.
Ciel sighs through his nose. "Suit yourself."
Watching him walk off inside the tent, Leah takes a couple of steps back and situates herself in a quiet corner. She stares up at the moon with a twinkle in her eyes, not bothering to fix her scarf that is coming loose around her neck.
For the first time since she's stepped on the circus grounds, she feels a sense of solitude. A calm that she basks in. A silence that comforts her. No pressure to speak with another person. The night is perfect. Until it's not.
"What're ya doin' out here, lass?" Joker stops beside her with quiet steps and looks down.
Leah sighs through her nose at the intrusion of her peace yet still forces a believable smile, glancing up at Joker with her best innocent look. "I'm just waiting for Smile to finish speaking with Black. And watching the sky, I suppose," her voice is soft.
Eyes softening, Joker watches Leah shift on her feet. "Are ya alright from earlier? When you were cryin' and all."
"Yes! Yes.. I'm alright. I was just— a little overwhelmed is all," she grows a bit uncomfortable as the topic is brought back to her behavior earlier, the cold working well to mask the growing flush on her face.
Grass moves beneath them with the wind, creating a chill around the two in their sudden silence. A small smile forms on Joker's face, observing Leah's as she looks up at him with doe eyes and nearly mesmerizes him for a mere moment with her beauty.
Stepping closer, Joker grabs ahold of the Barrett's scarf. "Well don't stay out here too long now. Yer so thin, yer asking to catch a cold in this weather," he says as he adjusts the material around her neck.
Leah blinks in surprise at the action, though she hardly has time to think it over when she hears the sound of someone clearing their throat. The brunette and ginger turn their heads to see Ciel and Sebastian, the teen looking unimpressed at the sight.
"We should go back to our tent, Diamond," Ciel says, signaling for Leah to follow.
Pulling away from Joker with a nod, she steps over to Ciel with a hum. Ciel takes ahold of her wrist and begins to subtly drag her away from the scene, not bothering to turn his head to watch Leah and Joker share a silent goodnight. Pursing his lips, he turns a corner and situates himself and his fiancé between two tents, Sebastian standing in front of them.
Crossing his arms, Ciel gives a side glance towards Leah before he begins talking. "So, the sender's name is Tom the Piper's son. "
"Tom the Piper's son?" Sebastian asks.
"It's a character from Mother Goose. I have no idea what it means.." Ciel trails off with a cough. "Also there is a hallmark of a hose in the sealing wax along with the initial k."
Sebastian nods with closed eyes. "Then, it's the same as what I saw."
"Normally the sealing is engraved with a symbol of motivation and the initial of the person plus the family crest," Ciel says, acknowledging the hums from the two beside him. "In other words, Tom the Piper's son is someone who holds a family crest with the prefix of a horse. People who have their family crest displaying a horse are usually knights or other soldiers. It's not a rule, though it's basically impossible to get one without a rank of some level."
A couple more coughs sound from the Phantomhive, making Leah's face contort in concern.
"All of these crests are recorded by a heraldry. No matter how many records they have, I know that you are capable of finding it with this information alone," his coughs begin to sound worse, shaking his body. "Disappearing children, a circus, Tom the Piper's son.. and me. I wonder how all of these pieces are connected."
Doubling over, Ciel continues to cough into his hand. He leaves the corner in between the tents, much to Leah and Sebastian's apprehension.
Glancing over, Sebastian gives the boy a strange look. "Young Master.."
"Firstly, I'll return to the townhouse," Ciel's coughs cut through his sentence, getting rougher before a wet sound starts to come from him.
"Young Master? What's wrong?"
Both the butler and girl approach Ciel from behind and are just in time to see the vomit leaving his mouth, watching him fall to his knees. Sebastian is painted in worry, while Leah is inclined to back away.
"Young Master?!"
"Oh, that is vile.."
Doll also approaches. "Smile?! What's wrong?"
═╬
Lying on an infirmary bed is Ciel Phantomhive with flushed cheeks and sweat slowly dripping down his face, covered by a blanket and surrounded by peers. Standing the closest to the bed is Leah, leaning down to observe her fiancé amidst his sickness.
"It's asthma," Doctor says, holding up a clipboard littered with notes.
"Asthma..? This is the first time I've seen him in this condition even though I have been with him for seven years," claims Sebastian.
Doctor pulls his wheelchair away from the bed to turn it around, facing Sebastian and Doll while Leah continues to stare at the blue-haired boy. "If he hasn't had this condition for seven years, it's considered as being recovered. Though all you need is a sudden chill or time of stress.. then if he gets a cold it can abruptly come back."
Sebastian glances off to the side in thought. "I have seen him suffer from a cold once or twice though it was never this bad."
"This time it's probably because the main causes coincided together," Doctor shifts his attention back onto the Phantomhive. "It's natural for him to get a cold since he went out bathing with our brutish people."
Ciel's eyes open with a cough but they appear glossed over as if he can't focus. They fix on the first thing they can see — Leah standing above him — and his hand shoots out from under the blanket to grip her wrist.
Face contorting into a grimace, the young Barrett forces a smile onto her face. "Oh! You're touching me with your soiled hands.."
"Oh that's great, you have regained consciousness!" says Doctor, wheeling a little closer to him.
"Water.." croaks Ciel and doesn't move his eyes away from Leah.
Picking up a small teapot, Sebastian strides over to the bed and places it against his master's lips. "Here you go."
"Smile, you have had bad asthma since you were very young right? There are cases where people have died from it. You should be careful even if you think you have fully recovered," Doctor looks genuinely concerned, folding a fresh towel to place on Ciel's forehead. "Rest until the fever and coughing have stopped! Okay? You guys should get going then."
The Barrett gives her betrothed a smile of pity pulls his hand away from his wrist, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and steps back. Grabbing an old towel, she uses it to wipe off her wrist and places the back of her finger against his cheek.
"Get better.." she whispers, stepping away to follow Sebastian out of the tent.
═╬
Blades of grass move with the wind, shifting beneath the body of Leah Barrett as she sits on an open section of land. Her face is devoid of any expression, staring ahead of herself breeze sifts through her hair.
'I cannot do this. I shall lose my mind.'
Sucking in a big breath through her parted lips, she looks out at the trees ahead, trying to calm her racing thoughts. 'Dilemma after dilemma.'
She blinks.
Thomas stands in the far distance.
She blinks again.
Gone.
Leah's brows furrow, reaching up a hand to rub her eyes. Blinking a couple of more times, she can only see the empty group of trees. 'I must be going crazy..'
Standing up with a shake of her head, the brunette gives one last glance to the trees before setting off for the infirmary tent. Her steps are long, naturally, until the tent is in her sight, noticing a particular butler clad in black slipping out.
Turning his head at the sound of footsteps, Sebastian gives a small smile when he notices the Barrett. "Lady Leah."
"Sebastian," she returns with a nod of acknowledgment.
Passing by each other, they both go their respective ways. Sebastian is off to complete a mission, and Leah checking in on her fiancé.
Lifting the tent flap, she steps inside quietly, careful to not disturb Ciel if he happens to be resting. But her brows furrow once more when she sees another figure in the bed as well, approaching cautiously.
Getting closer, Leah realizes the second body in the bed is Doll, lying freely against Ciel and snoring obnoxiously. The Barrett's face darkens, a faint string of hurt dancing around and showing in her eyes. Her steps come to a stop directly beside the bed, staring down at the scene in distaste.
'How unpleasant.. Letting another woman in your bed.' Leah's hand twitches. 'How distasteful— unladylike.. to lay in the bed of a man that isn't your husband. The lack of decorum is astonishing.'
Dragging her eyes across Ciel's face, she takes in a deep breath and shuts her eyes. For a moment, she knows peace. But she opens them and peace is no longer. Pursing her lips, she slowly backs away from the bed, not bothering to spare a glance at the sleeping Doll.
"Enjoy your rest.." she whispers.
Leah swiftly turns around and leaves the tent, taking coordinated steps as she swallows the lump in her throat. Adjusting her fuzzy scarf around her neck, wrapping it tighter than necessary but it works to comfort her and calm her nerves.
"Yer still out here?"
A gasp sounds from the brunette and she whips around to see none other than Joker looking down at her. However this time around, his expression is a bit different than anything he's previously presented to her, like he knows something.
"I was checking on Ci— Smile.." caught off guard, Leah quickly corrects her crucial mistake. "What are you doing?"
Joker's eyes narrow for a split second before shifting back to his original look. "I'm goin' to see someone. Ye should really get to bed, somewhere warm. Stayin' up late ain't good for yer health, 'specially someone as young as ya," he voices, grabbing ahold of her coat to pull it together.
The Barrett's cheeks flush. "I—I will. Be safe on your trip.." she smiles, though it hardly reaches her eyes.
Bringing a hand up to smooth a stray hair, Joker smiles softly before brushing past her arm as they set off down their separate paths.
═╬
"Lady Leah? We are leaving now, please excuse me," Sebastian peers down at the sleeping girl with Ciel in his arms bridal style, swooping Leah up to perch her on his shoulder.
Opening her eyes with a groan, Leah can feel the unsteady path beneath her. "Hm?"
Her eyes fall upon Ciel below her, still coughing. The Barrett shivers as well, realizing she is only in a nightgown while Sebastian effortlessly carries both nobles back to the Phantomhive's townhouse.
'Dear God.. kill me now.'
═╬
The walk is not fun. Cold and slow, due to Sebastian having to hold back with a conscious Leah there to witness everything. But the townhouse is finally in view, welcoming them inside like a warm hug.
"Where the hell did you go for two days without telling me anything? If you were gone any longer, I would have had to send out a search party!" Soma yells in aggravation, a happy Agni welcoming them back behind him.
Ciel coughs into his hand. "It's none of your business..."
Wriggling off of Sebastian's shoulder, Leah hastily approaches Anna who stands in apprehensive silence. "Please gather yourself, Anna. I want to go home. Now ," she demands.
"You're not staying?" asks Ciel in between coughs.
Leah lets Anna begin to lead her away to a room to get dressed in more appropriate clothing. "No."
Rubbing her eyes and stuffing down her hair, Leah and her maid leave behind the loud voices that fade into the distance. ‘Why is it so challenging to find some quiet..’
═╬
"Where have you been?!" yells Lucius, practically throwing himself down the stairs at the sight of his daughter.
The interior of Barrett Manor is warm and inviting, calming Leah down now that she is finally home like she has been wishing.
"I was with Ciel," she says.
"For two days?! And you didn't think to say anything?!" Lucius paces back and forth, Vivienne and Daniel turning to the corner to observe the scene.
Leah's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Well.. I assumed Anna would have sent a letter or something."
Shaking his head, Lucius envelopes his daughter in a tight hug. "At least you're safe.."
She wraps her arms around him in response, resting her head against his shoulder. Tears well up and threaten to spill from Leah’s eyes before she notices the inevitable blonde hair she hoped to not see, taking in a deep breath through her nose.
"You have a letter, My Lady," says Thomas from behind her father, holding up a crisp envelope.
Pinching the paper from his hand, Leah pulls away from her father and opens it to reveal its contents. Dragging her eyes across the words, she lips purse. 'Elizabeth is inviting me to Ciel's manor? I suppose I can go.. It has been quite some time since I've seen her.'
"Anna," she turns around to the empty spot where her lady's maid previously stood. "Anna?"
A pout spreads across her lips, feeling alone now that her family has also filed out of the room. Shifting her eyes to the blonde butler, she sighs in reluctance.
"Thomas, come with me," Leah states.
Alerted by the mention of his name, Thomas tilts his head. "Where are we going?"
Stuffing the paper back inside the envelope, the Barrett leaves it to lay on a nearby table as she approaches the door to her home.
"To Phantomhive Manor, of course."
Notes:
guys please i swear i don’t ship mc with every male she comes across i just needed something to fill space + i lacked on her bonding with doll a little so joker it is. even if i did ship her with everyone.. my rules🐺
“you mention that she’s pretty a lot it’s kinda corny” sue me
also, there’s an underlying reason leah nearly cried when her father hugged her. see if you can guess what it is ;)
Chapter 16: | 15 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl discovers disturbing news. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Chapter Text
( chapter fifteen ! )
"Music? Oh— or croquet! Boating could be fun?"
Within the walls of Phantomhive Manor sit Leah Barrett and Elizabeth Midford, brainstorming ideas on how to satiate their boredom. Lacking the presence of Ciel to be a mediator and maker of the final decision, the two girls have spent the past ten minutes going back and forth. Still, neither seem entirely interested in each other's suggestions.
Sitting atop one of the lounges in the drawing room, Leah gently rubs her fingers across the material of her amber dress skirts. She is disengaged from the conversation, evident in how she trains her gaze on Elizabeth's canary yellow dress or the relentless way she presses her lips together. Perhaps had she stayed home to recuperate from her time at Noah's Ark Circus, she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed by mere conversation.
"Is it like you are not even listening to me!" complains Elizabeth. "How could you possibly not like a single activity I named?"
Effectively being snapped out of her trance, Leah swallows and reluctantly meets the blonde in the eye. "It is not that I reject your ideas.. It is just— does it not feel like we do the same few things as women? As if our options are limited. You can only have so much fun before you grow tired of it," her voice trails off towards the end of her sentence.
A sigh escapes Elizabeth, followed by a muffled agreement. Silence also fills the room and works to set a tone of slight discomfort, primarily on Leah's end, both girls letting their eyes wander to different spaces of the room.
Leah points a finger to her chin before glancing back up at her friend. "Horseback riding?" she suggests, not expecting a thrilled answer.
The Midford's face immediately lights up in a smile. "That sounds quite lovely!"
"You know how to ride, yes?" asks Leah as she stands from her seat and smooths out her dress skirt. "You can ride on my horse if not."
Shaking her head, Elizabeth follows suit and skips towards the door of the drawing room. "I believe I should be fine! I'm sure if I need help, you are capable," she grins widely.
"My Lady," Thomas interrupts before Leah has a chance to react to Elizabeth's words. "Riding can be dangerous. Surely there are safer activities you can do this afternoon?"
Stopping in her tracks, the young Barrett turns around to face her butler, face displaying utter irritation at the sound of his voice. "Thomas.. just get the horses and riding clothes. If it bothers you that much then ride behind us. Just keep quiet!" she almost raises her voice in anger.
Leah exits the room with Elizabeth on her tail, nearly stomping down the halls for the guest room she was given. Back in the drawing room, Thomas doesn't have the chance to respond before he must arrange everything, heading out of the room as well but purposely taking a different path to give the Barrett her space.
Walking down the halls, the teenagers have slowed their speed now that Leah has calmed, allowing Elizabeth to not have to exert herself to keep up. The sound of labored breathing dissipates as the brunette regains her composure, shaking her head to clear her previous thoughts of anger.
"That butler is so irritating.." complains Leah, moving her hair out of her face. Today the brown locks are styled half down with a braid going across the back while Elizabeth is wearing her infamous pigtails.
Elizabeth's face wears an expression similar to surprise. "He is not all that bad. All he did was suggest a safer activity."
The pair approach their rooms with small steps.
"I know. I think I let him anger me so much over trivial things that now Thomas merely existing seems to offend me.." Leah's voice fades, fully aware that her distaste towards the butler is unjustified.
Steps slowing to a stop, the girls enter their respective rooms to prepare for the afternoon ahead.
═╬
The grand doors of the manor are pushed open by Thomas who stands tall, a display of nature behind him, giving a false sense of security with the February air that nips at their noses. Stepping aside for the ladies, he watches them file out and make their way toward the horses he fetched and brought around to the front of the manor.
Both the Barrett and Midford wear riding habits, Leah wearing one in pine green while Elizabeth chose azure. Leah is the first of the two to attempt to get close to the animals, taking a peek at the horse's face before trying to mount herself, promptly being interrupted by the butler ten steps behind her.
"Allow me, My Lady," says Thomas as he arrives by her side, shifting himself to bend his knees.
Giving him an askew glance, Leah — with the help of Thomas — hoists herself up and places her foot upon his right shoulder. Thomas strictly follows the way to help a lady mount a horse, getting his master on the saddle and strapping in everything necessary. Settling down in her spot, Leah steadies herself on the horse and watches as Thomas assists Elizabeth before getting on a horse himself.
Leah adjusts her riding hat. "Your lead. I suppose we shall just go around the manor," she speaks up and sends a nod to Elizabeth beside her.
"Alright!" Elizabeth muses, slowly allowing her horse to begin a trot.
Following suit, Leah swerves her horse to position herself on the blonde's right side, acting as a stand-in man. Just a couple of feet behind the teenagers, Thomas keeps a respectful distance but acts as a supervisor, ready to intervene if necessary.
The ride is initially quite silent, only the faint sounds of rustling leaves or chirping birds fill the gap. Neither attempt conversation. Beneath them, the horses keep a steady pace and walk around the perimeter of Phantomhive Manor. Only occasionally does Leah glance in Elizabeth's general direction to ensure she doesn't fall from her horse.
Elizabeth glances over at Leah warily. "I am glad we are doing this. It has been some time since we have been able to be together like this," she smiles, trying to strike conversation without making her friend feel uncomfortable.
"Yes, I suppose it has been some time," responds Leah. "Life moves quite quickly, does it not?"
"It does. Soon enough, we'll be of age to make our social debuts. Then get married," Elizabeth has a face that reads of bliss for the future, unlike Leah who shows apprehension at her words.
Turning a swift corner, a breeze passes through the girl's hair. The atmosphere feels serene. Even being beside something as simple as a manor rather than the pure outdoors, it still manages to draw people in. Not far behind them, the shuffles of Thomas can be heard but go unnoticed despite the man watching them like a hawk.
"Sometimes it feels as though I barely got time to be a child.. but I suppose that is just how life is. We all have to grow up eventually," sighs Leah. Her disdain for the future ahead, no matter how prepared she could be, is clear.
Nodding along to her words, Elizabeth pouts in response but it is masked by something almost euphoric. "Well I am happy I get to grow up with you," she turns her head completely to drag her eyes across her friend's face, admiring someone who has been a constant in her life for years.
Leah's hand gripping the lead twitches and tears prick the corners of her eyes, bringing her head up to meet the green eyes of Elizabeth that hold nothing but fondness in them. For the first time in what feels like a long time, a genuine smile pulls at the corners of the brunette's mouth until her teeth show. Despite the internal issues she may struggle with when it comes to Elizabeth, she cannot deny that the girl is indeed her friend.
"I am grateful I get to grow up with you as well.." her face glows under the sunlight, a newfound sense of happiness that comforts the Barrett.
Returning their gazes ahead, the pair let their horses pick up speed and enjoy the feeling of the wind pushing against their face. As the afternoon wears away, they make gleeful — though sometimes forced — conversation and manage to hold onto topics. Even after months of little chance for interaction, Leah and Elizabeth can always somewhat keep the spark ignited within them, bleeding into the cold February air that envelops them like a hug that they cannot currently give the other.
═╬
Crash!
Leah shoots up in her bed with a gasp, the typically heavy sleeper awoken by the unpleasant — and unbelievably loud — sound of a noise that is uncomfortably close to her bedroom. Pushing the undone hair off of her shoulder, she sits up fully in a sideways kneel. Any further sound is nonexistent, making her tense up as she keeps her eyes trained on the door, despite her difficulty to see with only small gleams of moonlight being the lamp of the room.
Shaky breaths escape from her parted lips and she swings her legs over the side of the bed, reaching beneath the plush furniture to reach for a sword she keeps hidden. The cold floor pricks her fingertips while she blindly feels around before grasping the sword handle and gripping it uncomfortably tight, her knuckles would look white if her hands weren't already pale.
Rising from the safety of the soft blankets, Leah steadily approaches the door with quiet steps, keeping the sword held tightly against her back. Her footsteps are the only sound that reaches her ears, lifting a hand to wrap it around the door handle. Cracking the door open, she warily sticks her head out. Standing just a few feet outside the door, Finnian walks in a straight line in her direction, a small patch of blood shining beneath the light on the previously spotless floor.
"..Finnian?" Leah whispers, her hands clinging tightly to the door.
The gardener steps slowly as he stops before her door. "You should be asleep, My Lady! It's late, you need your rest," his words are quiet but his eyes are wide and pupils small, emitting an unnerving aura.
"What were those sounds?" asks Leah. Her eyes are equally as wide, but full of fear rather than the startling look from the typically cheerful gardener.
Finnian's eyes flicker to an undistinguishable emotion. "Don't worry about it.. We're taking care of it. Please get back in bed."
Shifting on her feet uncomfortably, Leah rubs her thumb over the handle of the sword in an attempt to make herself feel better. She opens the door a bit wider but Finnian stops the movement.
"What's happening?" the Barrett demands an answer.
"Please—"
"Answer me."
The sudden shift in Leah's tone is one Finnian has never heard before, stilling his movements. They both stare into each other's eyes. Silence.
"There is an intruder.. but please don't panic," Finnian whispers, unable to pull his eyes away from Leah's.
Leah's eyes trail over to the small pool of blood on the floor and her finger twitches. "Is Elizabeth safe?"
She is only offered a nod in response before gunshots sound from the end of the hall. Flicking her eyes to Finnian's, she glances out the door and runs down the hall, the sound of her footsteps pattering against the floor.
"It's dangerous, My Lady! Please go back to bed!" calls Finnian as he runs after her, surprised by Leah's speed.
Rounding the corner, Leah's breathing is slightly labored and her grip on the sword tightens at the sight. Standing at the end of the hallway is Dagger and Beast, staring back at her with wide eyes. Her steps slowly come to a stop and she can hear Finnian approach her from behind, unable to rip her eyes away.
"Diamond..?" Dagger's voice is low.
A shaky breath is the only thing Leah can offer in response, glancing warily at the knives clenched in his hands. 'What are they doing here? They aren't supposed to be here!'
Leah holds the sword to her stomach. "I'm sorry I lied.. I didn't mean to," she shakes her head at her words, tears pricking the corner of her eyes.
The circus performers glare, observing her uneasy stance with disdain. Against his better judgment, Dagger sends a knife straight past the Barrett's head and listens to her shriek.
"Prying into our lives. Take advantage of our hospitality. You nobles are all the same!" Beast's voice nearly becomes a yell and she retrieves her whip from her side, flashing it to frighten the teen.
There's a flash of something in Leah's eyes. Hurt. It only seems to last for a quick moment, her eyes darkening into contempt.
"You know, I did not think you people were all that bad. But it seems it stands true that the poor are only a burden," Leah clenches her teeth and wields her sword. "How dare you invade my home!"
Dagger and Beast hardly have a moment to react before the Barrett is charging at them, her feet pounding against the floor. Any previous anger she bottled up is released, showing in the swing that she aims directly for Dagger's head, only to have to dodge Beast's whip.
Hastily grabbing another knife, Dagger begins to swing and nearly cuts Leah's nightgown in the process. However, further attempts at injury fail when Finnian takes the chance to send a statue flying their way.
"Leave the lady alone," he calls out, voice lacking emotion yet a wide smile sits on his face.
Rubble and dust fill the air, prompting coughs but that doesn't deter the young Leah from taking the chance to swing rapidly at her targets. 'How is Finny capable of lifting those things? It doesn't matter.. He is giving me the upper hand.' She tries to steady her breathing as she lands a hit on Beast's arm, only to be forced to duck from a flying knife.
Eyebrows knitted in anger, Leah glances back at Finnian who holds another statue before dragging her eyes back to Dagger. "Would you like to make the fight fair?" she asks.
Throwing herself in the direction of a wall, she sticks her sword out at the same time Finnian chucks another statue, causing half of its length to shatter. Taken aback by this, Dagger and Beast don't get a moment to react before Leah violently swings at them again, almost landing a hit on Dagger before he is pulled back by Beast.
"You people are insane!" Dagger yells.
Finnian lifts a statue over his head. "We're just exterminating the mice," he pulls it back and sends it flying.
The circus performers continue deeper into the manner, but this doesn't deter Leah nor Finnian from chasing after them. Glancing behind him, Dagger grunts and throws a knife directly at Leah, missing when she ducks to the floor. But given the advantage, Beast can land a small hit with a whip on the Barrett's leg, only enough to cause pain but still reddening the skin.
Leah gasps and takes ahold of her leg, pain written all over her face as she watches Finnian throw yet another statue. 'Just where is he getting them from?' Nonetheless, she gets back on her feet and tries to follow after the pair flying down the steps but is stopped by the gardener.
"My Lady, please go back to bed. Us servants can handle it!" Finnian looks worried as he smiles down at the girl.
The Barrett pouts. "But—"
"Please.." he nearly begs. "For your safety."
A sigh escapes Leah but she nods, allowing her sword to escape her hand and drop to the floor with a rattle. Reluctantly separating herself from the situation, she heads off down the hallway and steps past the mess she helped create, lacking the will to feel sympathy for Dagger or Beast.
'It truly is a shame. I thought they were quite nice..'
When Leah rounds the corner and enters the hallway that leads to her room, her breath bitches at the sight before her. Thomas.
There is no face. It almost looks molten, like it cannot choose what form it wants to take until it settles on all black amidst the night. The eye holes are gaping and the teeth razor sharp, lacking the lips to keep them contained in it's mouth. His body— It's body is lengthy and mangled, only the legs seeming in tact to resemble any form of a human.
But just as quick as she sees it, the face uncomfortably melts back into the face she's seen since adolescence. Thomas. This can't possibly be Thomas though, can it? This isn't Thomas this is—
She lifts a shaky finger. "You're that thing I saw all those years ago.." Leah whispers, struggling to breathe.
"Whatever are you talking about, My Lady?" Thomas tilts his head, choosing to play coy.
Leah shakes her head and takes a step back, nearly tripping over her own feet. 'No..'
═╬
Cold. The night was cold.
Leah Barrett, freshly five at the time, ventured out of her room knowing that she was not meant to be doing so. That never stopped her though, she always enjoyed the feeling of being able to roam freely on her own. But she wished she hadn't that night.
The soft sound of her bare feet against the floor was the only thing to fill the silent halls, most of the servants were even retiring for the night. It was January. Barely ending the holiday season. The cold on her translucent skin hardly pushed her away, prompting her to walk further into the dark.
Children naturally hold curiosity. Leah was no exception.
She continued down the hall, turning a corner into a part of the manor she had hardly ever gazed upon. But it wasn't the dark she was scared of when she looked into the depths. It was an ungodly sight.
The molten face. The missing eyes. The mangled body. Little Leah cried out, taking the largest step back she could with her short legs. It twitched. To the creature, the young brunette was nothing short of wondrous. It spent years silently watching. Seeing the shining tears that fell down her porcelain cheeks, it was enamored.
But what was it? What invoked such feelings within a being such as Thomas ? What was so interesting about a young girl? Whatever it was, the creature's interest had been peaked, unidentifiable sounds ringing out into the void.
Leah tightened her grip on her stuffed bear, breathing shakily and holding back noises of horrified sobs. She didn't even realize she was previously stuck in place until her legs bolted her back in the direction of her room, leaving behind the awful noise that only seemed to echo in her head.
Letting the sounds escape, the young girl ran directly inside her bedroom to find Anna who was no older than twelve at the time.
"Mistress, I was just about to start looking for you. What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" the maid questioned, leaning down to try and get a better look at the child.
The attempt to examine Leah was a failure though, as she immediately collided with her and wrapped her short arms around her legs. Loud sobs rang out and Leah's tears began to stain Anna's dress, the bear previously in her arms was discarded to the floor.
Anna's eyes widened. "What is wrong, Mistress?"
"I saw a monster!" cried Leah, streaks of tears painting her cheeks.
Picking up the small girl, Anna brought her over to her bed and sat her down on the plush blankets. "There, there.. Monsters don't exist. I'm sure you just thought you saw something in the dark." she tried to reassure the child but the lack of emotion on her face was clear.
"But—" Leah tried to counter the maid's argument.
"No buts. Now please try and sleep, Mistress. It is well past your bedtime. The nannies will be upset if you are in a terrible mood tomorrow," Anna stroked Leah's hair and settled her beneath the covers.
The young Barrett couldn't find it in herself to protest any longer, the weight of her exhaustion having hit her the second her head felt the pillow. Beside Anna, Leah always felt safe. But whatever Thomas was.. it haunted her for many years to come.
═╬
Moonlight streams in through the windows, illuminating Thomas' blonde hair and the strange look painting his face when he notices Leah creating distance. Her discomfort is undeniable though, shakily stepping away from him and unable to control the volume of her breathing.
"I— I need a moment.." Leah whispers, unsure of what to say but takes off for the balcony.
Thankfully — or perhaps not so much — the balcony is close by, the fresh air flooding Leah's nose and almost calming her. The wind blows through her hair, the leaves rustling in the far distance. The atmosphere is nearly perfect. 'Surely I'm just going crazy. Yes. This is all a dream. None of this is real. None of this—'
"You know you're not supposed to be around balconies unsupervised, My Lady," Thomas speaks up from behind her, standing in the entryway. "It would be a shame if we were to have a repeat."
Leah's breath hitches. Staring down at the ground beneath her, her body tenses. It only gets worse when Thomas approaches and places a firm hand on her shoulder, his eyes matching the look Finnian previously held. Empty .
The butler's eyes drag across her face. "I would advise you to step away. It is time for you to rest."
Moving back in an act of defiance, Leah's hand hits the edge of the balcony. Stiffening, her eyes connect with the butler staring down at her, unable to form a sentence. It all came rushing back.
═╬
She was awake when she shouldn't have been. She knew that. When is she ever asleep when she should be?
It was a cold April night, silence throughout the house. Not even the servants were awake in Barrett Manor at this hour, only a fourteen-year-old Leah occupied the hallways.
Her movements were slow and coordinated, almost as if she was being controlled. The hems of her nightgown brushed against her ankles, mimicking a small spring breeze.
Approaching the balcony, the young girl took in a deep breath and stared down at the ground below her. It was far. At least eight yards. Leah took a tight hold on the edge, her hands twitched and shook.
A small tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek, illuminated by the moonlight that shone above her. Lifting a leg to settle her foot on the balcony's edge, Leah stood tall amidst the world below her. It was peaceful. Serene.
'Why am I doing this?'
She swayed back and forth.
'Would it all be worth it? For..'
Leah closed her eyes and allowed her body to fall forward, feeling the air whip across her face as she plummeted towards the ground.
'Sweet release.'
This peace was short lived though. It was all Thomas' fault. Right into his arms, she fell. A grunt from her end, feeling the appendages wrap around her in a tight hold that she hadn't felt in forever.
"My.." Thomas starts. "What are you doing awake at such an hour?"
The Barrett's eyes slowly opened, blue staring straight into the grass as they filled with disdain. "I hate you. I really do," she muttered.
Thomas stared down at the girl in his arms, a sadistic smile forming on his lips. Walking with a shake of his head, he took off for her bedroom, finding the predicament oddly entertaining.
'I just wanted to feel peace.'
═╬
"No!"
Leah shoves back against Thomas, almost throwing herself over the edge of the balcony in the process. Her breaths are shallow, only worsening when her butler grabs ahold of her wrist.
"It is bedtime," says Thomas as he swings Leah over his shoulder with ease.
The girl protests, the faint sound of continuous gunshots becoming quieter the closer they get to her room. Pounding her fists against Thomas' back, he appears unfazed as he forces the door open and places her down on the bed.
Throwing the blankets over her, Thomas moves back from the bed. "Goodnight, My Lady."
Shuddering under his gaze, Leah gives up on fighting back and settles her head against the pillows. She watches Thomas step out of the room and shut her eyes, trying to forget everything she's just seen. It was nightmare fuel.
Sadly her attempts at sleep are interrupted by the sound of an explosion, startling her and earning a rattled gasp. Sitting up in her bed, Leah gets up for the second time that night and shakily approaches the door. 'Elizabeth is surely fine.. The sound is too far for it to have affected either of our rooms.'
"Leah," the voice lacks any emotion. "Get back in the bed."
Pausing in her tracks, the brunette turns her head over her shoulder. There in the corner of the room is Thomas. Standing there in the chilly night air, staring her down. 'I thought he left..?'
Leah cannot bring herself to defy this time. The look in his eyes is much too threatening, she feels uncomfortable beyond belief as she shuffles back over to the bed. Getting under the covers, she keeps a grip on the blankets and stares at Thomas warily.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asks with a shaking voice, keeping a tight hold on her blanket.
There's a silence that overcomes the room for a moment, almost as if Thomas is thinking before he breaks it. "I would never," he doesn't lie.
"Please go away.." whispers Leah.
A hum sounds from Thomas, looking at the girl in the bed before closing his eyes. Slowly walking towards the door, he turns his head over his shoulder one last time.
"As you wish."
Notes:
how we feeling after this?
Chapter 17: | 16 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl lacks fear for her butler. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
this chapter was so fucking boring to write omg😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter sixteen ! )
"My Lady, it is time—"
The morning is bright despite the events of the night prior, shining streams of sunlight into Leah's temporary bedroom. The day could seem near perfect if it wasn't for her inability to sleep. Sadly, the faint sound of chirping birds does nothing to calm her nerves as she sits at the vanity, keeping her breaths steady.
Leah, to much surprise, "awoke" quite early, prompting Thomas' to stop in his tracks when he enters the room with the goal of waking the girl. She dressed herself, albeit not particularly well, but the Barrett decided it best to attempt herself. Any plan to avoid being in close proximity to the butler is clear, even in the way she keeps her gaze away from his presence standing in the doorway.
"My.. What have you done, My Lady?" Thomas speaks slowly, taking a moment to observe the sight of Leah in a delicate lilac dress, the back open to expose a poorly tied corset. "I do not mean to offend but you look a mess."
Grabbing a puff, Leah lightly powders her face and tries to ignore the way her hair sits out of place in a terrible attempt at recreating a hairstyle Anna has done on her numerous times. "You are a man, you should not be in a lady's room."
Stepping further inside the room, Thomas quietly shuts the door behind himself and approaches the seated teenager. He examines the damage, certainly fixable, but mildly entertaining to him. Reaching down to undo Leah's dress, the demon is met by a near shove.
"Do not touch me!" yells Leah, her breaths staggering.
Thomas glances at the brunette through the mirror, making no move to step away. If anything, he gets closer to pull on the laces of her corset, pushing the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders.
"You certainly cannot step out of the room like this. Do you intend to hide all day?" asks Thomas.
Staring in apprehension, Leah allows the butler to adjust her mistakes but keeps a watchful eye on his movements. "I could not find Meyrin.." she murmurs.
Thomas gently forces Leah out of her seat to get a better view of what needs fixing, already working on the dress aspect of her outfit. The atmosphere of the room is chilling and full of one-sided discomfort, only the sound of fabrics moving against each other fills the space.
"Are you going to pretend last night did not happen?" Leah's voice is quiet but is easily heard through the silence of the room.
Thomas eyes his master's face through the mirror with a smirk. "Why explain what you cannot comprehend?"
The young Barrett takes in a deep breath through her nose. "Well it is clear you are not human," her voice shakes.
"You are correct," chuckles Thomas. "I am what you could call.. a demon ."
Leah's hands grip the table tightly upon hearing his words, flinching when Thomas reaches up a hand to fix her hair. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she closes her eyes to think before quickly opening them back up with a glare, watching the pieces of brown strands fall across her shoulder.
"Do you not find that quite pathetic?" she keeps her voice firm despite the fear she holds within her.
Braiding chunks of silky hair, Thomas raises a brow in interest. "What do you mean?"
She shivers when feels his cold fingers brush against the back of her neck. "It is obvious you can be anything you would like, yet you choose to be a butler."
"I do it for you," a ghost of a smile appears on Thomas' face. "I choose to care for you. It is the perfect way to be close to you and observe your every move. You've piqued my interest, after all."
"You could have been anything. You could have trapped me in a marriage with you," Leah turns her head over her shoulder. "Yet you decided to be nothing more than a mere butler."
Thomas fights back a chuckle, reveling in her attempts to hide her fear. "I suppose you have always been quite smart, haven't you?" he recalls all the times he has seen her excel in her studies.
Silence befalls the two but it is short-lived. Taking a step away from Leah, Thomas looks down at his work.
"There. Don't you look much better now?" he tilts his head almost in a way of mocking her.
Leah glances into the mirror, upset to acknowledge that he did a good job. All the butler receives in return is a silent 'hmph'.
"I want something entertaining to do," complains Leah, feeling drained after days worth of events with Elizabeth. "Perhaps I shall return home today?"
Cleaning up the small mess, Thomas takes a step back to approach the door and open it to allow the girl out. "Lord Phantomhive has returned today. Surely you would like to spend time with him?" he suggests.
The Barrett steps out of the room and watches Thomas follow after her, strangely feeling at ease despite her recent discovery. "I'm not sure if I would.." she mumbles and recalls the blue-haired boy sleeping in the bed with Doll.
Thomas raises a brow but makes no further move to question the girl, knowing that she is easy to become upset. He instead chooses to follow her down the hall as he regularly would, going about his work as if Leah hasn't made a terrible discovery about his true identity. Not that she can do much anyway.
═╬
"I believe they are in here."
Opening the door, Thomas steps aside to allow Leah to pass him by, only for them to be met by Sebastian and Nina Hopkins going head to head. The aura in the room is full of displeasure, which Leah can only assume is from a disagreement.
Perking up at the sound of the door, Elizabeth smiles upon seeing her friend. "Leah! You have been gone all morning!" she exclaims, bounding over to the door.
"There was a small problem but it has been fixed now," Leah reassures her friend and places her hands in the smaller pair.
Ciel, now walking over as well, stares down the butler behind Leah before offering a small smile to the Barrett and observing her in the color she hardly wears. "I tr—"
"And who is this?!"
Running over unnaturally fast, Nina grabs ahold of Leah's arms and causes the teen to stiffen, looking at every crevice her eyes can gaze upon. She moves Leah every which way, observing her from numerous different angles.
"This is my betrothed.." Ciel grimaces as he watches Nina pull at Leah's face, gushing over her features.
Clearing his throat, Thomas speaks up from his spot behind Leah. "Lady Leah Barrett is the daughter of Marquess Barrett."
"Marquess Barrett?" Nina raises a brow, her face uncomfortably close to Leah's. "That businessman from America?"
Leah nods with a forced smile. "I was born in America."
Marveling at the Barrett's intricately decorated dress and the accessories that accentuate her features, Nina turns to Ciel with an almost harsh look. "Why did you never mention a fiancé?! She is absolutely breathtaking, look at her!" she grabs ahold of Leah's cheeks and brings her face closer to Ciel's.
"I never deemed it necessary. You are a tailor, why would I mention my betrothed if it is not needed," says Ciel, looking at the way Leah's cheeks squish under the hand.
Nina shakes her head and releases the girl's face, only to drag her further into the room. She pulls out a line of measuring tape and immediately attempts to get to work, disregarding the clothes constricting her efforts.
"I rarely see women so tall, I must measure you!" Nina wraps the tape around Leah's arm, "And your face, those eyes. Marvelous!"
Face heating up amidst the praise, Leah shifts awkwardly before the interaction is interrupted by the blonde butler behind her.
Thomas clears his throat. "I'm afraid it is time for the Lady to eat," he stares down at the tailor.
Despite the hope, Nina doesn't take this entirely well. Her face contorts into a glare as she challenges Thomas, standing her ground despite the situation involving another person.
"There is plenty of time in the day for that! Can you please go waste time somewhere else until the fitting?" The tailor promptly grabs the other people in the room to shove them out of the door, keeping Leah behind. "Well, get out, get out!"
The Barret's lips purse as she fiddles with her hands. "Where is the rest of your attire..?" she asks, eyes slipping to Nina's legs which are partially exposed due to her shorts. 'That is.. unladylike.'
She gets no response in return though as Nina rushes to get her clothes off for accurate measurements, leaving her stuck in the room.
═╬
After much gushing over Leah's features, Nina is finished recording numbers and sees the teenager off, only to announce that Ciel and Elizabeth are ready for their fittings.
Leah walks out of the room slightly disheveled but better than what she had done with herself in the morning, brushing past Elizabeth who runs inside. She hardly notices the glance Ciel spares for her or the fact that he doesn't move from his seat.
"I have prepared tea and pastries, Lady Leah. Do help yourself," Sebastian perks up at her entrance.
She pouts, "I don't want your tea."
Both Ciel and Sebastian seem a bit surprised by Leah's attitude, typically only seeing it extended towards Thomas. However, today it appears to be open for everyone she crosses.
Watching her take a seat at the table, Thomas approaches to lean down but keeps a respectable distance. "My Lady, you haven't eaten in three days. Please do consider something to fill your stomach," he doesn't even try to whisper, only slightly lowering his tone.
"Three days?" Ciel asks in exasperation.
Inhaling in irritation, Leah shuts her eyes to pretend the world isn't around her. "Do you ever stop talking?" she questions the butler.
"Three days?!" Ciel once again asks, raising his voice a little higher after being ignored.
Thomas straightens his back. "The Lady does not like to eat often. She believes she will become too big and that you won't think she is beautiful anymore," he almost gleefully spills Leah's thoughts.
Shoving her head onto the table, Leah releases a sound that almost sounds like a groan and covers her head with her arms. "Thomas!" she yells.
The Phantomhive's face softens for a moment, "Leah.. that is ridiculous."
Leah doesn't respond to his attempts at comforting her, keeping her head buried in the table. She can hardly bring herself to even peek over her arms, not wanting to face potential scrutiny for her actions. 'This is so embarrassing..'
Thomas glances down and pushes a teacup in her direction. "Someone would have found out eventually, My Lady. You need food to replenish your body," he says firmly.
Making no further attempts to argue, Leah instead opts for smacking Thomas upside his head with the strength she can muster. The sound travels through the room before she simply settles on repeatedly hitting him, ignoring the looks she receives as she watches Thomas fall to his knees.
"All you do is irritate me!" she yells, feeling the fear for the demon dissipate.
Keeping himself on the floor, Thomas takes the blows to his head with a content aura and nearly smiles. "Yes, My Lady. I am very sorry."
Leah continues to hit Thomas before she pauses, gripping him by the hair to see his face. The girl pouts as she observes his smile and drops his head from her hand, turning around with a huff.
"Why have you stopped, My Lady?" asks Thomas.
"I'm not going to hit you if you clearly enjoy it! You are so pathetic, it is disgusting. Get out of my face!" Leah yells and crosses her arms, sitting down once again.
Both Sebastian and Ciel share a glance, unsure of how to react to the situation playing out before them.
"Ciel! Make haste, we do not have all day for the fitting!"
Elizabeth's voice rings out from a few rooms away, breaking the atmosphere in the room. The Phantomhive rises from his chair and backs out of the room, leaving Leah with the two demons as one slides her a plate of food, almost earning a slap.
═╬
"Oh, you look stunning!"
Back within the walls of the fitting room, Nina is beyond joyed at the sight of Leah in the clothes she made. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it is a perfect fit, hugging her figure and complimenting her features.
Leah, unlike the tailor, is far from happy as she keeps her gaze firmly planted on the wall, hellbent on not looking at shirtless Ciel mere feet away from her. Although occasionally her eyes flicker to Elizabeth who stands in front of the folding screen with a giggle, only now not looking at Ciel after he voiced his embarrassment. 'I truly don't understand how Elizabeth could just look at him. I might as well die in here.'
"Look!" Nina shifts Leah around to face a full-length mirror, "What do you think?"
Staring into the depths of the mirror, the Barrett's eyes wander, taking in the outfit adoring her body. It is red, very red. Ruffles decorate the outside going down to the bottom, a thin chocker wraps around her neck, and a flower cut from fabric is entwined with strands of her hair. 'This looks awfully familiar.'
She gazes down at her unlowered hems, still exposing a tiny portion of her ankles. "I look like— Madame Red.." Leah whispers.
Nina's eyebrows furrow for a moment before they rest once again, almost as if she recognizes the name. However before she has the chance to respond, the door is slammed open.
"Hey, Ciel!" Prince Soma stands in the doorway with Agni behind him, a look of pure anger painted across his face and a clenched fist, "Why did you secretly return to the main house?!"
There is hardly a moment to react when Sebastian swings a drape and Ciel is suddenly wearing a shirt again, but the demon is not fast enough for the mark on Ciel's back to go unnoticed by Leah. She knows better than to comment on it though, keeping her mouth shut to avoid potentially offending her fiancé.
Soma and Agni move to passively meet Elizabeth, who they seem to naturally be kind to. It isn't until that the Prince notices Leah that the room perks up.
"Ah! Little sister!" he smiles brightly and runs over to envelop Leah in an unexpected hug.
Leah awkwardly gives Soma an askew glance. "Prince Soma?"
"Little sister?" questions Ciel.
Keeping his hold on Leah, Soma chuckles. "She is your fiancé, of course, that makes her my little sister!" he nods.
"How does it make her that?!" Ciel shouts, now beginning to get irritated.
To no one's surprise, the Phantomhive's words are ignored in return for Soma immediately wanting to enter the dining hall, Elizabeth also joining in. Agni is stationed beside them with a pot of curry, prompting Leah to attempt to run away but Thomas is quick to catch her.
"Wait, the dining hall is still damaged," Ciel sweats.
"Please relax," Sebastian places a hand on his chest. "Dinner preparations have already been made. It cost an arm and a leg, but it's perfect as always."
═╬
Stars shine above Phantomhive Manor, casting a calming glow through the windows. But it is tough to beat the fire that crackles in the fireplace, illuminating the room and the numerous bodies occupying chairs and lounges.
Soma and Elizabeth hold a discussion over a game of cards, the Prince telling the blonde all about the few things he can recall from the past days.
"He was bedridden?!" Elizabeth yells in surprise.
Staring down at the cards in his hand, Soma nods. "Yep, that's why I thought I should give him something nutritious and make curry."
The Midford has little chance to protest to her cousin before a teacup is placed in front of her, ignoring Leah's rather loud whispers to Thomas who hardly seems to be listening. Leah's attention is not even caught until Sebastian points out that Ciel is sleeping in his chair, leaning to the left with a slightly ajar mouth.
"It's been a long time since I have seen the Master's face this relaxed," Sebastian allows a smile to cross his face. "It's probably because he was able to spend a nice, free day with everyone."
For a split moment, the Barrett's eyes soften but harden just as quickly.
Elizabeth smiles, "Goodnight, Ciel."
"I want to go home," Leah deadpans.
Thomas shakes his head, fighting a sigh as he glances down at the girl in her seat.
"Sometimes you ruin the mood."
Notes:
thomas gettin a little sassy🤨
Chapter 18: | 17 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl celebrates her seventeenth birthday. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
WARNING: i’m abolishing the post schedule. i decided to just post when i can/feel like it and have a chapter finished. this is to help avoid burn out and to let myself relax more, as i write this for fun. please don’t be alarmed if there are weeks updates take longer. i will still try and post at least once a week though.
looks like leah finally got to go home after that being her every thought throughout circus arc💀
this chapter is mainly just for fun! a little light in the dark after the fiasco that was chapter fifteen. i also want to give daniel screen time since he isn’t seen too often despite playing a semi-important role in leah’s lore.
gwendolyn is loosely based on my cousin and henrietta is loosely based on my friend! (HI POOKIE IF YOU’RE READING THIS). you’ll see them again in a later arc ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter seventeen ! )
"You look stunning, darling. Just like a princess."
The day is March eleventh, a Monday and Leah Barrett's seventeenth birthday. Decorations cover the halls and rooms of Barrett Manor to celebrate the special day and the front door consistently opens to allow guests to file inside, the elaborate decorations managing to mesmerize some individuals. But the real star is the birthday girl.
Sitting before a large vanity, Leah cheerfully gets the final touches added to her look, her mother stationed behind her with a smile full of admiration. Her dress is one of the largest she has ever worn. The main ensemble is pink and silky, but overtop are lace coverings in whites and yellows, creating a nice contrast that sits well beside her porcelain skin. Even the jewelry is appealing, a necklace full of pearls and gems while her earrings are flowers and dip into a pearl.
A soft and genuine smile covers the brunette's face, allowing her mother to add a floral headpiece to the side of her hair done up in a low, braided bun. "Thank you, Mama."
"It is about time we head downstairs now, can't be late for your celebration!" Vivienne responds as she steps towards the door.
Following suit, Leah waves for Anna who stands in the corner of the room to follow her before boldly stepping out of her room. Her eyes light up at the sight of the decorations, woven through the halls that radiate a magical feeling for the girl. But it isn't until she reaches the top of the stairs and looks down that she is even more surprised.
"There are more people than I anticipated!" Leah stares at the guests in wonder, ranging from close friends to distant relatives. She has not seen most of these people in years, startled at the fact that they even bothered to attend.
Vivienne lets out a giggle. "Well, surely you weren't expecting we would host a celebration this large for the.. five people you speak to? Someone must attend," she shakes her head lightheartedly and sticks out an arm for Leah to grab.
Giving a small pout, Leah takes ahold of her mother's arm and the pair set off down the stairs. Guests turn their attention to the birthday girl descending the stairs, marveling at the size of her dress and knowing that the celebration will now officially commence. It is not until the women reach the bottom of the stairs does the dress shows its true size, nearly half of Leah's height horizontally.
"Let us say hello to—"
Hardly having a moment to blink, Vivienne watches the blur of pink and yellow fly past her.
"Gwendolyn!" Leah calls out, speeding for her cousin with open arms.
Gwendolyn Vásquez, a first cousin of Leah through her mother's side, is a girl who just barely breaches average height. Her skin is naturally tanned and her hair is pin-straight and dark brown, drawing attention to her Hispanic heritage. Most have always found it hard to believe the pair are related, but they remain inseparable despite their rare chances to see each other.
A bright smile flashes on the face of the younger girl, wrapping her arms around the birthday girl. "Leah! It has been so long," Gwendolyn squeezes her with the little amount of might she has.
"It has been nearly a year ! I'm afraid that if I want to see you, we may have to start kidnapping Aunt Florence," Leah's tone is joking, although not entirely unserious.
"I can't wait until I marry!" Gwendolyn huffs. "I'll be able to see you much more often."
Nodding, Leah almost smiles knowing that her cousin is only a year or two away from debuting into society. "Ah—"
Vivienne approaches from behind. "Don't spend too much time on one person, darling," she begins to usher the two girls to the ballroom where the guests have moved.
"But Mama!" whines Leah.
"You can spend as much time with Gwendolyn as you would like after you greet your other guests! Have respect for those that have come," Vivienne leads her daughter over to a corner filled with her aunts and uncles.
Grumbling under her breath, Leah begrudgingly shuffles through the large ballroom. "I don't even like most of these people.."
═╬
After many reluctant greetings to such an extensive guest list. The room is filled with people Leah can hardly remember, second cousins, family friends, and individuals she only speaks with once a month. All of it leaves her feeling quite drained as she is twirled back into the arms of her father, looking up to a proud smile.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Lucius asks. "I hope everything is to your liking.." he whispers, recounting the amount of time he spent planning.
Looking up into her father's eyes, Leah nearly pouts and shifts closer further from his arms, feeling his hands settle on her forearms. "Why did you invite so many peop—"
"Papa, where did you get the cake? It's delicious."
Stepping over to the scene is none other than Daniel Barrett, a plate in one hand and a fork in the other. His face is stuffed with chocolate cake, threatening to fall out of his mouth and ruin his suit. But that doesn't stop the boy from talking with his mouth full and ducking away from his curious aunties who pester him about a future engagement.
"You are already eating cake?" asks Leah in exasperation. The celebration began not even an hour ago, so she knows that there is no possible way the cake has already been cut.
Shoving another bite of cake into his mouth, Daniel gives a roll of his eyes. "There are two separate cakes besides the main cake, I will have cake if I want to have cake!"
"He has quite a bit of sass."
"I have sass?!"
"Don't start arguing.."
The Barrett siblings huff in annoyance before their father can scold them, though there is a playful undertone to it. This playful exterior seems to be sucked out of the older boy when he looks at a figure behind Leah, earning a shift in both Lucius and Daniel's moods.
Daniel scowls but it is hard to tell if he is serious or not. "Who invited you?" he chews on another bite of cake.
Clearing his throat, Ciel stands behind his fiancé with a smile plastered on his face, unsure of how to feel with the sheer number of people in the room. He wears a simple but classy suit with a tie matching the pink shade of Leah's dress, his hair done up a bit special for the occasion. When she mentioned the celebration would be grand, he hadn't expected this.
Leah turns around to see who her father and brother are looking at, face lighting up at the sight. "Ciel, you came!" she dives in for a hug.
"I wouldn't miss it," Ciel wraps a firm arm around her waist, trying to ignore the large dress pressing against him. "Lau is here with Ran Mao. And I believe I saw Elizabeth and Prince Soma at the food table."
Pulling away, Leah gazes about the room to spot any of the mentioned individuals. "I will have to seek them out if they don't find me first.. There are quite a few people in attendance, hard to see past all the heads," she pouts, view blocked by the many tall men that fill her family.
"Is it alright if I give you one of your gifts now?" Ciel clears his throat, "I'm afraid it can't wait very long."
"I don't mind!" she flashes a smile.
Watching her fiancé walk off, Leah turns to her father and brother in anticipation of her present. Despite the numerous boxes that litter a table filled with gifts just for her, she has spent the last week the most excited about what Ciel would possibly give her.
Reentering the room, the Phantomhive servants gather in a small group and draw attention from the other guests. Ciel stands beside them and prepares to show off the gift, praying they don't mess up.
Stepping forward, Bardoy is missing a cigarette when he smiles, pulling out a party popper to shoot confetti in Leah's direction. After him is Meyrin who pops up from behind him, singing an off-tune song as Sebastian pulls her into his arms to do a classic waltz. Finally, Finnian steps up last with a basket situated between his arms, sweating nervously but keeping an unwavering smile firm on his face.
Finnian is bold, taking steps closer to the Barrett and lowering the basket to stomach level. At first, the room fills with silence and Ciel's agitation at the poor execution from his servants, awaiting to see what it is in the basket. But it's not until the gardener lifts the top do the guests look in awe at a white-furred dog popping its head out, staring straight up at Leah.
Looking at the dog and back up at Finnian, Leah tilts her head when the little bundle of fur starts trying to sniff her. She has never seen a dog like this before, eliciting confusion but still sending a happy signal off in her head.
"Are you giving my sister a deformed rabbit?" asks Daniel incredulously, ready to start yelling at Ciel. However, it is hard to take him seriously with a half-full plate of cake in his hand.
"Daniel.." Lucius pinches between his brows in frustration.
Ciel deadpans. "It's a dog," he shakes his head at how ridiculous the question sounds. "A Pomeranian to be exact. They are a bit rare and are becoming popular with Queen Victoria."
Bending down to get a better look at the animal, Leah gently wraps her hands around its body to pick it up. She doesn't react at first, once again looking back at Finnian who can only smile in response. But when the dog sniffs her face and gives a lick to her cheek, the Barrett nearly squeals in pure excitement.
"It's so cute!" she tries to avoid yelling, not wanting to hurt the dog's ears. "I shall name you.."
The ballroom fills with silence, anticipating the name Leah will give to the dog. Most know her to be quite indecisive and lack creativity, preparing for a name just as ridiculous as Daniel's previous question. This doesn't waver the girl though, staring at the ball of fluff in thought.
"PomPom!" Leah announces. "Your name is PomPom!"
Living up to her lack of creativity, Leah gives the Pomeranian one of the first names to cross her mind. Not that she cares what others would think about the name aspect. Leah is just glad Ciel showed his face at her birthday celebration and came with a present as cute as this one, as well as more she has yet to see.
She hands the dog off to Daniel who hands it to Finnian and runs over to Ciel, enveloping him in a tight hug. "Thank you so much! It is so cute, I love it!" Leah hops in the spot where she stands.
" It is a male," Ciel gives a gentle correction, slowly wrapping his arms around her in return.
Watching the scene, Daniel is unimpressed. "I still don't believe that is a dog."
Gwendolyn walks over with a shake of her head and takes the dog from Finnian, shaking PomPom lightly in front of Leah. As much as she wants to groan at her brother's words, Leah doesn't let them cloud her feelings for the animal.
"I don't care if he is a dog or not, he is absolutely adorable!" Leah gushes and plucks the dog out of Gwendolyn's arms, holding him close to her chest.
"It looks like a deformed rabbit," quips Daniel.
Turning around faster than one can blink, Leah glares sharply at her brother, PomPom still in her arms. "How is it that you are the heir?"
"What do you mean by that?" Daniel raises a brow.
"I mean that you are simple and wouldn't survive a day running a household," retorts Leah.
Flashing an offended look, Daniel hands off his now empty plate to a passing butler. "I am very much capable!"
"Please never reproduce."
"Now you are just talking to talk!"
"I am talking because I am right! If you reproduce your child will end up simple as well."
"Papa, do you hear this?"
"Do not cry to Papa! Go cry to a woman in the hopes she will marry you."
"Excuse me?!"
All of the guests watch in astonishment as the siblings take a previously light moment and turn it into an argument, silence being the only thing to accompany the voices. It's not until Vivienne harshly whispers to Lucius that it comes to an end.
"Enough! Both of you!" Lucius raises his voice, nearly yelling.
Feigning a pout at her father's interruption, Leah shuffles over to a giggling Gwendolyn who holds PomPom after managing to sneak him out of her arms and tries to strike conversation with Ciel. However, Daniel is relieved by the silence, feeling comfort knowing that his sister can not embarrass him before all of his family members.
Miraculously, the guests return to their previous activities after watching the dispute. Anyone who has visited the Barrett household more than once knows that bickering is a common occurrence between the two "children" of the manor, then proceeding to hug and laugh the next moment as if it never happened. But to those within the ballroom, that is their least concern, focusing on enjoying the prestigious night.
═╬
With the situation having cooled off, the fight was practically pushed to the back of people's minds to instead cheerfully celebrate, cutting the main cake. It is triple-decked and covered in intricate designs with the icing, cut open to reveal the vanilla flavor. Leah's favorite as she can't eat anything overly sweet.
Leah marvels at the sight of her cake, though as beautiful as it is, she is conflicted on whether she should eat a peace. Nonetheless, a friend of her's named Henrietta keeps her distracted, pointing out a display of ripe and plump strawberries that the Barrett is sure to adore.
Henrietta Sánchez is a childhood friend of Leah's, the girls have known each other since the age of five. She is of a similar ancestral descent to Gwendolyn, also being Hispanic with tanned skin and hair so dark it nearly appears black. However, unlike the Barrett's cousin, Henrietta is nearly an entire foot shorter than Leah and harbors a more stout build.
"I did not expect you to attend," Leah lifts a strawberry to her lips.
Furrowing her brows, Henrietta cranes her neck to look up at Leah. "Why?"
Leah shrugs. "We haven't had much time to see each other as of late. I thought you might have wanted to do something else instead," she whispers.
"Just because we lack the time to see each other, does not mean I care any less," Henrietta smiles softly. "As long as you attend my birthday celebration as well."
A giggle leaves Leah. "I would not miss it for the world."
Silence falls upon the pair and it is comfortable for them, matching their naturally quiet personalities. This silence is broken though when Elizabeth bounds over at the sight of her friend, dodging anyone who happens to be in her way. She doesn't get noticed until she wraps her arms around Leah a little too tightly.
However, poor Edward seems to not be noticed entirely until he speaks up. "Happy birthday, Leah!" he cheers with a bright smile on his face, shifting nervously.
"Edward.." the corners of Leah's mouth pull up ever so slightly. "Thank you very—" she is cut off when the boy's sister decides to speak up.
"Leah, this is the first time I have gotten to see you up close today!" yells Elizabeth in pure excitement. "You look like Antoinette!"
A noise of discomfort escapes Leah, but she smiles nonetheless. "Thank you.."
Elizabeth begins chatting away before she notices Henrietta stationed beside Leah, getting a piece of cake. "Who is this?"
It takes Leah a moment to realize who Elizabeth is talking about. "Ah.. Elizabeth, this is Henrietta Sánchez," she gestures the best that she can while still encased in Elizabeth's arms. "Henrietta, this is Elizabeth Midford."
Thankfully for Leah, Elizabeth pulls away to instead approach Henrietta and happily talks her ear off, giving the Barrett a chance to scope out the room once more. But when she glances at the few people still surrounding the table for cake, she notices Prince Soma happily taking a plate with Agni a few steps behind him.
"Happy birthday, little sister!" Soma flashes his brightest smile before taking a large bite of cake.
Her brows furrow. "Who invited you?" Leah asks before she pauses, realizing how rude it sounds. "A genuine question. I don't recall my father knowing you. Thank you though— for the birthday wishes."
Elizabeth speaks up. "I did!"
Blinking in surprise, Leah nearly responds until she notices Ran Mao in the near distance. She immediately perks up at the sight and disregards her current conversation in favor of approaching one of her other friends, having not seen her in months.
"Ran Mao!" exclaims Leah, her running coming to a stop once she's positioned in front of Ran Mao and Lau. "I am so happy you are in attendance! I had to sneak your invitation into the pile when my father was not looking.."
Taking a bite of cake that she is sharing with Lau, Ran Mao nods. "You're welcome."
"Happy seventeenth birthday," Lau speaks up with a smirk. Though it is clear he mainly came for the food.
Leah gives a tight-lipped smile, starting to feel a sudden exhaustion but still thankful for all of the birthday wishes. "Thank you!"
To no one's surprise, a blanket of silence falls upon the trio. It would be much more awkward if it weren't for the fact that Leah's social battery feels like it is slowly draining before her eyes, threatening to leave her an empty shell of a person. Or that Leah is naturally comfortable with Ran Mao. 'Why are the lights so bright?'
Before Leah is capable of fixing her lips to break the silence, the sound of numerous displeased voices meets her ears. Upon turning around, she notices that the sounds are emitting from the servant's feet away at the food table. At first, Leah can't exactly realize what the commotion is about.
Excusing herself from her 'conversation' with Ran Mao and Lau, Leah takes small steps over to the batch of Phantomhive and Barrett servants. "What is all this noise about?" she asks. 'I am the one who is supposed to act displeased.'
Both Thomas and Sebastian glance away from their scolding. "We were just informing them that they cannot eat the cake. It is reserved for the guests," says Thomas, devoid of emotion and almost making Leah shiver with his stare.
Noticing the disappointed look on Finnian's face, Leah almost feels a form of guilt. "Let them eat cake.." she mumbles, begrudgingly grabbing a plate for Anna when she notices how she stares as well.
"But, Lady Le—" Sebastian attempts to object.
"There is plenty to go around. You all can help minimize waste," Leah says, a ghost of a smile forming when she sees how much happier Meyrin and Bardroy look. "Except Thomas. Thomas gets nothing!" her tone immediately shifts to one that is much more harsh, reflecting her current want to step away from all the people crowding the room.
Finnian looks up mid-bite, face ever so slightly flushed. "Don't you believe you're being a bit harsh, My Lady?"
"He deserves nothing!" Leah repeats in frustration.
Strangely enough, Thomas says nothing in return. He doesn't need to after all. He enjoys the mean words, knowing that her fear and guard around him slowly chip away. After what most would claim are pointless years of serving a bratty daughter of a wealthy family, this has become the demon's normal. Quite pathetic if you ask Leah.
Leah grabs a grape from a bowl in agitation and stuffs it in her mouth, unknowingly giving Anna a signal that she might be set off soon. Thankfully, Daniel comes to the rescue. But it is far from intentional, as he is grabbing his third slice of cake.
The voices of the guests drone in Leah's ears as her eyes fall upon Daniel, blinking wildly. "You are having another slice of cake?" she asks incredulously.
"Yes," Daniel playfully giggles in her face and brings the cake to her lips, letting her take a small bite. "Papa says in half of an hour all of the guests are going outside to see something in the garden. I believe it is just to show off the flowers in bloom," the boy rolls his eyes.
Leah's eyes glaze over, hardly paying attention to half of her brother's words. "Well, I shall spend some time in the garden before then. I cannot handle all of these people."
"Don't take too long, I need someone to talk to so our aunts stop pestering me about an engagement.." he glances around the ballroom in a paranoid manner. "Oh, and your rabbit peed on Gwendolyn's hand."
Not having it in her to argue or react, Leah sighs through her nose as she begins to walk off. "It is a dog.."
Initially, she worries that it will be hard to escape from the room given that she is the center of attention. And her humongous dress. But to Leah's relief, the number of people makes it hard to easily spot her amongst the heads blocking anyone's view, allowing her to swiftly duck out of the door. Though Thomas is not particularly pleased with her departure.
Outside in the halls, the sounds of the ballroom fade the farther she gets, the noise of her heels clicking against the floor slowly taking over. Most of — if not all — of the people inside the manor are in the ballroom, including the guests, which leaves the building feeling very desolate despite the shining decorations. Something Leah is accustomed to.
Leah eventually speeds up her steps once the double doors to the garden come into view, pushing them open and feeling a wave of relief wash upon her. Making her way over to the gazebo, she shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. ‘Why can't I handle social interaction like a normal person?'
Gleams of moonlight shine down on the garden and reflect on Leah's skin, making it appear as though she is emitting a glow. The sounds of rustling leaves fail to calm her down, unlike how it normally does. It is such a lovely day but she can't keep her emotions in check.
Her hands grip the railing of the gazebo and she tries to close her eyes, taking deep breaths to steady herself. 'Why is it that everyone suddenly feels so annoying? Or that it is too loud and the lights begin to hurt my eyes? Everything is so exhausting sometimes..' Leah fights the urge to take her hair down, choosing to stare ahead of her at the colorful flowers.
'The quiet is always—'
The sounds of rustling footsteps pull Leah from her thoughts, almost earning a noise of irritation. Those footsteps belong to none other than Ciel Phantomhive, peeking his head over a tall bush and approaching when he notices his fiancé.
"I thought I saw you leave," his voice cuts through the air as he comes to stand beside her.
Throwing Ciel a glance, Leah prefers to keep her gaze trained in the general direction of the moon. "I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.." she mumbles.
Ciel's brows furrow. "Uncomfortable with what?"
"Interaction I suppose. I spoke to too many people for too long— it is overwhelming," there is a waver in Leah's voice.
Silence falls upon them when Ciel takes a moment to think, observing her face from a side angle under the moonlight. "You haven't smiled much as of late," he points out.
"This is the normal amount in which I smile," she retorts.
"Yes, but normally—" Ciel can't finish his sentence.
Leah gulps, fidgeting with her fingers. "Because I thought you would like me more."
The rustling leaves fill the stunned silence as Ciel thinks of what to say. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"I thought if I acted more like a desirable lady— more like Elizabeth, you would like me more. But it has never worked. You look at me no different," Leah's voice shakes when she says these words, unable to bring herself to look at Ciel.
Ciel's eyes soften with a turn of his head, looking down and placing one of his hands on Leah's. "I like you the way that you are. I just struggle to express myself," he whispers, leaving out the part of how he knowingly pushes others away.
Lifting her head, tears prick Leah's eyes when she looks into Ciel's blue ones. "But you have always shown a preference for Elizabeth.. You are always much kinder to her."
"I do not have a preference for Elizabeth," Ciel corrects. "And I am only more kind because Elizabeth can be quite emotional. You don't cry nearly as much as she does."
Leah blinks, a wave of stubbornness overcoming her. "But—"
"No buts," he grabs ahold of both of her shoulders before she can testify, staring into her eyes. "I chose you. I sought you out and harassed your father just for your hand in marriage. If I liked Elizabeth more than you I would not still be in this arrangement."
The Phantomhive's words echo through the wind, causing Leah's ears to ring. She stumbles over her words and cannot find a proper response, an inner battle taking place within the confines of her head. Blinking past the light shining into the side of her eye, she shakes her head with parted lips.
"It is not as if you can leave this arrangement," she whispers. "If you were to break off a second engagement, your reputation would be in shambles. You are stuck with me regardless of how you feel," Leah seems set on finding any possible reason she can find to back up her claims, regardless of how ridiculous she is starting to sound.
The grip on her shoulders getting ever so tighter, Ciel releases a shaky breath. "I want to be with you! What part of that do you not understand you stubborn girl?!" he raises his voice into a near yell and his cheeks have a faint flush.
A sound rivaling that of a gasp escapes Leah, staring up at Ciel as her eyes dance across his face. Her chest heaves with heavy movements as she tries to maintain her breathing, pushing against the corset molding against her waist and bosom.
Chill air encases the pair, adding a dreamlike atmosphere amidst their moment. 'Certainly this is not real?' Leah's hands twitch as she feels the warmth of Ciel's on her shoulders, causing her to take a small step closer. It isn't until she is nearly pressing against him that the blue-haired boy almost comes to his senses.
Settling onto her toes, Leah brings her face closer. It doesn't make much of a difference to the height gap, due to the heels, but it is effective in making Ciel's breath nearly stop. A long pause comes over them before the Barrett brings her lips crashing onto his in a soft, but chaste kiss.
When they pull apart, they stare into each other's eyes, the darkness making it harder to see. Neither Ciel nor Leah are sure of what to say, both closing and opening their mouths in the manner of a fish trying to find even just a word to say. 'This is real..'
"Ciel.." Leah decides to be the first to break the silence, slowly dropping from her position on her toes.
Unlike the Barrett who feels a slight sense of bliss, Ciel is unsure of how to feel. "Leah," he murmurs, feeling conflicted.
Lips parting, Leah's pale cheeks burn up with the way Ciel stares down at her. "I—"
She is quick to cut off her sentence at the sound of approaching footsteps, practically throwing herself away from Ciel in favor of planting herself at the other end of the gazebo. Through the moonlight, Daniel shows his face and stops at the entrance, eyeing both of them up suspiciously.
"What are you two doing?" he asks with a raised brow, looking back and forth between the betrothed pair.
Leah shakes her head frantically. "Nothing! I came out here to think, Ciel merely ended up following me."
"Are you trying to compromise my sister's virtue, Phantomhive? Just because you are betrothed does not mean you can—" Daniel raises his voice into a yell, a protective urge overcoming him.
"No!" Ciel shakes his head and takes a step back. "It is nothing like that! We were just having a conversation," his voice is clear to appear more confident, almost startled by the bulkier figure of the heir to the Barrett name.
Daniel doesn't respond when he hears the faint sound of voices getting louder, squinting his eyes in an attempt to intimidate Ciel. "The guests shall be out here any moment now. I wanted to warn my sister," he adjusts on his feet.
"Well, I suppose we get a head start on the view!" Leah laughs oddly, earning a look from her older brother.
There isn't much left to say about the situation between the three, Daniel simply waves his sister over to follow him. Leah obeys despite her wish to stay and talk with Ciel about what just happened, picking up the skirts of her dress to step forward, slightly haltered by the lowered hems she isn't accustomed to.
Stepping past Ciel, she stops beside him subtly to gently smile up at him. "Thank you.. truly," she whispers.
Ciel doesn't have a chance to respond before a voice cuts through the air, the sounds of the guest's chatter also growing louder.
"Leah!" calls out Daniel, waiting expectantly for her to follow in his trail.
Turning her head around to face her brother, she smiles and lightly jogs after him.
"Coming!"
Notes:
OOOO WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE GUYS, WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE
ciel and leah are so reflections by the neighbourhood coded
Chapter 19: | 18 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl attends a party. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i fear we don’t see much of thomas this arc chat😖
can y’all spot the hint at a piece of leah’s lore that gets mentioned later?
i honestly love leah and thomas’ dynamic but that’s because i know something you guys don’t🥰
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter eighteen ! )
"You shall be late should you take any longer!"
It is a simple evening, foggy but like every other day before it. Rain threatens to spill across the land and soak those in its path, creating a smell in the air that pleases the young Leah Barrett. If only carriages could ride better in the rain she would feel even better, preparing herself for the ride to Ciel's manor.
Outside of Leah's bedroom door, Daniel relentlessly knocks in an attempt to hurry his sister along per his father's orders. However, this doesn't push her to move any faster, and happily takes Anna's help when she fixes her hair and packs some of her items into a case.
She sits before her vanity with PomPom stationed on her lap and begrudgingly looks at herself through the mirror, while her pet chooses to observe Anna moving across the room. Despite her typical lack of patience — and the fact that she is extremely easy to irritate —, Leah is fine to ignore Daniel's calls in favor of smoothing out her champagne-colored dress or adding extra rouge to her cheeks. 'I don't understand why he doesn't just walk through the door? Nothing is stopping him.'
"Surely there is nothing more left for you to prepare? This is ridiculous!" Daniel huffs from the other side of the door.
Rolling her eyes, Leah allows PomPom to brush his soft nose against her hand with a small smile. "I am nearly ready!" she calls out.
Leah shifts PomPom around in her arms and stands up from her seat, carrying the dog over to where Anna is adding the last few items to the case. There aren't many items. Simply a few dresses and undergarments, paired with essentials like nightgowns or hygiene products and shoes that the girl can wear with her outfits.
The occasion is only a party at Phantomhive Manor that her fiancé invited her to, but with Ciel's permission — and Lucius' of course —, she shall be staying a couple of nights after. She hid the question behind stating it could be a late birthday gift, disregarding the fact that Ciel had gotten her three separate items besides the dog. But everyone knows that has never deterred the girl.
"I am packed, yes?" asks Leah, moving her face to the side to avoid PomPom attempting to lick her cheeks.
Stuffing a final pair of tights into the case, Anna gently shuts it and makes sure it can't be opened while traveling on the back of the carriage. "Yes, Mistress," she says quietly.
Leah doesn't respond when Anna answers her question and walks over to her door, swiftly opening it and coming face to face with Daniel staring down at her. Brushing past him as PomPom barks in his own form of hello, she sets off down the hall and towards the main staircase, more excited about leaving than she anticipated.
"Took you long enough," mumbles Daniel, following after her. "You do look pretty, though," he compliments her, admiring the half-up-half-down hairstyle that draws attention to her soft brown locks.
Turning her head around, she teasingly sticks her tongue out. "I know."
Footsteps fill the halls as Leah prepares to make her leave, a quiet and concentrated Anna following behind the siblings with the large case in hand. The women must leave within the next half hour to avoid the future rain that will begin to pour from the sky, but Leah is easy to sidetrack and the sight of her cat is no exception.
Laying on the center of the floor is none other than Samson, Sam for short. He is a large cat covered in long orange and white fur, only half of his breed is known to be a Maine coon. The feline is a notorious menace given by a family friend who no longer wanted him, falling into the arms of a young Leah who begged for her father to keep him.
Picking up her pace to shuffle over to Sam, Leah instantly appears much happier than before. "Sam!" she squeals. "Oh, you are just so cute!"
Leah sets PomPom down on the floor in favor of kneeling beside her cat, though she is hesitant to stroke him. 'If I pet Sam will I make Ciel sneeze?' she asks herself.
"Could you hand me a pair of gloves?" Leah questions a passing maid with a basket of laundry situated in her arms.
Startled by the sudden question, the maid fumbles around to give the teen a fresh pair of white gloves. "Yes, Mistress!" she stumbles over her words.
Offering a smile in return, Leah carefully sets aside the pair of gloves she is currently wearing to place the new ones over her hands instead. Cooing at Sam, she whispers many words of affection and runs her covered hands over his soft coat, trying to not rub herself against him and get any loose hair on her clothes.
"You are very skilled at wasting time," Daniel teases as he patiently waits behind his kneeling sister with Anna only a couple of steps behind him.
Leah pulls away from Sam with a roll of her eyes, picking off her gloves and listening to the subtle purrs. "I am merely saying goodbye. He will miss me while I am gone," she gives Sam air kisses as she stands and allows PomPom to wander off and play by himself.
"Yes, the cat shall miss you so much while you are gone for only.. three days?" he mocks.
Replacing her gloves with her original ones, she leaves the spare ones on the floor and sets off down the hall, reaching the main staircase and walking down. "Oh, hush!"
Near the bottom of the staircase, Lucius and Vivienne are in the middle of a discussion about household matters. It is nothing worth paying mind to, which is why Leah walks directly past them and beckons Anna to move along faster so the two of them can make their exit.
"Mama, Papa, I am leaving now," she announces but is met with no response. "Mama! Papa!"
The parents turn their heads at the sound of Leah raising her voice, not paying attention to the pout that sits atop her cherry-tinted lips.
Lucius is the first to speak up. "Yes, darling. Stay safe," he nods along to his words.
"Don't get into trouble!" Vivienne adds on to her husband's sentence, before shifting her attention back to their original conversation.
Facial expression hardening, Leah can't help but feel upset at her parent's lack of enthusiasm for seeing her off. 'Events end and everything goes back to normal..'
Sighing through his nose at his parent's reaction, Daniel steps forward to give Leah a crooked smile and brushes an out-of-place hair from her cheek. As sad as it is, he seems to be the only one who pays enough attention to notice that she simply wants someone to say goodbye.
"Be safe, yes?" he asks, though he knows she will.
Leah flashes a downcast smile and dives to wrap her arms around her brother, burying her face into his shoulder. "I will."
Hugging the younger girl in return, Daniel gently pats the back of her head before pulling her away by her shoulders. "You should get going now before the rain begins," he suggests.
Nodding in response, Leah and Anna both file out of the door to see Thomas waiting beside the carriage. Anna hands the case over to the stoic butler who places it on the back, situating it for the ride.
"You are prepared?" asks Thomas, wanting to double-check with the women.
The Barrett huffs at the sound of his voice. "Shut your mouth," she says, entering the carriage.
Anna can only offer Thomas a look of pity as she follows in after Leah, settling in a seat across from her. The most they can do is hope the girl's mood lightens up when they reach their destination.
═╬
Phantomhive Manor looks as expected, clean and pristine. However, this time around it is filled with guests of various occupations waiting for the Earl to descend from the stairs and allow the party to commence. The chatter fills the entrance room and no eyes fall upon a particular author who stands near the center.
Taking Thomas' hand, Leah steps out of the carriage with Anna in her footsteps, watching Finnian retrieve her case with ease. She chooses to flash the gardener a quick smile but doesn't stay still a moment longer, nearly jogging to enter Ciel's home after having sat for an hour in a carriage.
"Goodbye, My Lady," Thomas calls out, staring at the back of her head.
Stopping in her tracks, Leah turns her head to face Thomas with a hint of hurt in her eyes. "Goodbye," she grumbles in response as Anna opens the door for her.
Entering the building, the Barrett earns a couple of head turns but pays them no mind, choosing to focus on trying to find a recognizable face. To her luck, she immediately locks eyes on Ran Mao who stands closely beside Lau, a brown-haired man she doesn't recognize speaking with them. She glances behind herself to check that Anna has also entered before speeding over towards her friend.
"No such thing! I'm nothing special at all!" Arthur waves his hands to nervously deny something Lau has said. "I've never met the Earl before, so I really don't know why I've been invited.." he trails off.
Leah's brows furrow in confusion as she walks in on the conversation and stops Lau's chance to speak. "Ran Mao!" she calls out, stopping beside Arthur. "I am glad you are here, I'm afraid I don't recognize anyone else.."
The author nearly yells when he turns his head to see the girl below him, having not heard her abnormally quiet steps as she was approaching. Leah hardly even glances at him though and situates herself closer to Ran Mao, ready to begin talking away until Lau opens his mouth before her.
"Ah, the Lady has arrived!" he smirks in his own form of a greeting.
Flashing a tight-lipped smile, Leah dips her head in acknowledgment. "Hello, Lau.."
"How have you been? I trust seventeen has been treating you well?" the Chinese man asks, a reminder that it has only been a little over a week since her birthday. And the potentially scandalous events that occurred the night of.
"It has," Leah glances off to the side in disappointment. "My mother had my hems lowered, I am still getting accustomed to it. She says they will be at floor length before I know it."
Lau lets out a chuckle. "The dreaded debut into society, eh?" he teases the Barrett at the thought of the way she was acting during the Viscount Druitt's ball. "Have you met the wordsmith?"
Blinking in surprise at Lau's sudden change of topic, Leah shakes her head at his question. It isn't until he shifts his hand to a point that she follows it and trails her eyes up to Arthur's face, noticing the sweat dripping down his forehead.
Face freezing in surprise at the sudden acknowledgment, Arthur stands straighter and forms a crooked smile. "H—Hello!"
Lau adds to Arthur's nervous greeting. "He is a wordsmith! Claims he hasn't even met the Earl."
"Because I haven't!" Arthur stumbles over his words once more. "I don't understand why I received that invitation.
"Who knows? I don't know what that moody guy is thinking," Lau pokes a finger into Ran Mao's cheek, asking for backup on his statement. "Though I suppose his fiancé can be much more moody.."
His words earn a huff of annoyance from Leah, puffing out her cheeks and knitting her brows. She nearly turns around and walks away on impulse but Anna's entry into the scene stops her, the maid quietly standing a few steps behind her.
Arthur releases a breath. "Fiancé?" he asks.
Once again Lau points to the person he speaks about, earning a noise of surprise from the writer. He hadn't expected someone so young, though he can't be entirely surprised.
"I am Leah Barrett, daughter of Marquess Barrett. I am Earl Phantomhive's betrothed," she drones, beginning to become sick of having to repeat the words whenever she meets someone new.
Moving his head back in surprise, Arthur recognizes the name of her father. "Huh?!" he realizes that everyone in the room is seemingly attached to money or a good title.
"Without a doubt, something interesting will happen.." Lau interrupts and opens his eyes, staring at Arthur, "probably."
This time around, both Leah and Arthur send Lau a strange look. However, Lau simply pats Ran Mao's hair. It is the first time the Barrett has ever seen his eyes, assuming that he must just miraculously never open them. 'Strange, that one is.'
"Moreover, the Earl hates the staunch social life and is famous for being a rare character who hardly ever shows himself," Lau ignores their glances and lets Ran Mao shuffle over to Leah, continuing his explanation on Ciel. "I think this is the first time that he's invited people into his own house? Aren't you lucky, Mr. Wordsmith!"
Arthur once again becomes nervous and clutches his hands to his chest. "What kind of person is he?!"
"Let's see.." Lau places a finger to his chin in mock thought. "Basically he has either a sour or angry look and extremely high pride."
Arthur almost screams as he pictures a much older, stern-looking man in his head.
Adding another finger near his mouth, Lau begins to start becoming dramatic. "It's also said that he wears a pirate-like eye patch."
This time a real scream is earned from Arthur, now picturing a terrifying man in his head. However, Leah subtly shuts down Lau's fun when she gives him an unimpressed look.
She turns her head to Arthur, putting in minimal effort to calm his nerves. "I would say he just does not appreciate nonsense," Leah adds while Ran Mao nods in agreement.
"Why don't you leave your teasing of the guests at that?"
A voice rings from the top of the staircase, drawing the group's attention. Standing there with a hand on his hip and a cane in the other, Ciel Phantomhive holds his head high in a plaid suit as he looks over his guests. Stationed behind him as usual is Sebastian, prepared to follow in his master's footsteps.
"Huh?" Arthur looks up at Ciel in astonishment. "He looks a bit.. young?"
Nodding with a smirk, Lau points a finger at the boy. "Yep. That little boy is Earl Phantomhive. He's cute, right?"
"Little was unnecessary!" screams Ciel, a look of pure agitation painting his face.
"See, he's angry," Lau remarks in dismay.
Clearing his throat, Ciel announces himself with a soft look on his face, despite his dull eyes. "Thank you for accepting my invitation today. I am the head of the house, Ciel Phantomhive. After the dinner party starts, I'll once again call upon each of you in order to exchange greetings. This includes both my regular clients and the ones that I'm meeting for the first time," he takes a look at each of his guests and is alerted by a missing face. "But it seems that the guest of honor isn't here yet?"
"With this foul weather, his arrival seems to have been delayed," Sebastian leans down ever so slightly to speak in Ciel's ear.
Outside the windows, rain pours down against the glass and darkens the sky, creating an atmosphere that Leah quite enjoys. But as she aimlessly glances out one of the windows, Ciel and Sebastian are busy contemplating what move to take with the guests already standing in the room.
'I am glad we got here in time.. Surely this would be a nightmare to ride in.' Leah thinks to herself, fiddling with the gloves on her hand.
The ambiance is calming until Meyrin scatters into the hall, giving a small bow. "There is a guest arriving!" she announces, queuing Tanaka to open the door for two gentlemen.
Stepping inside, the two men approach Ciel who now stands near the door, entirely losing Leah's interest once they start introducing themselves. She huffs in annoyance and subtly begins to bounce on her heels, glancing around for a sign of another guest leading them to a different activity.
"This is a bit boring, Anna," she complains.
Releasing a quiet sigh, Anna looks up at Leah and tries to nod in an understanding manner. "Have patience, Mistress. It is only—"
Sebastian unintentionally cuts Anna off before she can finish speaking, holding a card in his left hand. "Well then, I'll call out your names so please proceed to the dining room in order."
"First.."
═╬
Gathered in small groups, the guests all host discussions and introduce themselves to one another. The largest group stands in the center of the room, filled with men except for Leah who sticks close to Ciel's side.
"The shrewdness with which his grandfather served the prime minister during his time was heard of even in Germany," Georg Von Siemens, the honorary director of the Bamberger Bank, speaks up from his spot and gestures to the man beside him. "He's just like his grandfather."
To the left of Ciel and Leah, Carl Woodley — president of the Woodley Company, a diamond polishing business — glances over at Georg with a smirk on his face. "If you're talking about Earl Grey, he's from such a distinguished family that even his name is attached to a flavor of tea. To think there would be a day I'd be able to greet him."
Charles Grey dismisses the words and peeks his head over at Ciel. "Because it has not been long since I succeeded as an Earl, Earl Phantomhive is more of an expert here," he chimes in with a smile.
"I'm not there by a long shot," despite his words, Ciel still smirks with pride and closed eyes. "The company wasn't founded until my generation, so if you're talking about enterprises I think that Master Woodley is the most capable."
Leah fights the urge to mimic clawing her face off, the conversation killing her inside to listen to. 'Dear God, do men only speak about business?! How boring must your life be?!' Glancing around the room, she spots Anna near a table admiring the refreshments but not bothering to attempt to strike up a conversation with anyone.
It isn't uncommon for Anna to be on her own, away from the nobles. Though, Leah often feels a sense of pity when she leaves the girl on her own. Perhaps it is for the better, as Anna's personality is quite dull. The Barrett can hardly remember the last time she saw Anna let out a laugh, always clouded by finishing her duties or generally not engaging in conversation.
"It's still just a humble business," Woodley pulls Leah out of her thoughts with a chuckle. "The technology used for polishing diamonds will be supporting the heavy industries from now. It will certainly.."
His voice fades for Leah as she begins to tune him out, lacking interest in listening to men talk about diamonds or partnerships. Taking in a breath through her nose, her eye twitches in slight irritation.
Leah leans her head closer to Ciel's, placing her lips right beside his left ear. "This is rather boring, no?" she keeps her voice low to prevent anyone from hearing her.
"Shh!" is all Ciel can offer in return, wanting to make sure her mouth is kept shut to avoid upsetting one of the guests.
Pouting dramatically, Leah huffs and looks in the direction of a wall in a display to show she doesn't enjoy being silenced. This doesn't work though as the men continue their conversation, the others even joining in on the main circle. 'My two-year-old cousin is more entertain—'
"From Kunlun..?!" Patrick Phelps — a supervision executive of the trade division of Blue Star Line Company — exclaims, drawing Leah's attention to his sudden discomfort and wide eyes.
His change in demeanor is not helped when Lau opens an eye to shift it over to the blonde, leaving Phelps shaking in his place. But just as quickly, Lau focuses on Georg to start mentioning potentially expanding to Germany, allowing Ran Mao to sneak up behind him and sensually rub herself against the man.
'As much as I love Ran Mao, she truly lacks a bit of shame and decorum..' Leah cringes at the sight and nearly shivers in discomfort.
Georg Von Siemens also clearly feels a sense of discomfort, forcing Ran Mao away by grabbing her shoulders. Though the flush on his face might say otherwise. With a blank look, Ran Mao shuffles back over to Lau's side who stands with Ciel and Leah.
"Seems like he doesn't like us," Lau says awkwardly.
Staring in annoyance, Ciel releases a breath. "What are you doing."
Leah opens her mouth to partake with a witty comeback but fails to let any words leave her mouth when a pair walks up to join the group.
"I'm sorry to disturb your conversation," says Grimsby Keane — a theatrical producer — with the opera singer Irene Diaz by his side. "Thank you for inviting us today."
Everyone turns their heads to look at the pair, most marveling at Irene's beauty whereas Ciel, Lau, and Charles seem unaffected. After introducing themselves, the topic of conversation quickly shifts to business once more, causing Leah to audibly groan. Peeling herself away from the group, she begins walking towards a window Anna also happens to be standing by.
On the other hand, Ciel notices his fiancé leaving and opts to follow after her as the group disperses to do their own things. He doesn't attempt to break Leah's silence, recalling what she expressed to him on the night of her birthday but he can't help but want to say something. After all, they've hardly spoken a word to each other.
Ciel's eyes wander over Leah's figure and come across a shining jewel drawing his attention. "You are wearing it," he points out.
"Wearing what?" Leah turns her head to furrow his brows at Ciel.
"The necklace I got you for your birthday," he lifts a hesitant hand to her collarbone, gently lifting the necklace from her skin to examine it as though it is his first time seeing it.
Glancing down, Leah's lips part in understanding. Wrapping around her neck is a gold necklace, adorning many small diamonds centering at the details of the item. It hangs low on her chest, the centerpiece of the necklace drawing attention with the many jewels or small, flower-like details.
"I thought it went well with my dress," she lifts her eyes to meet Ciel's. "Though I believe I've always been more of a silver," she teases.
Ciel's face covers in a blush, not having considered that she may prefer silver over gold when he was picking out her gifts. Attempting to reply, Leah beats him to it.
"I shall get a refreshment, yes? Do wait for me," she smiles softly, reaching her eyes and showing the boy that it is genuine.
Leah quietly excuses herself and makes her way over to a table holding drinks, though most of them appear to be alcoholic. Pursing her lips in frustration, she begrudgingly plucks a glass of champagne between her fingers and takes a hesitant sip. However, she nearly chokes at the sudden feeling of a hand rubbing her back and shoulder.
Looking up in discomfort and immediately shifting away at the touch, her eyes meet the face of a very drunk Georg smirking down at her. "Please do not touch me," Leah keeps her voice clear and steady despite wanting to scream.
Georg has a look of confusion painting his face, clouded by drunk judgment. "It's hard not to with that pretty face of yours," he disregards Leah's words in favor of grabbing her by the forearm and pulling her into him, also dragging Irene into the mix after previously harassing her.
"Do not touch me with your foul hands, you revolting creature!" she raises her voice with a sharp slap to his face, face contorting in pure disgust.
The sounds of anger begin to draw attention from the other party guests, particularly Anna. She fears that Leah may take her anger a step too far, as she normally does, and cause harm to herself or her reputation.
Huffing in annoyance, Georg stumbles back and shows his displeasure quite clearly. "Who are you to speak to me like that?"
Before Leah can start screaming at the top of her lungs, Irene has had enough. "I told you to please stop it! To have you all over me with your disgusting hands.. I can't take it anymore!" she crosses her arms over her chest in discomfort.
Phelps behind them is worried, trying to intervene. But Ran Mao remains firmly attached to Georg, seemingly not phased by the fact that the man is a disgusting pervert.
"What?" Georg sneers. "You're at fault for wearing those clothes! You really want to be touched, don't you? Don't pretend to be sweet and innocent now," he pulls Irene into his arms.
Irene's face darkens and she brings a gloved hand down onto his face. "Insolent jerk! Have some shame!"
Deciding to join in on the assault, Leah takes the glass in her hand and lifts it above her head, disregarding all of the guests watching her closely.
Anna's eyes widen at the scene and swiftly walks over, trying to reach out a hand to her master. "Mistress, please don't be rash!"
Not heeding the words of her lady's maid, Leah brings the glass crashing down onto Georg's face, spilling the liquid and shattering the item. The broken glass leaves an open cut on the man's nose, leaking blood that slowly trickles down his cheeks.
"Why you.." Georg, now on the floor, also grabs a glass and tries to splash it on the women in anger.
But before the liquid can meet either girl, Ciel throws himself in the way to take the damage. Drenched in the champagne, he turns his head in disdain and uses himself as a wall between the three.
"This is a dining hall," he speaks up. "In any case, that will be enough from you three for today."
Leah lets out a cry of frustration. "It is not enough. I want him to die!" she whines.
"Mistress!" Anna cuts in, trying to silence the girl before she can say anything worse.
However, it seems like there are worse problems at the moment than Leah. Like Grimsby, who appears far from pleased at the display he is seeing.
"You old pervert! Don't touch my woman so.." he shoves a hand into a bottle of wine on ice, picking it up and sending it flying in Georg's direction, "easily!"
The bottle of wine spins in the air, aimed directly at Georg Von Siemens' face as he exclaims in shock. Raising his arms to block the blow, it is mere inches away from his face before Sebastian miraculously swoops in and catches it. Much to Leah's dismay.
Popping the cork mid-air, Sebastian gracefully lands atop a ladder to show a sudden display of stacked wine glasses. He pours the liquid from the top in the manner of a fountain, watching it drip down the glasses as they each slowly fill. All watching in amazement, the guests can hardly bring themselves to look at the butler stationed beside the display.
"It's a fantastic wine from the village of Purcari in South Eastern Moldova," he holds the bottle of wine in his gloved hands with a smirk. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please enjoy it."
The guests explode in lines of surprise and praise, particularly the men who merrily rush for a glass. But one remains unimpressed. Leah. Simply staring up at Sebastian, her head tilts to the side in confusion and judgment.
'He is just like Thomas.' Leah thinks to herself, starting up at the butler on the ladder, but her face slowly begins to drain the little color it has. 'He is just like Thomas..'
═╬
Dining with a content aura surrounding her, Leah doesn't even notice the chaos beginning to form around her. When the tablecloth is ripped from under everyone's plates, she can't help but gasp at the clattering sounds of the dishes.
"Oh my!"
"Oh? Where did the tablecloth go?"
Finnian and Baldroy are quick to rush to the scene, grabbing Meyrin on both sides of her arms and starting to drag the dizzy maid out of sight.
"A speck of dirt, most unsightly. I had the cloth removed so it wouldn't distract us. Think nothing of it," Ciel speaks with a light smirk on his face, holding a piece of raw meat in between his chopsticks before swiftly taking a bite.
'That pair are so strange.' Leah thinks to herself, awkwardly continuing to eat her dinner and trying to not acknowledge the now missing cloth.
═╬
Ciel gives a prideful smirk while Leah and Anna exchange a subtle look, "Then, I'll immediately go investigate and quickly research all the suspects' reports." Sebastian says with a smile.
Sebastian, the ever so elegant butler, bursts open the door to the moving carriage, startling the passengers inside. Calling back to Grell guiding the carriage, he speaks with the seemingly nervous woman before shifting his attention back inside the moving vehicle.
"Then, please excuse me if I leave now," slamming the door shut, Ciel appears unphased after previously shooing the butler off. The rest of the group, however, is very much filled with concern and surprise.
"Wait a minute?! Isn't this horse carriage still running?!" Madame Red shouts, Lau beside her as they peer out the window.
Staring off at the space that Sebastian previously occupied, Leah turns to Anna with a questioning blink. "My.. he is just as deranged as Thomas," she breathes out, which earns a faint giggle from the maid.
"Calm down, Madame Red. Let's first have a cup of afternoon tea and rest," Lau glances back at the red-haired woman, opening the door to the townhouse. "Ok..?" his words fall short when he notices Sebastian standing before him.
"Welcome back. I've been waiting for everyone for a while."
Ignoring Sebastian's bow, Leah and Ciel file into the house while Madame Red and Lau stay behind them, staring at the butler clad in black. The two teens hardly pay attention as Sebastian explains the tea and dessert, filing to the next room.
═╬
As much as the Barrett enjoys being in her thoughts, the train is quickly interrupted when she is brought back to hear Lau make exaggerated noises while impaling the box with Sebastian inside. The guests all look with utter shock and worry at multiple swords stabbed into the cupboard, a smiling Lau to accompany it.
"He suddenly went from the top?!"
"He really did it without restraint!"
Lau, who seems entirely proud of his work, sparkles, "Alright, let's see if he's alright?" he suggests.
Taking the swords out of the cupboard and undoing the chains, the door to the cupboard ominously begins to swing open. Everyone watches in silent worry before bursting into shouts of surprise when Sebastian steps out completely unscathed.
═╬
"My apologies. I've lived for such a long time, but it's only cats whose fickle emotions I cannot read." Sebastian cheerily smiles.
Furrowing her brows, Leah continues to walk to turn her head back to get a look at the butler clad in black. 'Lived for such a long time? He only looks to be no older than 30..' Pushing aside her questioning thoughts, she walks alongside her fiancé and makes small, unneeded adjustments to her coat to busy her hands.
═╬
"Then, I'll be earnestly teaching Smile knife-throwing," Dagger smiles eagerly. "What about you, Black?"
Sebastian's expression hardly moves, "I don't have any particular preferences."
"You've got good reflexes, don't you? If there's something you see and it looks like you can do it, give it a try," Dagger encourages, not expecting Sebastian to speed past him with a simple 'yes.'
Running across the tent, the demon butler is quick to get up on the trapeze and perform a flying blanco. Mere moments later, Sebastian is juggling, followed by pole climbing, passing through fire, high wire, and trampoline. Though, just as he attempts to perform sword-eating, Dagger is quick to cut in.
Waving his hands in a sweat, the blonde stares up at the butler clad in black. "Enough, enough!"
"Show off.." Leah mumbles. "Just like Thomas."
William, under the name of Suit, glances down and releases a breath of air. "I thought I sensed an unpleasant aura. So it was you, was it? Honestly," stabbing his death scythe into the floor, Ciel nearly throws Leah out of the way before she can be impaled. "What did you come to fish around for this time? You devilish fiend!" he points the scythe to Sebastian's neck, now gaining a crowd of scared individuals.
The demon remains unexpressive, keeping himself in front of the two nobles. While Ciel is staring in dread, Leah is quick to fix her clothes around to hide any piece that came out of place when she was moved, determined to show as little skin as possible.
"De..vil?" The crowd begins to talk amongst themselves with wide eyes.
"Even under the best of circumstances, in this time of Grim Reaper shortages.. With a demon appearing like this, I suppose it will throw off my schedule," William complains.
Leah pauses and tilts her head. 'Demon?'
═╬
The memories play in Leah's head like a movie, leaving her trapped in her spot, staring up at Sebastian with wild eyes. 'Oh my God..' Her breath gets caught in her throat. 'It was right in front of my eyes.' The two lock eyes. 'If Thomas exists, surely other demons do as well!' Sebastian tilts his head and gives a condescending smile, trying to appear sweet to the girl.
"Mistress..?" Anna calls out to the frozen Leah, noticing that she seems off when she doesn't reply immediately. "Mistress!"
Coughing when she attempts to simultaneously take a breath in and out, Leah is pulled from her thoughts as she turns to look at Anna with a forced curl of her lips. "Hm?"
"Are you alright?" asks Anna.
Leah nods with a strange demeanor, showing her mediocre acting skills when she pulls herself away. 'Does Ciel know? Am I wrong? Perhaps I am just dramatic?' She fights the urge to shake her head like a dog before the group of people, approaching Ciel's side as he attempts to dry himself.
" So once that solemn man gets some alcohol into him, this is how he becomes? " Ciel directs his question towards Sebastian with annoyance, speaking in French. " From the looks of it, he's a repeat offender. "
Sebastian closes his eyes with a smirk. " Even so, showing how little self-constraint one has.. I won't whether he's just an immense fool or whether he knows no shame at all, " he drags an eye over to Leah.
" He is a man. Of course he knows no shame, " Leah replies in fluent French. " After all, you men are known for your egos. "
Eyes widening in shock at the sound of Leah's voice speaking articulate French, Ciel wonders just how many things she knows that she's never mentioned. " Seems like the incurable type of guy that'd make a doctor hopeless, " he retorts, subtly enjoying the giggle he pulls from his fiancé.
A laugh sounds from the side of them, pulling the trio's attention to Arthur who sits in his seat with a hand to his mouth. While Leah and Sebastian stare rather blankly, Ciel smirks and places a finger to his lips.
"Shh."
═╬
The night drags on and the rain shows no sign of stopping, pattering against the windows. Most of the guests surround the lounge in the room, staring at Georg who has now fallen asleep after his night of drinking and acting like a fool.
"Has Master Siemens fallen asleep?" Charles takes a sip of wine as he glances at the man beside him.
Phelps also takes a look and a bead of sweat drops from his forehead. "Seems like it.."
Seated in his chair beside Arthur and Leah, Ciel fakes feeling tired as he observes the scene. "Sebastian. Take the Lord to his room. I'll retire too," he says as he stands up with a yawn.
Moving over towards the door, everyone watches as Sebastian easily lifts Georg on his back.
"I'm very sorry, but I'll excuse myself as well," Ciel announces.
"Ahh, the Earl is going to sleep already?" Lau asks in surprise.
"For a boy such as myself, it's bedtime already," Ciel walks over to press his cheek against Leah in a mock kiss. "Please relax yourselves."
With that, the master and butler take their leave. The guests decide on playing billiard, which Leah wants to join in on, but Anna has other plans.
"I believe it is time for you to retire as well, Mistress?" she suggests.
Leah gasps dramatically and an upset look spreads across her face. "Anna, no! I am not even tired yet!" she whines, earning a chuckle from Lau who watches.
"You know how you get. You'll become tired any moment now and suddenly you become mean to everyone," Anna clearly knows Leah better than she knows herself, trying to spare everyone from the wrath of the girl's mood swings.
"But—" Leah tries to object, but almost like clockwork, she begins to feel a slight sense of fatigue. "No.."
Anna doesn't listen to her protests, guiding Leah towards the door and having her wave everyone off with a goodnight. The earlier she can get the teenager to sleep, the earlier she can retire from her duties for the night. Even if she has to listen to initial whining.
═╬
As much as Leah doesn't want to sleep, she finds herself sitting in front of the vanity as Anna performs her night routine. Her eyes hold a sense of sleepiness that betrays her words, ready to collapse onto the bed that is mere feet away from her and enter the land of dreams.
It isn't that simple though, as a loud scream pierces through the halls and draws alert from everyone in the manor. Both Leah and Anna glance at each other and the door, going back and forth.
"What was that?" Leah asks hesitantly, suddenly wide awake.
Anna places a cream down on the table with a nervous shake of her head. "I do not know, Mistress," she whispers.
Against her better judgment, Leah rises from her chair and opens the door, looking around to see if she notices anyone. When she doesn't, she gestures for Anna to follow and navigates through the sound of voices that come from down the hall. She shouldn't have.
Leah comes across the room where all the noise is coming from, sighing in irritation. 'Must they make so much racket?'
"Do you people have no respect for those that are trying to sleep?" she walks in wearing only her nightgown and a robe, her bare feet stopping against the floor when she sees Georg Von Siemens' lifeless body in the chair. "Oh!"
Turning around at the sound of his betrothed's voice, Ciel swiftly takes hold of her and buries her face into his shoulder. "Don't look!"
If this was any other scenario, Leah's face would be as red as a tomato. But unfortunately, she is in the same room as a dead body.
"Is he dead..?" Leah can't bring herself to raise her voice above a whisper.
Anna stands behind the pair with wide eyes, though nothing else about her expression seems to be disturbed. Despite her fear, she aims her focus at Leah and her comfort, bringing a hand to her hair and running it through. But at the sound of Arthur's words, her hand can't help but pause.
"He's dead!"
Notes:
would you guys believe me if i told you i’ve been into black butler since 2016. or that i’m american. my aunt tried to tell me i couldn’t watch black butler when i was younger cause she thought i’d try to summon a demon or something💀
Chapter 20: | 19 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl is stuck in a house with a dead body. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
when i write i almost always have identity v gameplay in the back
i also find it crazy how i just keep to myself and write this fic like i hardly interact with the fandom outside of commenting on other’s fics or liking edits😭
i feel like this chapter is mid tbh
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter nineteen ! )
"He's dead!"
Thunder crackles in the stormy night sky, creating a flash in the window that highlights Georg Von Siemens' cold and lifeless eyes. The party attendees crowd the room with tense postures, mixtures of silence and loud chatter travel through their ears. Naturally, no one can be calm in this situation, like Patrick Phelps who collapsed.
Even Leah keeps a firm grip on Ciel, her robe hardly working to counter the chill in the air, both from the weather and atmosphere. She keeps her head against his shoulder but subtly peeks out to view the scene, the fabric of her fiancé's robe gently rubbing against her cheek.
"A.. Anyway, we shouldn't move anything until the yard arrives.." Grimsby struggles to keep his voice steady as he glances around at the others in the room.
Bardroy gives a shake of his head. "No. It'd be better if we move the body now."
"Huh?" asks Finnian.
"I can't say it any nicer than this.. meat rots faster than you might think," Bardroy's eyebrows furrow in thought and his cigarette sits between his lips. "Even if we turn off the fire now, time will be up before you know it if he stays next to the hearth."
Leah groans at the sound of the words leaving the chef's lips, almost shivering in disgust. However, the feeling of Anna's hand on her head does keep her somewhat calm. Barely.
Irene's face fills with dread as she nearly collapses, trying to grab ahold of Grimsby's coat. "Rot.. you say?"
"Irene!" Grimsby calls out with worry, leaning down to catch her.
"It's like he says," Arthur chimes in, his stance tense as he stares at the two. "I also think it'd be better if we take him to a cool, dark place until an expert can take a look at him."
"Well then, let's move him to the cellar until the yard gets here," Sebastian turns back to look at the gardener. "Finny, bring a stretcher."
It doesn't take Finnian long to jog back into the room with a long stretcher in his arms, lying it across the floor as he and Bardroy lift Georg's lifeless body on top. As the two cover him with a blanket, Leah instead focuses on the stitched flower that now sits on the top of Finnian's hat. 'That is quite cute..'
Looking out the window, Lau listens to the servants exit the room. "But, I'd think the yard won't be showing up for a while," he comments.
Everyone shifts their attention over to the window that Lau stands beside, holding the curtain to give them a better view. Outside, the storm rages and sways the trees, pounding against the glass and making it harder to see.
"Seeing as there is quite the storm?" Lau's brow raises and Ran Mao leans across him to see for herself.
"So you mean we can't leave here either?!" Carl Woodley exclaims in a mixture of anger and nervousness.
"Why do you ask that now?" with a shrug of his shoulders, Lau smiles indifferently. "It's fine right, everyone was meant to stay over anyway."
Woodley releases a noise of annoyance, his brows knitted as he stares down the Chinese man. "Like you can call this fine! I'm not staying at a place where a murder took—"
"Indeed. We surely are on the shores of a deserted island right now," Lau interrupts, his tone chilling. "It also means that there is a good chance that the killer is still inside the mansion."
A loud crackle of thunder flashes atop Phantomhive Manor, ringing out through the halls. But it isn't the sound that makes Leah's hands tighten around Ciel's arms, rather the words of Lau that unnerve her. Even Bardroy and Finnian are uncomfortable with their return to the room.
"Now that you mention it," Charles Grey speaks up. "If you think about it logically, wouldn't the killer be one of us then?"
The guests in the room stiffen, their eyes filled with dread at the thought of being near a potential murderer and not knowing.
"Why us?! This isn't a joke!" Grimsby yells.
"Th.. That's right!" Woodley agrees.
Kneeling, Arthur checks on Patrick who is still lying unconscious on the floor. "Well, first of all, we only just met each other.."
Leah squints her eyes as she observes all of the people in the room, leaning her mouth to her fiancé's ear. "I believe it was that irritating man who kept speaking about diamonds," she whispers.
With a raised brow, Ciel turns his face to Leah's, their noses nearly colliding. "Carl Woodley? What makes you think that?"
"Nothing," she shrugs. "I just hate irritating people, so I shall point a finger at him."
Ciel releases a sigh as he turns his attention back to the matter at hand, keeping his hand on Leah's shoulder to hold her close. Sometimes he can't comprehend what goes on in that head of hers, but he can't say he hates it.
"So wouldn't it be likely that someone broke in through the window, locked the door to leave time for an escape, and then went back out the window again?" asks Irene, continuing her question that the teenagers weren't listening to.
"But if you came in through this kind of rain.. wouldn't you leave footprints? Not to mention that this room is on the second floor," Charles walks over to the window and pulls on the handle, "and the windows were locked."
Looking off to the side, Grimsby places a hand on his chin. "So.. someone locked it from the hallway and escaped that way after all.." he says lowly.
"That is unlikely."
The sound of Sebastian's voice draws the attention of everyone in the room, looking over at the butler who holds a key in his gloved hand.
"The keys for this mansion all go with the original ward locks from when this mansion was first built. They are complex pieces so it is unlikely that someone other than a craftsman could make an imitation," explains Sebastian. "Furthermore, these keys have all been locked away in a safe. The only copy of the key that opens the safe is in possession of the butler, me. Therefore the keys stored there can't be taken."
Leah stares incredulously as the words fly out of the butler's mouth, trying to prevent herself from looking bored. God forbid she looks suspicious in a time like this.
"Also, in order for it to be locked simply from the inside, other than the ward lock there is also a latch attached to the door. In a situation where the key cannot be taken out of the safe, there is the possibility of locking the room from the inside only," Sebastian makes Leah's eye twitch as he glances around the room as he speaks. "In other words.."
"This is a locked room murder," Lau finishes off Sebastian's sentence with a smirk, his hand stationed loosely on Ran Mao's shoulder.
There is a still in the room as the guests and servants stare in worry, realizing they truly are amongst a murderer. This information doesn't sit lightly though, as everyone is willing to try and prove their innocence.
Woodley speaks up first with wide eyes and sweat dripping down his forehead. "Preposterous.. we're not in a novel!" he exclaims.
"Indeed," chimes in Ciel is a yawn, his hair brushing against Leah's and a bit of her forehead. "If anyone published this kind of crude locked room drama, they'd surely get complaints. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Wordsmith?"
Both Woodley and Arthur perk up in surprise and confusion at Ciel's words before the writer quickly sees what the boy is trying to say.
"That's right.. Surely if you used those.." with a hand to his chin, Arthur stares at the floor in thought.
Lau tilts his head. "What's that?"
"A needle and thread," says Ciel.
"Here I go not knowing anything again," Leah rolls her eyes in annoyance, forgetting that she's often at fault for not understanding what is happening.
Unlike the Barrett's annoyance, the other guests hold confusion in their eyes. There are too many words and discoveries to accurately keep up with new information while balancing their emotions.
"Needle and.. thread?"
"Like Sebastian says, the only way to lock the door is from inside, but if you use a needle and thread you could easily do it from the outside. It works like this.." Ciel takes a deep, quiet breath. "First you jab the needle and thread into the door somewhere to hold the latch in place. Then you pull the thread down under the door and go outside of the room. Finally, if you pull the thread carefully to avoid breaking it and manage to pull out the needle.. the latch will close and you'll be able to lock it!"
Everyone tries to envision Ciel's description in their heads, some understanding while others fail. Anna on the other hand now seems focused on the fact that no slippers are adorning Leah's feet.
"Then if you pull the needle and thread through the crevice under the door, you won't leave any evidence behind either. So with the needle and thread, cleaning up is easy also," despite the serious situation, Ciel's voice lacks emotion. "In mystery novels, it's the oldest trick in the book, not to mention plain and boring. However, the criminal isn't looking to write a mystery novel, of course, it's more like he's trying to create a realistic smoke screen or something."
Lau tilts his head. "That sure does explain the locked room murder but..
"It also means that anyone could be the killer," Arthur finishes with sweat dripping down the side of his face.
Bringing Irene closer to him, Grimsby starts to get defensive. "It definitely wasn't us! It was someone else!" he yells.
"It wasn't me either!" Woodley chimes in. "A.. Amongst all of us, aren't you the most suspicious? You had a fight with the Lord at the buffet, didn't you?!" he points an accusatory finger at Grimsby.
"Don't make false accusations, you old man! Like I'd kill someone over that!" beginning to get aggravated, Grimsby starts shouting. "What about the girl who said she wanted the Lord to die?! She hit him with a glass!" the theatrical producer ignores Irene's calls of his name to now try and throw the blame on Leah.
Both Leah and Anna gasp, though Leah's noise comes from a place of displeasure. If Ciel didn't have his hand wrapped around her so firmly, she would certainly be jumping at Grimsby or Woodley by now.
She nearly stomps her foot to the floor in the manner of a child. "How dare you accuse me! I was merely being dramatic," Leah grumbles.
"You still said it!" Grimsby points a long finger in her direction, not noticing the look she gives him that screams that she wants to rip his face off.
Ciel doesn't appreciate Grimsby or Woodley's tone, his expression darkening. "Don't accuse my fiancé so lightly!" he barks.
"Now, now," Lau cuts in with a troubled shrug of his shoulders. "Let's calm down and hear everyone's alibis, shall we?"
Everyone goes silent in thought, disturbed by the stressed atmosphere of the room. 'They are one to point fingers..' Leah rolls her eyes this time around, feeling the care slip from her body while Anna steps closer to stand against her master.
"Lord Siemens was killed after he had retired to his room. Actually, to be precise, it was between the time that the Lord rang the servant's bell and the time that the butler and co. arrived at his room. If you have an alibi to cover that time, you're safe," explains Lau, observing the guests with closed eyes.
Grimsby is the first to speak up, looking off to the side. "Me and Irene were in the billiards room."
"Yes," Irene nods along with saddened eyes.
Charles raises a hand. "I was in there too."
"So were me and Mr. Phelps," Arthur gestures to the blonde that he kneels beside.
"For the whole time, from the moment that Lord Siemens went to bed up until the disturbance, we were all in there."
They think back to the game of billiards, where everything went normal.
"During that time, no one left their place either."
Turning his head to Lau and Ran Mao, Ciel raises a brow. "What were you two doing?"
"We were drinking in the lounge with Mr. Woodley," Lau raises a hand and tilts his head dismissively. "Weren't we Ran Mao?"
Woodley and Ran Mao both nod along with Lau's words. "Right! We were together the entire time before the commotion started," Woodley remains tense.
"If I remember correctly, after midnight the alcohol ran out and we had the butler fetch us some more right?"
The three think back to themselves sitting in the lounge, drinking away.
"Yes, I brought it to you at around twelve ten," Sebastian confirms.
Attention shifts to the Phantomhive servants who sweat and shake with worry. "U-Us servants were all cleaning up together!" Meyrin has a quiver in her voice.
"Anna was helping me retire for bed," Leah speaks up from her spot as she turns to get a quiet confirmation from her lady's maid.
Eyes shift to Leah, realizing the number of suspects is dwindling. Lucky enough for the girl, she has an alibi. Otherwise, she is beyond suspicious given her behavior earlier in the night. If anything, there is a big red mark on her forehead.
"First and foremost, none of us even knew what room Siemens was staying in," says Grimsby, though he does raise a brow at Leah who may potentially know her way around the manor. "To find him in such a large mansion would take quite some time right?!"
Charles' eyes are trained on the floor. "Which means that.."
All focus shifts to Ciel who stands with wide eyes, but his grip on Leah doesn't falter. 'Should I be moving away..?' Leah questions. What is one meant to do when your betrothed may potentially be a murderer?
"Excuse me for asking Earl, but what were you doing at the time?" asks Lau with a smirk.
Ciel's eyes darken at the question, his hand tightening around Leah's arm and feeling the silk fabric of her robe. "Certainly I'm the only one who hasn't got an alibi, but I don't have any reason to kill the Lord."
"Oh? Is that so?" Charles tilts his head cockily.
"What?" Ciel retaliates with an annoyed glare.
"Well you wouldn't say there was no reason at all now would you?" Lau lowers his head and crosses his arms. "Most of the reasons for someone to kill another are reasons inconceivable to other people. It doesn't matter how many times a genius scientist studies it, the psychology of a person is something that cannot be comprehended by other people."
The rain patters against the glass louder, causing a faint ringing in Leah's ears.
"Besides, your company has a branch in Germany does it not? There could have been some memos outside of the official books with a major bank executive from Germany like him," Lau continues his ideas and brings a hand to his chest. "That's something we don't know anything about though."
Woodley's face hardens.
On the other hand, Ciel brings a hand up to his face in annoyance. "You're suggesting that my Funtom Company has some kind of horrible debt? That's absurd!"
"It's not an unrealistic story, right? No matter how big a company is, there are times when all of it can vanish overnight," the words of Lau begin to upset a specific gardener. Though they confuse Leah more than anything.
Tears prick Finnian's eyes and his voice is filled with protest. "Wai.. Wait a minute! I don't get all the complicated stuff but.. but.. Young Master would never.." his hands are clenched.
"Finny," cutting in, Ciel doesn't bother glancing at the boy. "Enough. Back off."
Staring off with a dejected look, Finnian stands off to the side with his arms at his side. This prompts a look of pity from Leah. It is the first time she's seen the gardener without a smile on his face and frankly, she doesn't like it.
Speaking up through the silence, Charles stands stationed by the window with a gloved hand to his chin. "I'd like some insurance."
"Insurance?" asks Irene.
The white-haired man shifts his eyes up to her. "Insurance that we'll get out of here alive."
Leah and a few others cringe at Charles' words.
"What.." Irene's voice trails off, "do you mean by that?" her brows knit.
"Well, this mansion is currently under the control of a killer, you know? And we can't get out until the storm settles down," the storm rages outside and Charles' face darkens. "What if we were all 'gagged' before the storm settles?"
The face of the guests fill with dread, even sparking a faint reaction from Anna. When they all accepted their invitations, they hadn't anticipated dying the same night.
"Well then.." starts Lau. "Let's confine him!" he says with a smile, holding his finger high.
"Confinement?!"
"Confine the young master?!"
"Confinement?!"
Finnian, Bardroy, and Meyrin don't take Lau's words lightly. The thought unsettles them. They have always been so loyal after all.
"But he's scary.." sighs Lau dramatically.
Releasing a sigh, Ciel looks off tiredly. "If that makes you feel better, go ahead."
"If we're going to confine him, it can't be in his own room," says Charles. "Nobles' rooms generally have some kind of secret built-in escape route built in. My place has them too," he pictures a moving closet that moves and shows a descending staircase.
For the first time in a while, Sebastian's voice can be heard. "Well then, we'll keep an eye on him while attending to his—"
"That won't do," Lau crosses his fingers in an X, "seeing as you might help the Earl escape, right?" the servants are placed under the spotlight at his words.
"So in other words, it'd be best if one of the guests would stay with him and keep watch," Charles moves a hand to explain, looking towards Grimsby.
But this suggestion only prompts Grimsby to tighten his hold on Irene. "No, thank you! Like I'd leave Irene by herself!" he yells loudly.
"I.. I just can't!" Woodley sweats rather cowardly.
Lau has a faint hint of nervousness in his expression as he glances off to the side, Ran Mao pressed against him. "I don't want to either~"
"Well I don't want to either but someone has to do it?" speaks Charles, his face now showing annoyance as seemingly every male in the room refuses.
The room goes silent, only filled with the ambiance of the storm. Women know they can't, nor want to stay in a room with Ciel so it is up to the men. But the men don't want to either, until their eyes fall to Arthur who has yet to speak a word about his stance on the idea.
"So," sneaking up behind the writer, Lau places a hand on his shoulder. "It's up to you, Mr. Wordsmith!"
Jumping in his place with a scream, Arthur turns around to notice Lau who gives a carefree smile. "Wha.. What?!"
"Please watch him carefully so that he doesn't escape."
"B-But.."
"That's right. I have something good stored in my horse carriage," Charles looks up and disrupts the two, pointing to Bardroy and Finnian. "Would you get it for me?"
Ciel and Leah stare at the scene with mild disinterest, acting like the bratty, spoiled children that they are. If it didn't make them look like murderers, they would be expressing it much more openly at the moment.
"It looks like this is where we split up," Ciel glances down at Leah and notes the slight hint of sleepiness in her eyes.
Looking up with a pout, Leah nods and brings a hand up to rub her eye. "I suppose.."
"Sebastian," the Phantomhive calls to his butler. "Escort everyone to their rooms."
"Certainly," Sebastian gives a half bow. "Well then, everyone let me guide you. This way please.."
With reluctance, the guests file out of the room after Sebastian to be taken to their respective rooms. Except for Leah and Anna who already know where they shall go, preparing for the night ahead of them.
═╬
Inside the bedroom originally meant for Leah, Anna is now in her nightwear as well as they attempt to settle in for the night. The weight of Georg Von Siemens' death is heavy. Despite often being insensitive towards other people, Leah can't deny that his death has made her uncomfortable and she can't bring herself to make many comments.
Silence clouds over them, neither having anything to say as they get beneath the covers. But as her head hits the pillow, Leah finally glances over at Anna and observes her face.
Watching her lady's maids expression, Leah gazes into her brown eyes. "You don't look scared," she remarks.
"Hm?" Anna's brows furrow.
"I haven't seen you look scared for even a moment," Leah's voice is low and quiet, "despite the fact that a murderer might be within these very walls."
Anna's facial expression remains steel as she chooses to fluff her pillow, avoiding the teen's eyes. "I am just accustomed to it," she nods along to her words.
Leah perks up at Anna's words. "Did you have a rough upbringing?"
The maid squints her eyes, focusing on her thoughts. Sometimes she doesn't appreciate that Leah is quite chatty with people she actually likes to be around.
"No," replies Anna, her tone rather sharp.
"What is it? You can tell me," Leah tries to reassure the maid, preparing for the struggle she'll deal with to comfort another person.
The maid inhales. "Mistress—"
"Seriously! You can confide in me!" Leah repeats, voice becoming clearer.
For a moment, Anna goes silent and the room is still. Her eyes can't help but soften as Leah stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. Anna knows Leah has always struggled emotionally, with herself and others due to emotional neglect, and she's not quite sure if the girl can handle her words.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anna looks into Leah's blue eyes that sparkle from the room's light source. "It is you," she is straight to the point.
A pout forms on Leah's face, the gears in her head moving but unable to understand what Anna means. "What?"
"You are why I am accustomed to it," the blank expression on Anna's face doesn't help Leah comprehend any better. "That and I have never been one to openly react to things."
"I.." Leah shakes her head softly, her hair rubbing against the pillow. "I don't understand."
Anna takes a deep breath in. "Sometimes you harm people and you don't remember.. so I clean up the mess," her voice doesn't raise above a whisper.
"What? No," Leah shifts to sit straight with her right arm supporting herself. "I don't hurt people!"
"Yes you do," a flash of pity goes across Anna's face, unable to handle the pained and confused expression on Leah's face. "Don't you recall the times that someone has broken into the manor?"
Mouth gaping like a fish, Leah shakes her head incredulously. "Yes, but Thomas took care of that!"
" You took care of it," Anna corrects. "You only ever remember the beginning and the end. Someone intrudes, you lose yourself and attack them, then you calm down and Thomas claims he did it, and I clean you up," her voice trembles.
Tears well up in Leah's eyes, her head beginning to hurt. "No! Thomas says—"
"Thomas lies!" Anna's voice raises. "I have seen you kill people with my own two eyes, you are the one who does it. He just wants to protect you the same way I have. That is why I never mention it."
Shoving her head into her hands, Leah shakes her head profusely. 'I don't remember..' Her face begins to heat up. 'It wasn't me!' Leah's hands twitch against her skin as her breaths struggle to steady themselves.
"I don't remember!"
═╬
Cold air filled the night. It was late and everyone in the house lay in their beds, hoping for sleep to overcome them. But for poor Leah Barrett, that seemed impossible when she heard the sudden sound of glass shattering in the distance.
She stumbled out of her bed and opened her door with a creak, turning her head every which way to see if she could notice anything. When she didn't, she stepped out and stood in the middle of the hallway, waiting to see if she could notice a servant exiting a room.
Only more uncomfortable noises sounded from down the hall, prompting Leah to walk closer. Had Thomas been there, he would have easily guided Leah back to her bed. But it isn't that simple.
Turning a corner, her eyes fell onto a group of men whispering loudly, weapons tightly clenched in their hands. After that, the memory begins to distort.
A blur.
Everything is a blur.
Down to her rigid movements and the sounds of screams, or the slippery feeling of the crimson liquid that dripped on her body, Leah can't seem to clearly remember a single thing. All she can see are small, blurred flashes of things she cannot make out.
The scene changes, her head throbbing.
"It is just me, My Lady," Thomas' voice rang out in her head, echoing against the walls.
Leah's eyebrows furrowed as she opened and closed her hand, toying with the blood that drenched it. "Thomas? What happened?" she asked, feeling disoriented.
"Someone broke in," he knelt to her spot on the cold floor. "But do not worry.. I took care of it," his voice was filled with sheer lies as he stared at the girl in fascination.
Thomas lies.
Of course he lies.. he isn't human.
The faces in her head are unclear and she now standing bare in the bathroom. Leah looked down and noticed small patches of blood that covered her lower body, but it was nothing compared to her hands and face.
"I'll get you all clean and then you can settle in for bed," Anna mumbled, guiding her over to the bathtub.
Leah opened her mouth to speak but no words left, the memory slowly beginning to fade out.
═╬
"No," Leah shakes her head and tightly grips her hair. "No!"
"Mistress—" Anna starts, reaching out for her.
Lifting her head from her hands, Leah stares at Anna with wide, glazed-over eyes. "Do you think I murdered that man?" her voice wavers.
"No!" taking ahold of Leah's hand, Anna grips it tightly and locks eyes with the girl. "You couldn't have!"
Leah's hand twitches in Anna's hold. "But you said I don't remember when I do it.. I don't remember!" she bites down on her lips in an attempt to hold in her tears.
Eyes full of guilt, Anna regrets ever speaking in the first place. "I was with you the entire time, you never left my sight. It is impossible for you to have done it," she brings her hands up to Leah's face.
"I am a murderer.." the teen whispers.
Anna's breath catches in her throat, pulling Leah in for a hug. "You were protecting yourself."
With dull eyes, Leah's head collides with Anna's chest as she chooses to stare at a wall, struggling to comprehend this information being thrown at her. 'Why can't I be normal?' She bites down on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.
"But I am still a murderer," Leah retorts, her lips moving against Anna's nightgown. "It was those sword lessons, wasn't it? Is this all my mother's fault? They always made me feel barbaric.."
Unable to think of a counterargument, Anna simply runs her hand through Leah's hair. She lowers the both of them until they lay side by side, keeping the girl held tightly against her despite the initial desire to pull away at the feeling of the teen's cold skin.
"Forget I ever said anything.." whispers Anna. She can only hope it works, though the likelihood is low.
Lifting her head, Leah can't see Anna's face to show her confused frown. "But—"
Anna cuts the girl off by gently shushing her, laying her head atop Leah's in an attempt to comfort her.
"Just go to sleep, Mistress."
Notes:
well this is certainly information!
i lowkey need to give leah a break💀
btw i don’t think i exactly need to clarify but just in case, leah does NOT have DID! i am not trying to do a harmful stereotype here, leah simply blocks it out of her memory as a trauma response sort of.
watch me bring this up only like two other times after this arc
Chapter 21: | 20 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl discovers another body. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i’ve been so tired this week :( it’s truly exhausting when i can’t be awake for even twelve hours before feeling sleepy. and it’s not even a sleepy feeling i can overlook, like it literally takes over me.
anyways, i’ve been playing more idv lately. overriding my writing time :p + sorry this update took a while. motivation to write this one was at an all time low. i don’t like this chapter💔
ALSO i calculated how many active readers i have and it came out to over 130 (only counting registered users and not guests across all the platforms i’ve posted).. HELLO?? thank you all so much for the love, i wasn’t expecting this to be well received😭❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty ! )
"You are awfully quiet this morning."
Rain pours down on a cloudy morning once again, forming droplets on the window and casting a gloomy feeling over Phantomhive Manor. The death of Georg Von Siemens still hangs heavy on everyone's shoulders. But for Leah, she hardly feels affected and remains firm with her idea of his death. 'Perverts deserve what's coming to them.'
She sits before a intricately carved vanity, littered with different items for her essential morning routine. Behind her, Anna delicately runs a brush through Leah's hair as she forms a waterfall braid. The brown locks try to sit in their natural subtle waves, but the lady's maid seems steadfast in straightening the hair.
Leah shakes her head with a small frown on her lips. "There is nothing to say."
The brush gently snags on small knots in Leah's hair, pulling her head closer to Anna with every run-through. What is typically comfortable silence feels strained. Neither are sure what they are meant to say.
"I thought you would want to speak about last night," Anna's voice is low when she notices the frown. Upsetting her master before noon is always a terrible idea.
Leah's face hardens. "I am choosing to believe that was all a dream," her voice is laced with denial.
Hand movements stuttering, Anna tightens her grip on the brush. "You can't just ignore all of the problems in your life, Mistress. That is how you cause—"
"Enough!" Leah's voice rings out through their ears, threatening to spill into the halls.
Anna's eyes can't help but soften, despite her urge to be quiet. "Mistress—"
"Anna, I said enough!" yells Leah, her chest heaving under the corset she wears.
Both women are overcome by a stunned silence. Leah appears agitated while Anna is frozen in place, neither bold enough to make the next move. The sound of the teenager's voice rings throughout their ears. It was loud, coming from her chest to get her point across.
Just before Leah can part her lips to begin scolding the maid, a sharp scream sounds through the manor. Unlike most who would be startled or frightened by the sudden sound, the Barrett groans and kicks her feet in the manner of a child. 'Not again..'
Forcefully rising from her seat, Leah stomps away from the vanity and towards the door, the wind of her movements blowing the sheer curtains covering the windows. Her huffs echo in her head the closer she gets to the room, hearing the faint noises of sniffling and crying.
If only she prepared herself for the sight rather than throwing an internal fit, for the view of Sebastian lying dead on the floor now plagues her mind. His blood splatters the floor and himself, even trickling down his mouth due to the poker sticking out of his chest that allows blood to pool on his uniform. But the worst sight is his lifeless eyes. Wide pupils staring off at the wall that send a shiver down Leah's spine.
'I guess I was wrong? Demons cannot die, can they?'
Leah's eyes drift over to the Phantomhive servants — primarily Meyrin and Finnian — who have tears staining their cheeks, clearly mourning the loss of a close peer. For the first time in a while, she feels a sense of remorse. However, it is quickly overcome by the discomfort of the room atmosphere. Two murders? This is much too strange, even for her.
No one in the room seems to notice as time passes them by until the sound of Ciel and Arthur's feet slapping against the floor can be heard, pulling them from their stupor.
"Wh—What do we tell.. the young master..?" asks Meyrin in between sobs, her face buried in her hands.
Beside her, Finnian hangs his head low. Tears flow down his red cheeks and a bead of snot drops from his nose, shoulders shaking. However, Bardroy doesn't allow a tear to drop from his eyes. Pride? Perhaps. But he immediately focuses in on Ciel appearing in the doorway.
"Young.. Master," he says.
Puffs of air leave Ciel's mouth, his eyes wide and devoid of emotion when he comes face to face with Sebastian's body that lays on the floor. His typical black eyepatch is replaced with a medical one, hiding his other eye. However, many could guess his other would appear just as distraught if it was uncovered.
His eyes lock onto Sebastian's dead ones. "Seba.. s.. tian?" Ciel asks, his voice breaking.
When he goes to take a step closer, Meyrin stops him by grabbing him from behind, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso.
"Y.. You can't!" she yells. "Young Master, you shouldn't go closer!"
The sound of Ciel's protests fills the room, even as Finnian approaches to join with Meyrin to keep the boy from approaching the body. This doesn't blow over well though, as their master pushes them back with a slap and a scolding. Even the guests show a hint of surprise, but the high tension is to blame for their emotions coming first.
Stepping over, Ciel stands directly beside Sebastian's body. "Sebastian.. stop fooling around. Sleeping on the floor doesn't look all that comfortable to me," his voice lacks emotion this time around.
Leah leans her head over to whisper to Anna. "Does he not see that he is dead..?" she raises a brow, beginning to think that Ciel is purely insane or simple.
"Exactly how long are you planning on pretending to be asleep?" asks Ciel, his eyes staring down harshly at the body. He even ignores Bardoy's calls to stomp a foot onto the chest of his butler. "Didn't you hear me, Sebastian? I said get up."
Sending an unsure glance to her maid, Leah is met with a small slap on the arm in response. Now is not the time for Leah's typical antics, even if Ciel isn't reacting rationally. This doesn't stop her from looking around as though she is missing something. 'Saying get up as if his chest is not impaled is insane.. Am I marrying an insane man? That makes us even I suppose.'
Ciel grinds his teeth when he receives no response. "Why you.." taking his right hand, he pulls the poker out of Sebastian's chest and tosses it to the side.
"Earl!" screams Arthur.
"Sebastian! Wake up this instant! That's an order!" Ciel roars, tightly grasping the butler's coat as he collapses onto his chest. But once again, there is no response. "Didn't you hear my order?!" he shouts and strikes the side of Sebastian's face.
All of the guests collectively give wary looks. Realistically, Ciel is being over the top with his acting but no one dares to say that out loud. Some don't take kindly to the repeated slaps that happen before them though.
Shifting closer toward her lady's maid, Leah brings her face in close. "Anna.. perhaps we should pack my bags..?" she whispers, noting how she wants to go home.
Sadly for the spoiled girl, she is shut down once again when she is shushed. But this time around, Leah pouts heavily and crosses her arms. She is far too accustomed to getting what she wants and lacks empathy for those around her, shown in her missing display of emotions for both deaths to occur within one night.
So caught up with her mini fit, she doesn't even notice anything is happening until she hears the cries of Ciel being pulled away from Sebastian so his body can be moved. 'I didn't think he could show this type of emotion..' she thinks to herself. She hardly sees anything other than a straight face from her fiancé, so seeing the tears leaves a slight pang in her heart.
"Go comfort him!" Anna speaks up with a loud whisper, ushering Leah in Ciel's direction.
Against these urges, Leah shakes her head quickly. "I am bad at comforting people, you know that!" she objects.
As much as she cares for Ciel deep down, comforting people has never been a thing for Leah. She can hardly handle her own emotions. To try and deal with another person is like torture. What are you even meant to say if someone cries? The most she can give is empty consoling words and pats on the back.
Despite the Barrett not wanting to, Anna doesn't back down and forcefully sends Leah right in the direction of her fiancé. Though she knows to prepare for a slap that is to come later in the day for this.
Leah stops before Ciel and is quick to plaster an out-of-character smile on her face, showing off her pearly teeth. "Perhaps you can put on some trousers and we can talk about this?" she stammers, the smile not reaching her eyes as she avoids looking at the boy in his nightshirt.
Ciel's brow raises uncertainly. "Why do you look like that..?"
"Look like what?" Leah is quick with her words, the corners of her mouth twitching from a pain in her cheek.
"Your face," he speaks slowly.
Shaking her head, Leah glances towards Finnian with wide eyes. "What is wrong with my face? Finny, is there something wrong with my face?"
"N—No, My Lady!" the gardener stumbles over his words, dry tears still staining his red cheeks.
She gestures over to Finnian as a 'see?' to validate her point, regardless that she knows she is acting strange. Leah has never done well around people crying and her fiancé is not even close to an exception. The Phantomhive doesn't even have the chance to retaliate when Arthur speaks up from beside Sebastian's body.
"..There were multiple culprits," it's almost as if a lightbulb shines above his head.
"What?!" Meyrin and Finnian scream, Leah and Ciel perking up as well.
"For example, one of them came from up front and started chatting to attract his attention," explains Arthur, envisioning the scene in his head. "Meanwhile, the other one snuck up behind him and hit him over the head. Then, in a flash, the one up front gave him the final blow by stabbing him."
Lau begins to nod. "Well, no matter how, it's certain that this killer didn't feel any mercy or hesitation. To have killed even that butler, this culprit must be extremely—"
"Stop it already!" Finnian screams with his arms tightly secured around Ciel's form. "Why are you having this conversation in front of the young master?! Please think of his feelings!"
"Finny!" Meyrin calls out his outburst. "P—Please excuse him!" she turns to bow at the guests.
Scratching the back of his head, Charles glances over towards the wall. "Well certainly instead of standing around the corpse like this, why don't we temporarily move this thing to the basement? We can discuss who did it and such later over some food," he appears all too comfortable for the situation at hand.
Both Leah and Woodley give a strange look, but the man is the only one to speak. "Isn't that just a little too easygoing.."
"Indeed.. There's no point in being hasty," Lau smiles.
"It's decided then. So you guys are in charge of cleaning that up," says Charles, and he heads for the door with his hands behind his head. "Oh, and the preparations for breakfast also. I'm going ahead to the dining hall, I'm starving."
Everyone's expressions appear downcast or conflicted, mixed with a discomfit for how laidback Charles seems. Even Leah feels strange. To outmatch her in not caring for a serious situation is quite a feat.
Grimsby and Irene also exit the room after Charles, leaving Leah and Ciel with their respective servants. Naturally, the Phantomhive servants appear sad in their mourning for Sebastian but Anna simply purses her lips.
"Shall we finish you up?" she asks, referring to finishing Leah's morning routine.
Brows furrowing, Leah lightly pouts. "What else is there to do?"
"Your hair," says Anna, grabbing ahold of her wrist to begin walking out of the door.
Unbeknownst to Leah, her lady's maid actually wants to prepare her for breakfast, knowing that she hasn't eaten at all. Turning back to look at Ciel, Leah flashes him a more sincere smile this time around, allowing herself to be dragged. A very bad start to the morning and the day isn't even near over.
═╬
The rain remains relentless in its mission to pour down upon Phantomhive Manor, faint sounds of the natural occurrence can be heard even from the dining hall where the guests now sit. Naturally, Ciel — who now wears actual clothes instead of a nightshirt — is at the head of the table with the remaining individuals filing down.
Sitting beside him, Leah aimlessly kicks her feet beneath the table as she quietly sips on a glass of water. Unlike Ran Mao who stares at her food in mild interest, the Barrett avoids looking at the plate. Her natural appetite is low — or perhaps she wants to avoid eating —, but the deaths also play a role in her reluctance to eat, stomach faintly churning.
"He really saved us by preparing all this properly," Ciel drones with an expressionless face, laying a cloth down on his lap.
Across from Leah, Charles enthusiastically holds his utensils in his hands with a bright smile plastered on his face. "This smells good ! I'm gonna dig in! I'm really hungry since I didn't get to eat this morning."
The white-haired man manages to devour the food on his plate in a matter of seconds, earning a faint look of disgust from the teenager across from him. 'Eating like a pig..' she fights back a grimace.
Grimsby hums lowly. "What's wrong Irene? You haven't even touched your food," he glances down at her plate with knitted brows.
Patting her mouth with a cloth, Irene hides a faint bead of sweat dripping down her cheek with closed eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not very hungry."
Hearing those words, Ciel brings his attention to Leah who also hasn't touched her plate. In fact, she hasn't even attempted to pick up her utensils.
"You aren't eating.." he whispers. Ciel can recall the time Thomas ratted her out for her distaste of eating in fear of getting big, feeling a sense of discomfort.
Leah takes another sip of her water, feeling Anna's eyes that bore into the back of her head. "I don't want it," she speaks firmly even though she can feel a slight pang of hunger in her stomach.
Before Ciel has a chance to reply, their focus is drawn towards the current topic of the table. An empty seat.
Charles points a fork in the direction of her side. "The one next to you."
"Oh my.. Indeed, there's one too many," Irene looks down to her left. "Perhaps the chef got the numbers wrong."
Ciel's face hardens at the sight of yet another untouched plate. "The one who prepared breakfast was Sebastian. He wouldn't mix up the numbers," he states confidently.
"Huh? Then whose is it?"
"We're all.. ah! Mr. Phelps isn't here, is he."
"Ah, since he's always so inconspicuous, I didn't notice."
"Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him all morning."
Releasing a laugh, Woodley smiles it off. "Looks like he overslept a little too much."
Despite a motion that was meant to make the room feel more upbeat, it remains quiet. Tensions are too high for the guests to be freely joking or sharing laughs, though it stops no one from trying. It isn't until Arthur shoves himself up from his seat does Woodley's laughter die down.
"Excuse me!" his face is overcast. "Should we go have a look in the Earl's bedroom?"
Ciel is the first to perk up, followed by the other guests at Arthur's question. To realize that another person is missing could only mean one thing, as it has been hours since anyone was awoken. Phelps couldn't possibly sleep that much.
Placing his cloth to the side, Ciel also takes a stand. "I'll take you there."
Calm is almost immediately thrown out of the window in favor of the males beginning to sprint for Ciel's bedroom. They shoot down the halls and up the stairs, followed by a curious Leah who struggles to keep up without severely losing her breath.
Their loud footsteps pound against the floor, creating what sounds like a stampede. Compared to the men, Leah hardly makes a noise. Though it may be because she has slowed down a significant amount to try and breathe.
"It's over there, to the right!" Ciel calls out from a few feet behind Arthur.
Turning a sharp corner, Arthur immediately runs up to the bedroom door and begins pounding on it. "Mr. Phelps! Mr. Phelps, if you are in there, please answer me!" he yells, his voice traveling through the hallways.
He frantically turns the doorknob only to realize that the door is locked, his eyes uncomfortably wide. "Earl! Where's the key?"
"I don't know," Ciel answers with a shake of his head in worry, not noticing Leah approaching his side.
Arthur's face pales. "What?!" he shouts.
"Sebastian took care of the key to my room. No one else knows where he kept it except for him," explains Ciel. "Since he's dead, even I don't know where.."
Stepping up to the situation, Finnian pushes both Leah and Ciel aside with a determined look on his face. "Please get back, Young Master! I'll—"
"Get out of the way."
Thrown out of the way, Finnian clutches onto the teens when numerous slashes barely dodge their heads. The movements are loud as they slice through the wood doors, but effectively startling the four individuals that are closest to it.
"Whoa!"
With a plate of food and a sword in his hand, Charles looks disinterested at the scene. "We need to be quick, seeing as there's still dessert."
'Does this man only think about food?'
Leah hardly had a moment to register her thoughts before the group runs once again, through the cleanly cut door to the Ciel's bedroom. Should she be there? Most likely not. But does she continue anyway? Absolutely.
"Mr. Phelps!" Arthur calls out.
His gaze is set ahead of him but when he feels a squish beneath his shoe, he is compelled to look down. There, lying on the carpet is the dead body of Patrick Phelps. With wide eyes and drool leaking from his mouth, his lifeless hands are stuck in the position of tightly clenching the carpet, earning an uncomfortable and low groan from Leah.
"Mr. Phelps!"
Notes:
leah sounds like cosmic by red velvet. i cry when i hear the song
“you say she sounds like nearly half the songs you listen to” BE QUIET
she also sounds like in my dreams by red velvet.
i love red velvet.
Chapter 22: | 21 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl has to consider the culprit. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
hey y’all.. did you miss me? i have NOT been on my writing game💀 i hope anyone that needed to catch up did.
i’ve been lazy + ig i subconsciously wanted a break. you would want a break too if you eat, breathed, and slept this shit😭 i’m genuinely so passionate about it. despite a break and not thinking about it often, i barely need to think about where i left off to continue writing. IT MADE A MARK ON MY BRAINNNN
also i started watching house of the dragon, i fear i’m falling down a rabbit hole.. starting a fic for it as we speak.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-one ! )
"Mr. Phelps!"
Only the sound of crackling thunder can be heard throughout the room when the body of Patrick Phelps is discovered, a third round of wide eyes and stances of discomfort wash over the guests. This has been the third dead body to be discovered within two days. Paired with the fact that none of them can just up and leave due to the weather, it causes tension to fester.
Arthur, seemingly feeling brave, is the closest one to the body. Nearly everyone else has almost backed themselves against the walls, but the wordsmith crouches beside the body to get a closer look.
"Rigor mortis is already setting in. So he's been dead for a while," says Arthur with a shake of his head.
Standing in the doorway, Grimsby shields Irene from the body. "Are we having some kind of nightmare?" he asks.
'Oh, that would be wonderful.. My dreams have always been strange. Perhaps this is just a long one?' Beside Ciel, Leah stands between him and Anna. The feeling of discomfort overcomes her, and she uses her hands to cling onto them, hoping to feel a semblance of comfort. The girl can only wish to disappear from the situation.
"He doesn't have any external injuries like the other two though.." Arthur points out while searching Phelps' body before his eyes widen in shock when he lifts the collar of his shirt. "There's a wound on his neck like he was stabbed by something! It might be from a needle-like object that was used to inject a poison."
Ciel lets out a noise of question before his eyes begin to drift past a short wall, falling upon the sight of Lau and Ran Mao ransacking his closet full of clothes, hats, and shoes.
"Wow, the Earl sure lives in a nice room~" Lau muses, sifting through the numerous different coats the younger boy owns. Crouched down beside him, Ran Mao carefully places hats on her head as she stares blankly at the floor.
Eye twitching in shock and annoyance, Ciel can already feel his irritation growing. "Don't just search people's rooms as you please!" he yells.
The pair ignore Ciel's words of protest in favor of examining a piece of fabric, earning a smirk from Lau. "You held on to the clothes I gave you~ Did you wear them?" Ran Mao wears the hat Ciel wore when he attended Viscount Druitt's ball, holding up the garment for Lau to see.
"Listen when people are talking!" the earl's voice is nearly a shout when he is ignored, striking even more annoyance within him.
Peering past her fiancé's shoulder, Leah perks up at the sight of Lau and Ran Mao going through Ciel's items. Having lost her will to care in the moment and hoping to feel normal, she shifts and begins walking over to the pair. However, her interest in joining in on the run is short-lived when Ciel grabs ahold of her upper arm, preventing her from moving any further.
"Don't get involved with those two.. No shame," Ciel complains with a mutter, gently guiding Leah back to her original spot while trying to ignore the small pout sitting on her cherry-tinted lips.
Before Leah can find it in her to complain, the sound of Arthur's voice draws her attention. "It also resembles a kind of bite mark, but.."
"A bite mark in the neck.." Irene speaks up, holding a hand towards her heart. "It sounds just like Carmilla."
Ciel hums in acknowledgment. "By Carmilla, you mean Le Fanu's 'The Vampire Carmilla'?" he asks, though his voice lacks much tone or emotion.
With a nod, Irene grips her arm a bit tighter. "Yes. Do you know it?"
Turning her head, Leah looks up at Ciel with a tilt of her head, furrowing her brows to show her confusion. Initially, the Earl can't understand why his fiancé is staring at him, thinking this is her being strange again. But his eyes widen a tad bit moments later, mouthing the words 'a book' and earning a faint nod from the girl. 'I'll have to read that one..'
"You're saying this guy's been killed by a vampire?! Don't be ridiculous!" Woodley shouts, directing his words towards Irene. "You can't say that kind of occult and unscientific nonsense in the nineteenth century!"
Ciel crosses his arms with a shrug, looking unimpressed. "Unscientific, huh.. I guess you could say that."
"Two thirty-eight."
Both Leah and Ciel perk up at the sudden voice cutting through the protests of the others, wandering over to Arthur, who is holding a square-shaped clock in his hands. The glass covering the clock part of the item is shattered and leaves the hands stuck in place, showing the time it broke. Two thirty-eight.
"That's the clock I keep at my bedside, isn't it?" asks Ciel, peering down at the kneeling wordsmith.
With a nod, Arthur places the clock upright on the bedside table. "I guess it probably fell when he was writhing in pain.. It's broken."
Examining the clock as well, Leah tilts her head to get a better view of the details. For half a second, her face lights up at the sight, thinking the item is quite cute.
She turns her head towards Anna, who stands in the doorway, blocking the trio from seeing the dress Ciel wore to Viscount Druitt's ball. "Anna, why don't I have a clock at my bedside?" she questions, beginning to want one.
"You never asked, Mistress," the maid replies. "And you would realize that we wake you up earlier than you request.."
Leah's face contorts weirdly. "What?"
"We wake you up earlier than you would like. You never notice, but if you had a clock, you would," Anna shifts on her feet, preparing for her master to yell at her.
However, the maid feels a sense of surprise when no sound comes from Leah's mouth but a small 'oh.' Leah can't find it in her to care about being woken up early, as she typically only does when she is awoken in a foul mood.
"Well, I would like one," Leah fiddles with her fingers, noting the lack of gloves on her hands.
Anna gives a small nod in response. "That can be arranged."
A comfortable silence falls upon the maid and lady, neither having anything else to say. Both of them have a memory that is quite good, so Leah hardly has any doubts that Anna will fail to remember when they return home. Even if Anna doesn't manage to remember, there is a good chance Leah will and will spend hours bothering her father.
"Leah?"
The sound of her name rings out in her ears, flicking her eyes over to Ciel, who politely passes by Anna in the doorway. His head is turned back towards her, his eyes never leaving her own.
"We are going to the drawing room for tea," he says, realizing she hadn't been paying attention to anything he or Arthur had said in the past minute.
Perking up at the mention of a potential moment to sit down and relax or talk Ciel's ear off, Leah gives a small nod. She motions for Anna to follow her as well but prioritizes latching onto Ciel's arm, determined not to acknowledge that she's walking across the room where someone died. Regardless, a pastry does sound enticing after skipping her meal.
═╬
Gathered around a table, the guests are seated on plush sofas as they reach for cups of tea or pastries on plates. Although she anticipated sitting near Ciel, Leah sits at the opposite end of the table beside Ran Mao, Charles to her right at the other end of the table. Her eyes twitch every so often when she hears his incessant chewing, quietly sipping on her cup.
"Well then, we've eaten dessert, so let's sort things out," Charles chirps, crumbs on his cheeks as he finishes up chewing. "First of all, Lord Siemens. His death was around ten past one this morning. The only one who doesn't have an alibi is Earl Phantomhive. Next is the butler.. His time of death is unknown. Finally, Mr. Phelps. His death was thirty-eight minutes past two this morning.. Am I correct?"
Everyone pays attention closely as the times of deaths are recounted, causing a slight tension in some around the table.
Arthur is the only one to chime in. "No, the butler's corpse was found first, but who was actually killed first is still unknown."
With a nod, Charles agrees as he places a finger to his chin, seemingly in thought as he goes back over the words he said.
"From their condition, we know that a few hours had passed between them being killed and our finding them," says Arthur, using a pen to point at what he's written in a book. "At this stage, me and the Earl, who were chained to the bed til morning, have an alibi."
Charles leans back in his chair with a huff, nearly hitting his foot against the table. He doesn't seem to notice the glares of annoyance Leah sends in his direction, though that is most likely because she softens her face before he can even get the chance to turn his head.
Pulling a cup of tea away from his lips, Ciel responds to Arthur's words with a nod. "Me and the wordsmith got into bed and were chained to it at around two o'clock. Just before then, Sebastian said he had already guided Mr. Phelps to his room. And Mr. Phelps was killed at two thirty-eight."
"So, who saw Mr. Butler last?" asks Lau.
"That would probably be us, but," a bead of sweat drips down Arthur's cheek, "not only was it dark, but the clock was rather far away, so I can't tell you the exact time.."
A short string of silence falls upon the guests, everyone feeling uncertain. The amount of new information being fed to them in so little time is enough to jumble anyone's brain.
"Ah!" Finnian calls out suddenly, raising his arm high. "We saw Mr. Sebastian in the middle of the night!"
Meyrin begins to nod along, standing a little behind the energetic blond with Bardroy at her side."M-Me too!"
"At what time was it?" asks Bardoy, arms crossed over his chest.
"Hmmm.. I'm certain it was around two fifty," replies Finnian, trying to recount the night's events.
Arthur places down a few more notes in his book. On the other end of the conversation, Leah silently gossips in Ran Mao's ears even though she seems focused on the topic at hand. She knows that Ran Mao is listening, even if she doesn't show it, so she continues to talk away, ignoring any strange glances thrown her way.
"So this means Sebastian was killed last," Arthur lifts his pen from the paper. "What did he want?" he asks Bardroy.
"He came to me to confirm the food stock, and he gave me these instructions on cleaning the hearths," Bardroy moves his hands as he speaks. "He asked me to.. take care of a delivery.. owl?"
Everyone perks up at the mention of something so odd, though it is most prevalent on the faces of the chef and Ciel.
"An owl?" asks Ciel, shifting his head to pay closer attention.
Bardroy looks down. "As opposed to pigeons, owls can fly through a storm. It's just like him to think of everything."
Turning her body around, Leah glances at Anna, who stands a bit farther away from the Phantomhive servants. Her gaze is trained on Bardroy as he speaks, but she primarily focuses on her master, which is why she's so quick to notice the look on her face.
"Mistress?" she asks.
"You can just own owls?" Leah tilts her head, her face displaying a look of want.
A sigh leaves the maid, knowing what the girl wants to ask. The only response Anna gives her is a firm shake of the head. Not to say that one cannot own an owl, but more so to deny the inevitable request of asking to have one.
Leah gives a small pout, also understanding the meaning of Anna's silent no. Growing up as the daughter of a wealthy marquess, there's no doubt that she's spoiled. But she knows better than to cause a scene in front of this many people, especially after what she did to Georg Von Siemens.
"He might have sent a letter to the police," says Arthur, drawing Leah's attention.
Ciel shrugs in response, also trying to think of what could have been the contents of Sebastian's letter. "Seeing as the telephone wouldn't connect in a storm like this, I guess so."
"However, if Sebastian was the last to be killed, the story becomes more complex," Arthur glances over his notes and doesn't seem to notice the look Charles casts to the side. "The only ones who could lock the Earl's room would be Mr. Phelps himself, who was in the room, or Sebastian, who had the key. Which means that Sebastian being the killer is the most likely scenario, but Sebastian was killed."
Picking up a cup of tea, Lau decides to chime in from his spot on the couch. "So maybe.. the butler joined up with someone, and together they committed the murders, but then, afterward, they quarreled over the rewards the job would bring, and finally he was silenced?" he suggests, quick with his thoughts.
Ciel leans his head on his hand, casting a glance at Leah, who listens intently to Lau's words while simultaneously running a finger over the fabric of her dress. "It's not unthinkable. In that case, the probability of the killer being someone who would gain from their deaths seems high."
"So it would seem~ Money makes the world go round," Lau muses, causing Woodley's face to darken. "Mr. Phelps was the heir to Blue Star Line, a major company in the marine transportation business. He was a little weak-willed but had enough skill to be entrusted with the foreign trade branch and recently even expanded the business to the Asian region."
Those in the room recall Phelps and the behavior he exhibited throughout the night. It can certainly be a surprise at first glance that he holds such a high title, given that he was quite timid and unsure of himself. But Ciel doesn't seem to care much for Lau's words, laying his eyes upon him.
"Lau," Ciel speaks, catching the man's attention as he points a finger in his direction. "He was your business rival."
A smirk grows on Lau's face at the words, lifting the cup of tea in his hands to his lips. "Well, I guess that's true."
"Furthermore, you walk around carrying a needle in those dragging sleeves of yours, do you not?" Ciel's accusatory finger doesn't budge from its place, though he appears nonchalant despite the weight of his words.
The room goes silent. No one can find the words for what to say when the Earl's words reach their ears. Even Leah is silent, instead sending a side glance in Lau's direction while moving half an inch away in her seat.
"What?"
"Yes, I am carrying one," Lau smirks and retrieves a needle hidden within his sleeve, holding it in between his fingers. "It's used in oriental medicine, though."
"What?!"
The room, previously silent, now erupts in shouts and screams. Leah has now gotten up entirely in favor of standing beside Anna, thinking of a possible escape route in the chance that Lau truly is a killer. 'I suppose I could just throw myself out of a window?'
"Y.. You killed Phelps!" yells Woodley.
Beside him, Grimsby points a finger at Lau. "You bastard! You searched the Earl's room just now, didn't you? Are you sure you weren't just destroying evidence?!" his voice carries throughout the room.
"Oh, my~" Lau shrugs his shoulders and brings his arms up, hands drowning in his sleeves. "Aren't you being a bit too rash about this? How do you think I could make a locked room murder from that far off walk-in-closet? There's no door going outside there, and even though we're Chinese, it's not like we can just pass through ventilation shafts or something."
Envisioning Ciel's bedroom and the way Phelps was found, the guests listen to Lau's explanation.
"And I have an alibi for the time Lord Siemens was murdered anyway," he states, forcing everyone to recall how Lau was drinking with Woodley and Ran Mao. "But the Earl is such a bully~ You don't need to take revenge on me now, you know?"
"Do I really need to hear that from you, who suggested confinement?" Ciel deadpans with Arthur. "Well, in any case, there's no one who could have killed all three, even if they teamed up with Sebastian. I was just teasing you," he takes a long sip of tea.
Arthur is quick to perk up at Ciel's words, peering down into his book. "That's true."
Watching as the wordsmith bends over to begin ferociously scribbling, Irene's brows knit in worry. "What are you talking about?"
The sound of a pen moving back and forth on the paper is all that can be heard for a long few moments, everyone watching Arthur in quiet suspense. He quickly makes a chart full of the names of all the guests, including the dead ones and their times of death.
"If I put it in a simple chart.." Arthur holds up with piece of paper for all to see. "It'd look like this. The only one who could have killed Lord Siemens at ten last one was Earl Phantomhive. The only one who could have killed Mr. Phelps at two thirty-eight was Sebastian. And anyone but me or the Earl could have killed Sebastian at ten to three. So, even if they worked with Sebastian, it's impossible that a single person could have caused this string of murders!"
Woodley's hands clench, and his face becomes agitated. "If it's impossible to do alone, then the people who came as a pair are the criminals!" he proclaims with sweat dripping down his forehead.
Equally as irritated and angered, Grimsby stands abruptly. "Are you kidding me?! On top of being trapped in here, I'm being treated as a criminal?!"
"Grimsby, calm down!" Irene calls out, wrapping her arms around his hips.
Backed up in their little corner, Leah and Anna eye the situation uncomfortably. The high tensions and severe anger dripping off of guests is unsettling, especially for the two of them. The likelihood of one of the men attacking them is low, but neither is necessarily strong enough to fight back if that small chance happens.
However, the Barrett subtly appears somewhat entertained by the idea of Woodley losing his composure. She can't voice that thought in case she draws suspicion to herself, but knowing a man who irritates her is lashing out and making himself seem like a likely culprit makes a smile threaten to break out on her face.
Leah leans down to position her lips beside Anna's ears. "I am inclined to believe some of these people are going mad.." she whispers lowly.
"Who wouldn't?" Anna retaliates. "We are stuck here with a potential murderer, and no one knows who it is for sure."
Eyes focusing on Ciel's face, Leah drowns out the sounds of Woodley beginning to shout and bang his fists on the table. "Do you think.. I killed Sebastian?" her voice trembles, recalling the secret Anna wishes she never revealed.
"No!" the sound of Anna's voice raises a bit too high, almost drawing attention away from Woodley's ongoing outburst. "It's impossible, Mistress. I woke up periodically throughout the night, you hardly moved."
Giving a hasty nod, Leah goes silent. She begins to bite her lips and pick at her manicured fingertips, taking a deep breath as she situates her focus onto Woodley, who is somehow still yelling. 'I want to forget all of this..' her thoughts echo in her head as though they are trying to claw their way out.
But as much as she may wish, it simply isn't possible to escape the chambers she calls her mind. So, to ease the neverending noise that plagues her waking moments, she tunes in on the current topic at hand.
"I'm going home!" the man is quick to swivel around the sofa and point a finger at Arthur. "Like I'd let myself be killed!"
"Please wait! It's impossible in this storm!" Arthur rises from his seat in an attempt to follow Woodley and prevent him from leaving, piquing the interest of Leah. "You should stay here to avoid suspicion as—"
Arthur's words are cut off by the sound of a harsh slap echoing throughout the room, Woodley's left hand connecting harshly to his cheek. It's near deafening and causing a string of gasps amongst the women, though almost everyone settles on wide eyes. Leah, naturally a gossipmonger, leans in a bit closer to hear more.
"I don't take orders from a mere doctor!" Woodley's voice is loud as he sends Arthur flying back until he hits the table, breaking cups and plates as well as colliding with Lau and Ran Mao's ankles.
"Woodley. The one who's telling you to sit down is me," cup and saucer in hand, Ciel's face is dark as he glares at the huffing man, "so sit down already."
Face contouring in utter anger and irritation, Woodley begins to charge for Ciel's seated form. "Don't order me around!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, hand tightly clenched in an attempt to collide with the boy's face.
"Earl!"
"Ciel!"
The room fills with yells of surprise from the guests, but they go up a volume when Tanaka suddenly interferes. Grabbing Woodley by the arm, Tanaka faintly twists it before using the leverage to slam the man into the ground, propping a knee on his back for extra measures. While Ciel appears unfazed, everyone else stares on in shock.
Leah, unwilling to stand idly any longer, runs straight for Ciel's seat with surprising ease for the shoes adoring her feet. She leans down to try and look at his face, worry written all over hers.
"Ciel, are you alright?!" she asks with uncertainty, her voice louder than she typically allows it to be.
Taking another sip of his tea, Ciel gives a firm nod. "I am quite alright," he ignores the words Tanaka directs at Woodley in favor of glancing into his fiancé's eyes, noting a small sparkle and a hint of emotion swirling within them.
The Barrett is incapable of protesting to get a better look or more reassurance due to Ciel reluctantly shifting his attention to the man on the floor. Woodley's expression is of pain and a bruised ego, something Leah can't deny that she enjoys seeing when it comes to men.
"Mister Woodley. You'll obey our orders then?" Ciel's words receive nothing in return from the man, though he can hear a faint giggle in his right ear from a voice he's all too familiar with. "Well then. Currently, the only one who really couldn't have been the culprit is Mr. Wordsmith. I think it'd be safest and fairest to put Mr. Wordsmith in charge of deciding our actions from now on."
"Me?!" exclaims Arthur in surprise as he points a finger at himself, a bruise noticeable on his cheek from Woodley's blow.
Ciel places his cup down on the saucer, brushing past Leah to set it on the table. His expression holds one of annoyance and exhaustion, unlike his betrothed, who now seems wide awake after the violent dilemma.
"Yes," he lets out a puff of air. "I don't really want a criminal prowling around in my manor."
The guests begin to discuss amongst themselves, everyone surprisingly coming to an agreement that Arthur should be placed in charge. Even Leah, who typically likes to stir fights, seems to be fine with it.
But there is one thing she isn't so quick to push aside.
"Would you still love me if I was a criminal?" asks Leah, directing her question towards Ciel.
Furrowing his brows, Ciel glances up in confusion and mild strangeness. "What?"
"Would you still love me if I was a criminal?" Leah repeats her question. "Would you still marry me, or would you have me killed?"
Ciel is quick to begin sharply shaking his head, refusing to answer the question or entertain her antics any further. He knows that the questions are both a trap and something he finds utterly ridiculous. Though, he does find himself pondering in the back of his mind.
"Then it's decided. There's plenty of time until the storm dies down anyway," he swallows a lump in his throat, now casting his eyes upon Arthur to ignore the pouting Leah, who stares holes into the back of his head.
Leaning back in his chair, Ciel brings his hands up and intertwines them. He rests his head on his hands and flashes a final smile at the wordsmith,
"Let's thoroughly corner this criminal."
Notes:
do you guys think ciel would kill leah if she was a criminal? (does she count as one if she’s murdered people without knowing it..?)
anyways hope you enjoyed this chapter despite that long wait um we’re so back🥰
Chapter 23: | 22 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl plays around more than she should. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i’m learning that i can’t enjoy analog horror or anything similar to it because it causes me to go into episodes of paranoia and then i start to have visual and auditory hallucinations😭
might try and speedrun the rest of this arc cause there’s only two chapters left. we’re almost at atlantic!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-two ! )
"As a result of my conversations with everyone, many things have become clear however.. the thing I'm most stuck on is the whereabouts of the key to the Earl's room."
The guests have regrouped around the table and anyone who happened to stray returned to their original seats. Everyone's focus is occupied by Arthur once more. If it wasn't for the fact that this ongoing murder investigation is a serious matter, boredom would be the main emotion displayed at this moment.
Unlike the rest of the adults, a young Leah Barrett sits idly beside her friend Ran Mao, fiddling with the engagement ring that adorns her finger. The diamond on top shines whenever it catches the light or the occasional flash of lighting from out the window. But, she finds it harder to hide her boredom compared to the people surrounding her, preferring to turn around to whisper to Anna.
Leah shifts in her spot and eyes her lady's maid, who stands separated from the Phantomhive servants. "You know, I don't think he'd still marry me if I was a criminal.." she keeps her voice low, referring to Ciel, who is caught up in a conversation with Arthur.
"Well.. Is that not part of his occupation, Mistress?" quips Anna, throwing a glance around the room. "I am sure he would still love you. Perhaps he wouldn't even turn you in."
With an unimpressed look, Leah scoots closer to Anna to avoid any potential prying eyes. "Should he try to kill me, I could just kill him first, no? In the case that he doesn't appreciate such an unseemly past," her eyes lock with Charles' on the armchair to her right, which earns him a faux innocent smile.
Anna's eyes widen, but they dull just as fast. "Don't say such a thing in a scenario like this, Mistress. If anyone is to overhear, you are only making yourself more suspicious," her voice softens a bit, concern filling her at the thought of Leah being arrested. "It is best if you lay low and be on your best behavior, I fear you wouldn't last a day in custody."
A pout paints the Barrett's porcelain face, and she begrudgingly turns back around in her seat, ruffling her dress skirts in the process. If her conversation with Anna lasted any longer, she would have missed the fact that half of the men in the room have risen from their seats and are now making their way toward the door.
"Where are you going?" she calls out, a little louder than a lady should be.
All five turn around, but Ciel is the only one to offer an answer. "We are going to the storage room to check Sebastian's body for the key," he drones, cane in hand.
With a sudden burst of energy, Leah rises from her seat to rush over to the group of men, her shoulder grazing Finnian's when she gets close. "I want to go! I want to go!" she chants.
Before her fiancé even has a chance to protest, the girl is walking out of the room. She would walk farther than down the hall if it isn't for the fact that Leah has no clue where the storage room is, choosing to impatiently bounce on her feet as she waits for the men to follow behind her and lead the way. Ciel, staring ahead, only offers a sigh as he exits the room.
═╬
Candles guide the way for the group as they make their way down the corridor and stairs that lead to the storage room. In the front, Bardoy carries a lamp to see his steps with Finnian beside him while Arthur deals with Charles breathing down his neck. To the side of them, Leah keeps herself firmly attached to Ciel, unappreciative of her lack of sight. 'Had I known it would be so dark down here, I would've stayed with Ran Mao..'
Arthur's voice is the first to cut through the thick air, noting the silence amongst them. "This place has the kind of atmosphere where one might expect a ghost to pop up at any moment, doesn't it?"
"Will you cut that out?!" yells Charles, right into the wordsmith's ear before he slides over to Ciel, gripping the young Earl's unoccupied arm. "There's no way there'd be a ghost! I only believe in things I can cut with my sword!"
"So, can you please walk on your own then?" mutters Ciel, getting aggravated at the feeling of the extra weight against his back.
For a moment, only the sounds of footsteps can be heard as Charles stammers and tries to explain himself. "I thought you might be scared. I was being so kind as to—"
"We're here, folks." Bardroy saves everyone from Charles' rambling, now standing in front of a set of doors.
Taking a grip on the handle and pulling one of the doors open, the chef reveals the dingy but tidy storage room. There are numerous barrels and walls of wine taking up space, being illuminated by two candlelit chandeliers. Right in the center of the floor are the three bodies, covered by tarps to shield them from view, only their outlines and feet noticeable.
Bardoy picks up stray pairs of gloves and approaches the others. "Put these gloves on when you touch the corpses, will ya."
"You're well prepared!" Arthur remarks. "That saves us some trouble."
Sliding over to the scene, Leah tries to take her own pair. This attempt is immediately stopped by Ciel, turning back to his betrothed as he silently places the gloves over his hands.
"No," his voice is direct and straight to the point, pulling a pout from the girl.
"Rude.." mumbles Leah, walking off to stand a few feet behind Arthur and watching as he pulls the tarp from Sebastian's body.
Beneath the fabric lays the still form of the Phantomhive butler, an expression missing from his face. But, the most peculiar thing is that he is covered in droplets of water, seeping into his hair and clothes. 'Nasty..'
Arthur releases a noise of surprise. "He's wet?!"
Glancing up towards the roof, Bardroy gives a faint grunt. "Looks like a leak in the roof caused it," he remarks.
"Poor Mr. Sebastian! Please move him!" Finnian yells frantically, approaching to get a better look.
His sudden intrusion on the scene goes mainly unnoticed, though Leah does spare him a glance. Particularly because the boy nearly pushed her over, but she can't blame him. Finnian is naturally distressed over the loss of a friend.
"We should, if he's wet, his body will decay faster as well," Arthur says thoughtfully, causing Leah to grimace at his word choice and the gardener to sweat. "We'll need to investigate him, but since he's still suffering from rigor mortis, it'll be hard to take his clothes off. Well, first, let's turn him on his back and—"
"Stop it!" screams Finnian, his hands balled into fists as he dives to push Arthur away from the body, knocking the man into Leah, who was standing a bit too close behind him. "Don't treat Mr. Sebastian like a mere object! Mr. Sebastian is very dear to—"
As Ciel interrupts Finnian to reprimand him, Arthur is now busy profusely apologizing to Leah, who distastefully stares at him with her arms crossed.
"Please forgive me!" his voice is shaky, and his hands clasped together in a plead for forgiveness, only getting a silent stare from Leah.
Although the teen is partially at fault for their collision, getting her to admit or accept the fact would be like talking to a wall. The wordsmith also realizes this and lets his voice die down to silence, kneeling to begin searching the body with Ciel.
Also returning to her original doing, Leah now chooses to stand behind her fiancé. She nosily examines as the men of the room, save for Bardoy and Finnian, pull apart Sebastian's close and try to inspect for the key.
When nothing comes of this search, there is a faint disappointment and confusion that lingers in the air. Where could Sebastian have possibly kept the key?
"Couldn't it be in his room?" suggests Arthur, glancing up at Ciel and reluctantly at Leah, who subtly stares him down.
Stepping back from the body, the Phantomhive is almost startled when he feels Leah's arm against his back. A near second victim to her silent wrath and about the third time being pushed for the girl.
"Let's go look," he nods.
═╬
"This is Sebastian's room."
Once again, having led the way, Bardoy opens up the door that looks to the minimalistic space that is known as Sebastian's quarters. The room is sparse and lacks decoration. A bed sits in the center against the wall right beneath a window that is being assaulted by the rain, and a nightstand with a lamp and lock by its side. Just to the left is a fireplace, a writing desk, and a singular portrait, while to the right is a closet and drawers.
"How.." Leah's voice trails off, taking in the space. "depressing."
Walking in behind her, Arthur perks up at the sight of the minimal decor. "It's quite spacious."
"It's because he's a senior servant," Bardroy quips while muttering about how he and Finnian are senior servants as well, catching Leah's ear.
Ciel wanders over to the writing desk, observing its empty surface, save for a teapot. "Can't you guys think of a place where he might have hidden it?"
Observing the rain pattering on the window, Leah ignores the chattering going on behind her. The sense of calm that the storm gives her, despite how rough it is, distracts her from their current situation. It isn't until she hears the sound of the bed being lifted beside her that she begins to pay attention again, glancing at Finnian holding it up so Arthur can take a look beneath.
Finnian and Arthur are not the only ones searching. Ciel looks through small drawers at the writing desk, Bardroy glances up the fireplace, and even Charles is going through the clothes in drawers. Feeling left out, Leah sidesteps to be closer to Ciel.
"Why don't the other servants get spacious and depressing rooms like Sebastian?" she asks suddenly, peering down to take a look at her betrothed's face but only managing to see his eye patch.
Sparing a glance, Ciel lifts his head as his eyes simultaneously lock on Leah and the closet some feet behind her. "What?" he lifts a brow.
"Well, if the others have worked as long as Sebastian, it doesn't seem fair if their rooms aren't as nice, no?" Leah tilts her head, following Ciel as he brushes past her.
The boy doesn't respond —much to her displeasure— in favor of stopping before the closet, though he does take in her words for later thought. With her eyes flickering between Ciel and the closet, she pouts until she pulls on one of the knobs, instantly being caught off guard by numerous things flying at him.
Numerous cats.
Leah's pout is quickly replaced by the sight of the bundles of fur filing out of the closet as words of surprise carry throughout the room. Sneezes begin to pour from her fiancé beside her, but to his surprise, she pays him no mind and dives to pick up one of the felines.
Staring into the creature's blue eyes with her own, a bright smile works its way onto her lips. "Oh, they are so cute!" she squeals, rubbing her face against the soft and silky fur.
"That bastard! He hid these from me!" Ciel screams in utter frustration, his back placed against the closet in a terrible attempt to distance himself from the many cats at his feet. "Don't let any of these critters out of this room!" his words drift off into a loud sneeze.
Surprised, Finnian stands and tries to approach his master with a cat still settled in his arms. "Young master!"
"Finny! Don't come here while you're carrying one of those things! My allergies are.." the Phantomhive can't finish his sentence before he erupts in a harsh sneeze that causes pain in his throat.
Playing with the arms of one of the cats, Leah merrily ignores the world in favor of the bundle of fur melting her heart. 'What precious meows!' She rises to her feet and steps over towards Ciel, holding the animal out to him.
"Isn't this one adorable?" she bites back another squeal.
With her step forward, Ciel takes another one back, trying to use his arm to shield himself while also backing into a corner. "Get that thing away from me!"
Leah pouts dramatically. "Don't be so mean, Ciel! I'm sure the kitty would like to say hello," the smile that paints her face is a lovely sight compared to the usual lack of an expression.
"No!" he fights, feeling another sneeze approaching.
Having managed to wrangle the cats onto Sebastian's bed, Ciel is now safely standing in the doorway, giving a wary glance towards Leah, who chose to stay by the bed. He appreciates her enthusiasm but can't help but feel a little startled at how she carelessly backed him into a corner. However, that was primarily his fault.
As the men converse about what they are meant to do next and the lack of a key, Leah busies herself by petting each cat meticulously. The feeling of the fur on her hands, the soft noises, the playful rolling around. She can't help herself but love them all. 'If only Ciel wasn't allergic.. I hope he doesn't think that means he is safe from me bringing Sam along after we get married.'
The Barrett doesn't even notice everyone leaving the room for a good minute or so. If anything, she might not have at all if it wasn't for Ciel noticing the lack of her attached to his arm, causing him to circle back to Sebastian's room.
"Leah," his voice is low and comforting, just enough to grab her attention.
Glancing up at the sound, Leah now notices the lack of anyone else in the room. "Hm?"
"We are leaving. We are planning on asking everyone about searching each other's luggage," Ciel hesitantly takes a step closer, holding out his arm. "Come."
Leah follows almost like an obedient puppy, wrapping a gentle hand around his forearm. Giving the cats all one last pat, she lets Ciel guide her towards the exit, albeit begrudgingly. She could stay here all year if she wanted to, and she absolutely would if given the chance.
"Goodbye.." she calls out, watching the door close behind her.
═╬
"Thus, we would like to view your rooms and belongings," explains Arthur, standing before the guests who chose to stay in the room rather than come along in search of the key. "The woman's luggage will be checked by another woman, so we won't see it. Is that okay?"
"I understand."
"Go ahead."
"Do as you please."
Off to the side, Ciel and Leah both questionably eye Charles, who complains of his hunger. 'Does he do anything other than eat?'
═╬
Inside Irene's room, the women are currently searching the last one with half effort— not expecting to find anything out of place. Leah, Ran Mao, Anna, and Meyrin all sift through the opera singer's belongings while she watches them patiently.
Despite typically enjoying being nosy, the pair of eyes belonging to Leah only seem to drift around the room, occasionally landing on something of interest but nothing incriminating. From time to time, she catches the words of Meyrin and Irene, catching the words of her relationship with Grimsby. She isn't at all interested in the view until she catches a bottle of dark fluid in Meyrin's hand.
Leah notes how the maid doesn't make a comment on it, choosing to keep her mouth shut as well. 'I'll bring it up if necessary.. Perhaps it is just a wine, and she enjoys eccentric bottles.' The girl can't be too bothered to care; she doubts that any of the women would have killed a person, especially Irene. The Barrett herself is the most likely suspect out of them all, but the search through her luggage and room came out with nothing.
Pulling her eyes away, she is taken aback by the sudden view of Ran Mao with Irene's drawers atop her head.
What earns a faint giggle from Leah earns a scream from Irene. "You shouldn't put that on your head!" her face darkens in embarrassment.
Meyrin's attention is also drawn away from the vial of liquid, her face somehow managing to be darker than Irene's. "Miss Ran Mao!" she begins to make her way over in an attempt to stop her.
Even Anna reacts. Only a small gape in her mouth, but still something that breaks through her dull exterior.
This is probably the highlight of Leah's entire time here.
═╬
Everyone returned to their original spots, looking a bit dejected. Well, Arthur, in particular.
"It wasn't here after all.." his shoulders slump with a sigh.
Ciel sighs as well. "Even with all this, Sebastian could have hidden it somewhere else.."
"That or he could have thrown it out the window," suggests Lau, keeping Ran Mao close to his chest and pulling Leah's attention. "Since it's so small if it was carried off or buried in this storm, we aren't going to find it."
Attempting to put her brain to use, a shrug is offered by Leah. "Perhaps we should think of where we wouldn't think? Something absurd that would make no sense. Sebastian seemed to enjoy being over the top—"
"Excuse me!" Finnian interrupts with his arms tightly at his side. "I'm going to search outside!"
Meyrin places a hand on her chest in agreement. "I.. I'm going too!"
Ciel appears surprised and lets it drop just as quickly. "Certainly, finding it would give us a clue towards the killer, but you don't have to go out of your—"
"I.. want to solve this case!" the gardener's voice is a near shout, his brows knitted in frustration.
Finnian's yelling continues as he explains his motives, losing Leah's interest. Instead, she turns around to send Anna a cursory glance.
"That poor boy is losing it," she says with a whisper and faint shake of her head.
Hardly having a chance to respond when the sound of pounding feet runs out of the room, the maid only offers a mere nod. The sight of Finnian so emotionally hurts most hearts. No one can blame him for his feelings. Yet somehow, Leah remains bad at reading the room. Or her lack of care, too.
═╬
Sometime after the Phantomhive servants darted out of the room, the unnerving silence that fell upon the guests began to become too much for some. Even Leah, who can typically ignore the atmosphere in a room with no trouble, shifts uncomfortably while staring out the window. One person in particular who feels it the most is Grimsby.
"Hey. It's a little suffocating to stay quiet like this. Why don't we play a game of cards?" the man's voice cuts through the silence like a knife. "I brought some cards, so I'll go get them from my room." he rises from his seat and carefully brushes off his pants.
An immediate look of concern crosses Arthur's face. "Please wait, if you're going, we should all go."
"I'll be right back," Grimsby counters simply, a small bead of sweat trickling down his cheek at Arthur's growing insistence.
"It's safest to move in groups since we still don't know who the killer is, and more importantly, I don't want to see any more victims made," explains Arthur with his hands out quite dramatically.
Standing before the window, Leah and Ciel both share a look. Neither can deny that it is a smart move to never be alone. However, unlike the logical one in the relationship, Leah isn't focused on the potential idea of another murder.
"I don't want to play cards with that man," her voice is almost inaudible, mouth right beside Ciel's ear, "he's quite aggravating."
Ciel turns his head slowly, fighting back an incredulous look. "Is that really what you are concerned about right now?"
When he receives nothing but a nod from his oh-so-empathetic fiancé, he chooses to simply turn his attention back to the conversation at hand. Ciel can never seem to become adjusted to Leah's lack of care or interest in serious situations. The girl can't even understand herself, anyone else managing to would be astounding.
"If he's not amongst us, where is he?" asks Charles, his gaze low and worried.
"You mean the killer arrived before the storm but is hiding himself outside.. or something?" Irene begins to twitch ever so slightly at the thought.
Ciel pipes up, his eyes off to the side. "Even so, isn't it unlikely he would be able to wander around the mansion and into a locked room without leaving footprints if he had been out in the storm before?" he questions lowly.
A thoughtful silence overcomes everyone, but it doesn't get the chance to last long or make an impact.
"Wouldn't your 'unlikely' become likely with the existence of a fifteenth person?" Lau's voice is eerie, a faint shiver going down Leah's neck at his words.
Woodley, breaking his silence, is feeling agitated. "How foolish! There's definitely no chance of that happening!" he bellows.
"Definitely?" Lau counters his argument. "The one thing that doesn't exist in this world is 'definite.' If you revere 'definite,' then anything could be lurking in this manor. If he's lying in wait for a chance to attack, aiming for our lives.. he might not be that far off anymore.." the words trail out of his mouth with a hint of certainty.
"This fifteenth person who shouldn't exist."
Notes:
guys please comment, i’m getting lonely😞💔 a word, an emoji, SOMETHING😭 NO ONE TALKS TO ME😭😭
Chapter 24: | 23 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl meets a strange individual. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-three ! )
"Young Master, we caught some suspicious-looking guy!"
Bursting through the door, Finnian nearly knocks the wood off its hinges when he and the other Phantomhive servants make a roaring entry. They all have a mild look of unease on their face. But the first thing to catch anyone's attention is the bag tightly clenched in Bardroy's hand.
The sudden intrusion causes a stir among the guests, snapping their heads toward the door. If not for the words that left the servant's mouths, they would be deemed a little too unruly.
Even Ciel himself appears startled, stiffening beside Leah, who instinctively grabbed ahold of his arm. Neither dares to teenager speak a word yet. Only an exchange of eyes is passed between Leah and Anna, an almost knowing glance.
When the chef notices that the mysterious fellow isn't following them, he raises his voice without a second thought. "Come on, get in already!" he demands, his face expressing agitation.
With slow, deliberate steps, a man clad in a suit takes his entrance. He has a tall stature and appears to be on the older side, with a noticeable lack of fat on his cheeks that draws attention to the area and his temples. His hair is black and slicked back, his eyes harsh and unwelcoming, his mouth turned into a frown, and his slightly large nose. However, the most noticeable thing is the rope tied around his waist and restricting his arms.
"Huh?!"
The reactions around the room are somehow both similar and varied.
"Wha- He was real?!" yells Charles in distress. "Where on Earth was he hiding?!"
Ciel's eyes are wide, and he hides as he takes an almost invisible step closer to Leah. "You're.." his voice trails off to silence.
"So you mean.. this is the killer?!" sweat drips down Woodley's face, equally as shocked as Charles.
Unlike the others, Lau lives up to his reputation and merely smirks. "To think the fifteenth guest would show up this soon. Even I am a little surprised."
He rises from his seat. If Lau wasn't so nonchalant, everyone would be holding their breaths. Instead, he is just watched in mild curiosity as he stops beside the man and places a hand on his shoulder.
"So, who're you again?" asks Lau, a semi-smile on his face.
Before the young Earl can have a chance to protest against Lau's behavior, the man speaks up. "My name?" he smirks, rainwater dripping down his face.
Ciel's eyes darken, listening to the thunder outside the window. His fiancé can sense his small shift in demeanor but doesn't mention anything. He's always been a sense of mystery to her, no use in questioning when she won't get an answer.
"It's been a while, Jeremy," he doesn't offer a smile and keeps his hands stuffed at his side.
Lau almost appears surprised. "Earl, is this old guy a friend of yours?" his word choice earns a cocked brow.
"Y..yeah," says Ciel, sounding hesitant and making his way over to the man, ignoring Leah's irritated pout. "This man is Father Jeremy Rathbone. He's a popular advisor to the local church and somewhat of a famous person."
Behind the boy, Jeremy is now smiling kindly. "Please, just call me Jeremy."
The silence of the guests causes a rift in the room, eyeing him warily. It's hard to tell if his smile is genuine or unnerving and fake. That and he's the potential murderer.
"Clearly not famous enough if I don't know him.." Leah mutters dramatically, trying to jab at Jeremy, which almost gets a reaction out of him.
A couple of feet away, Arthur is focusing on the new identity. "A.. father?" his brows knit.
If suspicion isn't a good enough reaction, then surely Woodley causing another scene is.
"Like I'd trust a suspicious-looking guy like you!" he shouts as he points an accusatory finger, flashing the many rings that adorn his hands. "The only one who could have committed the murders of the fifteenth person without an alibi. No matter how you look at it, it has to be this guy!"
Still standing by the window, a grimace crosses Leah's face as she covers her ears with a soft hand. "Indoor voices.." her voice is no more than a mere whisper that coaxes a glance from Ran Mao and Anna.
Flashing a smirk, Jeremy keeps all attention on him. "Actually, your reasoning is utter nonsense, Mister Woodley."
"How do you know my name?!" Woodley yells in distress and aggravation, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.
"Looking at your ring, it's actually quite obvious," Jeremy leans in uncomfortably close, his height almost dwarfing Woodley's. "The only place you'd be able to mine a large diamond like that would be South Africa. Furthermore, the only way you'd be able to get the special round brilliant cut this diamond has is with the latest polishing machinery recently developed by the Woodley Company. I've also heard that the London jeweler, Daniel Anderson, has been holding sales talks with women, saying it's a rare item that hasn't really appeared on the market yet," his lips curl. "If you consider that one of the people invited to the Earl's evening party is wearing such a rare ring, it is most likely the director of the Woodley Company. In other words, you, Mister. Am I wrong?"
Leah's hands twitch, the primal urge to groan at the rambling and explanation trying to claw its way out of her throat. She manages to keep herself together, though, forcing a large swallow and training her eyes directly to the floor. 'Don't draw suspicion.' she reminds herself. 'But surely the others find this boring as well? It's the same as Sebastian. Just talking your ear off.'
However, no one else around the young lady seems affected. It appears she may be alone on this one, as she tends to be.
"More importantly, how in the world.." Arthur stops to correct himself. "No, why and since when have you been here?" he rephrases his question, gaining the attention of Jeremy.
"Sheesh, nothing but questions," huffs Jeremy before turning to Bardroy, who still has ahold of his bag. "Hey you, would you mind opening my bag?"
Being no stranger to following orders, Bardroy moves to set the bag down and carefully opens it to reveal its contents. But what is inside causes a stir of surprise in both noises and action, for a sleeping white owl lays peacefully on a cloth with a letter wrapped around its claw.
"Woah!"
"This is Mister Sebastian's owl!"
Meyrin's face contorts in discomfort, eyeing the creature from some feet away. "I—Is it dead?" her voice wavers.
"No," Jeremy responds with a shake of his head, "but since it resisted, I put it to sleep for a while with some medicine. It will wake up soon."
"Wha— Just because it resisted a bit! How cruel!" yells Finnian in exasperation, his face almost darkening.
On the opposite end of the room, Leah's interest is piqued. 'An owl?' She's never seen one up close before. So naturally, as the spoiled girl she is, she immediately takes it upon herself to approach the unconscious animal. 'It's so cute!' There's a noticeable curl on her lips.
"Please look at the letter at its claw."
The words don't register to Leah's ears until she feels two bodies beside her, noticing Ciel on her left and Jeremy on her right. She can't help but shift uncomfortably and subtly scoot closer to her fiancé's side, eyeing up the intruder. The action could go on for days, but Leah decides to focus on the letter in Ciel's hand, pushing her head close to his, causing their hair to brush together.
"Young Master! What did Mr. Sebastian say?!" asks Meyrin, her hands clasped by the sound of Ciel's silence.
He shuts his eyes, both in thought and in an attempt to stop a faint flush from working its way onto his cheeks at the feeling of Leah so close. "It seems that he anticipated that he would be killed and sent a letter to Jeremy," Ciel crumples the paper tightly in his hand before shoving it in his pocket, slightly upsetting Leah, who didn't get to finish reading.
"Oh my.. Mr. Sebastian.." Meyrin's voice is low as it trembles, her hands brought closer to her mouth.
Leah, lacking the empathy she typically does, stands with the owl nestled between her arms, cradling the creature as if it were a baby. There appears to be a content look on her face, finding the image of a sleeping owl adorable.
Some people aren't so happy, though, like Grimsby. "But you can't prove he isn't the killer with just a piece of paper! If he came from outside, he could just as well have committed last night's murder!" he protests.
"Actually, I have a simple solution to your lack of evidence," counters Jeremy with an aloof expression. "In my coat pocket."
Being the closest to the man, Finnian is the one to shove a hand deep within the pockets, pulling out a crumpled item. "A ticket.. is it? For a play.." his voice is filled with confusion and wonder.
"What's the date?" asks Ciel, his gaze half focused on his betrothed holding an owl.
"Yesterday.. It's for the evening show on March nineteenth. The place and program are um.. the.." Finnian's voice trails as he struggles to sound out the letters and words. "The Lady of the Lake at the Lyceum Theatre!" It takes him a moment, but he succeeds.
Irene chimes in, finally breaking her silence. "The Lady of the Lake is indeed playing at the Lyceum Theatre at the moment."
"Indeed, I went to the Lyceum Theatre in London last night," Jeremy nods and lowers his head. "The play ended at ten p.m. Even if I took Hansom cab and threw him a sovereign, it would still take over two hours to get here. Furthermore, in this rain, the road would become so muddy it'd take at least twice as long as usual," he explains.
Hardly paying attention to the conversation at hand, Leah runs a hand over the owl's soft feathers. They feel nice between her fingers, tickling the skin and drawing a faint giggle. She should certainly be more concerned with the situation at hand, though.
But when has she ever?
With raised brows, Irene speaks up once again. "A Hansom cab in this rain?" she questions.
"In this rain, the river along the road would be flooded, there's no way you'd get over the bridge in a horse-drawn carriage!" says Bardroy, eyes flickering to the window where the rain pours down against it.
"Of course, there are countless ways of getting here. Walking or swimming.. Though those aren't really ways I'd recommend for normal human beings," a smirk is evident on Jeremy's face, water still dripping down his hair. "There are always as many ways of getting to a result as one can count the stars. But there is only one truth."
Leah's attention is now drawn. The attention is not good, though. She can only shift in discomfort, trying not to tighten her grip around the owl and potentially harm the creature. 'Normal human being..?' her thoughts can't help but trail to Sebastian or Thomas. Two people she would prefer not to think about.
Her fiancé notices this change in her demeanor, lowering his head to take a look at her face. Ciel can see the unease written all over. As much as he would like to attempt to comfort her, he can't afford to get distracted in his very moment. So, instead, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind for later.
"In other words, you mean that you cannot be involved in the killings because you were in London last night.." Arthur butts in. "Am I right?"
Jeremy nods in approval. "As expected of a master novelist, thank you for speeding up the conversation."
"Huh?!"
"You can find out a lot about people's jobs and the like from examining their looks and habits, you know," Jeremy gets close to Arthur's face, just as he had done with Woodley.
Uninterested, Leah places the owl down with a slight reluctance. As much as she would like to hold the thing forever, it would wake up eventually. And who knows, perhaps it would claw her face off due to not recognizing her.
Shuffling back over to Ciel, she stands close and keeps her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't like that man.. he is strange," she bites her lip.
"He is not a bad man," Ciel shakes his head. "He just acts odd sometimes. If you can be comfortable with Lau, surely you can grow to not want to claw this one's face off?"
Leah's face shows uncertainty, but she doesn't dare protest anymore. She can't find it in her and wants to try and trust Ciel's judgment more.
"Well, now that your doubts should have been lifted, would you mind getting this rope off of me?" Jeremy cocks a brow, drawing attention to his arms that are still bound. "It seems that the air around this mansion is heavy with the smell of a crime that will rid me of my boredom."
═╬
After unbinding Jeremy's arms, everyone returns to their seats. As much as they would wish, it still isn't calm. Their silence is due to the information of the previous nights being explained, courtesy of Arthur, who is in charge of the investigation.
"That's all that happened from the time of the first murder up until the murder of the butler that called you here," says the wordsmith.
"I see.. That's very interesting," Jeremy thinks over this newfound information, his hands pressed together. "Could I first see the bodies? They will eloquently tell me nothing but the truth."
Some people share glances, but no one else dares speak. If Leah wasn't so tightly pressed against Ran Mao to avoid being any closer to Charles, she would be staring directly at Anna, who is a few feet behind her.
Arthur rises from his seat. "Well then, let's go to the basement wine cellar together."
"Stop!"
"Huh?!"
"I would like you to move each of the bodies to a separate room," says Jeremy, as if this is not an odd request.
A rift and discomfort is caused by this.
Beads of sweat drip down Arthur's cheeks, gazing questionably. "But why?" he asks.
"The scent might be a clue to the crime. If we put the bodies together, their scents will interfere with each other," Jeremy explains as if this is common sense. "Also, the wine cellar will have a particularly strong scent of wine. On that note, can you lend me three rooms, Earl?"
Ciel only offers a shrug and an initial silence. "That would be fine, I guess," he turns to his servants. "You guys, divide the bodies over three rooms."
"Certainly."
With those orders, the Phantomhive servants quickly take their leave to carry out their duties.
Watching them leave, Jeremy makes his way over to the young boy. "Earl, will you allow me to change my clothes in the meantime?"
"Sure.. The clothes of my predecessor might be a little too small. I'll lend you some clothes of the dead butler," Ciel doesn't offer any smile, not bothering with hospitality. "I'll take you there."
Over on the lounge, Leah can't help but shudder. 'Wearing the clothes of a dead person? Seems rather.. weird. Disrespectful even so soon after his death.' Nonetheless, she doesn't let this show.
═╬
It only takes about fifteen minutes for the bodies to be gathered and moved, indicated by the fact that Leah isn't throwing a tantrum from boredom. There are only a few things that the girl hates more than being utterly bored.
As if on cue, Bardroy opens the door just as lighting crackles above the manor. "Young Master, we have finished transferring the bodies."
Ciel only manages a nod, but Jeremy loudly claps his hands together. "Well then! I'd like you to show me the bodies in the order that they were killed," there is a hint of a smirk on his face, lacking discomfort at the thought of dealing with dead bodies.
"We'll start from Lord Siemens then," nods Arthur.
Walking over with a raised arm, Charles inserts himself into the mini-circle. "I'll come along too."
As the men gather themselves, a certain young lady can't help herself from feeling nosy. Well, it's more about combatting her boredom. Murder is off-putting, but that doesn't make the situation any more interesting to sit in unnerving silence.
"I want to go too!" Leah quickly stands from her previously seated position, giving Ran Mao more space to move.
Once again, Ciel can't find it in himself to attempt to argue with her presence. Her involvement doesn't hinder much unless you count her occasional insults. Responding with a sigh from his nose, he simply sets off out of the door and shortly down the hall.
"Over here."
Only some feet away, three doors file down a wall. Each looks similar, but they all contain something different.
"The bodies of Siemens, Phelps, and Sebastian have been placed in order of this side of the hallway," drones Ciel, keeping a hand on Leah's wrist to guide her.
Jeremy nods in approval. "That'll save us some trouble."
Stepping inside the first room, the group glance down at the tarp covering Georg Von Siemens' body. It isn't the first time they've seen it, certainly not, but it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, at least for Leah. The men around her seem almost unfazed.
This can be seen in how Jeremy mindlessly kneels beside the body and rips the tarp off, immediately beginning his examination. He spares no time to unbutton his coat, staring down at the blood against the white fabric.
"The only external trauma is the wound on his chest. A single stab with a sharp-edged blade, it seems." he holds the coat open, digging inside to retrieve a watch. "He was quite the violent drinker during his lifetime, wasn't he?"
Charles raises a brow. "How do you know?"
"I knew as soon as I saw this," Jeremy turns the watch around for the others to take a look. "This is an expense pocket watch, but the area around the winding keyhole is full of scratches. You'd only do this if you were either a very crude person or drunk, right?" he says as though this is something many would consider.
Leah, off to the side, doesn't look very impressed. As a matter of fact, any good stance with the man continues to dissipate when he starts smelling the air.
"And this strong scent of alcohol is proof that he was gulping down strong liquor up until the moment before this death," with his nose held high, Jeremy continues to sniff.
"What's wrong?" asks Ciel, trying to ignore the incredulous gaze Leah stares at him with.
She tries to stay silent. She does. But watching Jeremy now stuff a handkerchief he borrowed from Arthur deep inside Georg's mouth, a grimace covers her usually soft face.
"This man is weird!" she whispers harshly, though only Ciel and Charles seem to hear it.
With Georg's examination being done, everyone starts to file out of the room, including Ciel. "You can complain my ear off about him later. For now, just occupy yourself," he whispers back, his voice quieter and more detached.
Nonetheless, they move on to Phelps.
═╬
Phelps' examination goes quite quickly since one of the other things to observe is the holes in his neck. So, naturally, Jeremy has them all go up the stairs to view the scene of the crime.
Just up some stairs is the crumbled door to Ciel's bedroom, pieces of wood lying on the floor of the entrance. As everyone else cautiously steps inside, Jeremy opts to speed towards the bed, seemingly pulling a magnifying glass out of nowhere.
"Where did he get that?" Leah shakes her head. If she could get an award for being unwelcoming and hostile towards people without truly knowing them, her house would be full beyond its capacity.
Jeremy does respond to this, though, pulling back from a piece of rope. "It seems there are several killers in this crime."
Noises of surprise across the room, widened eyes staring him down.
"So there were multiple culprits after all.." mumbles Ciel, letting Leah take a step closer.
"It will be simple to catch Georg's killer, but it will be quite troublesome to catch Phelps' killer. In order to avoid any further victims, it'll be better if we make sure to catch this criminal soon," says Jeremy in thought, a finger pressed to his chin. "No human will be able to get out in this storm, anyway."
Arthur pipes up. "What do you mean?"
"In order to catch Phelps' killer, there are two requirements. One is to wait for nightfall, the second is.." Jeremy's eyes wander to Ciel. "Your cooperation, Earl," his lips curl up in a grin.
Ciel's grip on Leah tightens ever so slightly, looking a tad bit uncomfortable with being placed on the spot. "My cooperation?"
"Yes, yours," Jeremy nods. "I'll tell you everything when night has fallen."
Everyone begins to leave the room again, heading towards the last room to check Sebastian's body. However, Leah can't help but notice the odd look Ciel and Jeremy share. Their eyes meet, Ciel with furrowed brows, but Jeremy is appearing still in the face.
Waiting for the man to leave first, Leah turns her head to her fiancé. "Why are you two looking at each other like that?" she asks. She ignores a lot of details, but she isn't stupid enough to let everything slip by her.
When she doesn't receive an answer, she fights back a pout.
"Well, exercise caution. I still think he'll kill someone.. No non-murderer acts like that."
═╬
The door to the room that holds Sebastian opens up with a creak, revealing the body lying center on the floor. It doesn't appear any different than last time, but it's hard to say when the tarp only leaves the feet in view. To the wall, tall windows stand to show the rain and set the atmosphere, the lovely curtains clashing against the environment.
Rain does little to frighten the group, though. Having seen three murders— three bodies —rain is one of the last things that can deter them.
Yet again, Jeremy is the first to approach the body. "I believe you told me that the butler was stabbed to death after being hit," he says for confirmation, leaning down to slightly lift the tarp off Sebastian's body.
Before the body can even be entirely revealed, Ciel doubles down in the back, tightly holding on to Leah for leverage. His face has darkened and paled quite a bit, hand covering his mouth to give the illusion of feeling sick.
"Earl?!"
"Ciel..?"
"Are you alright?" Leah questions before Arthur has the chance to, placing an arm on his shoulder. Although she is typically horrible with comforting people, sickness is different than crying.
"I'm sorry. Seeing Sebastian's corpse so many times.." Ciel buries his face into his fiancé's hair, trying to hide his face and trembling voice, "is just too much for me.."
A frown crosses Leah's face, ignoring all others to place her entire focus on Ciel. "Perhaps you should step outside and get some air. Or sit down for a moment?" she suggests, thinking of what she can do with the little knowledge of what her betrothed is feeling.
"Thank you.." says Ciel, his voice shaking as Leah and Arthur lead him out of the room.
However, some are so convinced.
"What?" Charles deadpans, his eyebrows raised. "Weren't you fine when you stripped the butler's corpse a while ago?" he asks as he follows the trio out.
By this point, Jeremy has finished examining the last corpse. They all now slowly walk down the hall, preparing to go back to the sitting room. It is surprisingly calm despite the activity.
"It's almost dinner time, I'm hungry~" sings Charles, earning a look of shock from Leah as she fights back an insult. "What's on the menu today?"
Ciel also looks tired but isn't ready to claw at the man's throat. "Who knows? Shall I ask the servants?"
"No, it's fine, I'll be looking forward to it," Charles swiftly turns around with the wave of his hand. "I'm heading back," he sets off down the hall, leaving the others behind.
Any other voices drown out against Leah's ears as she focuses on Charles walking away, only recognizing the feeling of Ciel guiding her in a direction. It appears as though she is lost in thought, but she is actually subconsciously listening in on the faint noise of Charles' movements. This is evident when she hears the sudden sound of his footsteps picking up, barely noticeable but louder.
"I think I hear him running..?" her voice sounds uncertain.
Sadly, she is mostly ignored.
═╬
After a bit of a long wait, the dinner table is full—but the plates are clear. The meal was delicious, evident in the content expressions as everyone at the table finishes up. But, some think this more than others.
"Ahh, I'm full!" Charles smiles widely with a hand on his stomach, stacks of plates piled in front of him. "It was delicious~ Today's hamburger steak meat wasn't greasy at all, I could've gone on eating forever. As to be expected, the meat used by the Phantomhives is something else," he compliments.
Ciel finishes off his wine. "Thank you."
Across from Charles, though, Leah isn't so kind. "Gluttony is a sin," she smiles, but it is nothing but condescending.
Charles shares the smile, though his eyes are squinted into a glare. If they weren't surrounded by people, he would consider lunging. But so would Leah.
Before either can make another smart remark, Lau brings attention to himself. "Well then, now that we're all full, why don't you finally let us in on the truth of these incidents?" he waves around a napkin as he speaks.
"Well, let's not be hasty now. There are still some things I want to prepare before that," replies Jeremy as he dabs at his mouth. "Will you lend me your assistance, Earl?"
Ciel, not finished with his food, pauses his motion of bringing another bite to his lips. "Yes, what should I do?"
With a twinkle in his eyes, Jeremy's lips curl. "Well then, Earl.. take off your clothes."
Gasps ripple throughout the room, including Leah nearly choking on her drink. What could the man possibly have in store?
"What?!"
═╬
Later that same night, Ciel lies in his bed. Jeremy, Arthur, Charles, Leah, and Anna all sit by the door, waiting for an abnormality. Jeremy had only told Ciel of his plan; the others left in the dark.
Anna's surprising appearance isn't as thoughtful as it seems, though, as she simply refuses to let Leah in a bedroom as her fiancé sleeps. Let alone surrounded by other men.
The wait isn't as long as anticipated. For a strange sound begins to travel into their ears, making them look every which way. It draws closer, but they can't make out where exactly it is coming from. Not until they notice a movement in Ciel's bed.
"Now! Step aside!" shouts Jeremy, signaling Ran Mao—the one truly under the blankets—to throw it off with a swift kick.
The fabric falls to the floor with a quiet thud, triggering Charles to draw his sword. "Gotcha!"
This attempt is stopped by Jeremy, saying something that Leah doesn't pick up. She is too busy dragging a half-asleep Anna over to the bed, using Arthur's candle as a light source.
Finally able to see, the culprit is revealed before them.
"This is the killer?!"
Notes:
if you’re reading this, you’ve read 102k+ words
Chapter 25: | 24 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl apprehends the killer. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
bought cult of the lamb on my switch and got way more addicted than i thought i would😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-four ! )
"I don't like you; you fooled me!"
Stomping down the halls with a huff is none other than Leah, some way ahead of the others trailing behind her. While most would be ecstatic that the killer has now been apprehended, she is filled with a begrudging anger that echos with her steps.
When the plan was set in place and the group sat in Ciel's room, she felt fine. But, when it was revealed to be Ran Mao under the blanket rather than her dear fiancé, she couldn't help but be pissed—to put it bluntly. No one knew what exactly Jeremy's plan was—fooled by a man she deems lesser than her? Insanity.
So, now rushing through the halls of Phantomhive Manor to Woodley's room—the group having been informed by Tanaka that Ciel and the others were hiding inside, Leah mumbles under her breath and makes clear jabs at Jeremy.
"Who do you think you are?" she seethes, keeping her gaze straight head. "I would hope nothing important because you are no one!"
Behind her, everyone else remains silent. At least Charles and Arthur do. Anna and even Ran Mao have been trying to calm the girl for the past few minutes, while Jeremy only serves to fuel Leah's anger every time he opens his mouth.
"I do apologize for upsetting you. That wasn't my intention," Jeremy shakes his head, though he fails to show any remorse. But who would?
Leah throws her head back but continues walking. "I do not care what your intention was!" her voice nearly raises to a yell.
Anna, brave enough to walk closer to her, carefully fiddles with discarded heels that Leah threw at Jeremy. "Mistress, perhaps you should take a moment to calm yourself?" she suggests, which causes Ran Mao to nod in agreement, occasionally glancing at any golden-rimmed paintings that they pass.
"Stay out of it, Anna!" Leah demands, speeding up when she catches Tanaka standing in the doorway to the room she's been looking for.
Further in the back, Arthur also follows along while Charles, Anna, Jeremy, and Ran Mao keep their pace. Watching her master enter, Anna takes a moment to mutter an apology on Leah's behalf, though she knows that she would protest if she were to hear this. Regardless, Anna immediately follows after her into the room.
"That man—" Leah starts almost immediately after walking in, her finger pointed towards the open door that almost makes it seem as though she's speaking about Tanaka. "That unfortunate-looking man should deem himself lucky I do not cut off his head!"
Her eyes fall upon Ciel, who sits cross-legged on the bed in the room, covered in nothing but a coat and surrounded by anyone who hadn't tagged along to catch the killer. Even the servants hold weapons— sort of. Meyrin and Finnian both carry brooms while Bardroy has a fire poker, the three presumably having been waiting for a potential attack.
"And you all just sit here..? Like simpletons. No better than him," she doesn't think before she speaks.
Some open their mouths to try and retaliate, but they don't have the chance to when the door is abruptly opened, revealing Arthur and Charles.
Their entry is shortly followed by Anna and Ran Mao, the maid trying to take the shoes off of Ran Mao's hands because she is wearing them as if they are gloves. The only person missing is Jeremy, who Leah would rather not see.
"We brought the killer along," says Charles nonchalantly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point at a looming shadow approaching him from behind.
This elicits a shriek from Irene, which trails on a bit longer than it should when Jeremy makes his entry, holding a tied snack in his hands. The reptile hisses and mildly squirms in the grip but makes no real progress in escaping since the middle of its body currently forms a knot, much to the displeasure of Leah, who deems it cruel.
"'This' is the killer," Jeremy gives an unnerving smile, holding the snake out for everyone to take a good look.
"A snake?!"
"That's ridiculous!"
Leah rolls her eyes and crosses the room to take a seat on the bed beside Ciel, though she doesn't bother sparing him a glance. 'All this fuss these last few days just for the killer to be a measly snake.. Ridiculous.' Now that she has practically been completely stripped of the title of potential murderer, she seems to be letting herself slip after staying quiet for so long to avoid suspicion. That and the girl feels a bit tired; she's beginning to fuss in the manner of a toddler.
"It's hard to believe, but it really came to get the young lady wearing the Earl's clothes," Arthur flushes as he avoids Ran Mao's eyes that bore into him as she nods, choosing to keep his own locked on the snake.
As Jeremy begins to explain how the snake might have been trained and how Patrick Phelps was killed—by having Ciel's scent due to sleeping in his bed, Anna takes it as her sign to approach Leah on the bed.
She kneels without a word and gently lifts one of Leah's feet from the floor, carefully placing one of the shoes she snatched back from Ran Mao on her feet. The Barrett stays silent and doesn't make a complaint, allowing her once bare feet to be covered. It is unbecoming of a lady to walk around barefoot, as her mother would say.
Speaking of Vivienne, if she could see Leah now.. The woman would die of heart failure. To see her behavior in the last few days would go against anything she has told her. Not that she was the one to teach her anything about being a lady.
Trapped in her thoughts, Leah doesn't even realize that Ciel has gotten off of the bed until she hears his voice filled with protest.
"At least put something on!" screams the Phantomhive, drawing Leah's attention to notice how Ran Mao is pressing her almost bare chest against him as he struggles free. "In any case! I was made to wear the butler's coat to hide my body odor?" he coughs into his hand, trying to rid the blush on his face.
Ran Mao, left behind with Lau as Ciel steps away, decides to now wander over to sit beside Leah, who is twirling her feet at the ankle, examining the shoes that are returned to her feet. She leans against the teen, staring off at the wall, which Leah doesn't particularly seem to mind.
"However, it's illegal to transport poisonous snakes on trading ships," Arthur is taking another peek at his notebook. "I used to be a doctor on a boat that sailed the African sea course as a part-time job, the luggage was checked quite strictly."
Leah's face contorts into one of subtle judgment and irritation. "A doctor, but you call yourself a wordsmith," this statement only earns an act of silence from Anna, who clamps a hand down over her mouth.
Stifling a chuckle, Lau places a hand on his chin in thought. "Which means it was smuggled. Bribing a privately managed freight ship is probably the easiest way," he adds to Arthur's words.
"Indeed, you'd need close connections with an African business," says Ciel.
Arthur nods. "If you're talking Africa, imported products would be gold or dia.." his voice trails off to silence.
Amongst everyone, Leah is the first to set her eyes on Woodley, the man who works with a diamond company. 'How joyous. I don't like him.' The others follow suit and gasp loudly, some taking steps back. Woodley's body language is stiff, a look of shock wiping over his face, and the sound of rain crackles in people's ears.
Even the Barrett takes a small scoot to the side, nearly sitting on the pillows and brushing against the headboard. Ran Mao, not entirely interested or showing expression, simply moving closer to Leah and continuing to lean against her. Their heads brush against each other's—something that typically would fill Leah with an urge to move away. But, with all eyes on Woodley and her relatively close relationship with Ran Mao, it is pushed to the back of her mind.
"N—No.. It wasn't me!" Woodley brings his hands up in defense before pointing an accusatory finger at Lau just as fast. "T—Trading is Kun Lun's thing, isn't it?!"
Lau nonchalantly lifts his hands and shoulders into a shrug, a faint smirk on his lips. "Aww, too bad! We don't do business with any African companies."
Deciding it's his turn to chime in, Charles gestures towards Woodley with a look of uncertainty. "Well, it really is a bit much to be deciding the killer based on the snake being from Africa alone."
"I think it is fair," says Leah with a shake of her head.
No one seems to be listening to her, though, as Woodley continues to defend himself and ever so slightly perks up at Charles' words.
"T—That's right! And what about when Siemens was killed?! I have an alibi!" he yells, sweat dripping down his face and nearly getting into his eyes, which are wide open.
Jeremy crosses his arms, his infamous smirk covering his face. "That alibi might not be worth all that much."
"What?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if the corpse the butler and the others found wasn't a corpse?"Jeremy's face begins to look ominous, earning a look of disgust from Leah.
"What?!"
Arthur shakes his head helplessly and stammers. "But he didn't have a pulse, and there was blood on his chest.."
"Did you thoroughly inspect the wound?" asks Jeremy.
"That's.." Arthur glances at the floor. "It was quite dark, so I wasn't able to.."
"Does everyone know of the potion Juliet drank in 'Romeo and Juliet'?" Jeremy suddenly asks.
Irene raises a brow in his direction. "You mean to go into a state of apparent death but come back to life?"
An eye roll comes from Leah's side of the room, hardly trying to hide how she feels. 'How ridiculous..' Jeremy has ruined her mood for the day.
"You mean.."
"That's right. It actually exists," a finger is pointed up by Jeremy. "A poison that would induce this state!"
"Wha—"
"There is a substance called Tetrodotoxin that was recently discovered and is being studied. It seems that if you refine it in a certain way, you will achieve a state of apparent death much like Juliet's," explains Jeremy, his words causing everyone's thoughts to be plagued by the story.
Arthur's brows furrow in thought, his gaze drilling into Jeremy. "Tetrodotoxin is the poison puffer fish and octopuses carry, isn't it?"
"As expected, you have the latest information, Doctor," Jeremy tips his head in complementation. "When I investigated Lord Siemens' body, I noticed a faint scent of the sea. Perhaps that was the scent of a poison made using puffer fish," his gloved hands collide and make a muffled clapping sound. "I just have one question here. Why would the scent of poison come from someone who had allegedly been stabbed?"
Leah shifts her gaze towards Anna and makes a gesture with her hand to mock how much Jeremy speaks, though Anna slaps her hand down before anyone else can see. Ran Mao does give a silent laugh.
Looking up, Ciel's brows knit. "It was a setup?" he suggests, causing Charles to perk up ever so slightly.
"Indeed. He himself drank the poison, got rid of the bottle, and pretended to be dead. Then, it wouldn't matter what room he was put in. He probably figured that people without specific medical knowledge wouldn't examine the wound closely; hence, it would work as a temporary deception at least," says Jeremy.
Arthur sighs and looks away, disappointed in himself. "I should have looked at it more carefully.."
"But," Jeremy starts, "when I checked the body just now, he was certainly stabbed to death."
"What?"
Groaning quietly in exasperation, Leah drills holes into Jeremy with her eyes. "Did he fake his death? Did the pufferfish poison unintentionally kill him? Did he drink the poison and finish the job? Did someone else do it?" she rapidly fires questions at him, her patience waning. "Which one is it?!"
The constant talking. The constant discoveries. The constant doubling back on statements. The constant leading them on just to reveal new information that changes the story. It is all driving Leah absolutely mad. When will it end? Before or after she loses it and strangles Jeremy?
This earns her nothing but a smirk from the man. Almost as if he is taunting her. 'I would skin that face off if I could.'
While Ciel appears surprised at her sudden outburst, Lau is unfazed. "So what was meant to be a fake turned out to be a real murder?" he asks, beckoning Ran Mao over, who slowly stands and makes her way over.
"If we look at the situation, the killer might have wanted to lure the Earl into a trap," Arthur suggests.
Ciel reluctantly pulls his gaze away from Leah, brows raising at the mention of him. "Me?"
Arthur nods, thinking back to the events of a few nights prior. "It's impossible to know whether Lord Siemens was an accomplice, though, because he seemed quite out of bounds once he had some alcohol in him," Leah's face curls up in disgust when she remembers the feeling of the man's hands. "The killer might have invited him to 'give everyone a good scare' or something."
"But the Lord and myself had never met before, there is no reason for him to want to lure me into a trap," Ciel seems thoughtful, but it almost looks like a facade. "We can just look at it as him being silenced by being killed," he nods along to his own words.
"How sad.." sighs Arthur.
This catches Leah off guard, raising a brow to Arthur. Sad? Did she hear him correctly?
Jeremy tilts his head in gesture along with his hands. "There would have been plenty of chances to talk to him during the buffet party," he states.
Any other words fly over Leah's head, entirely caught up in what came out of Arthur's mouth. Her face contorts in numerous ways, all a flash of disgust or mild confusion. One may think she looks insane or even possessed.
"Sad?" she speaks up, her voice condescending. "I don't feel sad for that incestuous-looking pervert," the pure disdain within the words is evident, catching everyone's attention.
For a split moment, the room goes silent. Everyone's brows raise or furrow, eyes widening. But despite the shock and surprise, Leah's face is straight except for the lingering disgust.
"..Incestuous?" asks Ciel, his voice sounding uncertain, as if he is unsure if he hears her correctly.
"Yes," Leah nods, confident in her words. "He looked as though his parents were siblings.."
Over in the corner, Grimsby shakes his head wildly, struggling to comprehend what he just heard. "Why would you say that?!" his voice raises a tad bit too high, striking Leah's nerves.
"Because it—"
The insult isn't thought over for long, though, as Woodley begins yelling in defense of himself.
"If so, anyone here could have egged him on! I don't even have any kind of alibi!" he yells, his voice nearly cracking as marks of irritation appear on his forehead.
'Interrupted me. How rude.' Leah huffs.
"We could inquire as to what everyone talked about with Lord Siemens, but.." Jeremy shrugs without a second thought. "Let's not. Humans are lying creatures."
Leah's face contorts into one of discomfort. 'Again with the creatures. I'm beginning to think he is Sebastian's long-lost brother.. What a freak.' She sends Jeremy a side glance, which he catches.
Pursing his lips, Charles speaks up. "That's right, in fact, you could be lying as well. If he drank a poison, where'd the bottle go?" he asks.
"Thank you!" exclaims Leah. This is the first time she has agreed with Charles in the entire two days she has been here. It almost earns a smile from the man, but he holds it back.
Ciel releases a noise of acknowledgment, but the question doesn't need much thought to it. "That's easy, he got rid of it in a place no one would examine right away," he gestures with his hand. "In the fire, for example."
"That's right," Bardroy nods, reminding Leah of his existence. "There was a ridiculous amount of wood in the fire back then," he recalls a conversation he shared with Sebastian before his death.
Flipping pages is the only sound to fill the room for a mere moment, sweat dripping down Arthur's face as he tries to find something that could justify this.
"We definitely wouldn't find it there. And if he collected it once, the afterglow had died out.." his eyes dance upon the page, set in a strangely fast rhythm.
"However, that wasn't possible," Ciel's voice is low, "because of Sebastian."
"That's right!" Arthur's voice raises higher than it should, causing Leah to cover her ears. Not because it hurts but simply because she is petty. "Before he could destroy the evidence, the butler had already come to collect the ashes!"
Woodley's face darkens, beginning to appear panicked. "Tha— That's nonsense!" he bellows.
"If he has found the proof of a setup, his precious alibi would go up in smoke," Arthur ignores any of Woodley's protests. "He acted quickly and immediately killed Sebastian. Next, he recovered the evidence and returned to his room.." the hypothetical events replay in his head.
"Then the one who has it is the killer! I don't have any such thing! You searched us, right?!" Woodley begins to try and cover himself, reasonably so.
A grimace flashes on Leah's face, wishing the voices would lower. It has been what feels like nonstop yelling and accusations for the past couple of days. 'Someone shut him up..'
"That's right," Ciel's lips curl. "Outside the hearth, that is. Isn't it the perfect hiding space? It's not like we would come to search the room again. If you recovered and destroyed it after we were done searching, it'd be perfect," all eyes drift over to the fireplace, filled with interest and mystery.
Woodley's fingers twitch in agitation, and his shoulders somehow become more tense. "Th.. That's a false accusation!" he carefully tries to hide a faint shake in his voice, it's hard to decipher whether it is from a place of anger or fear. "There's nothing like that here!"
"Then show us!" yells Grimsby in response, already moving over to the fireplace. "Let's see if it's there or not!"
His hands aggressively take hold of the fire poker sitting still at its side, adjusting it between his fingers. The still is sparse, as Grimsby almost immediately begins to swat at the remnants within the fireplace, causing smoke and dust to fly into the air.
A set of coughs ring throughout the room, the smoke carrying itself high and surrounding figures, nearly drowning them out. If it wasn't for the rain, a window would be opened. But, there is a noticeable new item that lays on the floor that catches everyone's attention.
"Glass shards?!"
Small shards of glass cover a small spot on the floor, accompanied by stray burnt pieces of wood that threaten to crumble under the lightest touch.
Woodley's eyes widen, his words caught in his throat. "What?!"
"But it's not like we can tell what it was like this.." says Arthur, following Jeremy, who crouches before the glass.
Speaking of moving, Leah has now wandered over to the door that is cracked in an attempt to gain fresh air. Smoke nearly filling your lungs isn't a pleasant experience, but it thankfully clears quickly.
Lifting the pieces into his gloved hands, Jeremy disregards any safety precautions. "It'll be fine if we pick it up and put it back together."
Both Leah and Arthur stare incredulously. "That's impossible! It's been reduced to bits!" exclaims Arthur, who only has a view of Jeremy's back.
"Nonsense, it's like a puzzle without a picture," says Jeremy, meticulously placing the pieces back together and letting the restored item sit in his hand. "It's done."
"Wow!"
The guests stare at the small bottle in shock. How could Jeremy piece it back together with such ease? But Leah isn't as impressed.
Slowly turning her head to Anna, she points with an uncomfortable posture. "That is witchcraft," she spits.
Anna, also mildly shocked, gives an uncertain nod. "I think I may have to agree with you this time.." her voice is quiet, trying not to draw attention to either of them.
Outside of their little corner, the others are closely observing the bottle. Though no one dares get too close to Jeremy.
"Looks like an ampule of medicine," Jeremy states.
"T—To find this here means.." Arthur's voice is shaky as his hand faintly pounds.
Not so silent, Grimsby turns and immediately points a finger at Woodley. "You're the killer, after all! You murderer!" his voice booms.
Woodley, with his hands stretched out, hunches over and steps back. "I.. I have no idea what this is!"
"To want to trap a boy.." whispers Arthur, almost appearing sad. "Why on Earth would you do that?"
"I—" Woodley doesn't get a chance to explain himself.
Ciel cuts him off. "Diamonds."
"Huh?"
The words leave Ciel's mouth as though it could be common knowledge. "There was a top-secret plan for a major company in the diamond industry, Roze, and my own company that possesses the world's leading technology to cooperate and take off in the jewelry industry. But, a few days ago, the autocratic president, Mr. Roze, was murdered, and the plan was put on hold. However, if the plan was put into motion again, the Woodley company that boasts of having the latest technology would certainly receive some damage."
Everyone takes in the explanation, nodding to say that it makes quite a bit of sense.
"That's why you thought you'd kill me now, right?" Ciel sends a sharp glare in Woodley's direction. "It was a careless thought anyway."
"I didn't do it, please believe me! I'm being set up here!" the voice of Woodley nearly rattles off of the walls as he points a finger toward the teen, piercing the ears of all those standing around him. "By this boy.. the Queen's Watch—" tears prick the corner of his eyes.
The shouting comes to a sudden stop, Woodley not having a chance to finish his accusation. Behind him stands Charles, his eyes devoid of any emotion. With a sharp breath, his sword is pressed against the front of his neck.
Charles' voice is low but loud enough for the sharpness to be heard. "Shut up." the sword digs a tad bit deeper into Woodley's neck, threatening to draw blood. "I don't need your explanations. I'll listen to your stories in jail."
Leah wishes to let out a chuckle, especially at the sight of Charles apprehending Woodley, who is about half a head taller than him. And she very much would. But to draw that attention to herself in this moment? Perhaps not the best idea.
"I.. I didn't.. I didn't do it!" shouts Woodley, his mouth wide open.
"If you don't want to be killed, I suggest you be quiet," Charles's chin rests on Woodley's shoulder, sword aimed below the other man's chin. "I'm in a really bad mood right now."
The will to laugh slowly dissipates when Leah notices Ciel moving in her direction. If she didn't know any better, she would assume he wants to speak. But that thought is thrown at the window when he shares a glance with her, grabbing ahold of a set of chains that happen to be sitting by her.
"Earl Gray," Ciel pipes up, the chains nonchalantly gripped between his hands. "I have quite a fitting item here. How about we use it?"
Sharing their own glance, Charles takes the item and quickly wraps it around Woodley. The chains surround his torso, wrapped three times but also locked at his wrists, entirely restricting his movements outside of his legs and head.
It is silent within the room as Charles leads him out, leaving everyone else behind to their own devices.
This silence almost stretches before Leah breaks it. "Finally.. That man is quite irritating," she sighs, leaning her back against the wall.
"I'm so relieved.." Irene pitches in as well, standing closely beside Grimsby.
The silence threatens to persist, but Finnian is now the one to speak.
"Come to think of it, what was that dark red liquid then?" he asks curiously.
Leah subtly nods her head, recalling the fluid she peeped Meyrin looking at. She didn't want to question it, but if Woodley is the culprit, then it must truly be something as simple as she thought it was.
Ciel raises a brow. "Dark red liquid?"
"The maid seemed to have found a dark red liquid inside Ms. Irene's room," says Jeremy. "She was wondering if the always young and beautiful looking Ms. Irene was a vampire," he almost snickers.
Holding Irene tighter, Grimsby doesn't take this accusation lightly. "What's up with that?! Are you questioning Irene?!" he shouts, Irene's attempts at calming him aren't entirely working.
Leah rolls her eyes and walks over to Ciel, stopping beside him but not before sending a look towards Arthur. He can't tell if it is meant to be friendly or threatening, but he is too scared to question. With the way she yells at anyone with little care for who they are, Arthur isn't sure he wants to be on the other end of that.
"I dare say the contents of the bottle were.." Jeremy reaches into his pocket and retrieves a leaf that has somehow not crumbled, "this, right?"
"A leaf?" asks Meyrin with a strange undertone.
Finnian, however, lights up. "Ah, that's a red perilla!"
With furrowed brows, Leah tilts her head. 'Finny actually knows something about plants?'
"The red perilla has an anti-aging effect," explains Jeremy, earning a flush of the cheeks and a nod from Irene. "The extract that is taken from its boiled-down leaves is the origin of your beauty.. is it not?"
"Th.. That's right. I'm sorry, I never thought it'd turn into something like this.." Irene holds her cheeks in her hands in a bad attempt to hide her blush. "I take it because I want to remain young with him forever," she steps closer to Grimsby to wrap an arm around his own.
"Irene.." whispers Grimsby.
Unlike some who may be touched, Leah's face curls in disgust. She nearly shivers with her entire body.
She doesn't try to hide this either, her voice clear for all to hear. "That made me sick to my stomach."
The servants hide their laughs, also finding the line not so lovely.
"This can also restore fatigue," Jeremy lifts the bottle to gaze at the liquid inside. "So upon that notion, why don't we celebrate the solving of the crime with a toast of this?" he takes glasses and pours some inside, passing them around to the guests.
Leah—hesitant and picky as always—sniffs the drink, feeling a faint displeasure at the lack of smell. She tries not to let this bother her, though. If Ciel tries it, then so should she.
Beside her, Ciel gives a rare smile as he stands shoulder to shoulder with her, his gaze focused on Arthur. "Well, if Mr. Wordsmith would like to make the toast then," he suggests.
"Wha— Me?!" Arthur flushes with embarrassment.
"Because of the indispensable help you gave us today," Ciel closes his eyes.
Leah shrugs. "He wasn't that good.." she mumbles, playfully clinking her glass with her fiancés.
Regardless, people pay her words no mind in favor of gathering around, holding their glasses up high.
"To celebrate solving the crime.." Arthur smiles wildly as the soft sound of glass colliding fills the room, "a toast!"
═╬
By the afternoon of the next day, carriages fill up the front of Phantomhive Manor, waiting for their respective guests to file in and leave. Rain no longer pours from the sky, instead replaced by the shining sun. The only remnant that remains are small patches of water that litter the ground or an occasional gust of wind. Other than that, most would say the weather is pleasant.
Leah stands among the guests, surprisingly patient, given her behavior the day prior. She waits for Anna with her hands folded in front of herself, lightly bouncing on her feet. It's evident in her posture that she is relaxed and assumingly in a good mood. Some are inclined to still tread carefully, though.
Her attention is focused on the soft, wet blades of grass that cover the surrounding land. She could stare forever, her blue eyes absorbing the beauty of nature. Lost in thought without a care in the world. But, of course, that is much too good to be true, the train crashing at the sound of her lady's maid approaching.
"The carriage is ready, Mistress," she says with a subtle bow.
Flickering her eyes up to her face, Leah gives a curt nod and steps past her. To the right of all the carriages sits one decked in her family's colors, the pale and dark shades heavily mixing. The Barrett pays the color no mind, though, focusing on being able to sit down and return home.
Murder mysteries wear her out, no doubt.
Leah's steps are light, her long legs carrying her with a brisk walking speed. She doesn't bother to pay attention to her surroundings now. Home, her bed, a break, it all sounds like a haven. But, she is punished for her thoughts when her shoulder is bumped.
"My apologies!" the voice comes fast, hardly giving Leah a moment to register the hit.
Turning her head just behind her, she is met with the sight of Arthur, who has his hands placed in front of him, seemingly preparing to apologize profusely. The man almost looks scared, most likely from seeing how Leah can act when she dislikes a person. He doesn't want to be in that kind of fire, and hitting her will only make it worse.
She eyes him up for a moment, her eyes squinting under the sunlight. "It is alright; it was just a bump. It doesn't hurt," her voice is uncharacteristically quiet compared to the yelling Arthur feels accustomed to.
Arthur's mouth opens as if he will say something, but then it closes. The only thing he can manage is a stammered, "Good day."
Neither of them offers more to the conversation, setting off down their respective paths. However, Leah can't resist stopping him just one more time as Anna opens the door to her carriage.
"Say, Mr. Wordsmith," she calls out, causing the man to stop in his tracks and look back. "Do write me a letter when you publish one of your books. Mayhaps I shall buy it. Unless it is bad, then do not waste my time."
Offering no further words, Leah climbs inside of her carriage, leaving a flushed Arthur behind her. Anna follows after her and places herself in the seat across from her master, closing the door and peering out of the window. Both of them are silent, but it's comfortable, and neither can complain.
Wind blows through their locks of brunette hair, pushing against their skin in a way that makes Leah want to close her eyes and disappear to a sanctuary where she can be at peace. This trip has been far from what she would ever ask for. A much-needed break that she won't get will do her good.
Leah, sitting closer to the door, stares out at the trees before her eyes settle on tufts of blue suddenly entering her vision, a familiar face blocking her view. Standing before her is her fiancé, harboring his usual solemn expression, but she can almost make out a hint of remorse.
There is a pause that surrounds the pair, neither making the first move to speak. Ciel seems as though much is on his mind, while Leah's eyes show a distance in the situation. In most scenarios, the Barrett wouldn't bat an eye at this silence, but her betrothed being the one to approach her so suddenly makes it hard to ignore.
Shifting on his feet, Ciel's lips part as he takes in a quiet breath as if to prep himself. "I'm sorry this party wasn't what you expected. It wasn't what I expected," his words carry a hint of something that Leah can't place her finger on.
A long moment goes by as Leah doesn't answer, simply boring her eyes into his own. She almost can't think of what to say, her mind both jumbled and dull. Ciel doesn't let this deter him, though.
"I can make it up to you," he suggests with an almost unnoticeable tilt of his head.
Leah's breath almost catches in her throat. The offer is sweet of him, that she can't deny, but to know that Ciel is used to the behavior of spoiling her feels almost embarrassing. If he was any other man, surely he wouldn't want to put up with her.
"No, it is alright," she murmurs with a shake of her head, placing her hand atop of Ciel's own and feeling his fingers twitch beneath. "I was being spoiled when I asked you for a separate gift.. You got me more than enough," a small but genuine smile graces her lips.
Wrapping her gloved hand in one of his own, Ciel gives it a light squeeze. Their hands sit, conjoined on the window opening for all to see if they look close enough.
"I trust you will be safe on your return home?" he nods, certain with the answer he will receive.
The Barrett suppresses a half-hearted giggle. "You know I will," she purses her lips. "I can have one of the servants call your telephone when I arrive if you'd like."
Ciel gives a rare grin. "I should like that.." he whispers.
Without another word, Ciel steps away from the carriage door and allows the driver to set it in motion, watching as Leah shifts back to her original spot and flashes a smile at Anna. It certainly isn't the last time they'll see each other, even if it feels as such while they watch the carriage drift away.
Though, Leah can't help but place half of herself out of the window to send a goodbye wave to her betrothed.
"Until we meet again!" she calls out with a wave, the carriage straying further and further away until Ciel is no longer in sight.
═╬
Barely a week has passed before Ciel and Leah reunite once again, though it is under rather sad circumstances. The matter being Sebastian's funeral, to remember the loss of a man so loyal.
Such an event is naturally depressing, filled with streams of tears and hiccups of those closest to him.
The coffin holding Sebastian's body is carefully carried by Agni, Bardroy, Finnian, and Tanaka as they all carry it toward the open grave with measured steps and Undertaker by their side. In the back, Leah, Ciel, Elizabeth, Soma, Meyrin, and Thomas all trail behind.
His body is easily lowered into the grave and covered; eliciting choked sobs that don't become louder until everyone gets a chance to read the headstone.
Butler Sebastian Michaelis rests here.
It is a sad sight, and although most in attendance can hold themselves together, Elizabeth, of all people, is surprisingly the one to fall apart first.
"Ciel!" she cries, throwing her arms around her cousin with a tight force. "Sebastian is a liar! He's so cruel, promising he would never leave Ciel by himself.." her voice would become a whisper if it wasn't for her loud sobs.
Soma, crying just as much as Elizabeth joins in on the hug and attempted comfort. "Don't cry, Ciel! We'll be with you forever!"
"Forever and ever!" Elizabeth chants.
The crying fest is soon joined by all of the others, save for Leah and Thomas, who stand off to the side, quietly observing. Neither was particularly close to Sebastian. Leah came solely to comfort Ciel and offer her condolences; she isn't heartless. And Thomas, to no one's surprise, has been dragged along.
Elizabeth's words relay in Leah's head. "A liar..? That is so ridiculous. He can't help that he was murdered," she mumbles loud enough for only Thomas to hear.
Fighting back a chuckle, Thomas keeps his hands neatly folded behind his back. "Grief makes people say things they don't always mean."
"Elizabeth is always saying stuff she doesn't mean. This sounds like any other ridiculous thing she says," Leah offers a faint shrug, the veil in front of her eyes moving with her.
This time, Thomas lets a noise slip, but it is drowned out by the tears. "Do you not—"
Before the demon has a chance to finish his sentence, the grave beside Sebastian's tombstone begins to ring. It shakes with a determined rhythm, one that is hard to mistake as anything other than someone in the grave ringing it themselves.
"The bell on the grave is ringing..?"
Finnian's brows furrow. "Even though there's no wind.." he says.
"Oh my.. Should you really be standing around like that?" Undertaker laughs and takes a peek at everyone. "If that bell rings.. it means he's still alive."
This information startles everyone, and the men are quick to grab shovels or start digging with their hands.
"Dig him up!"
Back in her corner, Leah doesn't take this news so lightly and her heart skips a beat. Sebastian. Alive? After she saw him stabbed right through the chest? Or seeing a fire poker be pulled out by Ciel's own hands? It's impossible.
She shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her torso, rubbing against the fabric of her black dress. "That makes no sense.." she mumbles, a look of distraught covering her face, which is only fuel when Sebastian sits up in the coffin.
"What is wrong?" Thomas raises a brow and looks down at her, his blonde hair reflecting the sun.
"He shouldn't be alive," Leah says, more clearly than last time. "He was stabbed in the chest. I saw it when it was still inside him, and I saw it as it was pulled out. No normal person can simply rise from a grave after that," she nearly shudders as she remembers the look of Sebastian's lifeless eyes.
Thomas flicks his gaze over towards Sebastian, who is now being covered in a mound of the others, crying and drooling all over him. He can't deny that he finds it amusing, just like he finds Leah's confusion amusing. But he would never let her know that, his precious lady.
A smirk touches his lips, gazing back down at the Barrett with an odd look in his eye that she doesn't notice. Thomas can't help but wonder if she's catching on. That is something he simply won't let her know until she asks herself.
"Something isn't right with him," Leah shakes her head. 'No man can just get up.'
The thoughts of Sebastian being a demon resurface. It can be the only plausible explanation. Something that isn't human. 'My head hurts..' Leah winces, wringing her gloved hands together.
None of it makes sense to her. Why are the servants acting as if this isn't the case? Even Ciel himself. She can't stand it. It makes her feel crazy.
Face contorting with confusion and discomfort, she takes a step back and makes brief eye contact with Ciel. "I am not watching another moment of this," with no further explanation, Leah begins to walk away.
Making no complaints, Thomas follows after her without further question. The demon has no other reason to stay, especially for something as vile as Sebastian Michaelis.
Their walk is slow and melancholic for a long few minutes, near silent save for the sounds of wind or the occasional rustle of fabric. Despite often being uncomfortable or scared around Thomas since her discovery of his true form, Leah can't help but also feel safe around him. It isn't until Leah decides to speak, with a childish pout on her face, that the silence is broken.
"Perhaps you can die next?" asks Leah, as though this is a sane suggestion.
Thomas doesn't offer a reaction, only staring ahead with that same unnerving look in his eyes.
"Perhaps."
Notes:
and with that, murder mystery arc is over. see you on the atlantic!
Chapter 26: | 25 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl boards the campania. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-five ! )
"You want me to get on.. that?"
Sunlight pours down on the dock below, shining on the many figures that stand and await to board a luxury liner— the Campania. The ship itself is large and a sight unlike any other, dwarfing those below. However, it causes a certain young lady to shift in discomfort.
Amongst the people that wait are the Barrett family. None of them outwardly show any sign of being impressed, but they can't deny that it's something to behold. This is meant to be a simple family getaway, something to occupy their semi-empty schedules for the month of April.
Unfortunately, one is far from excited after a not-so-well-earned break. With a scrunched nose, Leah stares at the ship, her eyes conveying a faint look of concern. She has never been fond of the idea of sailing—or the ocean in general.
"What is wrong with it?" asks Lucius with an apathetic shrug, his focus constantly flickering to Thomas and Anna who stand behind them and carry their luggage.
Leah fiddles with the gloves on her hand. "It is large—a large ship out on the sea. What if it sinks? What if I die? I don't know what is in the sea, what if a giant animal comes up and bites my head off?" the words fly out of her mouth quickly, spewing any incredulous idea that can cross her mind.
To anyone other than Leah, and perhaps Thomas, the girl sounds ridiculous. She has always been one to overthink, though she often tries to keep the thoughts to herself. One part of her brain nags her constantly, while another is logical and fighting a constant battle with any insane thoughts. Her brain can be quite tiring.
Rolling his eyes with a grin, Daniel gently nudges her shoulder. "You think too much," he says, looking up towards the deck of the ship. "The animal would have to be incredibly large or oddly small and agile to jump that high. The chances of your head getting bitten off are low, you're more likely to drown."
Face curling in annoyance, Leah's lips curl into a smile. "Well aren't you feeling intelligent today?" she asks snarkily, not happy with now being reminded of her inability to swim.
"Yes, very," Daniel gives a prideful nod. "How do you think I got into Weston College?" he gloats and earns a smile from Vivienne.
"Money," says Leah, her voice lacking emotion.
Daniel deadpans before a look of annoyance crosses his face. "You think yourself so hilarious, don't you?" his tongue pokes the side of his cheek.
Shaking her head dismissively, Leah looks ahead of herself and at the many unfamiliar faces surrounding her. "I was not trying to be funny."
Unlike his sister choosing to look away, Daniel stares her down. Despite her blatant insults being common, they never fail to aggravate every single time. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to retort, but their father intervenes before either of them can embarrass themselves.
"Don't start arguing," warns Lucius, growing tired of the useless arguments that take place every day just for the two to continue like it never happened.
"We aren't arguing," Leah protests with an eye roll, moving some brown locks out of her face. "We are simply having a conversation. A disagreement, if you will."
Vivienne decides that it's her time to cut in, also tired of her children's constant back and forth. "You are very much arguing! Hush, before you are to draw any attention to yourselves," her voice is firm and her British accent is a stark difference to the other three.
Biting back an insult, Leah resorts to balling her fists and rolling her eyes. She knows her mother cares more about how others see them rather than being annoyed by bickering, 'don't embarrass us' is almost a motto in the Barrett family. Arguing with Daniel is enough, her parents will only tire her out.
Letting an audible sigh slip, Vivienne moves her dress skirt and begins to walk. "People are boarding now, come, before we leave you behind."
'I bet you would,' thinks Leah. She has no doubts that her parents would leave her behind if they could. They only bring her around for the sake of image, what are they to say if someone were to question her absence? The last time that happened, it didn't go as swimmingly as they would have liked.
Nonetheless, she takes a deep breath and follows after her mother, being mindful of her space and trying to not bump into another person. Leah can only hope the ship won't be as crowded as the dock.
═╬
Once aboard, Leah is happy to discover that she does in fact have more space. However, that may be because her family is in the first-class section of the passenger deck. Regardless of the reason, her mood seems to brighten just a bit. 'Perhaps this won't be so bad?'
The Barrett's move around with ease, exploring the deck and the people they will be around for a prolonged period. Outside of Lucius—and Vivienne on a good day—, the family isn't very sociable. A wife who prioritizes reputation and looks, a son who is often at school or lounging at home, and a sheltered daughter who is remarkably mean or oddly sweet. That only leaves a man who engages almost purely in business matters, keeping his close circle small.
One would be surprised that Lucius is as popular among society as he is, unsociable in a period where needless chatting thrives. But, his way of doing business, the items he sells, and even his charm are enough to keep him up so high. He is not so certain about his children though.
Moving with a hardly noticeable skip in her step, Leah walks a few steps ahead of the rest of her family and speaks with her head turned over her shoulder. "Can we see our rooms first? I would like—" her voice is drowned out by another that is much louder.
"Oh, Leah! You're here too?"
Her steps falter at the sound of her name, swiveling her head around before her eyes land on a particular blonde. Elizabeth Midford. Leah's hands drop slightly, rubbing against her corn-yellow dress. 'Please no..'
Leah's smile almost slips but she slaps it back on. As much as Elizabeth drains her, she is too nice to be mean to her like she would anyone else. It's not that Leah hates the girl, but rather, she can't envision handling being around Elizabeth for the entire duration of the trip. That is asking to essentially turn her into a robot by the end.
There isn't a moment to think before Elizabeth is wrapped around her. "This is wonderful! With you and Ciel here, the trip will be even better than I thought!" she squeals directly into Leah's ear but doesn't earn a protest.
"Ciel is here too? How lovely.." Leah's words are quiet, trying to focus on her breathing with Elizabeth's arms wrapped so tightly around her.
The idea of her fiancé is not so well met, at least with Daniel. She can hear his groan and mumbles about how it will ruin the trip, ignoring any attempt of their father trying to silence him. His distaste for the Phantomhive, never explained, is to be expected at this point.
Elizabeth doesn't acknowledge this though, opting to release Leah and take hold of her hands. "You should join us for lunch! My family will love to have you," she says as she skips towards her parents, dragging Leah in the process.
Thankfully the area isn't as crowded as the dock, otherwise, this would be a game of shoving through a crowd rather than having a relatively open space to run about. This doesn't make Leah any more excited than Elizabeth, allowing herself to be dragged with the false smile she mastered plastered on her face.
Her eyes squint the closer they get to the Midford's, the sun shining down into her eyes. Nonetheless, she doesn't complain as their footsteps slow to a stop in front of Elizabeth's parents.
Francis Midford's brow raises in faint surprise, looking up at Leah and then her family who approach from behind. "Ah, Leah. It has been some time," her head nods in a respectful greeting. "I am glad to see you've been well."
"The same to you," responds Leah, looking back in the hopes that her father will take the lead in any conversation.
Answering her prayer, Lucius approaches Alexis and Francis with Vivienne in suit. They immediately engage in conversation and, though formal, the two husbands seem to be enjoying themselves, falling on the topic of family. This leaves the 'children' to their own devices, conversing amongst themselves.
"I can't wait for the activities to start! We can all have so much fun together," Elizabeth is the first to break the silence, smiling up at Daniel.
Daniel fails to return the smile as he is too busy glaring at Ciel, staring him down with a look so intense it could burn a hole through him. The cause of such a look? Unknown. But, this doesn't stop him from openly displaying his dislike for his sister's fiancé.
Trying to not show his discomfit, Ciel quietly shifts on his feet with a clear of his throat, scared of drawing his eyes towards Leah in the case that Daniel does more than give him a dirty look. While Ciel isn't scared of others often, the muscle Daniel has compared to his own lanky form is enough to keep him cautious.
Pulling his eyes away from Ciel for only a moment, Daniel plays along with Elizabeth's words. "Much fun we will have," he nods.
Edward, sensing the off vibe amongst the other two boys, tries to diffuse the situation whilst also getting to finally speak to Leah. "You look lovely in that color," he trains his eyes on her to let her know he's speaking to her, and his face flushes.
Smiling but unresponsive, Leah's eyes flash with a look of dread that the Midford doesn't understand.
Beside her, Daniel's shoulders tense and he slowly drags his eyes over toward Edward, processing the words in his head. While he could have taken it as any passing compliment to his oh-so-beautiful sister, the flush on Edward's face says otherwise. His eyes squint, filled with disdain but before he can say anything, their parents beckon the quintet over.
"We are going to lunch!"
Leah doesn't protest despite her reluctance to eat, making the move to gently shove Daniel along and keep him from lashing out at Ciel or Edward. 'God forbid a man breaths in my direction..' she thinks as she passes Elizabeth. 'One of these days, he is going to embarrass himself.'
She has never understood Daniel's distaste for a man showing interest in her. Perhaps it is protectiveness or maybe just not wanting to share her the closer she gets to marriage age. Whatever the reason, it weighs heavily on her relationship with Ciel—or any man who isn't a relative.
Stuck in her thoughts, Leah is pulled from the world called her head when she notices Sebastian a few feet away. Her posture stills, but she doesn't stop walking. The funeral is still vivid in her mind. The way Sebastian sat up as though it was nothing, the memories of his hauntingly dead eyes when he was found on the floor, the way no one seemed to question it. It makes her feel crazy, something she can only mention to Thomas without the risk of being shut down or sent away to a ward.
The storm in her mind only amplifies, her hand tightening against the back of Daniel's shirt. Standing just beside Sebastian is Snake, the white-haired boy she met at Noah's Ark Circus mere months ago. His hair is slicked back, unlike before when it simply laid atop his head, and he wears the suit of a butler. 'Could Ciel have hired him..?' her head is whirling at the thought.
'Will he tell my parents about the circus? I'll be done for!' Leah's hand drops back to her side. 'I can't let him say anything.. Not only will I never hear the end of it from my parents, but my reputation will be in the gutter!' Her eyes are wide and her pupils are dilated, taking hesitant steps in Snake's direction before his eyes catch hers.
He appears just as surprised as Leah at the sight of each other, almost taking a step back as she approaches. She hardly looks any different than the last time he saw her, staring up at him in the same way she had before. "If you say a word about that circus to my parents, I will have you killed," her voice is no louder than a low whisper.
Not bothering to wait for a reply, Leah sets into a light jog to catch up with the others, falling behind silently. 'Was that the right thing to say?' she can't help but wonder if threatening Snake was the correct move. 'As long as he stays silent, I don't care what I have to say..'
═╬
The sound of cutlery against plates and chatter fill the dining hall of the ship, passengers cheerily enjoying their meal. It's a calm atmosphere, and those in it simply enjoying their time.
The Barrett's and Midford's—as well as Ciel—sit around a circular table covered in a white cloth, their respective servants off to the side.
"It's such a treat that we'll be together for three weeks!" smiles Vivienne, half-focused on cutting the food on her plate.
Francis nods along, a content look on her face. "It is," she takes a sip from her glass. "You'll be with us the whole three weeks?" her head tilts, as though looking for confirmation.
"Yes," Vivienne takes a bite of her food, glancing over towards Leah who is begrudgingly letting Daniel place some of his food on her plate. "Leah will be debuting this season, so we want to enjoy ourselves before we are surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the season!" she gives a lightheaded laugh, but it lacks true feeling.
Hearing the words leave her mother's mouth, Leah glances up from Daniel and her plate to stare incredulously. "Mama, no!" a giggle from Daniel slips past her. "Surely I have another year left?!"
Lucius lowers his gaze when Leah looks at him, trying to not get involved. For years now, both he and Vivienne knew that Leah had an underlying dread at the thought of having to be out in society. It only deepens since she is betrothed, the girl finds no point in socializing at pointless balls when she has no need to search for a potential husband.
"It's merely a year early, Dear," Vivienne shakes her head as casts her gaze toward Ciel. "Besides, I'm sure you and Ciel will be married any year now! It will be less tedious to come out before you get married."
Unable to find a bone in her body willing to fight, Leah groans and succumbs to the inevitable. 'I suppose I can just get it over with now and not have to care later..' She allows Daniel to subtly fuss over her, taking small and hesitant bites of food. Her brother is one of the few people who knows of her struggle with food and as much as he annoys her, she can't deny that she appreciates him in more ways than one.
"Well," Alexis swallows his bite of food before he continues. "I'm certain Leah will be knee-deep in suitors. Elizabeth will be debuting as well, do make sure to spare her some!" his chuckle rings out through the dining hall, the other adults—and Elizabeth—following suit.
'The sooner the better, I guess..' Leah tries to reassure herself, stealing a glance at Ciel who has an almost unnoticeable flush on his cheeks. 'At least I won't be alone,' her eyes lower onto her plate as she takes a bite, her body language full of annoyance.
'She could have at least warned me before the trip.'
═╬
Later that night, moonlight shines through the windows to illuminate the dance floor of the ship. Guests fill the room, everyone's voices being drowned out by the music that flows through their ears. It's the epitome of high society.
Leah stands up against a wall, lost in her thoughts. She adorns a scarlet gown that stands out against her pale skin with a headpiece of jewels to match. Despite her typical distaste for attention, she is unintentionally one of the main views in the room, constantly catching glances from people across the room.
On the far right of the room, she can see Ciel and Elizabeth dancing, her friend having the time of her life with a large smile painting her face. An invisible cloud forms over her head, almost out of jealousy. ‘At least Elizabeth is having fun.’
“Can I—” Edward appears beside her, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “May I have this dance?”
Her head whips to the side at the sudden voice, her demeanor softening when she recognizes the blonde. “Edward..” Leah’s lips curl up into a small smile. “I would enjoy that.”
The Midford’s face flushes at her acceptance, a grin growing on his face. He outstretches his hand, looking at her expectantly. Leah lifts her gloved hand towards his, the material hardly grazing his skin before it’s intercepted.
“A dance?”
With her hand lifted above her head, Daniel interrupts the moment and squeezes himself past Edward with a slightly bothered look. Placing himself between the two, he looks down towards Leah with an exaggerated smile.
“I never thought you would ask!” he begins to drag her off towards the dance floor.
Leah’s previously blank face curls up in annoyance. “I didn’t ask,” she rolls her eyes and glances back towards Edward who looks defeated, mouthing a ‘Sorry..’
Nonetheless, she allows herself to be led through the crowd of people until Daniel finds a suitable spot, immediately taking to the dance. Her hands find his neck, wrapping themselves around it gently as she sways and looks around at the people next to them.
She can’t help but feel bad for Edward. However, she has a faint feeling of relief. Dancing with Edward would mean having to potentially make small talk, Daniel can at least understand her emotional cues.
“You know,” Daniel starts, trying to relieve the underlying tension, “I think Mama and Papa would be thrilled to see that you’re the belle of the ball.”
Mood almost dampening at the mention of her parents, Leah scowls and looks off to the side. “Please.. They only care about you—only notice you and how you’ll take the family name,” she sneers. “They just want to get me out of the house.”
Daniel goes quiet at the mention of their parent's favoritism. He knows how it has affected Leah since she was a child. How he was her primary shoulder to lean on her entire life while knowing he could lean on their parents.
“Well.. Others notice you. That I’m certain of,” he jests, recalling how he’s seen people eyeing Leah all night. “I’m surprised more men haven’t asked you to dance.”
Leah purses her lips, her hand squeezing Daniel’s. “Do you think Ciel notices me..?” she whispers. “I feel like.. he hardly considers me sometimes.”
Jokingly groaning in annoyance, Daniel can’t hide the smile on his face. “Don’t bring him up. If he doesn’t notice you, there are plenty of men who would be glad to take his place. I notice you.”
A small smile grazes Leah’s lips.
“Why don’t you break off that engagement anyway?” asks Daniel, keeping his voice low as they twirl around the room.
“I like him,” Leah pouts. “As conflicted as I can be with him, he isn’t terrible. He offers stability. I won’t have to find a husband during the social season,” she drones.
Daniel snickers. “Ahh, yes. The bare minimum that is expected of a nobleman,” he openly shows his amusement, despite Ciel being mere feet away. “Even I could do better.”
Their feet move to the rhythm of the music, swaying playfully. For once, the siblings have a good time without arguing at least once, twirling past the other nobles that fill the room.
“Mmm, yet which one of us is terrible with women and has never been betrothed?” Leah retorts.
Feigning a gasp of offense, Daniel loosens his grip and lets Leah twirl to the point that she almost trips. “I still have plenty of time to find someone!” this earns a look from his sister.
The music slows to a stop and so do their bodies, signifying the end of the dance. Dropping her hands back to her side, Leah stares up at Daniel with a smile of contentment. Even with her jabs, she has fun when she isn’t in a bad mood.
“May I dance with Edward now, Your Highness?” she asks mockingly, a giggle escaping her.
Sighing in defeat, Daniel tilts his head. “Must you?”
Leah starts to walk away, her brother on her trail. “Edward isn’t some villain just because he complimented me. He’s quite kind,” she eyes the dispelling crowd, trying to find the Midford boy.
“I suppose,” with a roll of his eyes, Daniel reluctantly leaves her side.
Parting ways, the siblings wander off around the room to their desired goals.
═╬
Just three days later, Leah, Ciel, and Elizabeth are roaming around the first-class passenger lounge. It isn’t the first on Leah’s list of thrilling activities, but when Elizabeth invited her, she couldn’t bring herself to deny. There aren’t many options for entertainment that aren’t on a scheduled time—or filled with people older than her. Might as well keep herself happy for the three weeks.
Leah is now in an emerald green dress made of velvet material, an evening gown in her favorite color. If anything, the dress is her favorite out of all of the ones she has owned. Her necklace and earrings match, emerald jewels hanging from her pale skin.
Ahead of her, Elizabeth is dragging Ciel around while Leah sticks closer toward the back. She can feel Sebastian’s gaze on the back of her head but she ignores it, focusing on not losing Elizabeth in the crowd as everything catches her eye.
“Look, look!” says Elizabeth, pointing at slices of cake that sit on a table. “That cake is so cute!”
‘I don’t know how she eats so many sweets.. Do her teeth and stomach not hurt?’ Trying to look past the heads that surround her, Leah almost notices the cake that Elizabeth is talking about before her wrist is grabbed with an oddly tight grip.
Before she knows it, Leah is being dragged away from Ciel by none other than Elizabeth who is determined to grab some of the cake. “We’ll get some for you too, Ciel!” she smiles.
“Elizabeth—”
The Barrett has no time to protest, simply succumbing to being led around like a toy. It’s worthless for her to try and argue with Elizabeth and get her point across without having to turn to yelling, Leah has known her long enough to know that.
“I don’t think I’m in the mood for cake,” sighs Leah, wanting to avoid any food before dinner.
A pout covers Elizabeth’s face. “But it looks so tasty!” she ignores Leah’s words in favor of diving for two plates. “You’ll love it, a little treat. I haven’t seen you touch dessert on this trip yet.”
While Elizabeth’s words are in good faith, Leah can’t help but want to run away. Regardless, she takes a few bites to appease her friend.
Neither girl notices time has passed until Elizabeth casts her place aside, done with her slice. Leah almost places her half-eaten cake down as well before she decides to hold onto it. ‘I shouldn’t waste it yet, someone else might want it..’ she considers finding Anna and giving it to her.
“Can we take the cake back to Ciel now?” asks Leah, wanting to get on with her night.
Remembering the initial objective, Elizabeth nods excitedly. “Come on,” she begins to drag Leah once more. “I think we left him near the staircase?”
Retracing their steps back to the last place they left Ciel, they find themselves near Snake but with no sign of Ciel or Sebastian in sight. Both Leah and Elizabeth’s heads are on a swivel, trying to see if they can see their heads in the crowd—Leah being of more use as the tall one. But, when neither manages to see anything other than the new and strange footman, the two girls frown.
“Where did he go in such little time?!”
Notes:
what are we all excited for this arc? i’ve got some shit up my sleeve for this arc
also, if i rereleased my discord server would anyone join or am i gonna be insanely embarrassed again that no one joined and it’ll haunt me for a week?
Chapter 27: | 26 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl learns of the danger that walks amongst the campania. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i wish writing didn’t consume so much time, i’d be unstoppable
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-six ! )
"I don't see him, do you?"
Still in search of Ciel, both Leah and Elizabeth are having no luck. They hadn't anticipated him to disappear without even a hint as to where he had gone. Surely the wait to fetch the cake wasn't that boring? It caught them both off guard. He has never done this before, at least not that Leah can remember.
The pair begin to look as though they are lost, with their heads looking every which way, and wandering aimlessly in a circle isn't helping. Snake, standing beside them silently, was beginning to irritate Barrett. 'He was with them. Is he covering for them, or is he also clueless?' she casts an askew glance but doesn't bother in an attempt to pressure him.
"It is a bit rude of him to leave us without a word," she speaks to Elizabeth instead, toying with a ribbon on her dress.
A pout crosses Elizabeth's lips. "It is.." she shifts her weight onto one foot. "Shall we venture out to look for him?"
"I suppose," Leah shrugs at the suggestion. "I just hope we don't get lost."
She begrudgingly hands off her half-eaten cake to Snake with a quiet "Here." The likelihood of finding Anna before it became dry was low, might as well let someone enjoy it. Even if that someone is a person she would rather not be around.
Taking her acceptance as a go, Elizabeth grabs ahold of Leah's wrist and starts to tug her along in a random direction. Neither have a clue as to where they are going, this being their first time truly exploring the ship. It's not the ideal night for Leah, far from it, but it's much more interesting than what was initially planned.
═╬
After about fifteen minutes of pure wandering, the girls reach a lone, dark stairwell. It's unsettlingly quiet and sends a shiver down Leah's spine, but she pushes through nonetheless. This time around, the Barrett is the one leading the pair, Elizabeth following closely behind her with a gentle hand atop her shoulder.
Each step they take has an echo that only soothes Leah in one way—being able to tell that it is only the two of them inside. It's hard to see, and all of her moves are hesitant, trying not to bump into anything or misplace her foot and take a tumble.
Eventually, they reached another one of the landings on the stairs. Neither Leah nor Elizabeth got to take another step, though, as the terrible sight was before them.
A gun pointed between Leah's eyes.
"Aaaah!"
With a scream, her breath quickens, and her pupils dilate, pushing Elizabeth further behind her without hesitation. But, before she can even blink, the gun is lowered to reveal Ciel is standing in front of her with the weapon now at his side.
"Leah?!" asks Ciel loudly, his eyes wide.
Elizabeth, looking unserious with the plate of cake in her hand, looks on with an underlying distaste. "Are you planning on shooting your fiancé?!" she furrows her brows.
"What is wrong with you?!" Leah's voice overlaps with Elizabeth's, and she places a hand on her chest in an attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart.
Ignoring the questions, Ciel shakes his head and glances around. "What are you doing here anyway?" his voice is louder than he intends it to be.
Elizabeth takes another few steps to plant herself beside Leah, holding up the piece of cake for Ciel to see. It is covered in edible, decorative pieces that appeal to the eye, but Ciel doesn't appear impressed.
"We noticed that you had run off, so we tried to follow you!" chirps Elizabeth, though her tone quickly drops. "Even though I told you to wait, you just disappeared.. We were looking for you!" she glances down at the cake in her hand, "Oh! This is your ca—"
Her voice becomes muffled when a hand suddenly covers her mouth. Standing closer than before is Ciel, staring down in annoyance.
"I'm sorry, but I can't be fussed with you right now," Ciel lowered his voice, gun held toward his mouth that was a bit too close to his cousin's face.
Leah slapped the gun away from Elizabeth's face with a gloved hand, sending Ciel a glare. 'That is far too dangerous..' She can't help but feel a slight discontent with how reckless her fiancé can be at times. Typically, he can hold it together, but it seems he falls apart in the worst moments to her.
Stepping away, Ciel doesn't give either girl a chance to respond before he starts to walk off. "It's dangerous, so go back upstairs!"
They are left in the silence that ensues once the sound of Ciel's footsteps fade, neither making a sound. For a moment, the pair stand there and stare off into the dark distance.
"Don't just leave us here!"
"Ciel!"
When they are given no response, Leah and Elizabeth share a glance. Going back upstairs doesn't seem appealing, at least not to Leah. She can sense that Elizabeth feels similarly, so without a word, she leads her friend deeper in to find Ciel once more.
Their footsteps are light and quiet. Somehow, Elizabeth isn't chatting Leah's ears off. 'Is she getting tired?' the Barrett wonders to herself. 'That is not possible.. She holds too much energy to be tired just yet.'
Regardless of Elizabeth's silence, it doesn't last long as the two quickly find themselves standing behind Ciel again. 'He hadn't wandered as far as I thought.' Ciel stands quietly, talking to a dark figure that Leah can't make out. He hardly notices the girls until Elizabeth takes a loud step forward.
"Leah?!" Ciel exclaims before his eyes notice Elizabeth beside her. "Lizzy?!"
"Come on! Don't leave us!" Elizabeth whines, holding up the piece of uneaten cake in her hand.
Ciel's eyes go wide, mostly in irritation, as he raises his voice. "I told you two to go back up!" he yells.
Shaking her head in exasperation of the cousins, Leah catches the eye of Snake just behind Ciel. They share a look of disinterest as Elizabeth goes on about the cake, and Ciel complains about them not leaving like he said.
It's always the same between the two. Though, Leah can't deny that a lot of her interactions with Elizabeth feel the same. She wonders if either of them notice. Knowing them, probably not.
"But I wanted you to eat the cake.. It's the cake with strawberries you like so much. I even got the biggest piece for you," Elizabeth lowers her hand to hold out the plate for display. "See!"
Unfortunately, the plate is bare when Elizabeth tries to show it off. Both Leah and Elizabeth stare in confusion at the missing dessert, not noticing a figure approaching them from behind in the darkness. It isn't noticeable until the faint shadow falls before their feet, causing them to look back.
Behind them stood a mangled-looking man, ominously quiet and unmoving. Leah can see uneaten cake in his mouth, the culprit of the missing sweet. But she also sees his wide and open mouth that wants to take a bite out of Elizabeth.
Without a second thought, the Barrett grabbed Elizabeth's arm and roughly pulled her in her direction, closing her eyes in preparation for a blow. It sent Elizabeth past Leah's body and into a wall, safe despite the small ache that will follow in her back. Leah's eyes don't open until she herself is yanked and pulled into the arms of Ciel as they crash into a crate.
Leah can feel Ciel's arm wrapped around her, but that doesn't stop the air from being knocked out of her. In turn, the flashlight Ciel was holding flew out of his hand, rolling onto the floor and stopping in front of the unknown creature. Its moans and groans filled the room, making Leah squeeze her eyes shut in discomfort.
"Ryan brought another revived corpse?"
Hearing Ciel speak to himself, Leah slowly peels herself away from him and turns her head back to look at the monster that stands before them. 'What is he talking about?' Her eyes can't stay on the monster for long, causing her too much discomfort as she focuses back on Ciel's tie.
"Snake!" Ciel calls out. "I'll do something about him so you take care of Leah and Lizzy!"
'I don't want to go with him..' thinks Leah as she tries to gather herself to go check on Elizabeth.
When Ciel doesn't get a response, he turns his head and repeats Snake's name, only to see him ominously pouting at something in the distance. His snakes wrap around his shoulder and follow the direction, sending a shiver down Leah's spine.
"That bird mark.. There's a lot more over there. Says Oscar," Snake's change in voice makes Leah raise a brow in question, but she can't find it in her to ask at the moment.
Shifting her eyes over, Leah notices the mass amounts of coffins that line the walls. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes the implication, noticing the rattle that they give off. Almost all color drains from the group's face, taking only a split second to begin running.
Their footsteps pound against the ground to try and make a quick escape. Unfortunately, the effort is in vain as they meet another group just in front of them. Surrounded on all sides, it's a struggle to come up with a solution.
"They're in front of the exit too.."
Another creature manages to come up from behind Leah and Elizabeth in an attempt to bite a chunk out of the blonde. Leah, startled by the sudden presence once more, lets out a scream and ducks her head. Her elbow collides with the monster's chest, effectively knocking it back, which allows Ciel to have a clear shot, barely missing Leah's head in the process.
"Would you not shoot that thing so close to me?!" Leah yells in aggravation, both pissed about the near-death encounters and the small pain in her ear that returns every time the gun goes off.
Her aggravation only grows when Ciel ignores her protests, his head moving every which way as he tries to find a way to safety. When his eyes fall upon the tall crates just behind them, he holds up his gun and nods towards Snake.
"Snake, take them to the top of the luggage!" commands Ciel. "Quick!"
Leah, being stubborn, allows Elizabeth to take Snake's help first. She still doesn't trust Snake enough to let him touch her, so she settles on climbing up by herself. The lack of strength in her arms doesn't help, but her height makes up for it.
'I can never get a break, can I?' Leah's hand nearly slips off of the rope due to her silk gloves. 'Peaceful night.. Noooo. Let us make my life more miserable.' She rolls her eyes. 'What sins could I have possibly committed to deserve this?' Unwillingly reminded of the murders she's unknowingly committed, her brain goes silent.
"Shit!" Ciel mutters, though loud enough to earn a look from Leah. "There's too many.."
He holds his gun up, making no move to aim. Ciel realizes that they are severely outnumbered. The gun can only hold them off for so long, and ammo has practically run out already.
Taking a second to glance down amidst her climbing, Elizabeth's eyes go wide in horror when one of the corpses sneaks up from behind the boy. "Ciel! Behind you!" she yells.
Elizabeth's cries capture Leah's attention enough to make her gaze lower, seeing the creature just beneath her. She can notice her fiancé bracing himself to take a blow, but she swiftly lowers herself so that one of her legs dangles, using the appendage to roughly kick the monster in its head. The heel of her shoe threatened to puncture skin and bone.
Paired with her kick, Snake's snakes wrap themselves up around the creatures. It prevents the ones closest to them from moving, buying Ciel the chance to reach someplace safe.
"Smile!" shouts Snake, extending his arm down. "Come quickly while we're restraining them! Says Oscar."
Both Leah and Ciel give Snake an odd look at his monologuing with the reptilian's voices. "..Yeah!" says Ciel as he takes ahold of Snake's hand, allowing himself to be lifted to the top of the crates.
Ciel takes a moment to catch his breath before peering over the edge of the crate, observing the corpses as they fail to climb the ropes. "Seems like they can't climb up here."
Nodding with content, Leah moves over to Elizabeth, her eyes dragging over her form to check for injuries. When she sees nothing out of the ordinary, her attention turns towards their surroundings as she tries to come up with a plan for a way out. They can't stay up there forever.
"What are they?" Snake's voice cut through the silence, though it is him putting on the voice of a snake again. "Aside from our poison not affecting them, they have a horrible smell. Says Webster."
Leah's brow raises, and her eyes squint, trying to decipher the man. 'Do the snakes genuinely speak to him, or is he ill?' she wonders. When she sees not even a hint of amusement, she internally nods. 'He is ill.'
Ciel shakes his head in thought, stumped by Snake's question. "I don't know the details, but for some reason, these corpses began moving about," his voice sounds grave.
"Corpses?!" Elizabeth shrieks in fear.
"Doesn't that only happen in those far-fetched stories?" asks Leah. She can recall the few times Daniel would read them to her as a child in the hopes of frightening her. It worked the first couple of times, but it slowly lost its effect when she began to find it repetitive and fake.
"They don't seem to have any intelligence anyway," Ciel shrugs his shoulders, observing the corpses below them and the way they act. "Nor any sense of sight or pain."
Snake titled his head. "How do you know? Says Oscar."
"They didn't react to the snakes at all. If they could see or feel pain, they would try to shake the snakes off first. Also," eyes drifting towards a distant staircase, Ciel's facial expression has a hardly noticeable drop. "If they had intelligence, they would leave us and head upstairs, right? They would find a lot more food that way."
"F—Food, you say?!" Elizabeth's body shakes in fear, earning a look of concern from her cousin.
Although she doesn't want to admit it, Leah is realizing how real this is becoming. A shudder runs down her spine. She is no longer a little girl being frightened by her older brother and running into the arms of the nearest adult. Now, the supposed monsters that lurked are really there, and she has no one to hug her and tell her that it is all fake.
Ciel clears his throat. "The only thing left is their hearing. If they rely on their ears, we might be able to get away by distracting them with some kind of sound," he suggests.
One of Snake's snakes bumps their nose against the plate in his hand, reminding him of its existence. "How about we try throwing this? Says Emily," he asks while holding up the plate.
With Ciel's go-ahead, Snake launches the plate past the corpses. They all watch it shatter to no avail as the monsters continue trying to reach them.
The failed attempt is almost worthy of a sigh, only fueling the idea that any more tries to escape are futile. If they weren't surrounded by so many, it could be much easier on all of them, but it appears luck isn't on their side tonight.
Their luck only seems to get worse when the crates beneath them begin to move and shake, threatening to throw them off.
Sounds of surprise are pulled out of them.
"Eek!"
"What's going on?!"
"Oh!"
Brave enough to look down, Ciel's eyes widen in horror. "With their teeth and nails?!" he shouts in question to no one in particular. "Snake, can't you stop them with the snakes?" his tone is full of desperation, trying to exhaust their last few options.
Snake shares Ciel's feelings, shaking as he tries to steady himself. "Of course not with this many! Says Oscar."
The ex-circus member's constant changes in tone would be making Leah laugh if it wasn't for the situation they are in. A smile is hard to find, though.
Leah can't help her mind racing at miles a second, running through sentences, memories, and ideas so fast that she can hardly keep up. 'If I could find a way to kill myself now, would it be less painful?' She knows how wrong of a thought it is. She should know better by now, according to Anna and Thomas. Yet, she can't keep herself from always finding herself circling back to the idea time and time again. 'If I had succeeded all those years ago, I wouldn't even have to be going through this.'
Her eyes squeeze tightly shut when she feels Ciel's arms wrap around her, the feeling unconsciously working to pull herself away from the painful memories. In turn, her arms have a firm hold on Elizabeth, her gloved hands tangled in the blonde curls.
Tears stream down Elizabeth's face as she clutched the front of Leah's dress, nearly ripping a ribbon off. "L—Leah!"
"It's ok," whispers Leah in a halfhearted attempt to comfort her friend, "just close your eyes.."
Ciel can't help but hold back some tears as well, holding onto Leah as tightly as he can. "I'll definitely protect you, at least! No matter what happens!" he yells, pressing his cheek against hers. The lack of openly displayed fear from his fiancé feels odd to him, and he tries to compensate, thinking she may just be trying to be strong. And, although he won't admit it just yet, he wants her to know he cares.
'I want Anna..' Leah closes her eyes tight, trying to think of her dear maid.
"How admirable, Young Master."
At the best time imaginable, the corpses are stopped when flying utensils—knives in particular—puncture their heads. On the stairs is Sebastian, coming to their rescue with his signature smirk.
"That is how an English gentleman is supposed to be," his voice is full of mock praise.
Brows furrowing in a sudden change of annoyance, Ciel sends his butler a glare. "Sebastian! Don't stand about, clean them up already!" he orders sharply.
In the blink of an eye, the demon is running through the hoard and crushing their heads with his gloved hands. He is so swift and effortless that a shiver runs down Leah's spine, only seeming to worsen when she can see a hint of the unhinged expression on his face.
The Barrett's attention isn't on Sebastian for long, though, as the uncomfortably tight grip that now has ahold of her shoulder sends a pain through her arm. She gasps in discomfort, trying to move away and failing. When she turns her head and realizes her betrothed is the culprit, she yells.
"Ciel!" she doesn't wait for a response before she harshly elbows him away, cradling the sore spot with her free hand that isn't holding Elizabeth. "Don't grab me like that!"
Heavy breaths can be made out amongst the dying sounds of the corpses, originating from Ciel himself. His eyes are uncomfortably wide, and sweat runs down his face, making Leah's eyes fill with worry.
"Le..ah?"
Neither says another word, simply staring into each other's eyes. They don't reflect any emotion, but Ciel isn't a stranger to Leah's tense body language. He doesn't have a chance to speak when Sebastian calls out from below them.
"I am done, Young Master," Sebastian announces, standing surrounded by the bodies of the corpses. His smile is oddly bright, considering what he just did, with blood staining his face and clothes as well.
No one moves when he holds out his hands in an attempt to beckon them to come down with his blood-soaked gloves. Leah, in particular, almost backs away. She would if she wasn't still holding onto Elizabeth.
Thankfully, Sebastian changes into a pair of clean gloves he just so happened to have, and one by one, the group drops down. Leah, last in line, stares down at Sebastian in discomfort. The flashing imagery of his dead body runs rampant through her mind. She will never be able to shake the feeling of seeing him leave the coffin. It's too much.
"Do not touch me," Leah's voice is quiet, a light order with no bark to it.
Sebastian's eyes widen in surprise. "Please, My Lady. Allow me," he reaches out a hand to try and help once again, only succeeding in brushing his gloved fingers on her arm and waist.
Throwing her body backward, Leah almost trips over her own feet just to put distance between her and the butler. "I said don't touch me!" she shouts, her voice breaking.
Everyone looks back in shock at the sound, watching Leah put herself through the tedious effort to graciously lower herself rather than accept Sebastian's help. Her long legs come in handy once more, making the drop easier to accomplish, though it has no security in keeping her ankles and part of her calves hidden.
Blood splatters around her feet when she finally manages to drop onto the floor, treading carefully so as to not ruin her shoes in the pool of blood. She walks away with a clear of her throat, keeping a small distance between herself and the rest of the group. Her outburst feels a bit embarrassing, but admitting that out loud is something she will never do. Tuning into the conversation, she tries to distract herself.
"Why are there so many on this ship?" Ciel asks Sebastian, hoping for an answer.
"I think," suddenly throwing another batch of knives to his right, Sebastian eyes up the man standing at another pile of crates, "it would be good to ask him."
"Ryan Stoker?!"
Everyone, save for Ciel and Sebastian, tilt their heads in confusion, not caught up with the situation at hand.
"I—It's not like that! That was an incomplete complete salvation and.." Stoker tries and fails to defend himself. "I didn't plan on reviving them in his unhealthy state. Please listen to me! I'm in a hurry and—" his words are cut off by a cry of pain.
Behind him, Sebastian pins the man's arms behind his back roughly. "No need to be hasty. There is plenty of time until we reach New York, so we'll listen to your story leisurely."
Tuning the words out, Leah tries to piece together what she's already heard. Ryan being the mastermind of this all, or one of many is obvious. But what exactly are they dealing with here, and what has he done?
"What is he talking about..?" she whispers to no one in particular.
Beside her, Elizabeth glances up and can only offer a shrug. "I don't know.." a pout spreads across her face.
When Leah finally turns her attention back to the conversation, most of the information she would have appreciated hearing has already been said.
"There are two freight storages," Stoker emphasizes his words.
Ciel shakes his head and shouts. "What?!"
"And in the front freight storage, we have stored.. ten times as many samples as there were here," eyes wide and brows furrowed, Stoker looks uncomfortable and full of fear.
The room goes uncomfortably silent before Ciel loses it. "Ten times as many?!" he shouts. His voice carries throughout the room and echoes off of the walls, accompanied by the chill in the air that causes shivers.
It all adds up for Leah, much to her dismay, and her face darkens. An inaudible sigh escapes her lips as she prepares to accept her inevitable death. She knows that most would be apprehensive to hear it, but she can't help herself from letting her thoughts freely follow out of her mouth.
"Well, it was nice knowing you all."
Notes:
leah protecting elizabeth all the time because she’s an honorable woman that won’t admit that she does in fact like and care about her
does anyone actually like leah?💀 i feel like i made her really bitchy. it’s ok, i love her all the same
https://discord.gg/DFYaY5bXwX (here’s the link to my server! if you’re the only other person in there when you join, spare me and don’t even mention it😭)
Chapter 28: | 27 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl is in a wet situation. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
!! title change !! used to be noblewoman if you’ve forgotten, i just wanted something better.
i need to lock tf in, emerald witch season is coming in like april 2025.. but i’m also lazy..
i wanna try and get there before it releases
i’m also starting a silent hill 2 remake fic even tho i should NOT be starting more fics so stay tuned for that if you’re interested💀
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-seven ! )
"This turned into something unpleasant."
An unsettling chill hangs in the air as the news sinks into everyone's brains. Sebastian's words don't help the revelation either. The prospect of impending death isn't something anyone would enjoy, especially when it's at the hands of animated corpses that want to sink their teeth into your flesh.
Toward the back of the commotion with Ryan Stoker, Leah, and Elizabeth stand with their sides pressed together. Their hands are intertwined as they watch everything with resigned expressions.
"Do you think 'unpleasant' covers it?!" Ciel snaps back and turns his head to view the bodies lying behind them. "Even one of those monsters is a hassle. Just imagine ten times this!"
The room's mood dims even more if that can be deemed possible. To know that escape will be rough, if achievable at all, hurts to think about.
With a sigh, Ciel turns his head back around. "Sebastian. Go ahead and take my aunt and the others to a safe place."
"What are you going to do?" asks Sebastian.
"We'd just be a burden. I also have a gun, we'll be alright for a while," Ciel swiftly reloads the firearm. "Come back as soon as you're sure they are safe!"
Beginning to take off at the order, Sebastian runs towards the nearest exit. "Certainly."
Leah stands with conflicted thoughts, her hand on Elizabeth's arm in comfort and an attempt to calm her shaking. It feels as though something is squeezing her head, the thoughts inside are slow. But despite the conflict, one thing in her mind is clear.
"Do lock my parents in a room if you get the chance!" she calls out after Sebastian, gleefully ignoring the horrible implications of her request.
A gasp escapes Elizabeth. "That's rather rude to say.." her voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
Face contorting in annoyance, Leah scowls and looks away in disdain. "You would say the same thing if you had to live with them."
Ciel tries to shake off the shock of Leah's words. "Well then.." he turns around and aims his gun at the side of Stoker's head. "How about telling me everything? And be brief because I'm not very patient. First of all, how should we deal with them?"
For a mere moment, silence fills the room. Stoker's face has drained of color. It looks as though he doesn't have an answer to the question, but he's also distracted by the snake restricting him and the gun pointed at his head.
"Eh?" he makes a noise of question.
Leah cocks her head. "Are you serious?" she asks incredulously, irritated by his lack of a real response.
"There is no way you decided to transport something so dangerous without any kind of insurance," with furrowed brows, Ciel sharpens his gaze as he looks down at Stoker. "Isn't there another way to stop them aside from smashing their heads?"
"We.. Well, there is one.." Stoker diverts his gaze to the floor in discomfort. "There is a device that allows you to render patients subjected to complete salvation inactive again by exposing them to special supersonic waves."
"That sounds ridiculous."
"And where is it?"
Leah and Ciel's words come flying out at the same time, overlapping each other. The girl is unimpressed by the concept of such a device, blatantly showing her skepticism. There is no way such a thing exists.
Trying to hide the annoyance on his face, Stoker focuses on Leah first. "It's true!" his voice has a subtle shake to it as he now turns to Ciel. "In my room, in first class."
The gun presses further against Stoker's head. "Take me there," demands Ciel.
"A.. All right!" Stoker glances towards the looming darkness in the distance. "There is a freight elevator in the boiler room. We can use that to go upstairs."
Little pondering is done before everyone slowly files out of the room, reluctantly following Stoker. They walk single file in an uncomfortable silence. Leah can feel Elizabeth's hand curled onto the fabric of her dress, and ahead of her, she can see Ciel with his gun pressed against Stoker's back as he leads the way.
"I have another question," there is a small pause as Ciel breaks the silence. "How can corpses move?"
Stoker clears his throat. "We implant a special device into the dead's brain that generates a weak electric current. This way, we can send signals to the various parts of the body, and they recover the healthy physique of when they were alive, basically—"
"That's enough. Do you really think that you can resuscitate people?" Ciel interrupts Stoker's spiel.
A scowl overtakes Leah's usually impassive features. "It is insanity that you expect us to believe something like that!" she crosses her arms tightly.
Preventing Stoker from speaking once more, Ciel shifts his gaze past the man's shoulder and pushes him to walk faster. "I'll change my question. What is the purpose of carrying all these guinea pigs to America?"
There is a pregnant pause.
"I can't.. tell you that," says Stoker with a strained voice.
"I see."
"Do not jest during a time like this!"
The betrothed pair's voices overlap for a second time. Leah has long forgotten Elizabeth and Snake walking just a few steps behind her, taking no issue with raising her voice at the doctor. It has been one too many answers that Leah perceives as a joke, and she's beginning to believe that he isn't taking this as seriously as he should.
She almost considers snatching the gun from Ciel's hand. Pulling the trigger and firing it herself. But she knows it's dangerous. It's loaded, and she could startle Ciel, and the loud noise of the gunshot hurts her ears. Shooting in such close proximity will only bring later regret.
'I'm beginning to get very sick of this man,' she grumbles in her head.
"I reckon you want me to pierce your ears," Ciel's voice is rough as he draws the gun up to point it just beside Stoker's ear.
"Wha..?!" Turning his head, Stoker sweats profusely and begins to shout. "Wait, wait! If you shoot me, you won't be able to use that device!"
Leah raises a brow. "You mean the device that absolutely exists and will work?" her voice is laced with sarcasm, and a biting smile paints her face.
In front of her, Ciel dramatically sighs and shakes his head as he plays along. "It's annoying, but I guess we will just stick to smashing their heads," his finger adds a bit of pressure onto the trigger.
"A.." Stoker's voice immediately booms. "A certain company bought our complete salvation technology!"
Grimacing at the sudden loudness, Leah brings her hands up to cover her ears. She hates loud noises, and she hates loud people even more.
For a while, she ignores what is being said as she walks, mostly due to her covered ears making it harder to hear. However, she can make out one thing. The word "Osiris." Leah's brows furrow. 'That sounds a bit familiar..?'
She doesn't get to think for long as the group stops before a sturdy door. Obnoxious noises sound from behind it, muffled by the thickness of the door.
"It's in here," says Stoker.
Snake is the one to step up to the door, prying it open and making way for a large gust of wind to hit them all in the face. The door leads to the Campania's turbine engine room, a room that's even louder than Stoker is. It's filled with a sound similar to a 'whoosh' and seems to power over the voices of the men working inside.
"Snake, take your snake off of Ryan," Ciel orders as he straightens out his clothes. "It will go smoother if we pretend to be his comrades."
While the butler is busy complying, Leah is fixing her tussled hair with a huff. "I don't want to associate with him!" her occasional bratty side is beginning to show itself after some time of being dormant.
Ciel fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he forces himself beside Leah. "Just pretend," his whisper is nearly pointless because of how loud it is.
Opening her mouth to retort, Leah doesn't have a chance due to Elizabeth loudly whining and a man suddenly approaching them.
"Hey! Passengers shouldn't come here!" he bellows.
A small smirk spreads on Stoker's face. "The complete flame in our chests!" he chants.
"Shall not be extinguished by anyone," the man quickly finishes for Stoker, pushing past the surprise on his face as he moves his limbs. "We are.."
"The Phoenix!"
They say in unison as they bring their hands and legs up to form a pose. What they seem proud of immediately makes Leah grimace of secondhand embarrassment.
"You cannot be serious.." she whispers in horror, a hand covering her open mouth as though she has just heard the ultimate scandal.
"Would you let me use the elevator, my friend?"
"Alright.. Who are they?"
Stoker moves his arm to gesture towards the rest of the group behind him. "They're comrades as well! Right?"
Pushing past the embarrassment, Ciel, Elizabeth, and Snake all copy the pose they previously saw before Ciel turns around to double over with a flushed face. Leah, however, is relentless in her defiance and stands with her arms crossed.
The defiance from the girl only heightens when she notices Stoker and the other man looking at her expectantly. "I won't do it."
No amount of urging from anyone seems to work. "I refuse!" she raises her voice.
Ciel rises from his bent-over state to force a smile on his face and place a hand on Leah's back, "Please excuse my fiancé. It appears she is in a rather bad mood today, nothing personal," his lie passes through his lips, and he's nearly given away by his tomato red face.
The man seems satisfied with this, though, and turns around with a grin. "Here in the back!" he starts to walk off, leading the way.
Begrudgingly following along, Leah grumbles as she drags her feet. "You do not have to speak for me."
"I do if we want to live," Ciel sighs.
═╬
Now, in the Campania's second boiler room, it is barely less hectic than the previous one. More men stand around and continue to do their jobs, ignoring the guests.
Everything is moving smoothly.
Until it isn't.
A strange sound rings out against the walls, a sound that doesn't seem normal.
"What was that shock just now?" asks Ciel, wide-eyed as he glances around the room.
Not even a moment later, water crashes through the walls, quickly flooding the room. Screams mix in with water as it throws itself into people, soaking or pushing them around. To make matters worse, an ear-piercing alarm begins to go off.
It is all too overwhelming for Leah, who covers her ears with her wet gloves and shuts her eyes tightly. She can hardly hear herself think and doesn't even notice that the water is moving her on its own until she opens her eyes to catch a glimpse of it rising.
"This alarm means.." the man from earlier looks behind him in horror as he shouts. "The water-tight doors are closing!"
Leah tries to take a step, but her dress skirts add so many extra pounds that it's harder to move efficiently. This doesn't stop her, though, and she attempts to trudge along, pushing Elizabeth forward in the process.
"Hurry up! We'll be locked in!" the man shouts again, busying himself with helping others.
When Ciel glances behind him and notices that Leah is multiple feet behind him, his shoulders tense. "Leah!" he shouts above the noise of the water.
"Shut up," Leah closes her eyes and gives Elizabeth one final kick to her back to ensure that she makes it beyond the door. "Just shut up!" she yells while she comes to a stop, no longer bothering to move.
The metal slowly lowers, and the last thing she can see is Ciel being held back, calling her name.
"Leah!"
Shaking her head, the girl takes in a deep breath. 'This is it..?' she asks herself. Her mind flashes to unwanted memories of her past attempt to take her life. 'Drowning can't be so bad,' Leah attempts to reassure herself. However, it is hard to listen to those thoughts when the water has risen well past her thighs, and she knows she can't swim.
The metal door shuts with a muffled thud beneath the water, solidifying her fate. Or so she thought.
Ciel, ever the savior, finds himself steadily approaching his fiancé.
"Why?!" Leah asks in exasperation, trying to hide the annoyance and anger that threatens to surface.
"I promised to protect you at all costs!" closing the distance between them, Ciel grabs ahold of Leah's hand and squeezes it tight.
Masking her emotions, Leah shakes her head quickly. "I do not care what you promised!"
Choosing to ignore what he just heard, Ciel turns around to shout at the door. "Snake! You guys go on ahead!"
"I can't leave you behind! Says Emily," Snake shouts from behind the door, banging his fists on it.
Ciel clenches his jaw and drags his eyes around the room, looking for a way out. Eventually, they land on a small duct above them.
"Don't worry, we'll escape via the duct!" Ciel calls out. "Your 'friends' can't be soaked in water for too long, right? Go!" he orders.
There is no time to think before Ciel drags Leah up the nearby stairs, going back and forth with Snake beyond the door. Having to move through the water makes everything harder, and the girl internally thanks Ciel for doing most of the work.
The freezing water surges around their legs, rising faster than Leah thought possible. She stumbles up the stairs as her velvet gown clings heavily to her frame, dragging her down with every movement. Behind them, the groaning of metal and the distant rush of water is unrelenting, a reminder that the ship is succumbing to its fate.
Starting to climb the pipes, Ciel speaks up. "Leah."
"Yes..?" she asks quietly.
"Take off those clothes!" barks Ciel.
Leah's eyes widen. "I won't!" her voice is sharper than intended, but her resolve is firm. "I'll manage."
"You can't manage—look at yourself!" he snaps, gesturing to her soaked dress. "It's too heavy. You'll drown if you keep it on."
"Then let me drown!" she shouts, her voice breaking.
Ciel freezes for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studies her face. There is no fire in her gaze, no fear—just cold resignation. It is the same expression she had worn moments earlier when the door had nearly closed between them, and she'd stood there, unmoving, resigned to her fate.
He clenches his jaw, stepping down the pipes and toward her. "Don't be ridiculous," he says, his voice quieter now but no less commanding.
"I'm not being ridiculous," Leah retorts, though her voice wavers. "You should've left me behind when you had the chance. I don't care if—"
"Enough!" Ciel interrupts, cutting her off. Without another word, he grabs the bodice of her gown and pulls sharply, the sound of ripping fabric cutting through the chaos.
"Ciel, stop!" Leah protests, her hands flying up to push him away, but he is relentless.
The velvet tears away in his hands, leaving her standing in her corset and chemise, the thin, soaked fabric clinging to her skin. Leah gasps, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself as her cheeks burned with humiliation.
A few stray tears slip down Leah's already-soaked cheeks. "That was my favorite dress," she forces her voice to be steady.
Ciel's entire demeanor softens when he realizes she is crying.
"I will buy you a thousand dresses when we get out of here. So please.." Ciel gently wraps his coat around Leah's shoulders, "I'm sorry I was so rough with you."
The girl's breath hitches at his words, but she quickly shakes her head, clutching her chemise tighter as she tries to cover her décolletage. "You don't understand," she mutters, her voice cracking. "It doesn't matter if I—"
"It matters to me," Ciel interrupts again, his tone both tender and firm. "Now move before we both end up dead because of your stubbornness."
Leah stares at him, stunned into silence for a moment. Despite her mortification, something in his gaze—a flicker of desperation masked by his usual sharpness—compels her to listen.
Swallowing her pride and pushing down the flood of emotions rising within her, she nods stiffly. "Fine," she mutters, her voice barely audible.
Wasting no more time, Leah moves toward the pipes, lifting herself up one by one despite the struggle. She has doubts that she will fit through the duct, at least not easily, but she tries nonetheless. Now she must. Letting Ciel's effort go to waste feels wrong.
"Well, let's hu—" Ciel doesn't finish his sentence before he begins to cough roughly.
The sudden sound startles Leah and prompts her to whip her head around. "Ciel?" she asks in worry.
Ciel clears his throat and glances up, a gloved hand covering his mouth.
"I just choked on some water.. Hurry and climb!”
Notes:
alexa play timber by pitbull
Chapter 29: | 28 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl fights for her life and his. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
this chapter lowkey eats. i had fun writing this
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-eight ! )
"You know where we are going, yes?"
Inside the ducts are cold and cramped, every little sound made echos against the walls. It's dark and hard to see—an inefficient way of travel.
Leah, squished as she thought she would be, follows closely behind Ciel. The trip hasn't been particularly long, but tight spaces were never her favorite, and knowing that water is slowly flooding the ship has her on edge. It could sweep in and drown them at any moment.
"Of course I do," Ciel grumbles in response and suddenly comes to a stop. "See, the duct ends here."
He pushes against it, but it doesn't budge. Ciel gives a huff before trying again. Yet, it still doesn't move.
"Damn! I can't get it open.." he complains.
"Push harder," Leah says humorously, becoming impatient with the wait.
If the vent wasn't already struggling to fit them, Ciel would whip his head around. "I'm pushing as hard as I can!" his voice comes out sharper than intended.
With one final shove, the duct opens below him. This isn't in Ciel's favor, as he drops with it.
"Woah!"
"Ah!" a scream escapes Leah. She doesn't expect the sudden yell from Ciel and she crawls as quick as she can to peer down. "Are you alright?!"
Below her stands the infamous butler in black who has come to save the day. The sight of Ciel in Sebastian's arms calms her, knowing that he's been spared the rough fall. Her betrothed isn't as happy though.
"Sebastian!" he squirms around in his hold.
Wearing his signature smirk, Sebastian places Ciel down with ease before reaching his arms up to grab Leah. "Please excuse my tardiness. Are you two injured?"
Leah reluctantly allows Sebastian to grab her and help her onto the floor. "Some years may have been taken off of my lifespan, but otherwise I am fine."
She still isn't comfortable around the butler, her suspicion constantly on the rise, but she can't find it in herself to fight right now. There are worse things to be worrying about.
"What about my aunt and the others?" asks Ciel.
"They are unharmed. I tried to guide them to a safer place, but they said they wanted to rescue the other passengers.." Sebastian gives a weak smile when he recalls the night's previous events.
Brushing off her chemise, Leah looks up at Sebastian expectantly. "Have you locked my parents in a room like I asked?"
An awkward chuckle sounds from Sebastian. "I'm afraid I cannot do that," he says with a shake of his head.
Just as Leah opens her mouth to complain, she is stopped by Ciel releasing a loud sneeze, prompting both her and Sebastian to turn their heads. Paired with his cough from earlier, Leah has an underlying sense of worry. 'Is he falling ill..?' she wonders.
Sebastian pulls his tailcoat off. "Young Master, please wear this," he holds it out towards the boy.
"I'm fine," Ciel gives one last cough and lets his hand slip back to his side. "I'd just get caught up in the tails."
"But if your body remains cold, your cough will—"Sebastian is quickly interrupted by his master.
A glare sits on Ciel's face as he whispers rather loudly. "Don't mention that now!"
Standing behind them, Leah tilts her head in confusion. She doesn't like how the pair are trying to be inconspicuous, especially doing it so poorly.
Leah takes a small step closer and her brows furrow, trying to rack her brain to figure out what they can be hiding this time. It takes her a long moment to travel through the various memories she holds, but she finally lands on one in particular from a time she would rather not remember.
"Is it your asthma?" she asks quietly.
Ciel's head turns slowly, his eyes wide and uncomfortable. "How do you know about that..?"
"The circus," Leah fiddles with the gloves covering her hand. "You became ill, remember? The doctor said asthma was the reason."
"I—" Ciel starts.
Without waiting for another word, Leah begins to pull his blazer off. "Don't hurt yourself on my accord.. Here," she holds it out for him to take.
A beat passes while Ciel stares at the article of clothing and a mixture of thoughts goes through his head. One trumps over all though, which is to be a gentleman and not accept it.
"Keep it," Ciel gently pushes it back towards her with a shake of his head.
Leah makes an irritated noise and in an act of stubbornness, she pushes the blazer in his direction once more. "Take it. I don't want you to die, I will be fine without it. Besides, I would miss you if you were to die," there's a faint pause as a genuine smile makes its way onto her face, "at least for a while."
His face flushes at the sudden joke and Ciel shifts his weight to another leg. He still doesn't accept the blazer, but he is both caught up in the signs of her irritation and the smile on her lips. When was the last time he saw one? One that wasn't forced. He finds it hard to remember.
Ciel clears his throat and diverts his eyes. "I would miss you if you died too. I would be devastated, really," his voice is quiet and vulnerable, prompting a glance from Sebastian who has been standing behind them this entire time.
"Devastated?" Leah almost looks taken aback and the blazer in her hands hesitantly lower in her caught off guard stare. "That sounds unnatural coming from you. Dramatic, even."
"You wouldn't tear a man's heart from his chest and tell him it's unnatural to miss it, would you?" the question is direct and serious according to the look on Ciel's face as he now looks her in the eye. It seems to have hardened in a matter of seconds.
Lips parting in shock, Leah stammers for a long moment. She struggles to meet Ciel's gaze and nearly drops the blazer amidst her internal turmoil. Ultimately, she accepts that she is currently at a loss for words, but that doesn't do anything to stop the blush that is rapidly spreading across her cheeks—giving her pale skin a look similar to a lobster.
She almost manages a response before a sudden loud sound causes her to flinch.
Directly above the trio, a hole is cut out of the ceiling. It is shaped oddly perfectly and is accompanied by a particular noise unfamiliar to Leah's ears. There is no chance to ponder on this as Sebastian swiftly moves the teens out of the way, preventing anyone from being crushed by the sudden entrance of two individuals.
Standing before them is Grell Sutcliff and Ronald Knox, drawing a look of annoyance from Ciel and Sebastian, but one of confusion from Leah. 'They look familiar..’ Her eyes drift from Ronald to Grell. 'That one does, at least.'
"Found you~" A wicked smile works its way onto Grell's face.
Ciel scowls. "Grell Sutcliff!"
"Yes!" she sings, ignoring the boy. "Long time no see, Sebastian! It must be fate for us to meet again here."
There is no trace of impression on Sebastian's face. "It's just a coincidence."
The greeting quickly spirals into Grell squealing over the butler's behavior which diverts to an exchange of annoyance with Ronald. Leah and Ciel share a look, not exactly happy with the way events are unfolding.
Sebastian takes the chance of Grell being distracted to usher the teens to turn around and run, shortly following them. Unfortunately for them, they don't make it very far before she notices with an aggravated yell.
"Wait up there.." Grell catches up in a matter of seconds with her chainsaw in the air, striking the ground, "will you!"
'What is that?!' Leah's head hurts from the rev of the chainsaw and she is filled with fear at the sight of something so foreign to her. Paired with her fear, she feels a creeping irritation at the lack of a quiet moment to think when she is hoisted into the air by Sebastian alongside Ciel.
Leah begins to tune out the conversation between Sebastian and Grell, her blue eyes looking blank as she stares aimlessly ahead of her. She makes no move to complain about the butler as he carries her and her fiancé around evading attacks. Zoning out only works for so long though and she is eventually pulled back to reality.
"Well then, let's have a death match that's even hotter than a love romance!" exclaims Grell, and she stops for a brief moment to pose.
Face contorting in fear and annoyance once more, Leah moves away without a second thought as Sebastian sets her down. "Who is he?!" she yells.
"He is just a pervert. I'm afraid it might be contagious, so please step back and stay away from him!" Sebastian's face is entirely serious despite his words and he readys himself into a fighting stance.
"That's rude!" Grell complains and begins to run in Sebastian's direction. "I'm just being honest about my feelings!"
Leah and Ciel waste no time to move away from the action, watching the reaper and butler go back and forth as they dodge each other's attacks. The Barrett finds some of their moves a bit too good to be pulled off by the average human, but she doesn't ponder it as her fiancé brings her close to shield her from any potential damage.
However, the only damage that comes is a loud screech as Grell's chainsaw connects with one of the windows of the room. Just outside, water has nearly submerged it and when it is sliced open, rough waters start to flood the room.
"No!"
Everyone in the room is caught off guard by the splashes against them. It isn't the average splash of water, but rather strong and violent as it pushes people and items around. Ciel and Leah, having been holding onto each other, are separated by a stream that throws both of them apart and into a wall.
Water already covers the floor and the betrothed teens find themselves lying in it with an ache in their bodies. Leah in particular lays face first, her face half submerged and her clothes now more wet than they were moments ago. Behind her, a horde of corpses approaches.
"Leah!"
Some feet away from her, Ciel shouts and splashes in the water as he tries to make his way towards her, but quickly realizes his ankle is hurt. His heart races and he looks back and forth between his ankle and Leah still lying on the ground.
"Leah, get up!" his voice is full of urgency. "Leah!"
Her body twitches and shakes as she pushes herself up, coughing out some water. Leah's eyes slowly blink and stares down at the water below her. She almost remains entirely oblivious to the corpses behind her until she hears their noises more clearly the closer they get.
Hesitantly turning her head over her shoulder, Leah's eyes are met with numerous corpses reaching out for her with their open mouths and rotting bodies.
"Ah!" a shriek sounds from her as she sits up fully, trying to crawl backward. "Aaah!"
Ciel shoots some of the corpses from his spot on the ground, trying to defend Leah but his number of bullets is no match for their numbers. "Shit!"
Preoccupied by Ronald, Sebastian's face contorts in worry realizing that helping either of them will be hard. While Grell has subdued, for the moment, Ronald is now set on attacking the butler with his lawnmower.
Corpses are now closing in on Leah, their grimy hands reaching out for her in all directions. Tears run down her cheeks for potentially the first time ever at the prospect of dying. There is a noticeable shake in her shoulders as she catches Ciel's gaze and she makes no attempt at a last smile.
"W.. Whatever else I may be, I am not defenseless," Leah's voice is hardly audible before transforming into a loud boom.
In a flash, she rips a sword off of the wall beside her. It feels familiar in her hand, cool and lightweight as she doesn't think twice before falling into a ready stance. Shoulders squared, chin lifted, and blade angled with precision, she looks every bit the lady she has been trained to be. 'All those lessons will finally be put to use.'
"You'll not touch him while I draw breath!"
The groans of the reanimated corpses grow louder, a chorus of death echoing through the claustrophobic hall. Leah's shout rings out into the air that is thick with the stench of decay and seawater, every surface is slick and treacherous beneath her heels.
Behind her, Ciel struggles to stand with widened eyes. "Wha.."
Leah's hand trembles as she grips the hilt of the sword. She swallows hard, her dull blue eyes flickering between the advancing corpses and Ciel, who aims his empty pistol with a shaky hand. Inside she can feel a flicker of a familiar emotion driving her to keep going.
The first corpse lunges, its skeletal fingers clawing for her throat. Leah sidesteps, swinging the sword in a wide arc. The blade slices through its neck, sending the head tumbling to the ground. Hot blood—if it could still be called that—spatters her face, but she pays it no mind.
Her movements are precise at first, almost graceful, as she parries and strikes with calculated efficiency. One might imagine that she is dancing and that this nightmare has followed her into the ballroom. But as the horde closes in, her composure begins to fray. A corpse grabs her arm and she slams the pommel of the sword into its jaw with a snarl.
As Leah's strikes grow wilder, fueled by desperation, the more her elegance fractures. She drives the blade through the chest of one corpse and kicks it off with a grunt, sending it sprawling into two more.
Leah's blade flashes again, its tip cutting a precise line through another advancing corpse. She turns on her heel, her skirt swishing as she pivots for another strike. For a moment, it feels like a performance—one she has full command over.
But the undead don't slow. Another claws at her sleeve, and she barely wrenches herself free in time. Her breath hitches as she realizes how close it has come.
The next swing isn't elegant. It is desperate. The sword slams into a shoulder instead of a neck and Leah has to yank it free with a sharp tug. Her footing slips, her balance wavering, but she refuses to fall.
"Damn it!" she hisses, her polished demeanor cracking like glass. Another corpse lunges and this time she doesn't aim--she just swings, the blade crashing down like a hammer.
Her measured thrusts give way to frenzied swings, each one fueled by an almost animalistic fury. Brown hair clings to her water-drenched face, her breaths ragged and shallow. The hilt of the sword digs into her palms, but she doesn't stop.
Can not stop.
Nearly all elegance is gone. Leah's movements are sharp, wild, and unforgiving. The sword cleaves through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. Her hands, previously so steady, now shake with the force of each blow.
A corpse grabbed at her waist, and she turned on it with a grunt, driving the blade through its chest and twisting until it fell. Leah's vision blurs, the edges of her world narrowing to a suffocating tunnel of blood, steel, and grotesque faces.
She feels the press of cold hands on her arm and wrenches free with a scream that doesn't sound like her own. Her movements turn jagged, erratic. Somewhere in her mind, a voice whispers to stop, to think, but it is drowned out by a deafening roar
—her heartbeat, her breathing, her fury.
And then, nothing.
The world seems to tilt, the ground falling away beneath her feet. Leah's body moves on its own, the sword rising and falling with brutal precision. She doesn't feel the spray of blood or the crack of bones. She doesn't hear the cries of the undead as she cuts them down. Everything blurs into a cacophony of shadows and motion, her consciousness retreating into a cold, dark void.
Yet, despite her fractured mind, she still focuses on Ciel.
A shriek tears from her throat as she brings the blade down on a corpse crawling toward Ciel, cleaving its skull with a sickening crunch. The ferocity in her eyes can rival any beast.
"This.. This isn't who I wanted to be.." Leah's voice, soft and vulnerable, can be heard.
It almost seems as though she doesn't hear herself. Mindlessly speaking the first things that come to mind.
"I'll not be remembered for my kindness and I am not the woman you deserve. And while you may not think much of me, for you, I will be enough."
She doesn't fully acknowledge Ciel sitting on the ground clenching his gun with white knuckles. Instead, she continues along her massacre, slicing through the never-ending stream of corpses.
Leah's head throbs and her gaze feels dead. Ciel's voice cuts through the noise, sharp and desperate. She can't make out with words, but his tone. Fear? Worry? Whatever it is, it is enough to steady her legs. Just barely.
'Move. Strike. Faster. My arms—ache. No time. Keep going. Keep standing. My legs feel weak...but I'm still standing. Why am I still standing? They fall, and I stand. Over and over. Over and-blood? Where did it come from? Mine? No. Theirs. It must be theirs. Has to be.'
Her eyes twitch as she pushes forward. She responds to nothing and her vision is going black.
'I hear him. He's saying something. To me?
No—at me. My name? Leah? Yes, that's me. I am Leah. I am—strong. Am I? He needs me to be. Always him. Always for him. If I stop, he'll—no. No stopping. Never stop. Just...keep moving.'
Ciel, still on the floor, shouts out to Leah once more but it falls on deaf ears. In her mind, everything is eerily quiet and only her barely coherent thoughts can be heard.
'When did it get so quiet? When did it get so...wet? So much red. So much—Ciel? Ciel. Where is—there. He's there. Safe. Safe because of me. Because I—can't stop now. Not yet. Not until...'
Through the chaos, she catches a glimpse of Ciel—his face pale and his eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief. Leah wants to call out to him, but the next corpse surges forward, forcing her blade upward.
When the final corpse falls with a wet thud, its head severed by a desperate swing of her blade, Leah stands over it. Her chest heaves, her chemise torn near the hem and blood-soaked.
'It's done? Is it done? Can I...rest now? So tired. So tired. Just...a moment. Please, just...'
It takes a long moment, but when her vision clears, she is on her knees, the sword dangling from her bloodied hands. Bodies—more than she can count—lay in twisted heaps around her. Her chest heaves, each breath scraping painfully against her ribs. She blinks, trying to piece together what has happened, but her mind is a blank slate.
"Leah?" Ciel's voice is distant, muffled, as though he is calling to her from another room.
Turning toward him slowly, Leah's expression is vacant, her dull blue eyes wide and glassy.
"You're bleeding," she whispers, staring at a dark stain on his sleeve, though her own wounds far outnumber any he may have.
Ciel shakes his head. "It's not mine.."
A slow nod comes from Leah, but the semblance of calm is quickly replaced with her hardened features once more when she sees Grell in the corner of her eye. In a matter of seconds, she is up on her feet and charging, bringing the sword down directly towards the Reaper's head.
This only causes her to plummet into the floor though, as a gloved hand smashes Grell out of the way. But not to protect her. Standing beside Grell who is now discarded on the floor is none other than Thomas, scowling at the bundle of red before him.
Leah's eyes flicker. "Tho..mas?" she asks hesitantly.
Unresponsive to his name, Thomas continues to simply stare down at Grell in mild disgust. "Please stay away from the Lady, you unfortunate-looking ghoul. Should you cause any harm, I may have to rip your head clean off and serve it to the fish."
"Unfortunate-looking ghoul?! How rude!" shouts Grell, managing to pull herself off of the cold floor.
Thomas ignores this and pushes past to approach Leah, opting to leave any fighting to Sebastian. The sound of Ciel barking orders at his butler fades into the background.
"Are you injured, My Lady?" his face appears blank, but his voice betrays his worry.
Giving a shrug, Leah shudders from the cold, her anemia amplifying the effects of the freezing cold water. "I don't believe so.. When did you get here?"
Thomas' blue eyes shine against the light as he swiftly lifts Leah to her feet, spinning her around and moving her to check for potential injuries. To most people's surprise, the girl doesn't complain and allows it to happen, simply staring off at a distance wall.
"I was worried when only Elizabeth returned. I came to find you," Thomas gently brushes a loose strand of hair behind Leah's ear and wipes some of the blood from her face. "It seems Sebastian is useless as always. Leaving you to fend for yourself," he glares in the other demon's direction.
Leah doesn't respond, trying to replay the events of just moments ago in her mind. It all feels fragmented. The duo doesn't even notice Ronald and Grell's exit until the Reaper in red sings a loud goodbye.
"We should hurry as.. ugh," Ciel tries to lift himself from the floor, but his ankle shoots a pain up his leg.
Pulling herself out of Thomas' arms, Leah walks over to Ciel in worry. She watches as Sebastian examines his ankle, poking and prodding at the material of the shoe covering it.
"It's quite swollen," he says.
A pout forms on Leah's face and she doesn't hesitate as she kneels before her fiancé. "I'll carry you on my back," her voice is filled with an uncharacteristic certainty and confidence.
"What?!" Ciel yells in horror. "You will do no such thing!"
Leah's brows furrow in agitation. "Why not? You think me incapable?"
"It is unbecoming of a lady of your station," he counters, though his voice lacks its usual bite.
Staring at him for a long moment, Leah's expression is unreadable. Then, with a faint, bitter smile, she says, "A lady of my station, is it? Were it not for me, you'd likely be dead, station or not."
"And I thank you for that," Ciel coughs out.
Leah deadpans. "So you admit that you sat there like a helpless damsel and allowed me to be your savior. When we marry, shall I fend off the monsters under the bed for you as well?" her tone is blank, but internally she is laughing.
"I..." Ciel's face heats up to an uncomfortable red, exchanging a look with Sebastian who tries to hide a laugh behind his gloved palm. "W—We don't have time for this! Let's go upstairs already!" he shouts.
"Even the Young Master can't help himself in front of a lady, huh?" Sebastian says with a laugh.
Ciel looks mortified and turns his head away. "Shut up!" he bellows.
Rolling his eyes at the scene, Thomas picks up Leah without another word and quietly carries her away. Neither says much as they brush past Snake, but the Barrett is beginning to feel the hints of exhaustion as she leans her head on her butler's shoulder.
═╬
Outside on the first-class deck of the Campania, it is cold and dark. Hundreds of people line up and wait for rescue boats, making scared chatter that is far too loud for Leah's liking. She tries to focus on the stars in the night sky, a faint twinkle reflecting in her eyes.
"Out of the way! Women and children first! You dare call yourselves English gentleman?!"
The familiar voice draws Leah's attention and her eyes land on Edward in the distance with Elizabeth just beside him. Both girls notice each other at the same time and Elizabeth's face lights up. Leah allows herself to be put down and braces for the incoming impact.
"Leah!" Elizabeth yells as she runs in her direction, tightly wrapping her arms around the taller girl.
A smile finds itself on Leah's lips. "Lizzy.. You're safe," she whispers, resting her cheek on the mess of blonde hair.
"I am!" Elizabeth smiles in return, "Thanks to you!"
Leah glances away sheepishly as she looks amongst the crowd for any familiar faces, but she sees no one in particular. Neither of her parents, Daniel, nor Anna. Her smile slowly fades from her face. 'Are they alright..?' She feels the inner turmoil of worry, particularly for her brother and maid.
Caught up in her thoughts, she doesn't even notice Ciel approaching with Sebastian and Snake.
"I'm sorry, I've been completely useless," he says.
Walking over, Edward gives a look of dismissal. "I'll say. Hurry up into the boats."
"Edward, I have a favor to ask," Ciel points towards Snake. "Instead of me, let him on. I can't get on the boat just yet."
Leah and Elizabeth gasp at his words, their eyes wide with distraught. 'What is he talking about?!'
Accepting this proposal, Edward merely nods and watches as Sebastian picks up Ciel without another word and begins to walk away. He doesn't seem bothered by any of this, strangely enough.
"I'll leave Leah and Snake in your hands!" Ciel says, looking over Sebastian's shoulder.
While Leah and Elizabeth watch him leave in silent fear, Edward decides he wants to say one last thing.
"You don't have to come back!" he calls out loudly. "I'll be fine to take care of your lady myself."
This earns a strange look from Leah and in the moment, she wants to giggle knowing Daniel would be attempting to rip the boy's head off for that statement. 'Daniel...'
Ciel smirks at the implication of Edward's sentence. "I'll be sure to make it back then!"
Just like that, Ciel and Sebastian have disappeared from their view.
Standing with a solemn expression, Leah fiddles with her hands and turns back towards the crowd of people around her. Once more, her eyes search for anyone in her family, but she comes up with nothing. Her jaw tightens and she glances back in the direction Ciel went. 'Well.. if they all might be dead...'
She gives Elizabeth one last sudden hug before taking off to follow Ciel, ignoring Elizabeth's shouts and pleads. Determination flows through her body as she swiftly dodges Thomas attempting to stop her. She wants to help.
"Wait— Where are you going?!"
Notes:
remember the thing we learn about leah at the end of chapter nineteen? yea, that’s what you’re seeing.
so cunty fierce diva of her!!
Chapter 30: | 29 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl causes more trouble for herself. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i feel like this chapter is a tad bit rushed despite the long wait, but whatever whatever. that’s what editing is for. i feel like now that i’m getting closer towards the end of atlantic arc, the more impatient i get to finish it.
yea i cut out a bunch of dialogue and fighting. what are you gonna do about it?🤨
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter twenty-nine ! )
"Do slow down a bit!"
A repetitive click sounds against the floor of the first-class passenger hall. Accompanying it is the sound of labored breathing and an occasional falter in their steps if you listen closely. The clicking sound? Leah Barrett's dark green heels that no longer match her clothes—the green gown long gone, only to be replaced with a bloodied chemise and a corset too tight.
Ahead of her, she keeps her gaze settled on Sebastian with Ciel in his arms, struggling to close the distance between them. She can see that they're conversing with another man she faintly recognizes, but she pays it little mind.
Ciel is drawn away from the conversation by Leah's voice though, whipping his head around. "What are you doing?!" his voice is sharp.
"I'm here to help you!" exclaims Leah as she finally manages to catch up and can slow her pace.
"Help with what?" Ciel asks incredulously.
Leah tilts her head with a pout of her lips. "I'm not sure exactly, but there's certainly something that needs to be done if you are choosing to willingly stay on a sinking ship! Besides, if I can't die, then you can't die either."
A sound of both irritation and confusion escapes Ciel. "You should be on a lifeboat," he snaps, eyes narrowing at Leah. "What could you possibly accomplish by staying here?"
Leah's chest rises and falls rapidly, her breath still uneven from the frantic chase through the halls. The thick scent of salt and smoke clings to the air, and every so often, a distant groan of the ship reminds them of its inevitable fate. The floor beneath them feels unsteady—not quite tilting yet, but shifting in a way that promises it soon will. And still, the first-class halls are eerily empty, as if the ship is already abandoned.
She takes a moment to push a damp strand of hair away from her face, ignoring the way her chemise clings uncomfortably to her skin. "I imagine the same as you," she finally replies, breathless but unwavering. "And if you're allowed to make reckless decisions, then so am I."
Ciel's grip tightens where his fingers curl against Sebastian's sleeve. He's pale—paler than usual—his features drawn with exhaustion, but his irritation keeps him sharp. "This isn't about what's fair," he bites out. "This is beyond reckless. You need to leave."
A set of dull, blue eyes belonging to Leah flicker toward the floor. There's a thin sheen of water creeping along the carpet, darkening the fabric as it seeps forward. How long until the hallways are completely submerged? How long until escape is no longer an option?
Her eyes lift back to Ciel, her expression unwavering. "And go where, exactly?" she asks, gesturing vaguely around them. "There's hardly an inviting path to safety."
The conversation is interrupted by a smooth, familiar voice. "Lady Barrett."
Leah stiffens. It takes her only a second to recognize him—the perfectly styled blond hair, the gloved hand lightly gripping the base of a wine glass, the ever-present air of smug self-importance. Even through the haze of urgency, Viscount Druitt is impossible to mistake.
He smiles, ever the picture of effortless charm, as if they are not standing in the halls of a dying ship. "What a vision you are, even in distress," he muses. "I have heard much about you.. All good things."
Leah barely spares him a glance before returning her attention to Ciel. She has no patience for Druitt—not now, not ever. "I don't intend to stand around chatting," she says, lowering her voice. "Whatever you're doing, I can be of use."
Ciel glares at her, jaw clenched. His lips part, undoubtedly to refuse her again, but before he can, Sebastian shifts his weight, adjusting his hold on him.
"My Lord," Sebastian interjects smoothly, "we should move. The water is rising."
Swallowing his frustration, Ciel's stare burns into Leah for a lingering moment before he exhales sharply and looks away. "...Fine," he mutters, irritation heavy in his tone. "But do not slow us down."
With the tension slightly easing, Leah releases an exhale. The weight of her decision is pressing in on her, but she forces herself to push it aside. If there's anything to regret, she'll do so later.
For now, she simply nods. "I wouldn't dream of it," there's a small pause. "There is no doubt Thomas is following me as well. If anything, he will speed things along."
"How kind of you to acknowledge my skill, My Lady."
The sentence is hardly heard when a shrill scream overpowers it followed by Leah whipping around with a hand on her chest. "Don't just sneak around like that!" she screams, though she tries to hold some of it in.
Thomas doesn't bother answering, opting to bow his head in mock shame. Such a surprise entrance doesn't stay the center of attention for long though as the sudden sound of eerie laughter can be heard ahead.
Standing amongst the men carrying the mysterious machine is Undertaker, his signature smirk plastered on his face. Despite his attire standing out, no one notices him until now.
"Undertaker?! What are you doing here?" asks Ciel incredulously.
Leah stops listening as the conversation picks up, watching as Ciel has Sebastian step closer and start whispering. The weight of her decisions is slowly starting to creep up on her, but she tries to ignore the loud voice in her head. Her legs fall into autopilot and before she knows it, they have reached the first-class passenger lounge.
It is still as large and spacious as it was earlier in the night and the days before it. Unfortunately, it is now barren. No longer is it overfilled with bodies and the tides of high society conversation. Now, blood trails the stairs and the only bodies in the room have gone cold.
"Please be careful, that's worth more than your lives."
Shifting her attention back to reality, Leah stares as the small group of men gently lowers the strange device onto the floor. It is large, strange, and foreign. For all her education, she's never seen anything like it and for once, she can't envision learning to be a good thing.
"Are you going to activate it?" Ciel speaks up from further behind.
Viscount Druitt looks to the side. "Not yet. The cast is still incomplete."
Sharing a glance with Thomas, Leah raises a brow in confusion. None of what is being said makes sense. English, but it doesn't feel like English. In her gaze, Thomas gives a firm nod. What to? Only her subconscious seems to know.
"Bastard! Why did you take the device?!"
Everyone's head snaps up to the second floor of the lounge, another familiar face in sight. Ryan Stoker, his face filled with anger.
"Welcome, Ryan. I was waiting for you," Viscount Druitt stretches his arms out dramatically with a smile on his face. "Tonight the empire you built will collapse like Pompeii and in its place, my new realm will be born!" he holds out his half-full glass of wine. "With the power of this device, I will create a new empire!"
Leah crosses her arms over her chest, hardly impressed. "With a brain so delightfully uncomplicated, it is a wonder he has even heard of Pompeii, let alone comprehended its fate."
An audible chuckle escapes Thomas. It is an unusual sound, rare and uncanny. For a split second, it almost sounds as though it comes from all directions. Regardless of this, Thomas doesn't wait for a signal to move in.
"The one who conquered eternity shall rule—" Viscount Druitt's words die in his throat when his wine glass suddenly falls apart.
By falling apart, it is key for a gloved hand wrapping around it and crushing it in one swift blow. Behind him, Viscount Druitt can sense a presence—a sinister one that creeps up the back of his neck. He can see images flash in his mind. Images that aren't truly there, as though they are being communicated subconsciously. The images do nothing to calm the Viscount, rather, it is something he would see in his worst nightmares.
Leaning his face down, Thomas presses his lips against Viscount Druitt's ear and lets his sharp teeth graze the skin. "Turn it on," he demands with a voice unnaturally calm.
Wine pools beneath their feet and shards of glass sparkle under the light, staining the already-ruined carpet that lines the stairs. The sudden shift fills the air with tension. Even Leah, so accustomed to Thomas' antics, didn't expect him to make such a bold move.
She glances over at Ciel still in Sebastian's arms and decides to make her way over in the case she needs to avoid the line of fire—knowing how Thomas gets when he's like this. However, just when Leah thinks things can't get any stranger, more glass around them shatters. Except this time, it's the walls and the hands of corpses trying to grab her for what feels like the hundredth time that night.
The obnoxious sound of groans fills the room, powering over the screams of shock. Hundreds, if not thousands, shuffle their way inside, all heading towards the group standing on the stairs.
Thomas, beginning to lose his patience, grabs a fist full of Viscount Druitt's hair and yanks his head back, nearly snapping it in the process. "Now."
"Well.." Viscount Druitt gives a nervous chuckle and bends down, albeit the best he can with his hair being gripped so tightly. "This isn't going how I planned, but I'll show you how the dead prostrates itself before me!"
When his fingers make contact with the button, there's a moment of silence and baited breath waiting for the supposed effect on the corpses. It is a long moment. Silent. Waiting. And nothing comes.
"Uh..?" Viscount Druitt stares down at the machine in confusion.
Body tensing in irritation, Leah cocks her head in a dramatic manner. "Are you serious?" she is starting to regret having chased Ciel.
Undertaker bursts out into a loud fit of laughter as he watches the corpses bite at the air, proving the uselessness of the machine.
"Ryan! The device you built isn't working!"
"T—That is.."
Ciel, hearing Viscount Druitt's words, begins to sweat. "So it wasn't you who built it?!"
"How could I build something like this?" asks Viscount Druitt, placing a hand over his chest with an exaggerated look. "I just decided to borrow it."
Leaning over the railing, Stoker can't hide his anger. "Bastard! So you fooled me?!" he shouts.
Ignoring Grell jumping over the balcony, Leah turns her head to stare at Ciel incredulously. She can hear the sound of commotion around her, something about not killing people accompanied by the sound of something colliding. Yet, she never takes her eyes off of Ciel.
"You truly believe a man of Druitt's.." there is a long pause, " intelligence could build a device like that?" asks Leah. 'I thought Ciel smarter than this.'
When she doesn't receive an answer from her fiancé, she follows his gaze and finally watches the commotion. It's nearly over though and all she catches is the word 'shinigami' before it is quickly followed by glass raining from the sky.
'Shinigami..? I believe I read of those in a book once.' Caught up in her thoughts, Leah doesn't even recognize Thomas shielding her from the glass
"How sad it would be, should laughter disappear."
The sudden remark pulls her from the thoughts of questioning, but she isn't truly focused. She can hear everything around her. Undertaker? A shinigami? 'If demons exist then other entities I thought weren't real must be!'
As soon as Undertaker's voice leads into a long-winded explanation, Leah's eyes settle on Thomas. Their eyes lock, almost as though they are looking at each other's souls. If Thomas has one to see, that is.
Undertaker's voice drones on in the background, a low, unsettling melody that echoes through the cold air. His words blur into a sinister hum, yet every so often, a sharp phrase cuts through the fog of Leah's mind— "..the souls, incomplete... unraveling threads of death..."
Ciel sits unnervingly still in Sebastian's arms, jaw tight, though the faint tremor in his hand betrays him. Leah, standing close, feels the weight of the explanation settle over them like a shroud—each fragmented word painting a picture darker than the last.
Hardly able to blink before her view of Thomas is shrouded by sudden objects flying around her, Leah chokes on air. All she can see is film flying around her. 'I can't see..' her brows furrow. 'What is this?' the delay of the information finally hits her brain. A cinematic record. But before she even gets a good glimpse while focused, it's gone.
Undertaker's explanation drags on, filling the room with a chill that no fire can warm. Minutes—or has it been hours?—pass in a haze of unsettling revelations, until finally, his voice falls quiet.
At least as quiet as it can be now that others are interfering.
Leah watches as Grell, Ronald, and Sebastian all close in on Undertaker for what she can only assume is a fight that will end in casualty if she gets too close. Even considering this, she looks at Thomas without a second thought.
"Get rid of him," she demands, pointing at Undertaker.
She has heard enough. Bizarre dolls? Shinigami's? Depravity? This entire time she thought he was merely eccentric—made her uncomfortable during their few encounters, but never thought of it too seriously. Now knowing this knowledge that he is far from a good person, let alone human, she's fed up with the night.
"Yes, My Lady," says Thomas, hopping over the balcony without another word.
The fight, barely beginning, is kick-started by Thomas' body colliding with Undertaker's, sending the both of them into a wall with a loud crash. From there, it only gets worse and more chaotic.
Bodies fly. Things crash and break. Words are exchanged. Leah watches as flashes of color chase after each other. Despite Undertaker being outnumbered, they all seem to be equally powered and that alone saves Undertaker's skin.
Pulling her gaze away from the scene, Leah locks eyes with Ciel and runs towards him. "We should leave while we have the chance!" she suggests, then looks down at his injured ankle. "I can carry you."
"I can't!" Ciel shakes his head. "I need Undertaker."
Leah's brows furrow. "Surely Sebastian or Thomas will succeed. Now come we—" her words come to a stop when Ciel is suddenly whisked into the arms of another.
Undertaker.
"I can finally put you in one of my specially-made coffins, Earl.." the smile on his face speaks of underlying trouble.
The sheer attempt is a failure though when Sebastian forces his way between them and sends Leah flying back in the process. This unintentionally saves her life, as she avoids Undertaker's scythe piercing through her skin.
Now, for the second time ever, she sees the horrific, dead eyes that belong to Sebastian. She doesn't even register what Undertaker says to the butler, staring in shock as the eyes are obscured. 'A cinematic record..?'
The film dances around Leah, showing her brief glimpses of Sebastian's life. It makes her uncomfortable. Feeling as though she's watching something she shouldn't. She even notices herself. A younger Leah. An interaction she hardly remembers.
Her observations are short-lived when a sudden figure emerges from the film and she hardly has time to react before the death scythe covered in Sebastian's blood is raised above her head.
"You, my dear, should have minded your business."
Notes:
omg is she dead y’all?
quick reminder that i have a discord server! :3 (https://discord.gg/DFYaY5bXwX) feel free to join, anyone is welcome. it’s alice in wonderland themed, has cute server emojis, and i like to yap about my fics so you may learn some unwritten facts or see some chapter sneak peeks + you get pinged immediately for updates❤️
also, i know you’re reading this, so thank you to the reader who drew leah :D gonna frame it on my wall, i love it so much
Chapter 31: | 30 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl reflects on her life. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
lore drop!!
lock in guys, things get a little sad and leah should make a bit more sense to you now
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty ! )
"Mama, is there something wrong with me?"
Ever since I can remember, I've always been different from everyone else in a way. Whether it be my weight, my height, my personality, or my ideals, I could never seem to fit in. As a young child, that undoubtedly breaks you.
Naturally, I was sheltered through most of my adolescence, as any family would do with their daughters. When I reached the age of ten, I was allowed to go out more often, accompanying my parents to events or anything of the like.
But sometimes I wish I had never gone outside. For I would not be the way I am today.
Some of my earliest memories consist of those outings, walking the streets with my parents as I would hop around in pure excitement. I would see all the other girls my age venturing about as well, older women following their path.
I've always hated seeing those girls. They were thinner while I was a stone too heavy, they were shorter while I had the height of a man, they were cuter while I was too shy, their voices were softer while mine was lower. Everything about them seemed so much better than I could ever be in any way.
It didn't help that I was a growing girl. Impressionable. I would ask women older than me all the time about how to look better or how to lose weight. I had always had people tell me from a young age that I was pretty. But back then, it all felt like a lie. Looking like that.. there's surely no way I was pretty.
The original problem started when one of the women told me that if I wanted to successfully lose weight, I should avoid eating as if I were to exercise, I would begin to look like a man. And as any young girl who didn't know any better would, I did just that.
At first, it was small. I would occasionally skip a meal in the hopes that that could make it better. When I noticed the effect wasn't good enough for me, I cut down even more. This eventually continued until I would hardly eat during the day, only allowing myself a meal once every few days to sustain myself.
I could get away with it by hiding away in my room during mealtime. Around that time, Thomas had started working for my father and when I realized he would listen to me without question, I used that to my advantage. I would make him tell my parents that I just wanted to eat alone in my room, knowing that I never touched that plate.
It was only a matter of time before I dropped the weight, thinner than I could ever recall being. My stomach was finally flat, my waist small, my collarbone exposed, and my cheeks slimmed down. That was my dream come true, but I never recovered from that behavior. I still practice it today, scared that I'll gain the weight back and fail to be desirable.
My parents never seemed to notice. They chalked it up to my body maturing, not knowing the true nature of my sudden change. I would never tell them. I could never tell them. To see the disappointment in their eyes, having to listen to countless lectures about how my behavior is wrong. I've had enough of them only paying attention to me when it suits them, and to fall victim to whatever lesson I am meant to hear about my behavior.
I don't think they ever understood that they set me up from the beginning.
Even as a young child, my parents didn't always act the way they did. My father was even more distant, and my mother chose to do her own things. They primarily focused on Daniel to no one's surprise, as he is the heir. The preferable child. The more important one.
Most of my upbringing was with the nannies or my governess, but even they didn't do a good enough job.
If I cried too much, I was told to stop. If I played too much, I was told to grow up. If I spoke too much, I was told to be quiet. I hardly had the room to just be a child.
Physical affection was nearly nonexistent for me. My nannies didn't typically like being touched. They would tell me all about personal space and how I should treasure mine. So I did.
By the time I was seven, I had also stopped enjoying the touch of other people. When my mother would hug me, I would push her away. When my father would ruffle my hair, I would yell and move away. When my brother would play with me, I would tell him to leave me alone. I couldn't just be normal.
At some point, I had gotten so bad beyond repair that I became aggressive. Anger was the only way I knew how to express myself, one of the only emotions I was accustomed to seeing others show. I would scream at people, hit them, throw things. I feel bad for the way I used to treat some of the servants. They didn't deserve that. Most of that anger should have been directed at my parents, the rightful recipients.
Then, around the age of nine, my parents realized the extent of the aggression. Beforehand, they would brush off the servants, but when I started to direct it at my mother, it became clear that it was a problem. They tried to reprimand me numerous times, but I never listened. So they did what they do best. Ignore me and send me off to my aunt Rosaline.
I spent about a year with my aunt. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might have been. I learned how to be a lady, how to control my emotions, and many of the arts I know today. Rosaline wasn't like my parents, she actually paid attention to me. A widow with no children left to care for, I suppose I was her only option.
I can never deny that I enjoyed my stay with her. Our respect was mutual and she felt like a mother to me, something I rarely got to experience. It was nice. She wasn't the most loving person but anyone is better than my mother.
When I returned home at the age of ten, I was different. I had flowered already so on top of going through changes in my body, I couldn't shake the resentment I still held towards my parents. I chose to ignore them every chance I got, only interacting when necessary or the occasional acknowledgment of a question. They don't deserve my time or effort.
Yet, despite learning what I needed from Aunt Rosaline, I still couldn't stand to let someone touch me. Even when I finally warmed up to Daniel again, I always kept my distance. It felt like a bridge that refused to collapse.
It wasn't until meeting Ciel that I felt comfortable with another person's touch. Something about his was so different, I yearned for it. After numerous failed attempts to get him to return my affection, I gradually allowed my family to do the same to me.
I think my parents feel a sense of regret for not being so involved with me. Not that it makes me feel any better about it.
It took them forever to realize. It wasn't until a tragedy that they did, that they wanted to be more a part of my life. Barely.
When I was five, my mother had been with child. It all went well until my mother went into labor and there had been some complications. All I can remember from that night are her screams and my father roaming around disoriented and in a fit of worry.
Daniel sat with me through the night, holding me in his arms and trying to distract me from the sound of our mother's cries. Not that it helped, but I do appreciate the effort.
At some point, my father had come to join us for a moment. He told us all about how he needed to choose between our mother and the baby to live. From that point, the memories feel like sheer panic. Daniel was begging for our father to choose our mother. I never liked that men got that decision. It should have been my mother's.
But decide, my father did. Leaving the room to tell us that our mother lived, but lost the baby in the process.
"It was a girl." That sentence still haunts me. To know I could've had a little sister, but to also know that having her nearly killed my mother. That scared me away from childbirth.
But what kind of woman doesn't want a child? That's all I'm good for.
After that, my parents tried to be more involved in my life. If I was spoiled before, I was even more spoiled then. I think they were scared of the possibility of losing Daniel or me, at that point we were their only children. They never tried to have any more in fear of it killing my mother the fourth time around, as well as a doctor's order.
The loss of the little girl hit my mother harder than it had my father, knowing that I'm her only girl and she had already missed so many years of my life.
It somehow hit me, as well. Emotional turmoil felt like all I knew. I would wish that my sister had lived, for I wouldn't have had to go through any of this alone. Perhaps it could have fixed me, helped me. The thought still makes me feel so selfish. To punish an innocent soul. To go through what I have gone through, just to make myself feel better. To make myself feel understood. Yet, I still yearned for someone by my side. It is all so wrong.
My mother started to live vicariously through me. Using me to do everything she never got to do. To be the greatest woman I could be. That's what started those damned sword lessons.
I always hated those lessons. They never felt natural. They went against everything I had been taught to be as a lady. Violent, physically demanding, and manly. None of it was right, but my mother wanted it, so I would do it without question.
It wasn't until I met Elizabeth that I felt even semi-normal in the activity, but even she wasn't doing what I was. I have never been normal. I have never been good enough.
I would change my personality around Ciel in the hopes that he would like me more, for I am naturally too quiet. I never wanted to match him and put us in an awkward silence.
I would force smiles to appear happier than I am, knowing that deep down I'm as unhappy as I could ever be.
I cry when I look in the mirror, for as many times as people tell me I am the most beautiful girl they have ever seen, I can't bring myself to believe it.
I can't hear myself think or I will spiral, being left with my thoughts that feel like a whirlwind of things I've never wanted to hear.
Had I just been normal, maybe I wouldn't have tried to kill myself. Step off of a balcony in the hopes that the silence of the afterlife would be far more comforting than life had ever been for me, just to fall into the arms of Thomas.
Had Thomas just not been there, maybe I could be at peace.
Had someone just spoken to me as a child. Raise me right and maybe, just maybe, I could be a normal girl. I wouldn't have to rely on Anna to teach me how to converse with another person. I wouldn't have to listen to a maid on how to make people pay attention to me outside of my face.
Had I just been born a man, my life would be simpler. I could go to school, proudly learn the art of the sword, be seen as important.
But I was born a woman. I am nothing greater than someone to marry and have children with, to sit in the corner like a doll and look pretty for the guests.
As hard as I try, my role in society is set in stone. All I live for now is to appease my parents, to let them die knowing their daughter is living the life they always planned.
All I live for is to marry Ciel Phantomhive, to sit around his house and give him children until the day I'm no longer useful. The most I can do is pray that the boy truly feels something for me in the way I do him, since he makes it so hard to read him.
But I can't be mad at him for that, as we are the same. Yet we are so different. For he is a normal man. And I am an odd woman.
Why can't I have just been born like the other girls? To not cry when I see old portraits of myself. To not disagree with society about a woman's role. To not be the opposite of a desirable lady. To not be bad at holding conversations.
"All I've ever wanted was to be normal."
Notes:
oh, my precious girl :( MY BABY😭
does the fact that this is supposed to have the vibe of a cinematic record come off or did i just fail horribly?
Chapter 32: | 31 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl narrowly escapes with her life. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
buckle in guys, this is a long one. i guess this is a late birthday gift to myself
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-one ! )
"Sit up properly."
The fork feels heavy in my hand, smooth and cold, the silver reflecting the candlelight in little slivers. I straighten my back, pressing my shoulders down and keeping my chin level, just like I was taught. Across the table, Aunt Rosaline cuts her meat with clean, precise movements. Her knife barely makes a sound against the porcelain plate.
I glance at my own plate. The food is arranged neatly, no crumbs, no mess. I know better than to leave a mess.
"Elbows off the table."
I lower them immediately. My fingers tighten slightly around the fork, but I don't say anything. I don't sigh, don't fidget, don't react in any way that could make it seem like I'm resisting. I just fix it. That's how it works.
The dining room is large, too large for just two people. The ceilings stretch high, and the chandelier casts everything in soft, flickering light. The walls are lined with paintings—portraits, landscapes, things that look expensive and old. The air smells faintly of the lavender polish the maids use on the furniture.
It's quiet. It's always quiet.
The only sounds come from the soft clink of silverware and the occasional murmur of a servant refilling glasses before disappearing again. They move around the edges of the room like they aren't really there.
I push the food around on my plate, cutting small pieces but not eating them. I'm not hungry right now, but I know better than to leave food untouched.
Aunt Rosaline notices. Of course, she notices.
"A lady does not fidget."
Her voice is soft, even, but not unkind. Just a reminder.
I stop immediately, setting my hands in my lap for a moment before picking up the fork again, this time with more purpose. No hesitation.
There are a lot of rules. Some of them I knew before coming here. Some I didn't. A lady speaks clearly, but never too loudly. A lady does not slouch. A lady listens first and speaks when it is appropriate. A lady does not question the rules, she simply follows them.
I am still learning.
The silence stretches. My back is starting to ache from sitting so straight, but I don't adjust. Aunt Rosaline lifts her wine glass, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes are sharp, assessing, but there's something else there—something thoughtful.
She takes a sip, then sets the glass down.
"You've improved."
It isn't praise, not exactly. More of an observation. But I can tell she means it.
I nod. "Yes, Aunt Rosaline."
She watches me for a second longer before turning back to her plate. I don't know what she's looking for when she does that—when she studies me like she's measuring my progress. I wonder if I meet whatever expectations she has.
I must be doing well enough. She hasn't corrected me in a while.
I chew a small bite of food, swallowing carefully.
The meal continues like that—silent, structured, careful. It's not bad. I've learned to find the quiet comforting in a way. It's predictable. I always know what to expect here.
After a while, Aunt Rosaline dabs her lips with her napkin and sets it down beside her plate.
"When we finish, you will practice the piano for an hour," she says. "Then, you may read before bed."
I nod again. "Yes, Aunt Rosaline."
She watches me again, tilting her head slightly.
"You don't have to be so stiff, Leah," she says after a moment. "You're doing well. You don't need to brace yourself for correction every second."
I blink.
I hadn't realized I was doing that.
I lower my shoulders just slightly, though I don't let myself slouch.
She gives a small, almost amused sigh, then lifts her glass again.
"Finish your food," she says, and that's the end of it.
I do.
No— I don't? The table is gone. Where has the table gone? And the walls. They're crumbling. What is—
Darkness.
A dull ringing hums in Leah's ears.
It isn't loud, nor is it painful, but it's persistent—something pressing at the edges of awareness, coaxing her back into wakefulness. The weight of her own body follows soon after like she had been drifting somewhere untethered and is now being gently set back in place.
The first thing she sees is lighting that is a tad bit too bright, lanterns swaying ever so slightly as the ship moves beneath her. The ceiling is unfamiliar, though the low, distant sound of creaking wood and shifting waves tells her everything she needs to know.
Still on the Campania.
Then movement—shadows shifting against the flickering light. A presence near her. Leah's eyes focus sluggishly, tracing the dark silhouette of a figure crouched at her side. The gleam of a button catches in the low light, the distinct cut of black fabric framing an all-too-familiar face.
Sebastian.
His crimson gaze meets hers the moment she stirs. His expression is unreadable, but there's a quiet scrutiny in his posture, as though he's cataloging every detail of her state.
"You return to us," he murmurs, his voice smooth but notably subdued.
Leah blinks slowly. There's an odd, weightless feeling still clinging to her, the afterimage of something old and distant lingering in her chest. Her limbs feel heavy, her thoughts slower than they should be.
A shift of movement catches her attention, drawing her gaze past Sebastian.
Ciel sits beside her head, eyes flickering between her and something else in the distance. His back is straight despite the tension in his frame, his expression composed but sharp. One hand rests over his ankle, fingers twitching minutely in a way that betrays discomfort. Even without speaking, it's clear he's in pain.
"You lost consciousness," he states flatly, his tone clipped but not unkind. "For a minute or two."
Two minutes.
It had felt like much longer.
Leah exhales, slow and measured. The weight of her memories is gone, but the remnants of it still press faintly at the edges of her mind, like the faded imprint of a dream she can't quite shake.
But she is here.
The past is behind her.
And the Campania still sways beneath her feet.
Feeling a dull pain in her arm, she glances down and notices a small graze made by Undertaker's death scythe. 'My head hitting the floor must have caused the unconsciousness..' Leah scrunches her nose as she tries to gather her thoughts. 'But why did I hit the floor? I was standing.'
Her questions are answered when her brain finally registers the noises mere feet away.
Loud noises. Excessively loud.
Leah draws her attention away from the pair above her to settle on the familiar blonde hair of her notorious butler. Her brain hardly has a moment to register anything before she watches Thomas' fist fly towards Undertaker with a startling speed, creating a crater-like hole in the wall when the attack is dodged.
The fight between Thomas and Undertaker is nothing short of monstrous. The ship rocks beneath the force of each clash, the groan of metal and the crack of splintering wood swallowed only by the howling wind and the unnatural sounds coming from the two combatants. It is not the refined battle of gentlemen nor the swift execution of skilled killers—it is raw, violent, an exhibition of power unhindered by restraint or reason.
Thomas moves like something not bound by human limitations. His body jerks and twists, dodging with a precision that should not be possible. His limbs snap forward like a beast lunging for a kill, his strikes erratic but calculated, as if he is thinking beyond mere instinct. He does not fight like a swordsman, nor an assassin—there is no refinement, no measured grace. It is something worse.
His movements are unpredictable, violent. There is a moment where he lurches forward, his body contorting unnaturally, and he grabs Undertaker by the wrist before the scythe can fully swing downward. The force alone cracks bone.
There is no hesitation, no faltering. A lesser man would recoil, would second-guess inflicting such damage on a whim. Thomas does not. He is grinning.
Except—he has no lips to grin with anymore.
Leah watches with wide, unblinking eyes. There's something wrong. Something deeply, terribly wrong.
At first, she thinks it's the disorientation from what she'd just witnessed in her unconsciousness, the lingering haze of memories long locked away fogging her vision. But no—no, the moment her gaze lands on Thomas, she knows it is not a trick of her mind.
Because that thing is not Thomas.
Or rather, it is him—but it is not the face he wears, the one she has grown accustomed to, the one that fits seamlessly into the world as if he belongs. This face—if it could even be called that—was something else entirely. One she has seen before.
There is no flesh, no recognizable features beyond the gaping pits where eyes should be, the rows of jagged teeth bared without lips to conceal them. His entire form seems in flux, shifting between something half-formed and something wholly inhuman, as though he cannot decide what shape to take. It is a horror, an abomination against nature, against logic. The only things that remain intact are his legs, eerily human amidst the chaos of his warping body.
The worst part isn't even how he looks. It's how natural it seems. How effortless it is, as though Thomas has no problem with showing his true self
Leah sits up and grabs the railing beside her, fingers digging into the metal. "Do you see that?" she asks aloud, voice steadier than it has any right to be.
Beside her, Ciel tenses. Sebastian remains unnervingly composed. Neither of them immediately respond.
Leah's gaze doesn't waver. "Tell me you see it."
Ciel is the first to speak, though he does not meet her eyes. "See what?" His voice is careful, measured, betraying nothing.
Leah lets out a breath, sharp and exasperated. "That." She gestures toward Thomas, who is currently dodging Undertaker's scythe with unnatural, fluid movements, his form flickering between something solid and something nightmarish. "You're telling me you don't see that? You're right there, Ciel."
Standing there with a frustratingly neutral expression, Sebastian tilts his head. "Perhaps you are still disoriented from your fall, My Lady," he suggests, smooth as ever. "Head injuries can play tricks on the mind, especially when one is abruptly awakened."
"Oh, don't patronize me, Sebastian," Leah's head snaps toward him, disbelief clear in her eyes. "That is not my mind playing tricks on me. That is not normal."
Ciel exhales through his nose. "Leah—"
"No, Ciel," she cuts him off, her grip on the railing tightening. "Do not insult my intelligence by pretending you do not see what is right in front of you." her gaze flickers between them, sharp and searching.
Ciel says nothing.
Sebastian only offers the faintest of smiles, utterly unreadable. "Perhaps, My Lady, it is best not to dwell on things beyond comprehension."
Leah almost laughs. Almost. Because that is such an obvious deflection. A weak, flimsy attempt to make her question herself, to cast doubt on her own perception. But she is not so easily fooled.
Her eyes return to the fight, to the way Thomas moves, to the way Undertaker grins despite facing something that should not be.
"No," she murmurs. "I don't think I will."
She doesn't look away. Not this time.
Thomas lunges again, his body twisting mid-air in a way that is distinctly wrong. Undertaker narrowly dodges, but just as he pivots, Thomas moves faster—his hand clamps around the edge of the death scythe, not caring for the gash it carves into his palm.
There is no flinch of pain. No reaction at all. Only the slow tilt of his head, as if fascinated by the blood dripping from his own hand.
Leah feels something cold settle in her stomach.
"He is not human," she states outright, the words falling from her lips like stone. "I know he is not human."
Shifting slightly, Ciel tries to gather his thoughts. It is minute, barely perceptible, but she catches it. He knows. He has always known.
Sebastian, ever composed, only offers a slight tilt of his head. "That is quite the bold claim, My Lady."
She clenches her jaw. "Bold? No. Obvious," Leah gestures toward the fight, toward the grotesque display of Thomas in his truest form. "Look at him. That is not a man. No man moves like that, no man looks like that beneath his skin."
Ciel's fingers curl slightly at his side. "You are jumping to conclusions."
Letting out a short, incredulous laugh, Leah fights the urge to throw something. "Am I?" She turns her gaze fully onto him now, eyes sharp despite the slight disorientation still gnawing at the edges of her mind. "Then tell me what you see, Ciel. Look me in the eye and tell me that is an ordinary man fighting before us."
Ciel does not answer.
Sebastian hums. "Perhaps it is merely a trick of the light."
"Enough," Leah's patience snaps like a thread pulled too tight. She whirls back toward the fight, gripping the railing with white-knuckled fingers. "You may think me ignorant, but I am not blind," she takes a breath, steadying herself, then speaks again—deliberate, clear. "If you insist on feigning ignorance, then allow me to say it plainly: Thomas is something else. I know not what, but I know what he isn't."
She meets Ciel's gaze again, her own unwavering. "And so do you."
For a moment, there is only the sounds of the fight, the battle continuing without pause. Undertaker laughs as he dodges another strike, his grin wide, amused despite the state of things. He knows as well.
Ciel's lips press into a thin line. He is weighing his response carefully, as he always does, but Leah knows the truth. She sees it.
Sebastian, on the other hand, only smiles. "My Lady," he says, tone ever-polite, ever-unchanging, "some questions are best left unanswered."
Leah exhales slowly, staring at him, searching his face for any sign of wavering. There is none.
She clenches her fists at her sides.
"Perhaps," she says at last, "but I am not one to leave questions alone."
With that, she turns her attention back to Thomas, watching as the molten black of his form flickers, and shifts, the nightmare wearing his skin more real than it ever should be.
"St—" Ciel tries to speak.
Leah doesn't bother to look at him. "If you lie to me again, I shall slap you."
A look of surprise crosses Ciel's face. "What?"
"I said, if—"
There is a chorus of screams that erupts through the room, drowning out the sentence that Leah fails to complete. If Leah was not gripping the railing in this very moment, she would have been knocked off of her feet and fall into the depths. The front of the Campania is tilting upwards.
She can feel the lack of solid ground beneath her and she tries to keep her hold tight, but her palms—sweaty from panic—are beginning to betray her.
However, her focus isn't on her failing hold on the railing, but rather the flash to her right followed by a deafening scream. Leah, against her better judgment, glances down just in time to see Stoker plummet to his death, their eyes locking for a brief moment before he is no longer in view.
Her eyes widen in horror at the sight, knowing she can end in the same way, but Grell's words in the distance are the main thing to unsettle her.
"Ryan Stoker, born August 24th, 1854. Death by falling accident on April 20th, 1889. No special remarks."
'Only 34..? Dead before my eyes?'
The ship shudders violently beneath Leah's feet, and her fingers—slick with sweat, aching with strain—threaten to slip from the railing at any moment. The Campania lurches as though possessed by some vengeful force, the bow tilting ever higher, sending furniture, bodies, and debris tumbling into the growing abyss below. Leah clings to the railing, her fingers slipping against the sweat-slicked wood, her heart hammering wildly.
She dares to glance downward once more. The dark water yawns below, a vast and merciless abyss, swallowing the wreckage of fallen beams and shattered glass. It calls to her with a terrible certainty—if she falls, she will not surface again.
Screams fill the air—some distant, others terrifyingly near—yet they barely register in her ears over the pounding of her own heart. Her limbs tremble, weakened by terror and exhaustion, and despite her every effort, her grip begins to fail her.
Then, in a cruel instant, the railing jerks away from beneath her grasp.
A sharp gasp catches in her throat as her body pitches backward into empty space. The ship, the sky, the chaos—everything spins into a nightmarish blur. Cold wind tears at her skin, and for a brief, breathless moment, all she knows is the sickening sensation of freefall. The same sensation she has felt before. The same sensation she has subconsciously craved.
'This is it,' she thinks distantly. 'I am going to die.'
The thought is fleeting.
A hand seizes her wrist, yanking her sharply from her descent. The force of it nearly dislocates her shoulder, and the breath is torn from her lungs in a choked gasp. Her body dangles precariously over the abyss, the dark, churning waters below taunting her with their inevitable embrace.
Dazed and breathless, she lifts her gaze and nearly recoils. The face that looms above her is not entirely human.
It is Thomas, and yet not Thomas. His usually perfect disguise is fractured in a different way than moments ago, his features caught somewhere between human artifice and something altogether wrong. His eyes, darker than pitch, gleam with something cold and unreadable, his pupils thin and sharp like a beast's. The angles of his face are sharper than they ought to be, his cheekbones too pronounced, his skin too smooth—too unnatural.
"Must you always attempt to die in such dramatic fashion?" he vents, utterly unbothered by the chaos around them.
His expression is as impassive as ever, betraying no strain, no urgency, as though holding her life in his hands is a matter of no great consequence.
She exhales shakily, her fingers instinctively curling against his grip as if testing the reality of it.
"I truly do not wish for your face to be the last thing I see before I perish," she mutters, her voice hoarse but laced with familiar bite.
Thomas regards her with something akin to amusement. If demons were capable of such things.
"How ungrateful," he muses, tilting his head slightly. "Most would consider themselves fortunate to be rescued at all. And yet, you choose to quibble over aesthetics?"
Leah glares at him, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that she is still very much dangling over certain death. "It is not a matter of mere aesthetics," she retorts. "I should prefer not to be met with such an unsettling visage in my final moments."
A slow, measured blink. "Then I suggest you survive, My Lady."
With effortless strength, he lifts her from the abyss, setting her unceremoniously onto the tilting deck. Leah stumbles, her legs still trembling from the ordeal, but she quickly regains her footing.
She exhales sharply, composing herself before leveling him with a wary look. "You are slipping," she remarks, eyeing his imperfect disguise. "I was under the impression that you prided yourself on maintaining appearances."
Thomas dusts off his sleeves, entirely unaffected by the surrounding catastrophe. "How observant of you," he drawls. "Though I must say, I find it rather rude to comment on one's appearance in a moment such as this."
Leah scowls. "Your face is what prompted my comment, I assure you."
"Would you prefer I abandon my current form altogether?" he asks, his tone that of a man offering an idle suggestion. "I could if it pleases you."
Leah blanches at the implication.
"You shall do no such thing," she snaps.
Thomas hums in mock contemplation. "A pity. I do so enjoy eliciting a reaction from you."
Before she can muster a retort, another violent tremor shakes the ship, sending more wreckage tumbling into the sea. A great metallic groan reverberates through the air, a grim reminder that their time is dwindling.
Leah steadies herself, her breath evening, her resolve rekindling. She will not die here. She refuses to die here.
She casts a glance toward Thomas, who remains infuriatingly composed, as though he is simply waiting for her next move.
"We need to get off of this ship," she declares, lifting her chin.
Thomas does not sigh—he never does—but there is an air of quiet exasperation about him nonetheless.
"I had anticipated as much," he says, stepping aside with an exaggerated gesture. "After you, My Lady."
Leah does not waste another second.
She grips the torn remnants of her chemise and begins to move, her footing precarious but determined. The ship may be sinking, and the world around them may be chaos, but she will see this through. And Thomas, ever the shadow at her side, follows without a word.
Leah presses forward, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, each step a battle against the treacherous angle of the ship's tilting deck. The Campania groans beneath them, its dying breaths manifesting in the screech of twisting metal and the cacophony of screams that fill the night air. Water is swallowing the lower levels at an alarming rate, the weight of the ocean dragging the grand vessel into its depths.
She barely notices the cold anymore, barely registers the splintered wood cutting into her bare feet, or the way her limbs tremble from exhaustion. Her mind is fixed on one singular goal—finding Ciel.
Her gaze sweeps the wreckage, desperate, searching—until at last, she sees him.
Some feet away, near the crumbling remains of the main deck, Ciel is in Sebastian's arms, looking impossibly small against the butler's dark silhouette despite his tall stature. Even at this distance, she can see the pallor of his skin, the stiffness of his posture. Her heart seizes in her chest. He is alive, but not well.
Sebastian, for all his effortless grace, is clearly occupied. He is fending off Undertaker, whose deadly scythe gleams under the dim light of the sinking ship, its razor edge tearing through steel as though it were parchment. Ronald Knox and Grell Sutcliff flank him on either side, their weapons raised, poised for attack.
Leah moves to run to them—but her body does not follow. An iron grip clamps around her waist, unyielding as steel.
She gasps as her feet lift from the deck, her body hauled effortlessly into the air. Arms, inhumanly strong, lock around her, binding her in place.
"Unhand me at once!" she snaps, writhing against her captor. She knows who it is before she even looks.
"Do not struggle, my lady," Thomas intones, his voice infuriatingly calm as he hoists her closer against his chest. "You will only exhaust yourself further."
Leah thrashes, kicking her legs, clawing at his arms, but it is as effective as fighting against stone. He does not loosen his hold, does not so much as flinch under her blows.
"We cannot leave him!" she cries, twisting to look back at Ciel. "Put me down this instant—"
"No."
It is a single word, spoken without room for argument, but Leah refuses to accept it.
"I command you—"
"My apologies, Lady Barrett, but your command is of little consequence to me at this moment."
The ship shudders violently beneath them, a deafening crack splitting the air as Undertaker's scythe arcs downward, its edge slicing clean through the deck.
Then, with an earsplitting groan, the Campania begins to split in two.
A fresh wave of screams erupts as the ship's great steel spine fractures, jagged seams of ruin tearing through its body. The bow and stern begin to break apart, the force of the split sending a massive tremor through what remains of the deck. Leah watches in horror as the wooden planks beneath Sebastian and Ciel crumble, their footing giving way.
Sebastian moves swiftly, leaping upward with inhuman agility, landing on a piece of falling wreckage as though he had merely stepped over a puddle. Leah's struggles intensify when she catches another small glimpse of Ciel.
"Please!" she cries, voice raw. "We cannot leave him—"
Thomas exhales in something like exasperation, though his grip on her does not waver. "If you truly believe that demon of his will allow him to perish here, then you give him far too little credit."
Leah's breath catches in her throat, but she doesn't notice Thomas' choice of words in the moment. She looks back once more, her heart hammering against her ribs. True enough, Sebastian is not floundering. He is holding Ciel securely, his expression as composed as ever, his crimson eyes gleaming even amid the chaos. Even as Grell and Ronald close in, even as Undertaker looms above them with his accursed scythe, the butler remains poised.
Sebastian will not let Ciel die here, but Leah cannot shake the terror. The overwhelming need to be there, to see him safe with her own eyes.
"I must—"
"You must do nothing but survive, My Lady," Thomas interrupts, tone clipped. "I do not have the luxury of entertaining your stubbornness this night."
Then, with unceremonious ease, he jumps.
Thomas propels them to the surface with little effort, his grip on her still impossibly strong, as though he does not even register the cold.
Leah gasps, coughing violently, her body wracked with shudders. Her chemise clings to her like a second skin, her hair plastered to her face.
The Campania looms above them in its death throes. The once-grand vessel is fully breaking apart now, its remains being claimed by the hungry sea. Flames lick hungrily at the wreckage, casting eerie, flickering light against the night.
Thomas moves without hesitation.
Leah barely has time to brace before he jumps—but it is not a desperate plunge into the water below. No. He soars with inhuman precision, his feet landing deftly on a toppled section of railing. His balance is unnatural, impossibly steady as the world crumbles around them.
Then, without a moment's pause, he is moving again.
Leah clutches at him instinctively as he bounds from wreckage to wreckage, his strength and speed making a mockery of gravity. He leaps onto a half-fallen mast, dashes across its length with ease, then uses the momentum to propel them onto an upturned section of the hull. The motion is impossibly smooth, his steps so light it is as though he is merely walking over cobblestones rather than the ruin of a sinking ship.
Leah should be terrified. She is terrified. But not of the way Thomas moves, not of the sheer inhumanity of his grace. No, her terror remains fixed on the boy left behind, the boy who—
She twists her head, seeking him out through the smoke and chaos. She catches a glimpse—just a glimpse—of Sebastian. Still standing. Still holding Ciel. Still fighting.
Sebastian is not overwhelmed. He is not faltering, not struggling. Even now, with Undertaker's scythe slashing through the air and Grell Sutcliff cackling like a madman, Sebastian is composed.
Ciel is safe, for now. But she is not.
A deafening crack sounds above them. Leah's head jerks upward—just in time to see a massive beam plummeting toward them. Thomas reacts in an instant.
He twists, pivoting sharply, his grip on Leah tightening as he kicks off from the shattered railing beneath them. He lands on a tilted stretch of flooring just as the beam crashes into the wreckage where they had stood mere seconds before, sending splinters and shards of glass flying in all directions.
But even Thomas is not immune to physics.
The impact sends a tremor through their makeshift foothold, and before he can make his next move, the deck collapses. A gaping void swallows them as the planks beneath their feet give way, torn apart by the ship's final, shuddering breaths. A sharp cry escapes Leah's throat as the deck vanishes beneath them, the world tilting into a dizzying blur of motion. They plummet through the open air, past shards of wreckage and plumes of steam, down toward the unforgiving ocean below.
Leah barely has time to scream before the cold hits her like a hammer. The moment they hit the water, every thought in Leah's mind is ripped away, replaced by the sheer, unbearable shock of it. The temperature is a brutal, suffocating force, seizing her lungs, and wrenching the breath from her body. Her vision darkens at the edges, pain lancing through every limb as if her very blood has turned to ice.
The ocean is not just cold—it is deathly.
The breath is ripped from her lungs, the sheer force of it like a thousand needles piercing her skin all at once. Every nerve in her body burns with the shock of it, the chill sinking into her bones, into her very marrow. The weight of her sodden chemise and corset drags her downward, the current greedily pulling at her limbs.
She does not know how long she is submerged. Seconds? An eternity?
'No—no, no, no!'
Her arms flail, her legs kick, but it is uncoordinated, useless. The cold has stolen her strength, her mind too numb to recall how to even attempt to stay afloat.
Then—air.
Thomas wrenches her from the depths, his grip locking around her arm before she can fully sink. With one powerful motion, he pulls her against him, securing her in his grasp as he surges upward.
The air tastes of salt and fire as they break the surface, Leah gasping, choking on the water she had inhaled. Her body convulses, wracked with violent tremors, her limbs heavy and unresponsive.
"Absolutely insufferable," Thomas mutters, his tone one of rare irritation.
Leah has no response. She is too cold.
Thomas, of course, does not falter. His eyes scan the water with sharp, calculating precision before they land on something in the distance—something small, something floating.
A lifeboat. Half-submerged, listing at an awkward angle, but intact.
Without hesitation, Thomas moves, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Even with Leah weighing him down, his speed is unfathomable, his strength unhindered.
Leah is barely conscious when they reach the boat.
She does not feel Thomas hauling her over the side and does not register the moment he deposits her onto the wooden planks. She only dimly registers the weight of his coat being draped over her shoulders, the warmth of it a pitiful barrier against the brutal chill.
"Breathe," Thomas instructs, his hands pressing against her back as she coughs up seawater. "You are not dying yet."
Leah wheezes, her body shuddering violently. "C-Cold—"
"Yes, I imagine so."
The lifeboat creaks beneath them, half-submerged, swaying with the gentle pull of the tide. Smoke curls in thick, acrid plumes from the Campania's remains, its once-grand form now a sinking ruin in the distance. Voices still echo faintly across the water—screams, cries, the desperate thrashing of those who have not yet succumbed to the ocean's merciless grip.
But here, in this fragile scrap of wood adrift in the wreckage, there is only the bitter bite of the wind, the rhythmic lapping of water against the hull, and the quiet, measured breathing of the one standing above her.
Leah does not speak. She cannot.
Her body is ruined by the cold, every limb leaden, her lungs still raw from the saltwater she'd inhaled. The weight of Thomas's coat over her shoulders does little to warm her, though she clutches at it instinctively, fingers trembling as she curls into herself.
"Pathetic."
Thomas's voice, though soft, carries the sharp edge of disapproval. He crouches beside her, the boat barely rocking under his weight as he rests an arm over his knee, peering down at her with that same unreadable expression he always wears.
Leah manages to lift her head just enough to glare at him, though the effect is pitiful at best. She is still shaking, barely able to keep herself upright. Her hair clings to her skin in sodden, tangled locks, her chemise soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to her frame and doing nothing to preserve what little body heat she has left.
Thomas exhales sharply through his nose. "What a distasteful sight."
Leah scowls. "Do shut up."
His brow twitches. "Oh? You still have your tongue. I half-expected it to have frozen clean off by now."
She would hit him if she had the strength. Instead, she curls further into herself, her breath coming in slow, ragged gasps. The cold has settled deep within her, a weight pressing against her ribs, making each inhalation a struggle.
Thomas, to his credit, does not allow the silence to linger for long. "You look wretched," he murmurs, more to himself than to her.
Then, as if unable to help himself, he reaches forward. Leah lacks the strength to recoil as his fingers brush against her cheek, his touch featherlight yet firm, tilting her face ever so slightly toward him. She knows this routine—has known it for years. Thomas is always looking at her, always studying her, his scrutiny as methodical as it is inevitable.
She should be used to it by now and yet, under the weight of his gaze, she still feels like some delicate thing pinned beneath a needle.
His thumb ghosts over the curve of her cheekbone before sliding lower, following the damp curve of her jaw. His lips press into a thin line as he takes in her appearance—the water-darkened strands of hair sticking to her face, the raw pallor of her skin, the way her lips have taken on a faintly bluish tinge from the cold.
Something flickers in his expression, too quick to name.
The leather of his gloves creaks as he reaches for her hand, peeling back the coat just enough to expose her fingers. He turns her wrist slightly, pressing his thumb into her palm, checking the sluggish return of blood to the surface. His frown deepens.
Leah, exhausted and aching, mutters, "What's wrong now?"
Thomas doesn't answer. Instead, he takes her other hand, repeating the same assessment before exhaling through his nose.
"Unacceptable."
"Pardon?"
He tugs the coat back over her hands, covering them completely. "Your circulation is poor."
"Well, I am anemic," she rasps, only half joking.
He shoots her a sidelong glance. "Yes. I am well aware."
He has been aware since she was a child. Has been watching her since she was five years old and caring for her since she was eleven, quietly noting each time she bruised too easily or grew lightheaded too quickly, or turned unreasonably pale in the winter months.
She is breakable. More so than some others. It has always irritated him.
Leah swallows, shifting slightly, but the movement sends a fresh wave of exhaustion crashing over her. Her eyelids feel heavy.
Thomas reaches out again, fingers brushing against her cheek. She jerks slightly at the contact, but his grip is already shifting, his knuckles ghosting against the side of her throat as though checking for her pulse.
Another pause. Another slow, careful observation.
His gaze flickers back up to hers, unreadable. "You're colder than you should be," he mutters, more to himself than to her.
Leah lets out a weak laugh. "Terribly sorry to disappoint."
His fingers twitch. Then, after a moment, he pulls back, shifting to sit more properly beside her.
For a while, neither of them speak. The boat rocked gently, the sounds of distant chaos growing fainter. The cold air bites at Leah's skin, but the exhaustion creeping through her bones is worse.
Thomas is the one to break the silence.
"Your father would have me hanged if he saw you like this."
Leah lets out a weak, humorless chuckle. "Father doesn't care enough to have anyone hanged."
Thomas hums. "A shame. I'd quite like to see someone swing."
Leah huffs a breath of amusement, but it is cut short by the sharp shudder that wracks her body. She curls in on herself, gritting her teeth against the discomfort.
Thomas watches.
And then, with the same casual ease as before, he moves closer. Just enough that the cold, biting wind is blocked slightly by his presence. Just enough that she can feel the barest hint of warmth radiating from him.
Not much. But it is something.
Leah, too exhausted to question it, simply lets her eyes drift shut.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he withdraws his hand, resting it against his knee as he regards her with something dangerously close to irritation.
"I have spent over half a decade ensuring you remained untarnished," he says, voice deceptively mild. "Yet, time and again, you insist upon making a spectacle of yourself."
Leah exhales weakly, half-laughing despite herself. "Forgive me for my negligence."
Thomas does not laugh. Instead, he tilts his head, considering her. "You are cold."
A wry, humorless smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Astute observation."
He hums, unamused. Then, with a practiced ease, he reaches for the collar of his coat and adjusts it around her, pulling it tighter so that it fully covers her trembling frame. The gesture is more functional than comforting, but Leah does not fail to notice the precise way his fingers work—the deftness, the familiarity.
Thomas has been tending to her since she was eleven years old. He knows her habits, her flaws, the way she holds herself when she is unwell. He knows that she dislikes being cold, that her body is prone to weakness, that her blood itself is thinner than it should be.
He knows her better than he should and still, he watches. Even now, even in the aftermath of disaster, his gaze lingers on her with something unreadable, something that has always unsettled her in ways she cannot name.
"Your hands," he murmurs, glancing at the fingers still curled weakly against her lap. "Show me."
Leah does not move. Thomas does not ask again. Without ceremony, he takes one of her hands in his own, turning it over with meticulous care.
His thumb presses against the center of her palm, trailing along the chilled, damp skin before moving to her fingertips. The slight pressure coaxes the blood to return to the surface, though it takes far longer than it should. He frowns.
"I ought to be insulted," he says dryly. "All these years under my care, and yet you still allow yourself to fall into such a state."
Leah exhales shakily. "You are only acting like this because you know I don't have the energy to fight back."
His grip tightens ever so slightly.
"Yes.. I am, aren't I?" he releases her hand with a quiet sound of disapproval and straightens, rising to his full height as he turns his attention back to the water.
Leah watches him through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. She cannot bring herself to respond to him, cannot find the words to counter his usual sharp-edged remarks.
She is so tired. Until she notices movement.
Leah's sluggish eyes drift toward the water, her breath catching as she spots it. A figure—small, barely distinguishable against the wreckage—clinging to a lifebuoy.
Ciel.
Thomas follows her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he exhales.
"Well," he muses, standing. "It appears your precious earl has survived after all."
Before Leah can fully react, Thomas is moving again, steering the boat toward the boy drifting in the water.
And, somewhere beyond the ruins of the Campania, another dark shape emerges—Sebastian, cutting through the water with unnatural ease.
It is not over yet. But for now, against all odds, they are still alive.
Leah can't do much other than watch as Thomas steers them in the direction of the pair, giving Sebastian a chance to launch Ciel onto the lifeboat. The boy coughs out water just as she did minutes ago and she doesn't get the chance to crawl over and aid him before Sebastian emerges from the side.
"Please wear this," he says, peeling his coat off. "I'm sorry I can't prepare any hot tea for you. Please bear with it for a while."
His face appears oddly sympathetic, to Leah that is. She has always seen him keep the same smile.
Ignoring this, Thomas glances back at the group of people mere feet away fighting for their lives against the water. "How kind of you to join us," he turns back to Ciel and Sebastian, not bothering to warn the fellow demon of the corpse behind him.
Leah tries to speak, perhaps even to warn Sebastian, but she can't prompt anything to come out of her throat. If she was able to, she would be speaking to Ciel by now. 'I cannot wait for this to be over..' For now, she settles on sitting beside her fiancé, trying to offer nonexistent warmth.
She watches as Sebastian swiftly kicks the corpse in the head, effectively 'killing' it.
"They can move in water?!" asks Ciel incredulously.
Sebastian, still in the water, breathes a sigh of annoyance. "They don't need to breathe, so I guess they can't drown either."
"Then—" Ciel is cut off when a hand clamps over her mouth.
In the sudden silence, they can all hear and see the bubbles beneath the water's surface and if it is possible, color drains from Leah's face.
"Just kill me now..."
The heads of dozens emerge, another horror to add to the night. Thomas, without another word, simply grabs a paddle and gets himself into stance. He buys time for Sebastian to get himself onto the boat, but strangely, Thomas has stopped facing the corpses.
"Please do forgive me for this, My Lady."
"Huh?" Leah's brows furrow in confusion and she doesn't even have a chance to turn her head.
A slap sounds through the air and Ciel shouting follows, but Leah hears none of it as she drifts in and out of conciseness before her brain settles into quiet.
"What is wrong with you?!"
═╬
I don't remember how I got here.
One moment, I was walking down the hall, the next—I wasn't.
The door is locked. I know because I've tried it. My fingers twist the handle again and again, even though I already heard the click, sharp and final, as the lock slid into place.
It's not the first time this has happened.
The room is small, but it feels too big. No windows. Just a bed, a dresser, and the flickering candle on the nightstand. The air smells stale, like dust and something faintly bitter, like the rooms in Barrett Manor that no one uses anymore.
The bed is high, the dresser taller than me, the shadows in the corners stretching longer than they should. I press my palm flat against the wood of the door and realize how small my hand looks against it. I don't like that. It makes the room feel even bigger, like it could swallow me whole.
Someone is on the other side.
I know because I heard them. When I knocked the first time—before I tried the handle—there was something. Not a sound, not a movement, just... a presence. A weight in the air.
Waiting.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
My voice barely carries in the quiet, but I don't bother raising it. I already know no one will answer.
I knock again, harder this time. "I want to go out now."
Silence.
I sigh through my nose and step back, rolling my fingers in the fabric of my nightdress. The candle flickers, casting shadows that stretch and shift against the wallpaper. The patterns blur if I stare too long, like they're moving, breathing.
I don't know how long I'll be in here this time.
Sometimes it's minutes. Sometimes hours.
I press my back against the door, tilting my head up to look at the ceiling. There's a faint stain in the corner—water damage, maybe. I never noticed it before. I wonder how many other rooms in this house are like this. Empty. Half-forgotten.
I wonder if anyone even remembers I'm here.
It wouldn't be the first time they didn't.
I drop my gaze back to the candle. The flame flickers and the shadows stretch again, reaching like long fingers into the corners of the room. Everything feels bigger than it should, or maybe I'm just too small.
I press my lips together and take a breath, slow and steady.
"I'll be good," I say after a moment, my voice quiet but even.
The presence on the other side lingers. I can feel it. Like the way you know someone is watching you, even when they aren't looking.
Then—footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Retreating.
I don't move. I don't rush back to the door, don't knock again. I just listen as the sound fades into the distance.
I am alone.
And the door is still locked.
I push away from the door and walk to the bed. The blanket is stiff, tucked in too tightly at the corners. The whole room feels like that—like it's waiting for someone who never came.
I climb onto the mattress, sitting with my knees to my chest. My feet don't quite touch the edge.
I don't lie down. I don't think I'll be able to sleep.
I just watch the candle.
The shadows stretch with every flicker.
I close my eyes.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Wait.
It won't be forever.
═╬
The early morning air is brittle with cold, the salt-scented wind laced with the faint acrid tang of smoke. The lifeboat rocks gently on the dark, endless sea, its passengers hunched beneath threadbare blankets, shivering, whispering prayers or nothing at all. The rescue ship looms ahead, a monolith of safety in the bleak expanse of water. Lantern light spills over the deck, flickering shapes moving against the glow as crew members prepare to receive the survivors.
Somewhere amid the gentle sloshing of the waves, Leah begins to stir.
It is slow at first—just the faint twitch of her fingers against the damp wood beneath her, a sluggish inhalation that tastes of brine and cold. Her head pounds, a deep, aching throb behind her eyes, and for a moment, she cannot remember why.
Then, the memories return in a disjointed, staggering rush.
The ship—sinking. The screams. The corpses. The locked rooms.
Thomas. The bastard struck her.
Her eyes snap open.
The world shifts dizzily around her, the sky an abyssal black overhead, the boat swaying just enough to unsettle her already fragile sense of balance. She exhales sharply, struggling to push herself up onto her elbows.
"Leah."
Ciel's voice is firm but lacking its usual sharp edge.
She blinks, the blurred shape beside her resolving into his familiar figure—drenched, disheveled, but unmistakably him. His blue eye is sharp even in the dim light, scanning her face with an intensity that makes her shift uncomfortably.
"Are you well?" he asks, a note of urgency threading his usual measured tone.
Leah inhales, pressing a hand to the side of her head where the ache lingers, her fingers brushing over the sore spot where Thomas's fist connected. Her jaw tightens.
"That bastard," she mutters under her breath.
"I told him it was unnecessary," Ciel says, irritation flickering beneath his words. "But Thomas is rarely inclined to listen to reason."
"Unnecessary?" Leah repeats sharply, still disoriented but growing more irate by the second. "He struck me on the head, Ciel. I should throw him into the sea and see how he fares!"
A faint sound of amusement cuts through the cold.
Thomas is sitting further down the boat, utterly at ease, one arm draped over his bent knee. His clothes, like everyone's, are soaked and disheveled, but his expression is composed, eyes gleaming in the dim lantern glow.
"To be fair," he drawls, "you were terribly in the way."
Leah pushes herself upright fully now, dizziness be damned, her glare sharp enough to cut. "I was in the way?"
"You were rather in the way," Sebastian interjects smoothly, standing at the edge of the boat with his usual practiced poise. The demon is not in much better condition than the rest of them, though his damp clothes do little to diminish his air of unsettling elegance. "Though I will say, it was a rather violent solution."
Leah exhales sharply through her nose.
"It was effective," Thomas remarks, entirely unbothered.
"I detest you," Leah hisses.
He smiles faintly, tilting his head. "No, you do not."
She does not dignify that with a response. Instead, she turns back to Ciel, who, despite his usual efforts to maintain an impassive front, looks more relieved than anything else. She does not miss the way his hands are curled into the fabric of his coat, the tension still lingering in his posture.
Leah exhales, some of the heat of her anger cooling. "I am fine," she tells him, though she is not certain if the words are entirely true.
Ciel watches her for a long moment, then nods. He does not entirely believe her, but he does not press.
Sebastian, however, hums in vague disapproval. "A rather poor lie, Lady Barrett," he observes.
Leah shoots him a withering look. "Stay out of this!"
"Forgive me," he says smoothly, though his smirk suggests he does not mean it.
"She will recover," Thomas says idly. "She has survived worse."
Leah's glare sharpens once more. "You seem awfully comfortable for someone who has just struck his own mistress."
Thomas blinks at her, feigning mild confusion. "You are awake, are you not?"
"You are intolerable."
"And yet, you tolerate me."
Leah resists the urge to launch herself across the boat and throttle him.
Ciel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you two intend to argue, wait until we are aboard the ship."
Leah huffs, pressing her fingers to her temple once more, attempting to rub away the ache. The night's events weigh on her, the remnants of her unconscious state clinging stubbornly at the edges of her mind. The memories she had seen—those dimly lit rooms, the locked doors—linger, unwelcome and intrusive.
But she swallows them down. It does not matter now.
The rescue ship is close. The voices above are clearer now, calling for survivors, and preparing to bring them aboard. A rope ladder is lowered, and crew members begin helping people up one by one.
Ciel rises to his feet first, steady despite the rocking of the boat. He glances at Leah once more before offering a hand.
She hesitates only a second before taking it, allowing him to pull her up. His grip is firm and grounding.
Sebastian steps onto the ladder first, moving with effortless grace despite the instability. Ciel follows shortly after. Leah lingers for a moment, casting another glare toward Thomas.
"You will answer for this," she informs him.
Thomas tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I look forward to it."
She exhales sharply before stepping toward the ladder, gripping the rope tightly as she begins her climb. Her limbs protest, exhaustion settling deep into her bones, but she does not falter.
The moment she steps onto the deck, she is met with warmth—not true warmth, but the mere presence of more people, of life. Survivors huddle together, wrapped in blankets, whispering or weeping or simply staring ahead in stunned silence.
Ciel is beside her, his presence familiar, grounding.
Leah exhales, glancing toward the far side of the ship.
She expects nothing. Her family was on the ship. She had assumed them dead. Then she sees them.
Her breath stutters.
She does not care about her parents—not now, not ever—but Daniel. Anna. Her legs move before she can think.
"Leah!"
Anna's voice, small but sharp with shock, and then Leah is there, arms wrapping around her in an embrace so tight it knocks the breath from both of them.
Daniel is beside them in seconds, his arms joining the embrace, warm, solid.
"Bloody hell," he mutters. "You look a state."
Leah exhales a laugh, shaky and barely there. "Speak for yourself."
He squeezes her tighter.
Then, a faintly awkward cough sounds from behind them.
"We are present as well, you know."
Leah barely glances over her shoulder. Her mother stands with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gown damp, strands of hair having escaped their usual meticulous arrangement. Her father, standing beside her, is no better off—his coat still dripping, his face set in an expression that is meant to be firm but wavers at the edges.
Daniel releases her first, though his hand remains firm on her shoulder. Anna is slower to let go, fingers gripping tightly to Leah's arms as if afraid she might disappear should she let go completely.
Their parents wait as if expecting something—some acknowledgment, some declaration of relief or gratitude. Leah has none to give.
She has spent too much of her life in rooms with locked doors and muffled voices, in places where love was measured in expectations and obligations rather than warmth or affection. She has spent too long watching from the periphery as Daniel received the attention, the devotion, the concern she was never granted.
It is Daniel she thought lost. Daniel, she grieved. Daniel, she ran to. The fact that her parents survived? It is incidental. She does not address them.
Instead, she exhales, focusing her attention back on Daniel and Anna. "You are well?"
Daniel huffs, ruffling her already hopelessly tangled hair. "I have the misfortune of still breathing if that is what you mean."
Anna manages a quiet, weary laugh. "We are well enough," she assures her, though her hands still clutch at Leah's sleeves. "We made it onto a lifeboat early—one of the few not entirely overfilled. The crew on this ship found us before dawn."
Leah nods, some of the tension in her chest easing. "Good."
Their parents remain standing there, uncertain. Perhaps waiting for her to speak.
She does not.
Instead, she leans back against the railing, arms crossed, exhaustion weighing heavy on her limbs.
And then—
"Leah!"
She has barely a moment to register the voice before a blur of yellow and lace barrels into her.
Leah inhales sharply as Elizabeth Midford throws her arms around her with alarming force, her usual enthusiasm only slightly dampened by the night's events.
"You are alive!" Elizabeth exclaims, her grip tightening to an almost unbearable degree. "I thought I would never see you again after you ran away! I was so worried!"
"Elizabeth—"
"I saw you come aboard just now, but you went straight to your family and ignored me completely!"
Leah sighs, attempting to speak over the girl to be heard. "Elizabeth, I'm glad—."
Elizabeth finally releases her but steps back only marginally, bright green eyes scanning Leah up and down with clear scrutiny. "You look dreadful," she declares, though she does not sound unkind. "Your hair is ruined."
"Yes, well," Leah mutters, shoving damp strands back from her face. "I nearly died. Numerous times."
Elizabeth clasps her hands together, tilting her head. "How terrible.."
Exhaling through her nose, Leah tries to blink back the bleariness in her eyes.
Ciel appears at Leah's side then, looking no less exhausted than before. Elizabeth immediately turns her attention to him instead, fussing over him with an ease Leah has never known how to mimic.
"You must be freezing," Elizabeth insists, grasping his hands between hers. "You must change into something warm as soon as possible—"
"Elizabeth."
"—and Sebastian will prepare you something hot to drink when we make it to land, will he not?"
Sebastian inclines his head smoothly. "But of course, my lady."
Leah shakes her head faintly, gaze shifting across the deck. The surviving passengers are still gathered in clusters, some clutching each other in tight embraces, others staring blankly ahead as if unable to process that they still exist at all. Crew members move among them, distributing blankets, and murmuring reassurances.
A few feet away, a man fiddles with a large, box-like device, setting it up on a stand. Leah furrows her brow, tilting her head.
"Is that...?"
"Ah." Sebastian follows her gaze, smiling faintly. "It would seem the crew wishes to document the moment for posterity."
"With a camera?"
"Indeed."
Leah exhales. "It is rather macabre, do you not think?"
"Perhaps," Sebastian concedes, "but history is often so."
It is not long before the man—a photographer, apparently—begins organizing a group of survivors before the camera, adjusting the stand and instructing them to hold still.
Elizabeth clasps Ciel's arm. "We must be in it!"
Ciel sighs. "Must we?"
"Of course! It is a moment in history!" says the man.
Leah arches a brow. "I would rather it be forgotten."
Elizabeth shakes her head, dragging both Ciel and Leah forward. "Nonsense!"
The photographer waves them closer, gesturing for them to settle amongst the gathered survivors. Leah finds herself wedged between Ciel and Daniel, Elizabeth standing beside them with barely contained excitement.
Sebastian and Thomas stand slightly behind, both somehow managing to look composed despite their disheveled state. Thomas, predictably, seems the least interested in the entire affair, gaze flicking upward toward the dark sky rather than at the camera.
"Hold still now!" the photographer calls. "And do try to look pleasant!"
Leah snorts softly but does not argue.
The flash ignites, bright and brief.
When it fades, the moment remains—preserved in silver and shadow, in light and dark.
A record of survival.
A record of continuing.
The morning is still bitter, the sea vast and endless, but there is warmth here—fleeting, imperfect, but warmth nonetheless.
Leah closes her eyes and exhales. The nightmare is over. For now.
"Worst night of my life."
Notes:
well.. that’s a wrap on atlantic arc!
Chapter 33: | 32 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl celebrates easter day. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i was gonna do the manga’s easter chapter, but then i decided against it so have this :3 + i needed to give daniel more screen time, we literally never see him😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-two ! )
"Who sends packages so early in the morning?"
Morning light streams through the dining room of Barrett Manor. It is mostly quiet, save for the sounds of cutlery and the occasional empty chatter between the family. If Vivienne had not pointed out the package, the others would not have even noticed.
The parcel is large, weighty enough that it requires two footmen to carry it in. The paper is smooth beneath Leah's fingertips, the string tied with precision—whoever had wrapped it had done so with painstaking care. Of course, she already knows who has sent it.
Daniel, seated across from her at the breakfast table, watches with the distinct air of someone unimpressed by the grand display before him. His arms remain folded as Leah sets aside her teacup and tugs at the ribbon, allowing the wrapping to fall away in neat folds.
Inside, layers of fine fabric rest in pristine condition, each dress more exquisite than the last. Silks, velvets, delicate lacework—meticulously selected for her figure and complexion, though there is no mistaking that some of these choices have been influenced by another's preferences.
Nestled atop the fabric is a letter, sealed with the Phantomhive crest. With careful fingers, she breaks the wax, unfolding the paper to reveal Ciel's familiar, precise script.
“Leah,
I trust this parcel reaches you without issue. Given the circumstances under which you lost your last gown, I find it only appropriate to replace it—along with a few others, for good measure. Each has been selected with your preferences in mind, though I admit some choices may have been influenced by my own inclinations. I will assume you can determine which ones those are.
The green should suit you well.
Ciel Phantomhive”
Leah lets the letter rest between her fingers, eyes lingering on that last line. 'The green should suit you well.' She reaches into the box, lifting the very dress he means—a deep, rich green, velvet so fine it shimmers beneath the morning light. The design is painfully familiar, almost a perfect replica of the gown she had worn the night the Campania sank, the night everything had gone horribly wrong.
A rush of something unspoken passes through her, but she masks it well.
"Impressive," Daniel remarks, though his tone remains as flat as ever. "Has he not sent you an entire wardrobe already?"
Lucius, who has been observing the exchange with quiet calculation, leans back in his chair. "Lord Phantomhive is proving himself a most attentive fiancé. It is good to see him taking his responsibilities seriously."
Leah keeps her expression neutral, letting her gaze drift toward her mother.
Vivienne barely acknowledges the exchange, sparing the dresses a brief glance before resuming her tea. "You ought to ensure they do not end up like the last one," is all she says.
The comment is an offhanded one, spoken with disinterest rather than malice, but it settles under Leah's skin all the same. It is nowhere near her fault that her last gown had been torn. It was an impulsive act to save her life that is likely to not happen again.
Daniel, catching the slight shift in her posture, exhales through his nose in amusement. "A shame he did not include a guide on how to avoid disaster. I imagine that would be of more use to you."
Leah shoots him a sidelong glance but does not rise to the bait. Instead, she sets the letter aside and traces the fabric of the green dress between her fingers. It is absurd, really, how much effort he has gone through to find something so accurate. Especially considering that the original green dress was custom-made. Ciel Phantomhive is not a boy prone to sentimentality, yet he makes such a gesture.
She folds the dress carefully, returning it to the box with the others. "I shall send him a letter of thanks," she says simply.
Daniel scoffs, tipping his chair back slightly. "You sound thrilled."
"I am always thrilled."
The deadpan delivery earns a small smirk from her brother, though he says nothing more on the matter.
Lucius, evidently finished with his assessment of the situation, rises from his seat. "We have guests arriving for the luncheon later. You will both be expected to conduct yourselves properly," his gaze lingers on Leah for a moment longer, as if the expectation is more for her than for Daniel. "Do not forget that."
Leah offers a demure nod, though she does not miss the glance Daniel shoots her as their father exits the room. The moment the doors close, he relaxes against the back of his chair, resting his chin in his hand.
"Careful. You nearly looked obedient for a moment," he chuckles.
Leah lets out a breath of amusement, but her attention returns to the dresses before her. The weight of the green velvet remains against her palms, its presence an unspoken reminder of the past. Perhaps, in Ciel's own way, this is an acknowledgment of all that had happened. A silent offering.
She accepts it.
═╬
Commence the Easter activities! First activity of the day? Egg painting. An activity Leah Barrett has long grown out of, finding it rather dull since the age of nine. Having been roped into this, she tries to make it at least somewhat entertaining for herself, putting to use her dormant art skills.
Leah dips her brush into a deep blue paint, the bristles gliding smoothly over the eggshell's surface. She has little patience for such trivial pastimes, yet if she is to be forced into them, she will make a spectacle of it. The other young ladies at the table chatter pleasantly as they dab at their own eggs, their work ranging from charmingly simple to utterly disastrous. None of them, of course, can match her precision.
"If I must suffer through this, then I might as well outshine the lot of you," she whispers to no one but herself.
The fine details of her design take shape with ease—delicate swirls and filigree forming a pattern reminiscent of embroidery, each line meticulous, every curve deliberate. If she must sit here, confined to this table with brushes and dyes, she will at least do so with a display of skill that puts the others to shame.
A soft weight settles against her lap, and she glances down briefly. PomPom nestles comfortably at her side, his tiny paws pressing against her skirts. He does not so much as fidget, merely watching with that small, expectant gaze, as though unimpressed by her current predicament. Leah huffs.
"Yes, I know," she mutters under her breath. "This is hardly an entertaining way to spend one's morning."
Across from her, Daniel observes her work with an infuriatingly amused expression, arms crossed as he leans lazily against the table. "Impressive," he muses, tilting his head, "but I cannot help but wonder, dear sister," he reaches forward before she can react, dragging a single finger through the wet paint with a slow, deliberate stroke, "does perfection not bore you? Or deliberately showing off?"
The destruction is instant. A smear of dark blue ruins the intricacy of her design, breaking apart the delicate lines she so carefully crafted. The sheer audacity of it.
Leah inhales, her smile pleasant but thin. "You are as insufferable as ever, Daniel."
Daniel, utterly pleased with himself, simply grins. "You wound me."
She says nothing more. Instead, with all the poise expected of a young lady, she sets aside her brush and leans forward ever so slightly—just enough to graze the edge of the table with her elbow. One of Daniel's finished eggs, resting precariously near the edge, teeters. Wobbles. And then, with a subtle nudge of her sleeve, topples over, rolling straight into a damp pool of paint.
A slow, deliberate smudge drags itself across his once-neatly decorated surface. The moment is quiet.
Daniel stares.
Leah meets his gaze, tilting her head in mock innocence. "Oh dear."
Their father's voice interrupts before Daniel can retaliate. "Do try to behave."
Lucius barely spares them a glance as he passes by, the weight of his sigh betraying long-suffering exhaustion. "You are nearly of age, Leah. You ought to act like a lady."
She turns to him with a sweet, saccharine smile, all too insincere. "But of course, Father."
Vivienne, seated with the other ladies, does not look up from her own careful brushwork. "At the very least, do try not to make a spectacle of yourself," she murmurs, utterly disinterested in the exchange.
Leah rests her chin on her hand, fingers tapping idly against her cheek. "I would never."
Daniel huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for another egg. "You truly are the very picture of decorum."
PomPom, ever unbothered, shifts in Leah's lap, his small fluffy tail wagging ever so slightly. Leah absently runs a gloved hand through his fur, her amusement lingering as she watches Daniel resign himself to fixing his ruined work.
═╬
Second Easter activity of the day? Egg rolling. How dreadful.
The estate grounds are alive with movement, laughter threading through the crisp spring air as noble families gather for the festivities. The scent of freshly turned earth lingers beneath the floral breeze, mingling with the faint fragrance of tea from the tables set further up the hill. Brightly dyed eggs dot the lawn, glistening in the afternoon sun, prepared for the upcoming round of egg rolling—a tradition that, for all its supposed charm, holds little appeal to Leah.
She lingers at the edge of the gathering, hands loosely clasped before her, watching as younger children take to the field with enthusiasm. The sight of them scurrying after their eggs, dresses billowing and polished shoes pressing into the grass, is almost amusing. Almost.
PomPom, pristine as ever, sits beside her, his white fur a stark contrast against the rich green beneath him. He is unbothered by the excitement, watching the proceedings with a dignity uncommon for a creature his size. Leah idly runs her fingers through his soft coat, finding far more enjoyment in the rhythmic motion than in the idea of chasing a painted egg down a hill.
Of course, Daniel is another matter entirely.
"Do not tell me you intend to sit this out."
His voice carries easily over the chatter, accompanied by the confident stride that brings him to her side. There is an unmistakable gleam in his eye—anticipation, challenge, the sort of restless energy that demands a contest.
Leah lifts a brow. "You say that as though you have forgotten who you are speaking to."
Daniel only grins. "Come now. Surely you would not pass up the opportunity to test your wits and coordination against mine?"
She glances toward the starting line, where other noble youths gather with far more excitement than the activity deserves. "It is rolling an egg, Daniel. There is neither wit nor coordination required."
"And yet," he muses, arms crossing over his chest, "I will still win."
Leah exhales a long-suffering sigh. "That is truly the most dreadful thing I have ever heard. Very well. If only to spare the others from your insufferable gloating, I shall participate."
Daniel's grin widens, but he says nothing more, merely leading the way toward the gathering contestants. Their parents, engaged in conversation with other guests, pay them little mind. Their father, if he even notices, offers nothing beyond a brief glance before returning to his discussion.
The rules are simple—each participant must guide their egg down the hill using only a small wooden spoon, no hands, no kicking, just careful maneuvering. First to the finish line wins. It is the sort of game meant for younger children, yet here they are, a group of well-dressed noble youths vying for victory as if it holds any real meaning.
Leah selects an egg at random, its soft pink hue entirely unremarkable. Beside her, Daniel examines his with far too much scrutiny, as though it might give him some advantage.
Shortly after the participants fall into place, the signal is given and they are off.
Daniel, ever the competitor, dives into the task with fervor, guiding his egg down the gentle slope with precise, determined strokes. The others follow suit, some with grace, others with flustered urgency. Leah, however, takes her time, nudging her egg forward with the bare minimum of effort.
Daniel shoots her a look. "You could at least pretend to try."
"I am trying," she replies airily, watching as her egg veers slightly off course. She corrects its path with an unhurried tap of the spoon, offering Daniel a languid smile.
His own pace does not falter, though the furrow of his brow betrays his irritation. He is too caught up in securing his victory to pay much attention to her movements, exactly as she intends.
With an ease that almost feels like an afterthought, Leah angles her next push with subtle precision, sending her egg rolling at a far better pace than before. It weaves past a floundering opponent, slips neatly ahead of another, and—despite her supposed indifference—crosses the finish line first.
Silence follows. Then, laughter. Delighted, incredulous, from the other contestants who had watched her lackluster approach, only to see her claim victory in the end. Daniel stares at her, flatly unimpressed.
Leah brushes nonexistent dust from her skirts, her expression one of mild curiosity. "Oh? Did I win?"
His sigh is dramatic. "You are the most infuriating person alive."
"It is one of my many talents," she agrees, casting a glance toward PomPom, who has remained where she left him, subtly playing with the grass.
Daniel rakes a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "Very well. Enjoy your victory, hollow as it is."
She hums, amused. "I believe I shall."
Their parents, predictably, do not acknowledge the results. Their father remains engrossed in conversation, their mother seated elegantly with the other ladies, not sparing them so much as a glance. It is as expected. They tend to be focused on being social to keep up reputations, it is not often that they let so many people into Barrett Manor. Especially if it isn't a holiday or special event.
Leah does not mind. The satisfaction of annoying Daniel is reward enough. After all, siblings often love to indulge in the hobby of annoying one another and the Barrett siblings are no exception.
She says nothing more as she makes her way back to her spot beside PomPom, resuming watching the children run about and enjoy themselves under the sun. For a moment, she can remember what it feels like—to be a child carelessly. She hasn't felt that in quite a long time. If she was more familiar with it, perhaps she would miss it.
═╬
Barrett Manor's dining hall is a vision of refinement for Easter luncheon, gleaming with candlelight despite the afternoon sun streaming through tall windows. The table, stretching nearly the length of the room, is laid with the finest china and silver, an opulent display of Barrett wealth. Plates of roasted lamb, glistening with rich glaze, sit alongside golden-crusted pies, delicately arranged hot cross buns, and the towering presence of a simnel cake crowned with eleven perfectly formed marzipan balls. Crystal glasses catch the light, shimmering with deep reds and pale golds of expertly selected wines.
The atmosphere is as lively as it has been all day—noble families engaged in the customary dance of polite conversation, their words lilting with feigned interest. Laughter flits through the air, soft and measured, never exceeding the bounds of propriety. Children, much younger than Leah, sit stiff-backed, absorbing their parents' mannerisms with practiced ease. Every movement, every glance, is measured, a carefully rehearsed performance of aristocratic grace.
Leah plays her part, though with mild reluctance. Seated between Daniel and an unfamiliar gentleman whose name she has already forgotten, she maintains the poised composure expected of her, hands delicately poised around silverware, posture impeccable. She takes calculated bites, engaging in brief, surface-level conversation with those who address her, voice tempered to the appropriate softness. To any observer, she is every bit the refined young lady she is meant to be. And yet, beneath the polished veneer, her mind drifts.
PomPom, confined to her quarters for the duration of the meal, is no doubt sulking in one of the cushioned chairs. The image of him, paws tucked primly beneath him, ears twitching in mild offense at his exile, is far more engaging than the conversation unfolding around her. Sam is undoubtedly being a menace in his own right as well.
A fork scrapes lightly against a porcelain plate, the soft clink drawing her attention back to the present. Across the table, her father sets down his utensils, his expression as composed as ever, though there is a weight behind his gaze when it settles upon her.
"It is imperative that you conduct yourself properly in the coming months," Lucius remarks, his tone even, yet leaving no room for argument. "Lord Phantomhive's favor will only take you so far."
Leah does not immediately respond. The words are not a warning—warnings require the assumption that she has not already grasped what is expected of her. This is a reminder, a deliberate reinforcement of what she already knows. The Social Season looms ahead, bringing with it a new wave of scrutiny, of expectations she has long since resigned herself to.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the stem of her wine glass, though her expression betrays nothing. She bites back the retort that rises to her tongue, instead lowering her gaze to her plate, cutting into a piece of lamb with forced indifference.
Beside her, Daniel shifts, leaning just enough to murmur in her ear, "You do realize he means 'do not embarrass us,' yes?"
Leah does not look at him. "Oh, believe me, I understood."
His quiet chuckle is equal parts amusement and sympathy. He, at least, finds entertainment in her predicament.
Across the table, Vivienne regards her with the cool detachment that has always marked their interactions. She has spoken little throughout the meal, only engaging when necessary, her presence more akin to an ornament than an active participant in the gathering. When she finally addresses Leah, her words are as light as they are meaningless.
"Your gown is a lovely shade," she comments, her gaze drifting over Leah's attire with passive approval. "It suits you."
A statement without depth, a remark made not out of interest, but out of obligation. Leah inclines her head slightly, murmuring a polite, "Thank you, Mother," before returning her attention to her meal. There is nothing else to say.
Conversation ebbs and flows around them, the luncheon progressing as expected. Distantly, Leah hears talk of the upcoming balls, of advantageous matches being arranged, of whispered scandals too delicate to be spoken of outright but too enticing to be ignored. She contributes little, answering when addressed, and feigning interest when required.
The lamb is well-prepared, the wine of excellent quality, and the desserts are a testament to the chef's skill. It is, by all accounts, a perfectly orchestrated affair.
Still, she has never felt more like a spectator in her own life.
The meal stretches on, an endless tide of pleasantries and restrained indulgence. Plates are cleared with efficiency, replaced with delicate servings of simnel cake, the almond scent mingling with the ever-present warmth of candlelight. Leah takes a measured bite, the sweetness settling on her tongue, familiar yet unremarkable.
Her father speaks again, this time to one of the other gentlemen at the table, his attention shifting away. Daniel, perhaps sensing the growing fatigue in her expression, mercifully steers the conversation toward lighter topics, offering a momentary reprieve from the weight of expectation.
He engages the gentleman to Leah's right in a discussion about horseback riding, weaving in just enough wit to keep the exchange engaging without veering into true informality. It is a skill he has mastered—walking the fine line between amusement and propriety, ensuring his audience remains entertained yet unimpeachable in their decorum.
Leah allows herself to drift into the periphery of the conversation, nodding when appropriate, offering the occasional murmured agreement. It is a welcome reprieve, requiring little from her beyond passive participation. The weight of her father's words still lingers, but Daniel's diversion is a small mercy, easing the tension that has settled so heavily upon her shoulders.
"..Of course, one must be mindful of the temperament of the horse," Daniel is saying, gesturing faintly with his wine glass. "Leah, for instance, is particularly fond of those with a stubborn streak. I suspect she enjoys the challenge."
There is a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he turns his attention to her, waiting for her response.
Leah lifts a brow, taking a deliberate sip of her wine before replying, "It is not the challenge I enjoy, merely the familiarity."
Her words earn a small chuckle from those nearby, an acceptable level of humor for such a setting. Daniel grins, clearly pleased to have drawn her into the exchange.
"Familiarity, indeed," he muses. "Though I do wonder if that fondness extends to people as well."
She cuts him a sidelong glance, unimpressed by the implication, but before she can formulate a retort, the conversation shifts once more, the gentleman beside her launching into an anecdote about a particularly ill-tempered stallion he once encountered. Leah lets the words wash over her, barely absorbing them.
Further down the table, their parents remain engrossed in conversation with the other noble guests, paying them little mind. It is always this way—Daniel is the one expected to command attention, to represent the Barrett name with effortless confidence. Leah, meanwhile, is simply to exist within the frame, poised but unobtrusive, an accessory to the family's standing rather than an active participant in its affairs. It is a role she has long since resigned herself to playing, though not without quiet resistance.
Her gaze flickers briefly to the towering simnel cake at the center of the table, its marzipan decorations meticulously arranged. It is, like everything else, a symbol of tradition. A carefully maintained illusion of warmth and festivity. And yet, for all its sweetness, it does little to mask the cold reality of expectation.
Daniel, ever the performer, keeps the conversation lively, ensuring the luncheon carries on with the appropriate air of ease. Leah lets him, knowing that, for now, it is the best she can hope for.
As the meal draws to a close, Leah exhales slowly, the motion imperceptible to those around her. Another gathering endured, another reminder of the path laid before her.
The luncheon is not yet over, nor is the day itself, but she is already longing for the solace of her quarters—where PomPom, at least, will greet her without expectation.
Though, when is Leah not longing for such a thing?
═╬
Shortly after the luncheon concludes, the afternoon sun already hangs lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the manicured lawn of the Barrett estate. The remnants of the Easter festivities have begun to fade. The last of the noble guests filter out, carriages crunching over gravel, and the servants move with quiet efficiency, clearing away the excess of the luncheon. It is a familiar rhythm, one that Leah does not care to pay much mind.
The weight of the day still lingers upon her, though it is not as heavy as it could be. She has endured worse gatherings and suffered through far more suffocating displays of expectation. Today has been tolerable, if only because she has known precisely what to expect.
She makes her way toward the garden, seeking the solace of the hedges and the slow, calming trickle of the fountain at its center. PomPom trots dutifully beside her, the small pomeranian's pristine white fur a stark contrast against the dark soil of the path. He does not stray, does not dart about as other dogs might. No, PomPom is far too refined for such foolishness. That is, only when he feels he is too refined. The dog is far too prideful to acknowledge his occasional bouts of endless energy. Instead, he prances with a quiet sort of dignity, only pausing now and then to sniff curiously at a particularly interesting patch of grass.
The soft crunch of approaching footsteps does not startle her. She knows them well and has heard them for as long as she can remember.
"You disappeared rather quickly," Daniel remarks, his tone light, unbothered. "I hardly had time to bid you farewell before you fled."
Leah does not turn immediately, allowing herself the smallest delay before offering him a sidelong glance. "It was not a flight," she counters, voice dry. "I simply saw no further need for my presence."
He hums, unconvinced but not inclined to argue. With a casual grace, he lowers himself onto the stone bench beside her, stretching his arms out along the back of it as if he has not a care in the world. It is an ease she envies at times. His ability to move through life with such effortless confidence, unshaken by the weight of their parents' expectations.
For a moment, neither of them speak. The sounds of the estate carry on around them—the distant clatter of dishes being collected, the faint murmur of lingering conversation. A breeze stirs the neatly trimmed hedges, carrying with it the faint scent of spring blooms.
Daniel is the one to break the silence, as he always does. "You were rather well-behaved today," he muses, a teasing lilt to his words. "I must admit, I am almost proud."
Leah exhales a quiet scoff, though there is no true irritation behind it. "Do not mistake endurance for obedience," she replies. "I simply saw no benefit in inciting unnecessary conflict."
He grins, ever amused. "Ah, so it was strategy, then. How very devious of you."
She does not dignify that with a response, instead reaching down to idly run her fingers through PomPom's fur. The little dog leans into the touch, offering a small, pleased sigh.
Daniel watches her for a moment, something softer settling in his gaze. It is a rare thing, these moments between them—quiet, absent of their usual petty arguments and sharp remarks. As much as they bicker, as much as they test each other's patience, there is no denying the bond they share. It has been forged through years of shared experience, of navigating the cold indifference of their parents, of finding solace in each other when there was no one else to turn to.
"You know," he says after a while, his voice losing its usual flippant edge, "I do not envy you."
Leah stills, her fingers pausing in PomPom's fur. She does not look at him, but he knows she is listening.
"Everyone speaks of the Season as if it is some grand opportunity," he continues. "A spectacle of courtship, a time of promise and expectation," his expression darkens, just slightly. "But I know what it truly is. A stage. A game in which you are both the player and the prize. And I do not envy you for it."
It is a rare thing, for him to speak so plainly. Leah swallows, her throat tightening with something she cannot quite name. She has always known, of course. Known that her path is not truly hers to choose, that the future laid out before her has been decided by forces beyond her control. And yet, to hear Daniel acknowledge it so openly, to hear the quiet frustration in his voice—it is both a comfort and a weight.
She does not respond immediately. Instead, she leans back slightly, letting her gaze drift upward to the clear blue of the sky. "You needn't concern yourself with me," she says at last, her tone measured, steady. "I am not so easily undone. Besides, I am betrothed, so I have the luxury of not having to claw apart other young ladies for a marriage proposal."
Daniel lets out a quiet breath, somewhere between amusement and resignation. "I know," he murmurs, "but that does not mean I do not worry."
It is as close as he will come to sentimentality, and she accepts it for what it is. Another stretch of silence falls between them, but it is not an uncomfortable one. It is simply... theirs.
PomPom shifts, curling up more comfortably at Leah's feet, content in the presence of his special person and the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Daniel, never one to linger too long in seriousness, straightens with a stretch, his usual smirk returning. "Well, if nothing else, at least you have your absurdly pampered deformed rabbit to keep you company through it all."
Leah exhales a laugh, shaking her head. "PomPom is worth more than half the people at that table," she quips.
Her brother grins, rising to his feet with a flourish. "Then I shall consider myself fortunate to have been in his esteemed presence."
He offers her a hand, a rare gesture of sincerity. After a brief hesitation, she takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
As they make their way back toward the house, the last remnants of the day fading into the early evening light, Daniel glances sideways at her, a small smirk playing at his lips.
"Do try not to make the Season a complete disaster, will you?"
Leah hums, tilting her head in feigned contemplation.
"No promises."
Notes:
wowzers, how fun
Chapter 34: | 33 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl is presented before the queen. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i can’t insert leah into public school arc, at least not justifiably if you consider logic and not making leah out of character. so instead, i made this arc to compensate so i wouldn’t have to have a long ass time skip and give myself something fun to do. multiple aspects and parts are quite similar to bridgerton—primarily season one. though, i intend to have some original aspects obviously.
ladies and gentlemen, i present to you: social season arc!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-three ! )
"Hold still, Mistress, or I shall be forced to stab you with this pin."
It is a new day in the Barrett townhouse. The family, excluding Daniel who simply requested time away from Weston College, have traveled all the way to London in honor of the Social Season.
Anna's voice is not unkind, but there is an unmistakable firmness to it as she fastens the final embellishments of Leah's gown. The layers of fine silk shift with the movement, whispering against her skin, the weight of the fabric both unfamiliar and suffocating. White upon white—delicate lace, embroidered tulle, pearls gleaming faintly in the candlelight. It is not an ordinary gown, nor is it an ordinary day.
Leah exhales slowly, forcing herself into stillness. "I should like to avoid being stabbed before I am even presented if it can be helped."
"Then do as you are told," Anna steps back, assessing her work with a critical eye. She is not one to fawn, not one to spill empty flattery, but after a moment, a satisfied nod follows. "There. You are ready."
The claim feels dubious at best. Leah does not feel ready. Not in the slightest.
Fingers twitch at her sides before she clenches them into stillness. The mirror before her offers an image almost unrecognizable. A vision of pristine elegance, the very picture of a young lady poised to make her debut. The white of her gown is softer than stark winter snow, its fabric so fine it seems almost weightless, yet she feels the burden of it keenly. Her hair, often worn loose or in simple plaits, has been arranged into an elaborate coiffure, adorned with delicate pearls and faintly shimmering ribbons.
It is a far cry from the girl she sees every morning, from the one who scowls into the glass as Anna yanks at her tangled waves with unrelenting efficiency. A tremor of unease prickles at her spine.
"Your mother will be most displeased if we keep her waiting any longer," Anna's hands are quick as they smooth a final wrinkle from Leah's sleeve. "I have already endured her ire once today. I would rather not do so again."
Vivienne has made her impatience well known. From the other side of the door, the sharp, clipped sound of her voice carries up the staircase, directing the household into a flurry of motion.
"Make haste!"
Leah swallows against the nerves that rise in her throat. It is not that she is wholly opposed to today's events. There are plenty of young ladies who anticipate their debut with bright-eyed excitement, eager to twirl in grand ballrooms, to bask in admiration, to set their sights upon potential suitors. Leah is not among them, but nor is she completely indifferent.
This is not just another tedious social gathering. It is a presentation before the Queen. Royalty. The highest echelon of society. It would be foolish to pretend she does not care at all, even if she finds the woman rather strange.
Her hands are cool against the embroidered fabric of her skirts as she smooths them absently, drawing in a breath that does little to settle her nerves. Anna, ever observant, watches her carefully.
"You need not worry, Mistress," she says after a beat, softer this time. "You have been raised for this. You will do just fine."
Leah does not reply immediately, though the words settle something within her. Anna is not the sort to offer reassurances for the sake of empty comfort.
With a last, measured breath, she steps toward the door. "Let us not keep my mother waiting, then."
The townhouse, while large, is not nearly as large as Barrett Manor. She's been here countless times over the years and knows it like the back of her hand. The descent down the grand staircase is a careful affair, each step measured, each movement deliberate. The weight of expectation presses down as much as the gown itself, but Leah keeps her chin lifted, her posture flawless.
At the base of the stairs, her mother stands poised in an immaculate gown of off-white, the shade doing nothing to soften the cold scrutiny in her gaze. Vivienne does not speak immediately, but her eyes flick over Leah with the precision of a jeweler appraising a diamond. Beside her, Lucius doesn't offer much more than a nod of acceptance.
It is Daniel who breaks the silence first.
"You look very fine, Leah," he remarks, offering a small, lopsided smile. "Almost unrecognizably so."
There is nothing but mischief in his tone, but the words earn him a sharp look from their mother. Leah barely resists the urge to smirk.
Vivienne, however, is unimpressed. "At least one of you should be capable of conducting yourselves with dignity," she says coolly, barely sparing Daniel a glance before returning her focus to Leah. "Come along. We cannot afford to be late."
Daniel, unbothered, steps forward to offer Leah his arm. "Shall we, sister?"
For all his teasing, there is a steady warmth to his presence, an unspoken reassurance in the way he holds himself. She hesitates for only a moment before accepting, fingers resting lightly against the fabric of his sleeve.
"Try not to make a complete spectacle of yourself," he murmurs, voice just low enough that only she can hear.
Leah exhales a quiet scoff. "I should think you ought to give me more credit."
"That remains to be seen."
Their mother does not wait for them to finish, already sweeping toward the entrance where the waiting carriage gleams in the late morning light. Servants move quickly to open the doors, footmen standing at sharp attention. The air is thick with the scent of spring blossoms, mingling with the faint tang of freshly polished brass.
As Leah steps outside, the sunlight catches on the fine embroidery of her gown, illuminating the delicate details of lace and pearl. The nervous flutter in her stomach does not fade, but she does not let it show.
This is it. The beginning of the Season. The first step into the lion's den.
Daniel, ever perceptive, casts her a sideways glance as they approach the carriage. His usual amusement softens just slightly, his voice quieter when he speaks.
"You will be brilliant, you know," he says.
Leah does not turn to look at him, but the corner of her lips lifts, just barely. "We shall see."
Climbing inside the carriage, Leah settles into a spot beside the window and fights the urge to wring her gloved hands. 'Now is no longer the time to break rules. People will be watching me..' she lets out a deep exhale. 'A lady does not fidget.'
═╬
The carriage ride goes smoothly, but Leah's hands remain tightly folded in her lap, fingers pressing against the fine silk of her gloves. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone does little to ease the tension humming beneath her skin. Each turn of the wheel brings them closer to the palace, closer to the moment she will step forward and bow before the Queen of England herself.
She had known this day would come, had been told time and again of its importance, yet the weight of it only now settles fully upon her shoulders.
Outside the window, the towering gates of Buckingham Palace come into view, the ironwork intricate, gleaming even beneath the dull London sky. Beyond them, the palace stands in all its grandeur—a sight that, despite all her preparation, leaves her momentarily breathless. The vast, pale stone, the endless rows of gilded windows, the sheer scale of it all—it is unlike anything she has ever seen.
A quiet, involuntary marveling flickers through her. Vivienne, seated opposite her, does not miss it.
"Do not gape, Leah," her mother admonishes, her voice clipped, though not unkind. "One would think you had never set foot beyond our own threshold."
Leah does not bristle, nor does she argue. Instead, she schools her features into careful composure, though the wonder does not entirely fade.
It is one thing to grow up in privilege, to live in luxury—but this is something else entirely. This is not just wealth; this is power, history, and tradition. It looms over them, a silent testament to a lineage that stretches back centuries.
As the carriage slows to a halt, a footman moves swiftly to open the door, offering a gloved hand to assist them down. The hem of her gown sweeps across the steps as she descends, the pristine white a stark contrast against the dark stone beneath her feet.
Lucius is waiting. He extends an arm to her without a word, a steady presence amid the flurry of movement around them. The other guests arrive in waves, carriages pulling up one after another, a sea of white gowns and powdered shoulders, of carefully arranged curls and glittering jewels.
Taking her father's arm, Leah allows herself to be led forward. They do not walk far before they are met with the inevitable separation—ladies to one side, gentlemen to the other.
Lucius releases her hand, offering a brief nod before stepping away to join Daniel among the other men. She lingers just a moment, her gaze flickering toward her brother, who catches her eye and offers a subtle, reassuring smirk.
Vivienne does not allow her to linger further. "Come along," her mother instructs, her hand a light pressure at the small of Leah's back. "We must take our place."
═╬
Waiting is by far the worst part of it all. It is nothing more than a never-ending feeling.
There is a stiffness to the air, the sort that can only exist when so many young ladies are attempting to mask their nerves beneath perfect posture and serene expressions.
The air is thick with anticipation. Perfume clings to the room like a fog, sweet and heavy, mingling with the faint scent of waxed floors and freshly pressed silk. The soft murmur of whispered conversation weaves through the space, punctuated by the occasional rustle of fabric as young ladies shift on their feet, adjusting their postures, smoothing unseen wrinkles from pristine white gowns.
Leah stands among them, poised yet tense, her hands lightly folded at her waist. The train of her gown pools behind her in a cascade of delicate fabric, the embroidery catching the candlelight with every subtle movement. Around her, the other debutantes maintain an air of composed serenity, but the way some of them fidget, the way gloved fingers tighten over skirts, betrays their nerves.
She understands the feeling all too well. Her heart beats steady but insistent beneath her corset, each thud a quiet reminder of the moment drawing ever closer. She knows she should not be nervous—knows that she has prepared for this, that she has been trained for this. And yet, as she watches each girl disappear through the grand doors, her composure feels like something carefully balanced, liable to tip at any moment.
Beside her, Vivienne remains unmoved, her expression a picture of practiced ease. If she senses Leah's nerves, she does not comment on them. Instead, she merely waits, chin lifted, the very image of refined nobility.
The next name is called, and another girl steps forward, disappearing through the gilded doors. Leah watches her go, catching only a glimpse of the grand chamber beyond before the doors sweep closed once more. Her breath draws tight in her chest. The waiting is unbearable.
A palace servant steps forward, his presence alone enough to send a ripple of awareness through Leah's spine. Without a word, he extends an arm, gesturing for her and Vivienne to follow.
'Don't mess up.. I practiced for far too long to ruin it now..'
Leah lifts her chin, inhaling softly as she moves, the train of her gown gliding effortlessly behind her. Vivienne follows a step behind, as is customary, her presence a quiet but unwavering force at her back.
The grand doors loom ahead and before she can blink, they open.
The murmur of the crowd hushes as the herald's voice rings through the vast chamber, crisp and clear.
"Miss Leah Barrett presented by her mother, Marchioness Vivienne Barrett."
Leah steps forward. The first thing she notices is that the receiving hall is magnificent.
Gold filigree gleams from every surface, the chandeliers overhead casting a warm, flickering glow across the sea of expectant faces. The air is thick with the weight of tradition, of the ceremony, of the hundreds of eyes now fixed upon her. But Leah does not falter.
Her movements are fluid, and effortless, each step measured, each breath controlled. She glides forward, her gown trailing like mist behind her, the sheer elegance of it designed to command attention. The crowd watches in silence, their hushed curiosity pressing against her like a tangible force.
At the far end of the room, seated atop her gilded throne, is Queen Victoria herself.
The Queen is larger than when Leah last saw her at the curry competition and her presence is immense. Authority radiates from her in quiet waves, her dark eyes sharp beneath the weight of her crown. She does not smile. She does not frown. She merely watches, waiting.
The moment stretches before Leah bows, precise and graceful. Her spine bends with practiced ease, her arms extended in flawless symmetry, her head lowering in perfect reverence. The weight of her gown shifts around her, settling in soft, billowing folds as she holds the position, poised in a tableau of elegance.
Silence follows. A long beat of silence. And then..
"Exquisite."
The single word is spoken with quiet finality, yet it carries through the chamber as if it were a royal decree.
A murmur stirs through the crowd, subtle but unmistakable. Interest sharpens, and speculation flickers. Eyes linger on Leah in a way that feels heavier now, their attention no longer just polite observance, but something keener.
She rises from her bow, expression unshaken, though something tightens at the base of her throat. The Queen's gaze remains upon her, unwavering.
Then, with the faintest incline of her head, Victoria speaks again. "A true jewel."
The murmurs swell.
Leah does not react, at least not outwardly. She remains composed, her face a careful mask of serenity, her breath steady even as the weight of the words settles into her bones.
She knows what this means. Knows what effect such a statement will have. She will be one of the most desirable girls of the season with the Queen's words alone. Her mother's pride is palpable at her back.
Somewhere in the crowd, she knows Daniel is watching, no doubt with that insufferable smirk of his. Lucius, ever unreadable, is likely more reserved, but she knows him well enough to imagine the faint flicker of satisfaction beneath his otherwise neutral exterior.
Leah does not let herself think about it for too long. Instead, she offers one last graceful inclination of her head before stepping aside, allowing the next girl to take her place.
The moment is over, but the mark it leaves upon the afternoon is undeniable. Leah Barrett has already set herself up for a season of success.
═╬
Sunlight streams through the lace-draped windows of Leah's bedchamber, illuminating the soft hues of the room with a golden glow. The space carries the lingering scent of roses from the fresh arrangement placed by the vanity that morning, blending with the faint trace of perfume still clinging to Leah's skin. The excitement of the presentation lingers like a whisper in the air, though the day itself has begun to settle into something quieter, more languid.
Near the vanity, Leah stands in the center of the room, arms lifted slightly as Anna works at the delicate fastenings of her debutante gown. The heavy fabric slips from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a sea of pristine ivory and shimmering embroidery, leaving behind the faintest imprint of corsetry on her pale flesh. There is a quiet sense of relief in shedding the weight of the elaborate gown, though Leah remains as poised as ever, betraying none of the exhaustion creeping into her limbs.
Anna steps back with practiced efficiency, moving toward the wardrobe and searching for a more practical gown for the afternoon—a confection of delicate lace and lilac satin, adorned with subtle gold embroidery. Leah exhales softly, shaking out her shoulders as her chemise and corset remain snug against her frame.
Seated on the cushioned chaise by the window, Gwendolyn is utterly absorbed in the latest issue of the city's newest gossip pamphlet. The crisp pages rustle in her hands as she leans forward, her dark brows raising ever so slightly with each scandalous detail she skims. Though she is yet a year too young for her own debut, her fascination with the social season rivals that of any eager debutante.
Leah glances at her cousin through the mirror as Anna fastens a ribbon at her back. "You have been awfully quiet," she muses, tilting her head slightly. "Shall I assume it is due to scandal?"
Gwendolyn's only response is to flick the pamphlet lightly with her fingers, her expression one of feigned disinterest, though the amusement dancing in her eyes betrays her.
"Terribly shocking, as always," she turns another page, her posture languid, though she remains utterly engrossed. "Did you know Lady Harrison's eldest son was caught in an exceedingly compromising position with a certain opera singer?"
Anna, who has just finished smoothing out the sleeves of Leah's gown, stifles a laugh, though she does not dare join the conversation.
Leah raises a brow. "Lord Harrison? The one whose mother has spent the last three years parading him about in search of a bride?"
"The very same," Gwendolyn leans forward slightly, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Word has it he was discovered in the middle of a performance."
The scandal of it all elicits a quiet scoff as Leah moves toward the vanity, running idle fingers along the carved edges of the frame before settling onto the cushioned stool. "And what has become of the singer?"
Gwendolyn sighs dramatically, waving the pamphlet slightly. "Oh, dismissed from the company, of course. His mother saw to that immediately. But the true delight is that Lord Harrison was meant to be engaged by the end of the season—his prospects are now entirely ruined."
A soft clink sounds as Leah reaches for a delicate pearl comb on the vanity, twirling it absently between her fingers. "His mother shall never recover."
"Oh, she shall," Gwendolyn corrects with a grin. "But he shall not."
The conversation lulls for a moment, the only sound being the continued rustling of pages as Gwendolyn flips through the remainder of the pamphlet. Leah watches her through the mirror, taking in the way her cousin's lips press together in barely concealed delight. The two of them have always shared a love for society's scandals—though Leah prefers to remain a spectator, untouched by the chaos, Gwendolyn delights in dissecting every detail, her mind forever at work unraveling London's most sordid affairs.
Anna, having completed her task, steps back with a small nod of satisfaction before gathering the discarded debutante gown into her arms. "Shall I have this stored away, Mistress?"
Leah gives a faint nod, her attention still half on her cousin. "Yes, thank you, Anna."
With a quick curtsy, the maid departs, leaving the two girls to their idle gossip.
Gwendolyn turns another page, her gaze flicking over the text with obvious interest. "Ah," she says, her voice carrying the unmistakable lilt of someone who has found something particularly delicious. "The Shaw twins made their debut today as well, though it seems only one of them made an impression."
Leah does not need to ask which one. "Ophelia?"
"Naturally," Gwendolyn confirms, amusement clear in her tone. "Arabella was apparently so overcome with nerves that she forgot to bow properly before the Queen. An utter disaster."
The corner of Leah's lips twitches, though she maintains her composure. "She has always been a fragile thing."
"Too fragile for the season," Gwendolyn declares, setting the pamphlet aside at last. "And what use is a lady who cannot withstand a mere presentation? She shall never survive the endless scrutiny of the ton."
Leah hums in agreement, fingers still idly tracing the pearl comb in her hand. "Perhaps she shall be fortunate enough to marry quickly before the vultures tear her apart."
"Doubtful." Gwendolyn leans back against the chaise, stretching her legs slightly. "Not when her sister is poised to overshadow her at every turn."
The unspoken truth lingers between them: this season is not merely about gowns and dances. It is a battlefield and only the strongest shall emerge victorious. Girls like Ophelia Shaw, whose beauty and composure demand attention, shall thrive. Girls like Arabella, who shrink beneath the weight of expectation, shall be forgotten before the season is through.
And then, of course, there are those like Leah.
She has known for years that her fate would be different. She is not simply another debutante in search of a match—she is the prize of the season, the girl whom every gentleman shall covet, the one whose name shall linger on every whispered tongue.
The Queen's words have ensured it.
Gwendolyn shifts beside her, tilting her head in consideration. "You do realize what all of this means, do you not?"
Leah meets her gaze, unbothered. "I have always known."
A slow smile spreads across Gwendolyn's lips. "Then you had best be ready, cousin. This season shall belong to you."
Silence befalls the pair for a brief moment before a sentence is spoken.
"Your dresses are here!"
The moment Vivienne's voice carries through the corridor, announcing the arrival of Leah's gowns, the air shifts with a palpable thrill. Gwendolyn doesn't manage to set down the pamphlet before Leah takes her hand and together they rush from the room, their skirts brushing against the polished wood floors as they make their way toward the grand receiving hall. The scent of fresh fabric and delicate embroidery threads lingers in the air, mingling with the faint perfume of roses from a nearby vase.
A row of dress boxes, stacked neatly atop one another, awaits them. Servants are already carefully unpacking the garments, shaking out the silks and satins, ensuring every ruffle, bow, and stitch remains in its intended perfection. Leah stops just before them, her blue eyes bright with satisfaction as she reaches out to graze her fingers along the delicate embroidery of a pale pink gown adorned with silver filigree. The craftsmanship is exquisite, just as she had envisioned.
"These are marvelous," she murmurs, tilting her head in admiration. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she lifts a sleeve of lace between her fingers, letting the fabric drape elegantly. "I daresay they are finer than last season's fashions."
Gwendolyn, only half paying attention, casts a glance over the selection before returning to the pamphlet in her hands, eyes flitting across the printed words with unrestrained curiosity. The rustling of paper is near constant as she turns another page.
"You had best not be reading those empty scandals again," Florence's voice rings out from the doorway, carrying that familiar note of disapproval. She enters the room with measured grace, hazel eyes flicking toward her daughter with a knowing look.
Without missing a beat, Gwendolyn waves the pamphlet slightly in the air, her expression one of defiant amusement. "They are not empty, Madre. And this particular writer does not merely imply—they name their subjects in full."
That, of course, is enough to catch both Florence's and Vivienne's interest. The latter, having just dismissed a maid who had begun laying out gloves and accessories, steps forward with a flicker of intrigue. "Let me see that," she instructs, extending a hand.
A triumphant gleam crosses Gwendolyn's face as she hands over the pamphlet, leaning back slightly as her mother and aunt now turn their attention to the printed gossip. Meanwhile, Leah remains where she is, her focus still lingering on the dresses rather than the scandalous pages. If she listens, it is only with half an ear. She already knows what is written within, after all.
At her feet, a flash of orange streaks across the room as Sam, her ever-unbothered cat, winds himself around the hem of her gown before settling in the folds of discarded tissue paper. He makes himself comfortable immediately. He is the true owner of the house.
A delighted gasp escapes Vivienne as her gaze skims over a particular section of the text. She lifts her chin, eyes alight with satisfaction, and turns slightly toward Florence. "Oh, now this," she exclaims, "this is rather exceptional"
Florence leans in, her own interest piqued. "What is it?"
Without hesitation, Vivienne reads aloud, her tone carrying that unmistakable air of pride, "Amongst the young ladies presented this season, none have shone quite so brilliantly as Miss Leah Barrett. A rare gem, possessing both beauty and the poise of one far beyond her years, she has captivated all in attendance. One may be so bold as to declare her the most illustrious debutante of the year, a vision of grace and refinement, an undeniable star in the constellation of society."
The reaction is immediate. Florence's expression softens into something akin to satisfaction, while Gwendolyn, who had clearly skimmed past this part earlier in favor of more outrageous gossip, grins with unabashed delight. "You see?" she says smugly, tapping a finger against her chin. "Not all empty words."
Vivienne practically glows, holding the pamphlet aloft as though it were some official decree. "The most illustrious," she repeats, clearly savoring the phrase. "A vision of grace—oh, Leah, did you hear?"
From her place by the gowns, Leah exhales a quiet breath, smoothing out the bodice of an especially delicate powder blue dress. "I did," she replies, glancing toward them at last. "It is quite a lovely compliment."
Vivienne's brows draw together slightly at her daughter's mild response. "A lovely compliment?" she echoes, incredulous. "It is far more than that. This sets the tone for your entire season! If society deems you the foremost debutante, you shall have every eligible gentleman vying for your attention. Betrothed or not, this is what other young ladies dream of!"
Florence nods approvingly, her usual measured composure softening into genuine pleasure. "Such praise is not easily earned, nor is it freely given. This writer must be someone with a keen eye. Perhaps even someone with influence."
Across the room, Gwendolyn tilts her head in thought. "I do wonder who it is," she muses. "To write with such authority and with such precise judgment, they must be someone well-versed in the workings of society."
"A mystery for another day," Vivienne declares, setting the pamphlet down atop a nearby table before returning her attention to Leah. "Regardless of who penned it, what matters is that it has been written. You must understand what this means for you."
Leah does understand. She is not oblivious to the weight of such words. To be named the most illustrious debutante is no small thing. It is an expectation, a title she must now uphold, a crown placed upon her head before she has even stepped fully into the season. And yet, while she appreciates the flattery, she cannot muster the same overwhelming enthusiasm that now radiates from her mother and aunt.
Fame, after all, is a fickle thing. Praise today can just as easily turn to scrutiny tomorrow.
She glances down, idly scratching behind Sam's ear as he lets out a contented purr. "It is only one opinion," she remarks at last, voice composed, measured. "Though a kind one, to be sure."
Florence shakes her head with a knowing smile. "Modesty is all well and good, my dear, but do not be foolish enough to dismiss what has been said."
"Oh, I would never dismiss it," Leah assures her, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I simply see no need to exalt it, either."
Gwendolyn snickers, dropping onto a nearby chaise with effortless ease. "You are terribly difficult to impress."
"Hardly," Leah corrects, lifting her gaze once more. "I simply prefer silk over ink. And fortunately, I have an abundance of both."
The laughter that follows is light and easy, and as the conversation shifts once more to the merits of lace versus brocade, the pamphlet lies forgotten upon the table. For now, at least, gossip can wait. The season, however, will not.
═╬
When the Barrett's arrive at the first ball of the season, Leah has a hard time calming her nerves. Some of her anxiety prior to being presented before the Queen remains in her bones with the addition of knowing how much attention she might receive once she walks inside.
She can vividly remember her time at Viscount Druitt's ball not even a year ago and she can almost feel how tired she was after a singular night. Now, she has months of this lined up.
Walking inside the manor, the grand ballroom is a masterpiece of gilded opulence, with candlelit chandeliers casting a warm glow over a sea of silk, satin, and powdered faces. Conversations hum beneath the music, a carefully controlled cacophony of whispered intrigues and forced laughter. The air is thick with the scent of perfume and candle wax, and Leah steps through the entrance with measured grace, her presence instantly commanding attention.
Dressed in a gown of pale silver-white, its fabric shimmering with every movement, she is a vision among the young ladies vying for admiration. The cool tones highlight the pallor of her complexion, lending her an ethereal quality, as though she belongs not to the frivolities of the season but to something altogether more elusive. Jewels glisten at her throat, in her ears, even woven into her dark hair, a delicate tiara perched atop her head as though it were placed there by inevitability itself.
Vivienne leans in slightly, voice low but firm as she offers quiet counsel. "Poise, Leah. Grace. You are already the focus of every eye; do not give them cause to believe you undeserving."
Lucius, standing at his daughter's other side, surveys the room with an expression of wry amusement. "I see at least three gentlemen whose fortunes are held together by the faintest thread. Shall I frighten them off now or allow them to embarrass themselves first?"
Leah resists the urge to sigh, knowing better than to show even the slightest sign of boredom. She had expected this, after all—the stares, the whispers, the endless scrutiny. Her engagement to Ciel renders the entire exercise unnecessary, but her mother's ambitions will not allow her to simply exist in the periphery of the season. She must be admired, envied, lauded. A triumph. ‘How tiresome..’
A footman approaches, offering a delicate dance card, and Leah accepts it with a nod. Before she can so much as glance at it, a young gentleman—one of the braver ones—steps forward and bows deeply. His expression is one of careful charm, though the slight sheen of sweat at his brow betrays his nerves.
"My lady, may I have the honor of—"
"No," Lucius interjects smoothly, taking a deliberate step closer. The man's confidence falters, and Lucius offers a placid smile that does little to soften the steel in his eyes. "You have debts, do you not? More than a few, if I am not mistaken."
The unfortunate suitor's mouth opens and closes. A flush rises to his cheeks, and with a stiff bow, he retreats.
Leah allows a small, amused exhale through her nose. "Must you scare off every man who approaches?"
"Only the ones who deserve it," Lucius replies.
Still, there are many who do not—young men of appropriate rank and wealth, eager to be associated with the Barrett name. As soon as Leah makes a round around the ballroom, the inevitable begins. She has barely taken three steps before another gentleman approaches, a carefully measured smile on his face as he executes a bow so precise it might have been practiced in a looking glass.
"My Lady," he begins, voice smooth, the edges softened by nerves. "Might I have the honor of a dance?"
Leah regards him coolly, taking in the neatly arranged blond hair, the pristine cut of his coat, the gloved hands clasped behind his back. He is young, perhaps two or three years older than her, and carries himself with the sort of trained elegance that suggests he has spent his entire life preparing for moments such as these.
Before she can reply, Lucius—who has been lingering at her shoulder like a particularly well-dressed specter—clears his throat. "Sir William Alden, is it not?"
The young man's posture stiffens slightly. "Yes, My Lord."
Lucius hums, a low, unimpressed sound. "Your father has been in some trouble regarding his investments if I recall correctly."
Alden's throat bobs in a quick swallow. "That is—well, that is to say, the situation is not nearly as dire as the papers claim."
Lucius merely smiles, something cold flickering in his eyes. "I should hope not. It would be quite the scandal if you were to make a match only to see your family's fortune disappear, would it not?"
The implication is clear. Alden, realizing he will receive no support from the Marquess, turns his attention back to Leah. "My Lady?"
For a brief moment, she considers allowing Lucius to send him away like the others. But then, she sees the tension at the young man's jaw, the determination in his expression—he will not cower. That, at least, she can admire.
With a demure smile, she extends her wrist to show her dance card. "You may have the next."
His shoulders ease slightly, relief flickering across his features as he takes the delicate quill provided by a footman and scrawls his name upon the parchment. "You are most gracious, Lady Leah."
A waltz begins to play, the lilting melody swelling as couples gather onto the floor. Alden offers his arm, and Leah takes it, allowing herself to be led into position.
The moment his hand settles lightly at her waist and her own rests atop his shoulder, she feels the subtle shift in his demeanor—he is not just relieved; he is determined to impress.
"You are quite the vision tonight," he says as they begin to move, their steps gliding across the polished floor in perfect synchrony. "The silver accents suit you."
"I should hope so," Leah replies lightly, her gaze unwavering as she meets his. "Else I have suffered through the fitting for nothing."
Alden laughs, though it is somewhat strained. "And what a tragedy that would be."
She allows a small smile, though her attention drifts slightly, taking in the watching eyes, the subtle shifts in expression from those at the edge of the dance floor. This is what they came to see—the Barrett girl, poised and untouchable, moving through the season as effortlessly as one might glide across a frozen lake.
Alden, for all his nerves, is a good dancer. His movements are precise, deliberate, and he does not grip her too tightly nor allow his steps to falter. He is careful, but not rigid—an acceptable partner, if nothing else.
"Tell me," he ventures, tone carefully measured, "do you find this season to your liking?"
Leah exhales softly, just shy of a sigh. "It is much as I expected."
"A diplomatic answer."
"The truth is often less interesting than people would prefer."
His lips quirk at that, and for a moment, he studies her as though trying to decipher something beyond the carefully curated exterior. Then, as though choosing his words with great care, he says, "I must admit, I was surprised to see you participating so actively. Given your engagement, I would have assumed you would be free of such obligations."
Leah's grip on his shoulder tightens slightly, though not enough to be noticed by an outside observer. "Yet, here I am."
He hesitates, searching her expression before venturing, "You do not seem particularly thrilled by it."
She tilts her head ever so slightly, considering him. Most would not be so bold as to comment upon such a thing. Perhaps he is trying to test her reaction, to see if she will flinch at the reminder of her betrothal. She does not.
"I am precisely where I ought to be, Sir Alden," she says, voice smooth as silk. "Nothing more, nothing less."
He smiles, though it is touched with something wry. "You are a difficult woman to decipher, My Lady."
Leah merely lifts a brow. "Then perhaps you are simply not as observant as you believe yourself to be."
The waltz draws to a close, the music swelling in its final notes before fading into applause. Alden steps back, releasing her with a bow. She curtsies in turn, and as they part, he lingers just a moment longer than necessary.
"I do hope you will save another dance for me this season," he says, voice low enough that it is nearly swallowed by the surrounding chatter.
Leah does not promise anything. Instead, she simply offers a polite, unreadable smile before turning away, allowing the next gentleman in line to approach.
Another dance, another partner, another string of careful pleasantries. The entire event is as exhausting as it is predictable. One gentleman after another steps forward, murmuring some variation of the same practiced flattery, bowing over her hand, scrawling their names onto her dance card with eager precision. Each set is a performance, each step an unspoken negotiation.
The waltzes are tolerable, the quadrilles tedious. Some partners are charming, others entirely forgettable. A few stumble over their words, clearly unnerved by her presence, while others exude an overconfidence that grates against her patience. Lucius remains ever watchful from the periphery, scaring off the most unsuitable suitors before they even reach her, his mere presence ensuring that no man of insufficient breeding or fortune dares linger too long.
As the final notes of yet another dance fade into applause, Leah curtsies, her partner bows, and before another eager gentleman can claim the next, she makes her escape toward the refreshment table.
Cool marble presses against her gloved fingers as she reaches for a glass of lemonade, the delicate stem chilled beneath the silk. The air near the refreshments is marginally less stifling and she allows herself a measured breath, steadying the nerves that coil, slow and subtle, beneath her ribs. It is one thing to be admired from afar, another entirely to be the object of such deliberate scrutiny, where every movement, every word, is dissected by the watchful eyes of the ton.
A presence shifts beside her. Not the fluttering sort, hesitant and overeager, but one assured in its own space. A moment later, a voice. Smooth, measured, and tinged with amusement.
"I confess, I half-expected to find you still on the floor, Lady Leah."
Turning her head, she finds herself met with the striking gaze of Henry Moore, Duke of Aylesworth.
The Moore family is old, their title among the most respected in England, and the duke himself—newly inherited, young yet composed—is perhaps the most eligible bachelor of the season. His hair is dark, sleek, and well-groomed, his features finely carved, almost severe were it not for the touch of amusement that lingers at the corners of his mouth. He is tall, impeccably dressed, and carries himself with the effortless ease of one who has never had reason to doubt his own importance.
Leah sets down her glass. "A lady is permitted respite, is she not?"
"Certainly. Though I suspect your admirers are quite devastated by your absence."
Something about him is different from the others. There is interest in his gaze, yes, but none of the eager desperation she has endured all evening. Where most men either flounder or fawn, the duke seems entirely at ease.
She inclines her head, a polite smile gracing her lips. "If that is so, they shall recover soon enough."
His eyes glint, the amusement sharpening. "How cruel."
Leah tilts her head ever so slightly, regarding him. "Is it cruelty, Your Grace, or merely indifference?"
A chuckle escapes him. "Ah, but indifference can be its own form of cruelty."
A reply hovers on her tongue, but before she can give it voice, he gestures toward her half-full dance card, still wrapped around her delicate wrist.
"Am I to assume you have no room left?"
The unspoken request lingers between them. Leah hesitates, not out of reluctance but consideration. A dance with a duke is not so easily ignored. It will be noticed, remarked upon, and speculated over. If she allows it, she extends an invitation not only to him but to the whispers that will undoubtedly follow. Her fingers tighten slightly.
Henry watches her, expression unreadable. He is not pleading, not pressing, only waiting and so, she extends her wrist. With a knowing flicker of a smile, he takes the offered quill from the waiting footman and signs his name.
When the music swells again, the murmurs ripple in its wake. Henry leads her onto the floor, moving with the kind of unhurried grace that suggests he is perfectly aware of how many eyes are upon them.
Leah has never danced with a duke before, but a title alone does not impress her. However, there is something deliberate about the way Henry holds himself—confident, yes, but not boastful. He does not attempt to command her attention as so many others have. Instead, he offers his hand, waiting for her to take it as though they are equals, and when she does, his grip is firm but not possessive.
The first steps are taken in silence, the rhythm of the dance settling between them.
"Tell me, Lady Leah," he finally says, "are you enjoying your season?"
Her lips curve, though it is not quite a smile. "You ask as though I am in need of enjoyment."
He raises a brow. "Is that not the purpose of these gatherings?"
"I was under the impression their purpose was something else entirely."
He exhales a quiet laugh. "A fair point." A pause, then, more carefully, "And yet, you seem less.. determined than most."
The comment is not unkind, merely observant. Leah meets his gaze evenly. "Perhaps that is because I have no reason to be."
Something shifts in his expression, a flicker of understanding. He does not ask what she means, nor does he feign ignorance.
"Lord Phantomhive is a fortunate man," he says instead.
The statement, so plainly spoken, causes the nerves she has managed to suppress all evening to stir once more. It is one thing to acknowledge her engagement as fact, another to be reminded of how it is perceived by others. That even a duke, one of the highest ranks in the peerage, sees it as a certainty.
He does not look away, watching her carefully, gauging her response.
Leah lifts her chin ever so slightly. "Yes. He is."
For a moment, there is silence. Then, a smile. Not mocking, not resigned, but something else entirely. Something like recognition.
"I imagine he would say the same of you," he murmurs.
The music slows and the dance draws to a close. Henry steps back, offering her a final bow. Leah curtsies in return, the movement practiced, poised.
When she lifts her gaze once more, he is still watching her. Not expectantly, not with any lingering hope, but with the sort of quiet amusement that suggests he has reached some conclusion of his own.
"Until we meet again, Lady Leah."
Then, with the same unhurried grace, he turns and disappears into the crowd. Leah has no concept of being able to disappear and as soon as she steps off the dance floor, Vivienne descends upon her like a hawk, eyes gleaming with a rare, unguarded delight. The usual practiced decorum she wears in public is momentarily abandoned in favor of something dangerously close to enthusiasm.
"My dear, do you have any idea what you have just done?" her voice, though carefully controlled, trembles with restrained excitement. She clasps Leah's gloved hands, giving them the faintest squeeze before releasing them just as quickly, as if catching herself indulging too openly.
Leah knows precisely what she has done. But she does not answer at once, instead reaching for her glass of punch from the refreshment table, allowing the deliberate pause to stretch just long enough to temper her mother's mood. "I danced, Mother," she says at last, taking a sip. "As I have been doing all evening."
Vivienne huffs, exasperated but unwilling to let her good mood be dimmed. "Do not be coy with me, Leah. Henry Moore is no mere partner. A duke, young and unwed.. and he sought you," she lowers her voice just slightly, though the light in her eyes does not dim. "The entire room was watching."
Of course they were. Leah has spent years growing accustomed to the weight of public scrutiny, but even she had felt the shift in the air the moment Moore signed her dance card. It was one thing to be admired, another to be chosen, even if only for a single dance.
Still, she is careful not to give too much away. "It was only a dance," she murmurs, casting a glance around the ballroom. The hum of conversation continues as usual, though here and there, she catches lingering stares, the unmistakable flicker of whispered speculation.
"Nothing is ever only a dance," Vivienne counters, her voice lilting with restrained giddiness. "Not when it is with him."
Leah suppresses a sigh. She has no interest in entertaining this particular line of discussion any longer. Fortunately, she is spared from further comment when a familiar voice chimes in, bright and unmistakable.
"Oh, Leah! What a marvelous sight that was!"
Elizabeth Midford all but flutters toward them, her golden curls bouncing with each hurried step. She is dressed in delicate white silk, the gown adorned with fine lace and pearls, and she looks as though she has stepped straight out of a painting. Her smile is radiant, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement.
"You danced beautifully," she gushes, clasping Leah's hands in hers without hesitation. "And with the Duke of Aylesworth! Everyone was speaking of it! Why, even my mother commented on how well you paired together."
Leah has little doubt of that. Elizabeth has, surprisingly, always been particularly attuned to the social maneuverings of the ton. If she has taken notice, then the whispers will only continue to grow.
"Did she?" Leah replies, feigning mild interest. "I hope she was not too taken with it."
Elizabeth giggles. "Oh, only as much as any mother would be." She leans in slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But truly, Leah what did he say to you? He must have shown some interest, surely?"
Leah hesitates, but before she can craft a reply, another voice joins the fray—lower, with a drier edge.
"I expect he told her she was the most enchanting creature in all of England and that he simply must claim another dance before the night is through."
Henrietta Sánchez has arrived, her expression wry, though not unkind. She is noticeably shorter than the others, her dark eyes carrying an air of quiet amusement as she surveys Leah with a knowing look. Unlike Elizabeth, she does not grasp Leah's hands or gush over the moment. Instead, she stands with arms loosely folded, weight shifted ever so slightly to one side.
Leah exhales, giving Henrietta a half-lidded stare. "I should think you know me well enough by now to realize I would not entertain such nonsense."
Henrietta hums. "Perhaps. But I also know that you quite like this nonsense when it amuses you."
Vivienne, who has allowed the girls their moment, steps in again, her tone still bright but carefully measured now that an audience has formed. "Whatever was said, it is a fine match to be seen, if nothing else," her eyes flick toward Henrietta, then back to Leah. "Though, of course, I would not wish to presume."
Leah hears the subtle implication beneath her words. No, she would not wish to presume, but she would be more than pleased should such a thing come to pass.
She keeps her expression unreadable, offering only a polite, "Of course not."
Henrietta arches a brow, Elizabeth tilts her head, and Vivienne, satisfied for now, straightens.
"Well," Vivienne says, smoothing a hand over her gown, "I expect you will have plenty more offers before the night is through," her gaze flickers across the room before landing once more on Leah. "You would do well not to turn away too many."
Leah does not answer. She merely lifts her glass once more, allowing the cool sweetness of the lemonade to settle on her tongue before swallowing. The night is far from over.
═╬
With the night beginning to wane, the grand chandeliers cast a softer glow as the festivities slow to a more languid pace. Conversations drift into murmurs, laughter fades into the occasional delicate chuckle, and the last few dances are taken with a kind of quiet finality. Servants move discreetly through the room, replenishing refreshments for those who linger, though the energy of the evening has undoubtedly shifted toward its conclusion.
Leah remains near the refreshment table, her gloves smoothed and pristine despite the hours she has spent in them. Her dance card is full, her presence acknowledged, and the weight of the evening's events lingers around her like the scent of expensive perfume.
Vivienne has been unusually pleasant since the encounter with the Duke, her mood buoyed by the social success of the night. Lucius, too, is in fine spirits, though more reserved in his satisfaction. He has spent much of the evening in the company of other gentlemen, discussing matters of business and politics between cigars and brandy. Leah suspects that even he has heard the murmurs of her dance with Henry Moore.
As the Barretts prepare to take their leave, their carriage already waiting beyond the grand entrance, Vivienne makes her final rounds of farewells, her charm as polished as ever. Leah offers a curtsy to Lady Worthington, a polite nod to an elderly viscountess whose name she does not recall, and a few final pleasantries to passing acquaintances.
Finally, as they step toward the towering doors of the ballroom, Vivienne places a hand on Leah's arm, her grip light but deliberate.
"You have done well tonight," she says, her voice lilting with a rare note of approval. And then, with a small, knowing smile, she adds, "I suspect we shall be receiving calls soon enough."
Exhaling softly, Leah keeps her expression unreadable as she descends the steps toward their waiting carriage.
"Then I shall have to be very careful about answering."
Notes:
i’m hoping to have a lot of fun with this arc and i hope you guys have fun reading. i feel like it’ll be a breath of fresh air, especially since a lot less “dark” stuff happens. this chapter is quite similar to episode one of bridgerton, i know. i can’t deny that i love season one😭❤️
don’t ask me how daniel goes to weston college when he’s like 20. we’re all just gonna pretend that this is how it works and we’re not gonna ask any questions
also, talk to me guys, i’m getting lonely😞💔
Chapter 35: | 34 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl accepts callers and receives letters. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
for once, i don’t have much to yap about💀 kinda disappointed in myself. life has been rather uneventful the past week since sleep has been the main thing i’m doing. i’ll have more to yap about next update probably
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-four ! )
"I should think they would have the sense to direct their attentions elsewhere."
The drawing room of the Barret townhouse is more lively than it has ever been, filled to the brim with men who carry various gifts and dull personalities. Leah's fingers trail along the rim of her teacup as another footman announces the arrival of yet another gentleman and she does not bother looking up. The whole exercise is rather ridiculous, a parade of hopeful men vying for a hand she has already promised to another.
Vivienne, seated beside her, does not share the sentiment. "Nonsense, Leah. This is as much about appearances as it is about courtship. It would reflect rather poorly on you if no one called at all, betrothed or not," she smiles as she says it, but there is always that sharp edge to her words. The underlying suggestion that Leah should be grateful for the attention she receives.
Across the room, Gwendolyn appears to be enjoying herself immensely. The moment a new gentleman bows in greeting, she fixes him with a look that is just a little too keen, just sharp enough to unsettle. "And what, sir, compels you to waste your morning on a lady already spoken for?" she inquires, eyes glittering with amusement.
The poor man, a rather unremarkable fellow with a receding hairline and an unfortunate waistcoat, stammers through some nonsense about courtesy and admiration. Leah nearly pities him. Nearly is a rather strong word.
Florence, ever the mediator, clears her throat delicately. "Gwendolyn, dear, let us not scare them away before they have even had the chance to sit."
There are several men in attendance, some appearing more earnest than others. A few hover near the edges of the room, uncertain of how to engage, while others do their best to charm despite the obvious futility of their efforts. Leah offers the appropriate smiles and murmured pleasantries, but she is not inclined to encourage them. She even nods at all the right moments as Vivienne boasts of her accomplishments.
"My daughter speaks French, Chinese, German, and Latin with enviable fluency. Her tutors have always remarked upon her intellect."
That, at least, is true. Leah has always excelled in her studies, but she knows well enough that her intelligence is not what will secure her place in society. Beauty, elegance, the Barrett name—all of those things work in her favor. Whether she can quote Horace in Latin is of little consequence.
One of the suitors, a particularly overeager young man with a mop of curls and an unfortunate habit of wringing his hands, leans forward with evident enthusiasm. "It must be a remarkable thing to possess such a mind. Miss Barrett, do tell me, what are your thoughts on the recent lectures at Oxford concerning Greek philosophy?"
Leah meets his gaze, expression unreadable. She could answer in detail, could dissect every argument and counterargument, but what would be the point? Instead, she offers a demure smile. "I am afraid my opinions on the matter would be of little interest to you, sir."
Lounging against the armrest of a nearby settee, Gwendolyn lets out a barely suppressed laugh. "Oh, come now, Leah. Surely you must indulge the poor man."
Vivienne shoots her niece a warning look, but the damage is already done. The gentleman, clearly flustered, glances between them before offering a sheepish chuckle. "Of course. Forgive me. I only meant to express my admiration."
It is all so dreadfully tedious. Leah wishes, not for the first time, that she could simply fast-forward through this entire affair. She knows her duty. She will attend the balls, she will be seen, she will allow the men to swarm for a time before the season inevitably ends and she returns to Ciel's side, secured and triumphant. This is all merely a formality.
Across the room, another suitor attempts his luck. This one is older and more composed with the air of a man who considers himself quite clever. "Miss Barrett, I must say, I find your composure most admirable. Many young ladies would be quite overwhelmed by such attention."
Leah inclines her head. "One must grow accustomed to such things, I suppose."
"Indeed. And tell me, do you find it flattering or tiresome?"
The question is a trap, one she will not be foolish enough to step into. Instead, she lifts her teacup, considering her words before replying. "I find it an inevitability."
He smiles at that as if she has said something particularly clever, though she has merely stated a fact.
Gwendolyn, meanwhile, seems to have made it her personal mission to unsettle as many callers as possible without entirely ruining her reputation. She asks questions just a shade too forward and makes observations that dance on the edge of propriety. It is a delicate balance. One wrong step and she will be dismissed as too difficult, too opinionated, and too much trouble. But for now, it is amusing to watch the men fumble in her wake.
Florence watches her daughter with an expression of long-suffering patience. "Gwendolyn, do try to behave."
A shrug is the only response as the conversation drags on, an endless cycle of introductions and meaningless pleasantries. Some men linger too long, clearly unwilling to admit defeat, while others recognize the futility of their pursuit and make polite excuses to leave. One by one, they trickle out, until only a handful remain.
Vivienne, ever the strategist, takes note of who has made the best impression. It does not matter that Leah has no need for a husband, connections must still be maintained and opportunities kept open.
Lucius, silent for much of the morning, finally speaks. "It is amusing, is it not, how men will persist even when faced with impossibility?" his tone is dry, his expression unreadable. He has never cared much for Leah, but he is not blind to the power her success could wield.
Leah sets down her teacup with a soft clink. "Desperation makes fools of many."
A flicker of something, approval and amusement, crosses her father's face before he turns his attention elsewhere.
By the time the last caller departs, the room feels significantly lighter. The performance is over, at least for now.
Gwendolyn stretches languidly, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "Well, that was fun."
Smoothing the folds of her gown, Leah exhales. "That is one word for it."
Vivienne, ever composed, rises gracefully. "It was necessary. And you conducted yourself well enough."
Not exactly high praise, but Leah has never expected as much from her mother.
Florence offers a small smile. "It is only the beginning, after all. There will be many more days like this."
Leah does not doubt it. The season has only just begun and she must endure it, but at the very least, she knows where she stands. She is not here to secure a match. She already has one. This is all a game and she knows how to play it.
Gwendolyn, still smirking, nudges her playfully. "At least try to enjoy it, dear cousin. You are, after all, the envy of the season."
Leah tilts her head, lips curving into something not quite a smile. "Yes. How fortunate I am."
The drawing room is quieter now, save for the faint crackling of the fire and the distant murmur of conversation from elsewhere in the house. The scent of perfume and cigar smoke lingers, mingling with the faint floral notes of the fresh-cut bouquets arranged in crystal vases. A moment of peace, however brief.
Then, the doors open once more. A footman steps aside and Henry Moore, Duke of Aylesworth, strides into the room with measured ease. He is later than the others—so much later, in fact, that his presence now feels almost like an afterthought rather than an expected call. Yet he does not appear the least bit troubled by it.
"I do hope I am not interrupting," he remarks, his voice smooth and pleasant, laced with the faintest trace of amusement. His dark eyes sweep the room, taking in the absence of competition and the lingering atmosphere of polite exhaustion. "Though it seems I have missed quite the affair."
Leah, seated with an air of carefully composed poise, does not rise but tilts her head in acknowledgment. "It was, as you might imagine, a rather lively morning," her lips curve in a way that is neither smile nor smirk, something deliberately unreadable. "You are fortunate to have arrived now rather than earlier. I am quite certain the room was insufferable at its peak."
Now next to her, Gwendolyn, who has been watching the proceedings with barely restrained interest, lets out a quiet laugh. "You ought to be flattered, Your Grace," she says, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. "You have the lady's company all to yourself."
Henry chuckles, the sound low and warm. "I shall take that as a privilege, then," he approaches with unhurried confidence, stopping just short of where Leah sits. The candlelight catches the sharp lines of his features, accentuating the easy amusement that lingers in his expression. "Though I do wonder, was the crowd truly so unbearable, or is that merely an excuse?"
Leah exhales, not quite a sigh, but something near enough. "An observation," she corrects. "Surely you understand, Your Grace. Too many voices in one space all speaking of the same dull things. The weather, the latest scandal, the Queen's favor. It grows rather tiresome."
"Ah." He inclines his head slightly, as if in agreement. "I cannot say I find myself much in disagreement. Though I imagine you bear it far more gracefully than I might."
Florence, who has been content to observe until now, chooses this moment to interject. "You give my niece too much credit, Your Grace," she says, her tone light but edged with something knowing. "She may be charming when required, but I suspect she shares your sentiments more than she lets on."
"I can be both charming and honest," Leah says without missing a beat. "They are not mutually exclusive, Aunt."
Smile deepening at that, Henry does not press the matter further. Instead, he finally settles into a seat opposite her, his posture impeccable and his presence commanding without effort. He does not fidget or glance about the room as lesser men might. He is comfortable in his own skin and silence. It is an uncommon thing and Leah finds it far from an unpleasant one.
"You must tell me, Your Grace," Gwendolyn says after a moment, eyes bright with curiosity. "Have you truly only just arrived in town? The ladies have spoken of little else but your presence at court. There were quite a few speculations as to whether you would even participate in the season."
Henry hums, glancing toward her with mild amusement. "I am afraid I must disappoint you, Miss Vásquez. There is nothing so mysterious about it. My affairs required my attention elsewhere until recently."
"How very responsible of you," Leah muses, studying him with interest. "I do not imagine many young gentlemen of your station would feel so inclined."
"Perhaps not," he allows, "but then, I have never been particularly inclined to idleness."
The conversation drifts, shifting seamlessly between topics—London, the season, the peculiarities of society. Henry is well-spoken without being ostentatious, his humor subtle but engaging. There is no undue flattery in his words, no empty pleasantries meant to charm, only easy and natural conversation. For Leah, it is a welcome change.
"You must think it all rather ridiculous," she says at one point, watching him over the rim of her teacup. "The way they speak of you. As if you are some grand prize to be won."
Henry exhales, a soft huff of laughter. "I have been called worse things, I imagine."
She raises a brow. "And better things, no doubt."
"On occasion," he concedes, "though I suspect none of it is particularly accurate."
Gwendolyn, who has been quietly entertained by the exchange, grins. "And what is accurate, then?"
Henry considers for a moment. "That," he says finally, "is for you to determine."
Leah regards him for a moment, then sets her cup aside, a slow smile pulling at her lips. "A dangerous thing to say, Your Grace. I am quite the critic."
"I shall endeavor to withstand your scrutiny, Miss Barrett."
Florence, having listened with the sharp perception of an experienced matron, shifts in her seat. "I daresay you have managed well enough thus far, Your Grace. Not all gentlemen fare so well in my niece's company."
Leah casts her aunt a look, but there is no real heat behind it. "You make it sound as if I am intolerable."
"Not intolerable," Florence says, eyes glinting. "Simply.. particular."
Henry does not seem deterred in the slightest. If anything, he appears all the more amused. "A quality I can appreciate," he says easily.
Their gazes meet and something unspoken lingers between them. Not tension, not attraction, but understanding. A quiet acknowledgment that, for all the formalities and all the expectations that society places upon them, they are simply two individuals navigating it all as best they can.
The hour grows late, though none of them remark upon it just yet. The fire still burns, the conversation has not yet waned and for the moment, there is no rush to bring it to an end.
═╬
Sitting before the vanity, Leah's posture is languid, and her arm drapes across the table as she watches Anna unlace her corset with a patience Leah does not share. The maid's fingers are methodical and careful, every movement deliberate as she tugs at the ribbon binding Leah's waist.
The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the room, illuminating the soft sheen of the lemon-yellow silk gown now slipping from her shoulders. The house has quieted considerably, the distant murmur of conversation from the drawing room long faded leaving only the crackle of the fire and the occasional creak of the wooden floors beneath Anna's shifting feet.
"You are impossibly slow, Anna," complains Leah.
"I would be finished sooner if you sat still," Anna replies, voice as even as ever.
Leah exhales, letting her head tilt back, exposing the long column of her throat. Her hair which has been brushed loose spills over the back of the chair in waves. It has been an exhausting evening Her cheeks still ache faintly from forced smiles and her mind dull from the ceaseless prattle of men vying for her favor. Then, there was Henry Moore, lingering far longer than he should have, though she had not particularly minded his company. Her parents had noticed, of course, but they liked him so they held their tongues.
She is considering whether she ought to be grateful for that when the door swings open without so much as a knock. Thomas strides in as though he owns the place, utterly unbothered by the impropriety of his presence in her chambers while she is half-dressed. His usual grin plays at his lips, sharp and knowing, as he holds up two neatly folded letters between his gloved fingers. The wax seals gleam in the candlelight.
"Letters for you, My Lady," he announces, voice thick with amusement.
Anna stiffens, scandalized with her hands frozen mid-motion at Leah's back. Leah, however, merely lifts a brow. "You should not be here, Thomas."
"Yet, here I am," he says as he steps further inside. "Your reputation remains intact, I assure you. I will be in and out before anyone notices."
"You say that as though my reputation is of any concern to you."
"It is," he muses. "To a degree."
Leah rolls her eyes but extends a hand for the letters. Obliging, Thomas drops them into her palm with an exaggerated flourish before retreating a step.
One is from Daniel. She recognizes his handwriting immediately, bold and slightly messy, as though he had little patience to keep his letters neat. The other is from Ciel, her fingers brush over the elegant loops of ink, the careful strokes of a pen wielded with precision.
The seal cracks under the press of her letter opener. Anna, now finished with her work, adjusts the delicate lace of Leah's nightgown before quietly gathering the discarded gown from the floor. Thomas does not leave despite his earlier claim, watching her with the keen interest of a cat observing a cornered mouse. Leah ignores him.
The parchment is smooth beneath her fingertips as she unfolds the letter. The ink is bold, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of the writer's mind—his thoughts, his affections, all distilled into neat lines upon the page.
"Leah," it begins.
"Your brother would not cease his incessant prattling about your presentation. I had little choice but to endure every excruciating detail, though I suspect he exaggerated half of them. Still, I suppose I might admit to some interest, if only because the subject concerns you. You were, of course, well-received. Anything less would have been a failure on their part, not yours. Even Her Majesty seems to have found you acceptable. Congratulations, though I doubt you required her approval any more than you require mine."
She smirks, lips pressing together to suppress the flicker of amusement. Of course, Daniel had spoken of it incessantly. He has always been proud of her in his own way, even when their parents are not.
"I trust you carried yourself with the expected grace and dignity, though I doubt you would confess otherwise if you had not. London must be unbearable now, infested with every insipid bachelor eager to throw himself at your feet. How utterly tiresome for you. I imagine they trip over one another in their efforts to impress you, and yet, none of them matter. You humor them out of obligation, but it is a pointless endeavor. You and I both know as much."
A soft hum escapes her throat. Ciel has always been direct and unapologetic in his certainty that she belongs to him and no one else. Though there is still some jealousy in his words, no insecurity is shown. Only the quiet annoyance of knowing that there are other men that he cannot stop himself. She traces her thumb over the edge of the paper.
"I will assume you have not already forgotten me in favor of some ridiculous fop who fancies himself charming. If you have, I expect Sebastian will hear of it before I do and I would hate to have to rely on him for such information. Try not to keep me waiting too long for your next letter."
She can hardly control the smile that spreads across her face when her eyes drag over the words. The letter continues in much the same manner, touching briefly on matters at Weston—though nothing of real consequence. If there are difficulties, he does not speak of them and if he misses her, he certainly does not say so. But there is something in the way he writes and the effort he puts into telling her of the mundane, the every day, that suggests it all the same.
"Yours,
Ciel Phantomhive."
The warmth that spreads through her chest is unwelcome and irritating in its persistence as she lowers the letter to her lap with a deliberate slowness.
"Love letters at this hour?" Thomas drawls, arms crossed over his chest.
Leah lifts her gaze, unimpressed. "It is hardly a love letter."
"No?" he tilts his head, expression sly. "That is unfortunate."
The weight of the letter lingers in her hands, heavier than it ought to be. She is not foolish enough to read too much into it, Ciel is not the sentimental type. However, she cannot deny the way her heart stirs at his words and the knowledge that he is thinking of her, even from afar. She traces the edge of the folded parchment, thoughtful.
Somewhere in the distance, the clock strikes the hour. The night stretches ahead, quiet and still, and though the day has long since ended, Leah does not yet feel the pull of sleep.
Anna, now finished tidying, clears her throat, hesitant. "Shall I fetch you some tea before bed, my lady?"
Leah shakes her head. "No. I am not tired yet."
Thomas smirks as if to say 'Of course you are not.'
She does not give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. Instead, she folds the letter with great care, putting it aside as she considers Ciel's words once more. The season stretches ahead of her, tiresome in its predictability, a game she must play but has no real stake in. Her success is inevitable, a mere formality. But, for all of London's whispered speculation, for all the suitors who will attempt to charm her, the outcome has already been decided.
She is Leah Barrett and she belongs to Ciel Phantomhive.
The crisp fold of Ciel's letter still lingers between Leah's fingers, the weight of his words settling into her mind like a stone sinking into still water. She had expected something composed, perfunctory—perhaps even a touch distant, given the nature of his work at Weston—but there was a warmth there, however reserved. Pride, too, though whether it stemmed from her presentation before the Queen or Daniel's endless crowing about it, she isn't certain. It does not matter.
She turns her attention to the second envelope. This one is heavier, its wax seal uneven as though pressed in a hurry and she knows at once that it will be full of nonsense. A sigh escapes her as she breaks the seal. Daniel writes in a hand both careless and bold, the ink smudged in places where his enthusiasm has outpaced his patience. The opening lines confirm her expectations at once.
"Leah, you insufferable creature—"
She exhales sharply, something like a laugh catching at the edges of it. Already, she can picture the self-satisfied smirk he must have worn while scrawling it down, no doubt reveling in whatever grievance he has conjured to pester her with this time.
"I am utterly convinced that you orchestrated my suffering from the moment I set foot back at Weston. It is the only explanation. Not a day has passed without some fresh torment befalling me and I lay each and every one of them at your feet. Do you recall that imbecile, Waverly, whom I have been saddled with for a roommate? I swear on all that is holy, he chews like an ox and snores like one too. If I am to perish within these hallowed halls, know that it was not the rigors of academia that felled me, nor the depravity of my peers, but this single, abhorrent creature depriving me of my rest."
Leah presses her knuckles to her mouth, shoulders trembling with silent laughter. She can all but hear the indignant drawl in his voice and the dramatic emphasis on every other word.
"Of course, it is not simply Waverly conspiring against me. No, the entire student body seems hell-bent on making my life miserable. Did I tell you that I was nearly trampled on the way to Latin? The students here have no sense of decorum and no concept of personal space! I was barely upright before another horde came barreling through. It is a miracle I am alive to write this letter at all."
There is a pause as she shifts, the silk of her nightgown cool against her skin. Anna, who has remained dutifully silent throughout her reading, busies herself with folding Leah's discarded garments from earlier in the evening. The room is quiet save for the occasional crackle of the hearth and the scratch of parchment beneath Leah's fingertips.
"On the subject of miracles, it appears your dear Phantomhive has managed to retain his reputation as an unapproachable specter. There was some commotion last week regarding his dormitory. No one knows precisely what happened, but the rumors are delightfully absurd. One boy swears he saw a man lurking about and another claims to have heard voices speaking in some unknown tongue. If I had to guess, I would say Ciel is merely being his usual, secretive self, but I admit, it is amusing to watch them work themselves into a frenzy over it."
Leah's lips quirk. 'That sounds like Ciel.' The rumors surrounding him have always bordered on the ridiculous—half-truths and exaggerations that he does nothing to correct. It suits him to be seen as unknowable, just as it suits him to remain a step removed from the rest of them.
"But enough of that. Tell me about your debut. I expect the Barrett name to be spoken in nothing less than awed whispers by now. Did any poor soul make the mistake of attempting to outshine you? I imagine it was a rather short-lived endeavor if so. And what of our dear parents? Were they tolerable, or did Father find some fresh way to humiliate us in polite company? You must tell me everything, Leah, or I shall be forced to resort to secondhand accounts and we both know how dreadful that would be."
The amusement in his words is unmistakable, but beneath it, there is something else. A genuine interest, perhaps even a measure of concern. The smile lingering on her lips softens. Daniel may be a perpetual nuisance, but he is still her brother and in his own way, he cares. More than their parents, certainly.
She taps her fingers against the parchment, considering how best to respond. There is much to tell—her first ball of the season, the endless parade of suitors, the way Florence had watched her like a hawk the entire evening as though waiting for her to slip. Some part of her wants to downplay it, to brush it all aside as tedious, but she knows Daniel would not be satisfied with that.
"Shall I bring the writing set, Mistress?" Anna's voice is gentle and expectant.
Leah blinks, glancing up as if only now recalling the maid's presence. For a moment, she considers answering, but instead, she folds the letter neatly and sets it aside.
"Not yet," she says, voice quiet but firm.
There is no rush. 'Daniel can wait.' Anna nods, saying nothing more as she continues tidying the room.
Leaning back slightly, Leah's gaze drifts toward the window. The night beyond is dark and still, the distant glow of lanterns lining the streets below offering little in the way of warmth. Her mind wanders. To Daniel, to Ciel, to the weeks ahead. The season has only just begun and she already feels as though she has been doing this for months.
Without another word, she stands from her seat, grabs Ciel's letter, and makes her way over to her bed, dropping herself down dramatically. The firelight casts flickering shadows across the silk-draped walls of Leah's bedroom, the glow softened by the gauzy canopy that drapes over her grand bed. The scent of lavender lingers in the air, courtesy of the sachets Anna placed beneath her pillows earlier in the evening. It is late enough that the house has settled into silence but not so late that Leah feels particularly inclined to sleep.
Now, she sits atop the plush bedding with her legs tucked beneath her, running her fingers over the edges of Ciel's letter for the third time. The paper is crisp despite how often she's opened it to read small sections again, her touch always careful. She takes comfort in the weight of it, as though holding it alone is enough to remind her of the certainty of her engagement.
Anna moves about the room with quiet efficiency, straightening things that need no straightening and smoothing out the fabric of Leah's unused dressing gown draped over the vanity chair. She has already braided Leah's hair for the night, the plait falling over one shoulder, tied with a ribbon that matches her nightgown. When she passes the bed, she pauses, glancing down at the letter in Leah's hands.
"You will wrinkle it if you keep handling it so," she says with a mild voice.
Leah doesn't look up. "I won't."
"Then at least put it aside. If you are not going to sleep, you should rest your eyes."
The suggestion is met with a soft sigh, but Leah does as she is told, placing the letter atop her bedside table. She leans back against the pillows, arms loosely crossed, watching as Anna moves to blow out one of the candles.
From his place by the hearth, Thomas watches the exchange with a look of passive amusement. The demon is leaning against the mantel, arms folded, perfectly at ease in a position that would earn any ordinary servant a reprimand. But Thomas is no ordinary servant and Leah does not bother correcting him.
"I suppose it is a relief that your affections are not so easily swayed," he remarks, a trace of mockery in his voice. "It would be terribly dull to go through all this fuss only for you to set your sights elsewhere before the season's end."
Leah turns her head just enough to glare at him. "Do not be stupid."
"That is not an answer," Thomas gives an insufferable smirk.
Anna cuts in before Leah can retort, her tone as level as always. "You do speak nonsense, Thomas. The Mistress' engagement has been set for some time. There is no reason to suggest she would entertain another match."
The words are spoken plainly, but there is a firmness to them that makes Thomas' smirk widen. "Of course. I am merely making conversation."
"You are being insufferable," Leah mutters, shifting onto her side.
"Am I?" he tilts his head, pretending to consider. "Then allow me to be of some use. Shall I read you a story before bed? A fable, perhaps? Or one of those dreadful French romances you pretend not to like?"
Anna exhales through her nose, unimpressed. "The Mistress is not a child."
"I think she would rather suffer my storytelling than listen to you nag her about sleeping."
Leah presses her fingers to her temple. "Both of you are unbearable."
For all her irritation, the familiarity of their bickering soothes her more than she is willing to admit. It is easier to let Thomas' teasing roll off her shoulders when she knows there is no true malice in it. Anna's presence, as steady as ever, is its own comfort. She has never had to worry about hiding her moods from either of them nor has she ever needed to measure her words with caution the way she must with her parents.
The thought reminds her of the dinner earlier in the evening, the way her father's mood had been mercurial at best and her mother's attention drifting everywhere but her. Even Daniel's letter, however affectionate, carries the weight of their family's expectations. It is only here, in the quiet of her room, that she can allow herself to feel tired.
Anna adjusts the blankets around her without a word, smoothing the silk as though Leah is much younger than she is. Though she would normally protest, she does not tonight, merely shifting slightly beneath the covers.
"You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow," Anna reminds her. "It would do you well to sleep."
"I know."
"You will want to be at your best. Your gown is already prepared."
Leah huffs a soft laugh. "You say that as though I have not seen it."
Anna does not dignify that with a response, simply reaching for the last candle by the bedside. Before she can put it out, Leah catches her wrist, pausing her movement.
There is a hesitation in the way she speaks next, her voice quieter. "Stay for a little while."
Anna blinks, clearly not expecting the request. Leah is not the sort to ask for company. If anything, she usually prefers to be left alone once her nightly routine is done, but there is a subtle vulnerability in her expression that makes refusal impossible.
"If you like," Anna says simply, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.
Thomas watches them with vague interest before making his own decision. Rather than taking his leave, he moves to sit in the chair nearest the bed, one leg casually crossed over the other. "Since we are all indulging sentimentality this evening, I may as well join."
Leah groans. "Must you?"
"I think I must."
She does not argue, only sighs as she sinks further into the pillows. Anna sits in composed silence, hands folded neatly in her lap while Thomas lounges in a way that is just short of disrespectful. It is an odd scene, given their respective roles, but there is an easy familiarity between them that does not require explanation.
For a while, they say nothing. The fire crackles, the candle flickers, and Leah listens to the quiet sounds of the house settling around them. When she speaks again, her voice is softer and less sharp than before.
"This season will be dreadful, won't it?" she whispers.
Anna smooths a crease in her skirt. "It will be as dreadful as you make it."
Thomas smirks. "So, quite dreadful, then."
Leah glares at him half-heartedly. "I ought to have you dismissed."
"You won't."
She exhales, eyes drifting half-shut.
"No, I suppose not."
Notes:
slightly uneventful chapter, but there doesn’t need to be a thousand things going on anyway. we’re here to have fun :3
and if anyone asks, yes, i did give leah a love interest for this arc. why? who knows, this arc was planned nearly a year in advance i can’t tell you what past me was thinking😭 all i know is that we’ll still have a great time
Chapter 36: | 35 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl bonds with friends. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
got a new phone the other day :3 kinda adjusting to it. i’m very sleepy as i type this
still don’t have much to yap about sadly :’( i’ve still been sleeping half the time. if i’m not sleeping, i’m writing or playing a game😭 i’m having fun with this arc, so that’s a bonus
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-five ! )
"This shade of blue does not suit me in the slightest."
It is a peaceful morning in London, full of people merrily walking down the streets and going about leisurely activities. Inside a dressmaker shop, Leah and Vivienne try on various gowns in search of new tastes for upcoming events with Anna in tow.
Leah's tone is clipped as she inspects her reflection, gaze dragging over the sea of fabric draped across her form. The silk is a soft, powdery hue, delicate as morning mist, but the moment it touches her skin, it washes her out completely. Even the fine embroidery along the hem and bodice does nothing to improve the matter. She resists the urge to sigh. 'Why must dressmakers insist on such insipid colors?'
Madame Fournier, the esteemed modiste responsible for half the gowns seen in the ton, clucks her tongue as she steps forward, hands clasped before her in quiet disapproval. "Mademoiselle Barrett, the shade is most fashionable this season."
"Then it is a pity that fashion and my complexion are at such odds," Leah replies dryly, tilting her head. "I believe we shall have to find another solution."
Seated nearby with a cup of tea in hand, Vivienne makes a noncommittal noise. "Try the lilac next. You ought to have at least one gown in a softer shade, Leah. It would do you well not to appear so severe at every gathering."
Leah offers her mother a practiced, sweet smile—one she has perfected over years of feigning amiability. "Of course, Mama," she says lightly, though she does not intend to entertain any shade that makes her look even more like a corpse.
Standing a respectful distance away, Anna watches on with her usual mildness. She has been attending Leah since childhood, and by now, she knows well enough when her mistress is merely humoring others.
As the attendants begin unfastening the blue gown, the quiet murmur of conversation drifts from the other side of the room. Leah pays little attention at first, more concerned with ensuring the next gown is something remotely flattering, but then a familiar name catches her ear.
"Lady Eleanor has been utterly inconsolable, or so I have heard."
"Her mother must be beside herself. To think, after all her careful arrangements, the engagement would be broken so cruelly."
"Men can be so fickle. The Earl of Wexley was singing her praises only a fortnight ago. And now? Engaged to Miss Beatrice Hargreaves instead. Imagine!"
Interest piqued, Leah allows her gaze to flicker toward the source of the conversation. Two young ladies, both clad in finery that suggests they come from respectable families, are seated near a display of lace gloves. They lean in toward one another, voices hushed, but not nearly hushed enough to prevent eavesdropping.
"Lady Eleanor is ruined," one of them whispers, shaking her head. "Everyone knows a broken engagement reflects poorly on the lady, not the gentleman. And Wexley did not even have the decency to wait a respectable amount of time before announcing his new betrothal. It is as if she has been discarded entirely."
Leah feigns disinterest, allowing her attendants to pull the blue silk from her shoulders and replace it with the next gown, but her mind lingers on the gossip. Lady Eleanor Mayfair—sweet, soft-spoken, wholly unremarkable beyond the fact that her parents had secured her a match with a wealthy earl. Or they had, at least. What a disaster for her. A humiliation.
"I suppose it is fortunate Miss Barrett does not have such worries," the second girl says, and Leah stills. "A match with the Earl of Phantomhive of all people. And at such a young age! One would think his attentions would have gone elsewhere by now."
Her fingers tighten slightly against the fabric of her skirts.
"Oh, you know how it is," the first one says with a little laugh. "A man like that could change his mind at any moment, he has done it before. Not every engagement ends in marriage."
Leah exhales through her nose, composing herself before she says something sharp enough to cause a scene. She knows how this game is played. If she reacts poorly, it will only lend credence to their words.
Instead, she allows the modiste's assistants to finish fastening the lilac gown, then turns slightly toward the mirror, pretending to assess the fit. Their words are meaningless. Ciel is not Wexley and she is certainly not Lady Eleanor.
Vivienne, however, has clearly caught wind of the conversation as well. She does not look up from her tea, but there is the barest flicker of amusement in her eyes as she finally speaks. "Leah, dear, do stand properly. Slouching makes you look uncertain."
Leah's expression does not waver as she straightens. "Of course, Mama."
The two gossiping women are watching now. Clearly, they had not expected to be overheard. Leah meets their eyes through the mirror, gaze cool and entirely unimpressed as she lets a slow, knowing smile curve her lips as they look away first.
Anna, ever quiet, steps forward to adjust a sleeve. "The fit is good," she says simply. "Shall I fetch the rose-colored silk next?"
Leah hums in thought before nodding. "Yes, I believe you shall."
The conversation behind them fades into something else, something about a baron's daughter and an ill-advised rendezvous, but Leah has heard enough and she will certainly not forget it. Her mind almost drifts to another place until the sharp sound of a bell chiming above the shop's entrance draws Leah's attention. A flurry of pastel silk and golden curls sweeps through the threshold, accompanied by the unmistakable trill of Elizabeth Midford's voice. Just a few steps behind her, Francis quietly follows.
"Oh, Madame Fournier, I must see the new silks you promised! You know how desperately I need something perfect for the opening ball."
There is no need to turn and confirm the identity of the newcomer. Elizabeth's voice carries through the shop with an ease that suggests she has never once considered whether or not she might be speaking too loudly.
"Ah, Lady Midford," the modiste greets her with the exaggerated warmth she reserves for her wealthiest clientele. "You are in luck. We have just received a new shipment from France."
"I knew it! Oh, I simply cannot wait to see them," a pause, then a gasp. "Leah!"
Elizabeth's excitement is tangible as she crosses the shop with a determined purpose, her skirts swishing in an exuberant rustle of lace. "What a delight to find you here! And trying on gowns, no less. How wonderful!"
Leah barely has time to brace herself before Elizabeth takes both of her hands in an enthusiastic clasp. The force of her arrival is like a gust of spring wind, sweet-scented and entirely uncontainable.
"I must know, how goes your season thus far?" Elizabeth asks, her green eyes alight with curiosity. "You are already the envy of half the debutantes. I have heard no fewer than three ladies lament that you have stolen away every eligible suitor before the season has even begun!"
A delicate brow lifts in practiced amusement. "That is quite the accusation," Leah muses, allowing a hint of a smile to grace her lips. "I was not aware I had done anything of the sort."
Elizabeth laughs, light and airy. "Oh, do not play coy. Everyone knows that you are already spoken for, but that has not stopped men from fawning over you. Why, just yesterday, Lord Parker was singing your praises at tea! And Baron Redford—well, I ought not to repeat what he said, but rest assured, he is most smitten."
A flicker of irritation threatens to creep in at the mention of more unwanted admirers, but Leah tamps it down with well-practiced ease. It is to be expected, she supposes. High society loves its spectacles and a young woman with fortune, beauty, and a secured engagement is precisely the sort of thing they like to gossip over.
Vivienne, who has been observing with a detached sort of amusement, takes a slow sip of her tea. "It seems my daughter is quite the sensation this season," she muses, though there is a note of mild satisfaction in her tone.
Elizabeth beams. "Oh, but of course! Leah has always been most admired."
"How fortunate for me," Leah remarks dryly, earning a knowing look from Anna, who has just returned with a rose-colored gown in hand.
The sight of the new fabric shifts Elizabeth's attention in an instant. "Oh! That color would suit you beautifully," she declares. "You must have a gown made of it. Ciel will be beside himself when he sees you in such a shade."
Both girls smile at the mention of the boy, but Leah’s is far less noticeable. "It is rather fetching," she concedes, tracing a gloved hand over the fabric's soft folds. "I will have to see how it looks once it is fitted properly."
Elizabeth nods enthusiastically. "It is certain to be divine. Everything suits you, Leah."
The flattery is effortless, if slightly excessive. Leah humors it with a graceful incline of her head, though she is saved from responding when Madame Fournier returns with a selection of delicate lace gloves.
"I believe these would be most fitting, Lady Midford," the modiste says, presenting them with a flourish.
Elizabeth turns her attention to the offerings with the same bright excitement she bestows upon all matters of fashion. As she sorts through them, she continues her lively chatter, shifting topics with little warning.
"Oh, but I must tell you, Leah—you simply must attend Lady Norwood's luncheon this week. Everyone will be there and you know how dull these things are without someone to suffer through them with me."
A low hum of consideration escapes Leah as she steps aside to allow Anna to assist her with the next gown. "I will consider it."
Elizabeth pouts. "You always say that."
"I do often attend, do I not?"
"Yes, but only because I insist!"
The exaggerated exasperation earns a small laugh from Leah, who shakes her head. "You are insistent, that much is true."
Elizabeth brightens at the laugh, clearly pleased by the response. "Well, someone must ensure you do not spend the entire season suffering through tedious events with no enjoyment."
Leah arches a brow. "And you consider yourself my source of enjoyment?"
"Naturally!" Elizabeth grins. "Who else would dare tease you so boldly?"
"Indeed," Leah murmurs, allowing just the faintest hint of a smirk.
The conversation continues, light and effortless, as Elizabeth chatters about upcoming events, recent scandals, and the latest trends sweeping through high society. Leah listens with practiced patience, responding when necessary, and humoring where appropriate. It is not unpleasant, Elizabeth is not without charm, but it is exhausting in its own way.
Still, there are worse fates than enduring Elizabeth Midford's good-natured ramblings in a dressmaker's shop. Besides, there are far more pressing matters on the horizon.
The fitting continues with little change in the energy of the room. Elizabeth, still caught up in her delight over Leah's apparent triumph over the season, has since turned her attention to the latest fabrics brought in from France. She handles them with great care, chattering all the while, her voice light and full of easy amusement.
Madame Fournier busies herself with pinning the final adjustments to Leah's gown, her hands deft and precise. "This silhouette is most becoming on you, Lady Barrett," she remarks, stepping back to assess her work. "The fit is near perfect. Only the waist needs the slightest refinement."
A satisfied nod is all the response Leah offers, she has long since grown accustomed to the dressmaker's expertise and trusts her judgment more than most. The gown, though unfinished, already sits beautifully against her frame, the fabric catching the candlelight in soft, luminous waves.
Across the room, Elizabeth holds up a delicate swatch of embroidered silk, pressing it against her sleeve as she considers. "Do you think this shade is too pale for me?" she asks, tilting her head in thought. "I do adore soft colors, but I fear it may make me look rather wan in the wrong light."
A thoughtful hum comes from Leah as she casts a glance toward her. "You suit brighter hues best," she answers simply. "Pastels wash you out."
Elizabeth sighs, dramatically setting the fabric aside. "You are right, of course. You always are."
"Not always. Hardly always," Leah corrects, though amusement flickers in her expression.
The shop has grown quieter as the other patrons have taken their leave, leaving only the seamstresses working in the background and the occasional sound of rustling skirts. Even Vivienne seems to have exhausted her interest in the proceedings, now idly flicking through the latest French fashion plates, pausing only to murmur an occasional comment.
Anna, ever patient, watches the final adjustments being made with quiet attentiveness. "Shall I have the carriage prepared soon?" she asks. "It is growing late."
The reminder is a welcome one. The fitting has stretched on longer than Leah anticipated and while she has no particular complaints, she has little desire to linger much longer. A final glance in the mirror confirms that the gown is, as expected, exquisite, but her interest in it has already begun to wane.
Elizabeth, however, is still not quite ready to part ways. "Oh, before you leave—will you be attending Lady Cook's masquerade next week?" she asks, her expression bright with anticipation. "I know it is certain to be the event of the season and I should be most put out if you were not there."
There is no doubt that the masquerade will be grand. Lady Cook is known for her extravagant taste, and the entire ton has been abuzz with speculation over what marvels will be on display that evening. Leah considers the question for only a moment before offering a nod. "I will be there."
Elizabeth claps her hands together in delight. "Splendid! Oh, we must coordinate our ensembles. Imagine the stir we would cause!"
The thought of making an even greater spectacle of herself is hardly appealing, but Leah merely humors her with a small smile. "We shall see."
Madame Fournier steps back, signaling that the final pins are in place and the gown may now be carefully removed. Anna moves to assist, her hands practiced and efficient, and within moments Leah is freed from the elaborate layers of fabric. A sense of relief settles over her as she steps away from the fitting platform, rolling her shoulders subtly to ease the tension that comes with standing still for so long.
Vivienne closes her fashion plates with a quiet snap, signaling that she too is prepared to take her leave. "Come along, Leah," she says, rising gracefully. "We have taken up enough of Madame Fournier's time."
Elizabeth, sensing that their departure is imminent, offers one last squeeze of Leah's hand. "Do not forget about Lady Norwood's luncheon," she reminds her, eyes gleaming. "I shall expect you there."
A noncommittal hum is the only answer Leah gives, but it seems to satisfy her well enough. The final arrangements are made, the necessary payments discussed, and soon enough, Leah steps out of the shop and into the crisp afternoon air. The cool breeze is a welcome contrast to the warmth inside and she exhales slowly, allowing herself a brief moment of respite.
The social season hasn't even gone on for a month, yet already it has begun to feel like an endless parade of gowns, suitors, and carefully measured words. The attention, the scrutiny, the expectation—it is nothing she has not anticipated, yet that does little to make it any less exhausting.
Still, she reminds herself, there is an end to it. With any luck, it will come sooner rather than later.
═╬
The Barrett townhouse is lively with the hum of polite conversation and the clinking of fine china. Afternoon tea is in full swing, the drawing room bathed in golden light from the high windows, illuminating the delicate pastries and sugared fruits arranged with precision upon the table. The scent of fresh flowers mingles with the aroma of steeping tea and despite the refined atmosphere, the air carries an undercurrent of hushed speculation and well-veiled scrutiny.
Sitting near the center of the gathering, Leah's back is straight and her hand delicately rests upon her lap, maintaining an air of effortless composure. At her side, Henrietta Sánchez leans in slightly, her smaller frame half-shadowed by the drape of Leah's skirts. Though their postures suggest nothing but decorum, the occasional twitch of their lips and the faintest shake of their shoulders, betrays their amusement. It is only when a particularly absurd remark from across the room reaches their ears that their restraint collapses entirely.
Henrietta stifles a laugh against the rim of her teacup, while Leah, not quite as successful, presses a gloved hand to her mouth, shoulders trembling. The source of their mirth? An overzealous matron loudly proclaiming that a lady's worth is measured solely by the elegance of her embroidery continues her speech, oblivious to the quiet mockery occurring just a few seats away.
"I cannot bear it," Henrietta murmurs under her breath, voice thick with laughter. "If I must endure another moment of this senseless prattle, I shall surely expire."
Leah exhales, lowering her hand. "Do hold on a while longer. Your untimely demise would be most inconvenient for me."
A snicker escapes Henrietta as she sets down her cup, composing herself just enough to adopt a look of faux solemnity. "You are right, of course. I must persevere, if only for your sake."
The two dissolve into quiet laughter once more and for a moment, the absurdity of the social season, the expectations, and the ever-present scrutiny fades into the background. Leah allows herself to bask in it—the rare ease of companionship unburdened by pretense.
Sadly, indulgence can only last so long. Across the room, her mother's gaze flickers toward her, subtle but unmistakable. The delicate porcelain of Vivienne's cup barely moves as she takes a sip, but Leah understands the silent summons well enough. With a measured inhale, she tamps down the lingering amusement in her expression and shifts her focus.
The conversation around them flows seamlessly, topics shifting from fashion to the latest suitors vying for attention. It is inevitable, then, that Henry Moore's name surfaces.
"He is quite promising," one lady remarks, fanning herself lightly. "A well-mannered gentleman, and a rather fine dancer."
"Handsome as well," another chimes in. "Though I wonder if his estate is as grand as they say."
Vivienne, ever the picture of composed interest, tilts her head slightly. "One cannot base a match on such shallow considerations alone," she muses. "Character, ambition, and, of course, the ability to provide—these are what truly matter."
It is a pointed remark, one that subtly steers the discussion toward Leah without naming her outright. The implication is clear.
Leah meets her mother's gaze evenly, offering a carefully neutral expression. "I have not given Mr. Moore much thought."
A slight furrow mars Vivienne's brow. "Oh? I would have assumed he made an impression."
"He did not," the words are simple, unembellished, and entirely indifferent. Leah does not care for Henry Moore, nor does she see any reason to feign otherwise. Ciel is her betrothed. This season, despite its intricacies and its expectations, holds little real weight for her future.
Vivienne's lips press into a thin line, though she does not push further, not yet. Instead, she shifts her attention back to the broader conversation, nodding along to some remark about eligible bachelors. Leah lets her focus drift, knowing well enough that this matter is not yet settled. Her mother will circle back to it in time.
Turning her attention back to Henrietta, she finds the girl watching her with barely concealed amusement. "Do you suppose," Henrietta muses, voice just above a whisper, "that if I were to spill tea upon my dress, I might be permitted to leave?"
Leah huffs, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. "If only it were so simple."
Henrietta sighs, tracing a finger along the edge of her saucer. "Alas. Then I suppose we must endure."
Endure they do, though not without finding moments of levity. Beneath the veil of propriety, between the measured responses and careful nods, they exchange sharp glances and biting observations, their mirth a quiet rebellion against the monotony of it all.
It is only when the conversation takes yet another tedious turn—this time toward the subject of lace patterns—that Leah exhales, setting her cup down with deliberate grace. "Shall we take a turn about the garden?"
Henrietta's eyes brighten with gratitude. "An excellent idea."
They rise together, their departure unobtrusive enough to be excused without question. As they step onto the terrace, the crisp air offers a welcome reprieve from the stifling warmth of the drawing room. The garden stretches before them, a carefully curated display of blooming roses and neatly trimmed hedges, sunlight casting long shadows upon the stone pathways.
Henrietta stretches her arms overhead with a quiet groan. "I do not know how you tolerate it."
A wry smile plays at Leah's lips. "I have long since mastered the art of feigned patience."
"Well, I have not." Henrietta shoots her a sidelong glance, smirking. "It is a miracle I have not yet been cast from polite society."
Leah scoffs lightly. "I am certain you could charm your way back in with little effort."
A pleased hum leaves Henrietta's lips. "I shall keep that in mind."
They walk in companionable silence for a moment, the rustling leaves and distant chatter from the house providing a gentle backdrop. Despite the day's demands, despite the expectations that loom over every interaction, here, in the open air, there is ease.
Henrietta tucks her hands behind her back, gaze flicking toward Leah. "You truly feel nothing for Moore, then?"
The question lacks the weight of scrutiny; it is mere curiosity, a friend's idle inquiry.
Leah does not hesitate. "Nothing at all."
Henrietta nods, satisfied. "Good. He is rather dull."
A quiet laugh escapes her before Leah shakes her head, gaze flicking toward the horizon. "Even if he were not, it would make no difference."
"No, I suppose not," Henrietta concedes, watching her closely. "You and Phantomhive—"
Leah cuts her a sharp glance, but there is no mockery in Henrietta's expression. Only knowing amusement, a glint of something that suggests she understands far more than Leah would ever admit aloud.
She scoffs lightly, looking away. "Say nothing."
Henrietta grins, tucking her arm through Leah's as they continue their leisurely pace. "Very well. I shall spare you."
It is a small mercy. But Leah knows it will not last forever. Sunlight filters through the latticework of tree branches overhead, dappling the stone pathway with shifting patches of gold. The afternoon breeze carries the scent of roses and damp earth, the air cool despite the lingering warmth of the season. Leah continues to stroll at an unhurried pace, her skirts rustling softly against the gravel as she moves. Beside her, Henrietta glances back toward the tea pavilion with a smirk that suggests she also feels no remorse for abandoning the insipid chatter of the other ladies.
"It was nearly unbearable," Henrietta sighs, plucking a low-hanging blossom from a nearby hedge as she changes the topic. "I do not know how they find so much to say about lace trim and embroidery techniques. Would they not rather discuss something of substance?"
Leah snorts. "They have little else to occupy their minds. You know as well as I that most of them have spent their entire lives preparing for this season alone. What should they do if not prattle on about silks and ribbons?"
"They could at least pretend to possess thoughts beyond their own gowns," Henrietta mutters, twirling the stem of the flower between her fingers.
A group of doves takes flight from the grass ahead, their wings beating against the stillness. The two girls watch them for a moment before continuing along the garden's winding paths. It is a rare bit of peace, removed from the carefully managed performance of the social season. Here, at least, Leah can breathe without minding every word that leaves her lips.
Henrietta slows her pace, eyeing the nearby pond with a thoughtful expression. The surface glimmers beneath the afternoon sun, reflecting the sky in perfect clarity. A handful of koi drift lazily beneath the water, their bright scales flashing as they turn.
"You know," Henrietta says, tapping her chin with exaggerated contemplation, "I have always wondered whether it is possible to make those ridiculous little ducks scatter in every direction at once."
Leah follows her gaze to a cluster of waterfowl preening at the pond's edge. The birds are entirely undisturbed by their presence, nestled among reeds and lily pads without a care in the world. It is a tranquil scene—one that should remain undisturbed. But then, what is the point of escaping tedious conversation if not to indulge in a little amusement?
"You would simply have to startle them from the center, I imagine," Leah muses, tapping a gloved finger against her lips. "They would have nowhere to go but outward. Though I suspect you mean to conduct an experiment rather than accept mere theory."
Henrietta grins. "Naturally."
A glance around the garden confirms that no one is within immediate view. A few distant figures linger along the far path, but none seem inclined to approach. It is enough to embolden them both.
Henrietta gathers the folds of her gown and steps lightly onto the low stones lining the pond's edge. Leah watches with growing amusement as her friend inches closer to the water, her slippers perilously close to slipping from the uneven rock.
"Henrietta," she drawls, arms folded across her corseted bodice. "If you fall in, I shall not assist you. You will simply have to wade out on your own, dripping and miserable."
Henrietta huffs. "Have a little faith in my grace, will you?"
Before Leah can offer a retort, Henrietta raises her hands and claps twice, a sharp and sudden sound echoing across the pond's surface. The ducks react at once, honking in alarm as they take flight in a chaotic flurry of wings and splashing water. A startled koi leaps clear from the pond before vanishing beneath the ripples. The commotion is magnificent, precisely the absurd spectacle Henrietta had envisioned.
Leah laughs, a rare and uninhibited sound. It is cut short when Henrietta, caught up in her triumph, shifts her weight just a fraction too far forward. Her foot slips against the damp stone and with a shriek, she tumbles unceremoniously into the water.
For a heartbeat, there is only silence. The garden, so briefly disturbed, falls back into stillness. Henrietta surfaces with a gasp, her dark hair plastered to her forehead and her gown billowing around her in the murky water.
Leah blinks, then doubles over with laughter. "Oh, how marvelous," she manages between gasps. "You wished to scatter the ducks and instead joined them."
"You are horrid," Henrietta sputters, wiping water from her face. "Help me out, you wretch."
Leah steps closer, peering down at the spectacle with obvious delight. "And risk being pulled in myself? I think not."
A dark look flashes across Henrietta's face—one Leah knows all too well. Too late, she realizes her mistake. Henrietta lunges, grabbing hold of her wrist with both hands and yanking downward. Leah barely has time to gasp before she plunges into the pond.
The water is colder than expected, the weight of her skirts dragging her down before she kicks frantically to the surface. It almost brings back memories of the Campania. She emerges spluttering, curls plastered to her face, utterly and completely drenched. Henrietta, floating beside her, looks far too pleased with herself.
Leah wipes water from her eyes and glares. "You are a menace."
"You deserved it," Henrietta counters, unrepentant.
They stare at each other for a moment before both dissolve into laughter, the absurdity of the situation impossible to ignore. Leah cannot remember the last time she felt so unreservedly childish. It is a welcome, fleeting escape from the expectations that weigh so heavily upon her.
Eventually, Henrietta paddles toward the shallows, gripping a stone ledge to pull herself upright. Leah follows, though the effort of wading through her sodden gown is nothing short of miserable. The moment she reaches solid ground, she wrings out her skirts with a grimace.
"We are ruined," she declares. "Absolutely ruined."
Henrietta flicks water at her. "Speak for yourself. I think I look rather fetching."
"You look like a drowned cat."
"And you resemble something dredged from the Thames."
The sound of distant voices drifting through the garden reminds them both of the reality they now face. Someone is bound to stumble upon them eventually.
Leah sighs, glancing toward the estate with resignation. "We had best make our retreat before we are caught. I refuse to explain why we appear as though we have been fished from a well."
Henrietta groans, rising to her feet with a wet squelch. "Do you think anyone will notice if we flee through the servant's entrance?"
"It is our only hope."
Side by side, they hurry toward the less-frequented paths, laughter still bubbling between them. Despite the discomfort of their drenched clothes and the knowledge that they will soon face the consequences of their antics, neither regrets a single moment.
═╬
Evening washes over London's piece of the world, prompting any sane person to begin winding down for the way. The Barrett family is no stranger to this. Maybe even elated to sleep after a long afternoon of tea and conversation.
Bathwater sways gently as Leah leans back, her head resting against the porcelain rim. The room is warm, the air thick with the scent of lavender and rose oil, steam curling lazily around the candlelit space. The soft glow flickers against the pale blue walls, casting shifting shadows across the gilded mirror above the vanity. The day has been long—filled with tedious conversation, forced pleasantries, and the ever-present weight of expectation—but now, she has a moment of peace.
Anna kneels beside the tub, sleeves rolled up, carefully pouring a fresh pitcher of warm water over Leah's bare shoulder. It spills down her back in a steady stream, washing away the remnants of perfumed soap. She works methodically as she always does, her hands steady and sure, though there is something different in her manner tonight. A slight furrow in her brow. A hesitation in her movements. Leah notices, but for a time, she does not comment.
"Your hair is getting long again," Anna murmurs, running a careful hand through the damp strands, fingers detangling with practiced ease. "Shall I trim it soon?"
Leah hums in thought, eyes half-lidded. "Perhaps. Not too much, Ciel prefers it long," there is a small pause. "Though, I think I prefer it shorter. Mama would have my head if I dared to cut it at a time like this. The last time I did, her heart nearly stopped"
A faint smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she says his name. The warmth of the water is pleasant, but the warmth she feels at the thought of him is something else entirely. She does not need to go through the motions of the season as other girls do, searching for a match and feigning delight at empty compliments. Her future is secured with someone she actually wants. It is a privilege few in her position can claim.
Anna's hands still for the briefest moment before she reaches for a comb. "As you wish," she says, voice even, though something lingers beneath it.
Silence stretches between them, comfortable but not quite settled. The quiet allows Leah to hear the faint sounds beyond the bathroom walls—the muffled voices of servants finishing their nightly duties, the distant clatter of the last dishes being put away, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hall. The townhouse is winding down for the evening, much like its occupants.
The comb glides through her hair with ease, each stroke gentle and deliberate. Anna has been doing this for years, long enough to know the precise pressure that soothes rather than pulls, the exact rhythm that lulls Leah into an almost meditative state. But, tonight there is an absent-mindedness in her touch, a subtle distraction that does not go unnoticed.
"You're quiet," Leah remarks after a moment, tilting her head just slightly to glance at Anna from the corner of her eye. "More than usual."
The maid exhales softly, as if she had not realized she was being observed. "I was only thinking."
"About?"
There is a pause, not long, but telling. Then, a measured response. "My future, I suppose."
Leah blinks, surprised by the admission. Anna rarely speaks of herself beyond what is necessary. She is steady, dependable, and often dull in the way that long-serving maids tend to be—always present yet never obtrusive. It is rare for her to express much of anything personal, much less something as uncertain as her own future.
Intrigued, Leah shifts in the tub, causing ripples to disturb the still surface. "And what of it?" she presses, propping an elbow on the rim and resting her chin against her palm. "Are you planning to leave me?"
It is meant as a jest, but there is an undeniable thread of curiosity woven into the words.
Anna shakes her head, though she does not quite meet Leah's gaze. "No, of course not. But I am nearly twenty-five. My mother writes often, reminding me that most girls my age are already wed." A pause, then a quieter confession: "She expects me to return home before long to find a husband."
The notion is almost absurd. Anna, married? Leah has never considered it before, though perhaps she should have. She has known the woman since childhood, has spent more time in her company than nearly anyone else, and yet, she has never once wondered what Anna's life beyond this house might look like.
"Do you wish to marry?" she asks, genuine curiosity threading her voice.
A thoughtful silence follows. Anna continues combing through Leah's hair, eyes fixed on the strands as if considering her response with great care. "I am not certain," she admits at last. "I have never had the time to think on it, but I do know that I would rather choose for myself than have it chosen for me."
Leah huffs a quiet laugh. "Then you are already better off than most. Choice is a luxury," she shifts again, resting her arms on the rim of the tub. "And if you did marry, would you leave service entirely? Or would you simply return home with a husband in tow?"
Anna hesitates, then shakes her head. "I do not know," she says again, though this time, there is something wistful in it. "But I do know that I should like to decide before my mother decides for me."
Leah watches her for a moment, the candlelight flickering over her face, casting shadows beneath her eyes. It is rare for Anna to speak so openly, rarer still for her to express a desire beyond the duties of her station. The realization is strangely sobering. Leah has always assumed that Anna would simply remain, as constant as the walls of this house, as unchanging as the seasons. The idea that she too might one day leave unsettles something deep within her.
"Well," Leah says at length, letting her head tilt back against the porcelain once more, eyes slipping shut. "If you do marry, I expect you to choose a man who will allow you to stay in my service. I refuse to train another maid to comb my hair as well as you do."
It is spoken lightly, teasing, but there is an undeniable truth beneath it. Change is inevitable, but that does not mean she has to like it.
Anna lets out a small, breathy laugh, the tension in her posture easing just slightly. "I shall be sure to keep that in mind, Mistress."
A comfortable silence settles between them once more, the quiet sounds of water lapping against porcelain, of the comb running through wet strands, filling the space. Leah exhales, content for now, allowing herself to sink into the warmth of the bath.
After a moment, Anna speaks again, softer this time, almost hesitant. "Do you ever miss America?"
The question is unexpected. Leah opens her eyes, blinking against the candlelight, considering.
"Sometimes," she admits, voice thoughtful. "Not in the way my father does. I do not recall enough of it prior to our move to long for it as he does, but—" she trails off, searching for the right words. "From my visits, I remember that it was.. easier. Less suffocating. Less rules to follow, less expectations to uphold. I could climb trees without being scolded. I could speak my mind without it being a scandal. There is something to be missed in that."
Anna nods as if she understands. Perhaps she does.
Another moment passes, then Leah sighs, stretching lazily before sinking further into the bath. "But," she adds, a smirk playing at her lips, "England has far better dresses. And I do so love my dresses."
Anna snorts, shaking her head as she wrings out a damp cloth. "I should have known that would be your conclusion."
Leah grins, eyes slipping shut once more.
"I am nothing if not consistent."
Notes:
anna getting lines other than being a background character? crazy💀 i’m planning to give the barrett family and the servants some more “screen time” with this arc since we usually don’t see them often
Chapter 37: | 36 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl attends the opera. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
ao3 and google docs want beef rn. i’m about to start throwing hands, i’m already in a bad mood TvT
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-six ! )
"I met someone."
Sun, softened by the lacework of thin clouds, drapes the park in a flattering glow, and the pathways—though busy—are just wide enough for Leah and Elizabeth to stroll without the burden of unwanted company. Birds twitter in the hedges and a few little carriages wind along the far road. Early afternoon has always been forgiving to London's less serious pedestrians.
Pompom, energetic as ever, trots a few paces ahead, restrained only by the delicate silk ribbon Leah uses in place of a proper leash. His white coat looks nearly iridescent beneath the gentle light as he prances, tail curled high, thoroughly enjoying himself. Occasionally, he pauses to sniff a flowerbed, only to be hurried along by a subtle tug.
Leah glances sidelong at Elizabeth. "You met someone?" the words are carefully repeated, neither indifferent nor enthused—merely curious, as if testing the weight of them.
Elizabeth's bonnet dips as she nods, blonde curls bouncing slightly beneath the fine lace trim. "Yes, a gentleman. His name is Mr. Davis—Christopher Davis," her tone swells with quiet excitement, betraying her efforts to remain composed. "I met him at Lady Wetherby's dinner last week, though I scarcely thought to mention it before. He was quite.. agreeable."
The corners of Leah's mouth lift faintly as she adjusts her grip on Pompom's ribbon, allowing him a bit more freedom as they reach a quieter path lined with towering trees. "I imagine agreeable must seem like heaven after meeting some of the men in London," the teasing lilt in her voice is gentle, but not without sincerity. "Tell me, is he terribly handsome, or simply tolerable enough to excuse?"
A soft laugh escapes Elizabeth and she briefly hides her face behind her gloved hand. "Leah! I should not answer that. You would only make sport of it."
Leah hums, letting the matter rest for a moment. There is a distinct pleasure in letting Elizabeth flutter on with her girlish delight.
Pompom darts towards a small flock of pigeons and scatters them with theatrical barking, but his antics draw little more than an indulgent glance. Leah keeps a light hold on the ribbon, letting him believe himself the victor without dragging him away too soon.
Elizabeth steals another look at Leah. "I had worried you might think me foolish," she says, quieter now. "Considering.. well."
"You are often foolish, but not in this," Leah answers without malice. "I am glad for you," she means it. There is no bite or sharpness beneath the surface. Just the simple truth.
They stroll past a little pond where swans glide lazily across the water, indifferent to the attention they draw. Leah's skirts swish faintly against the gravel, their fullness occasionally brushing Elizabeth's. The fashion of the season may be dictated by English propriety, but Leah clings to the excesses of her French tutors' influence—flounces, ribbons, and colorful silks that border on indulgence. Even now, the pale rose fabric she wears is embroidered with delicate vines, the design more suited to Versailles than London, but she wears it unapologetically.
Elizabeth watches the swan but keeps glancing back to Leah, visibly relieved by her reaction. "You are certain? I had feared you might think it soon."
"Soon?" Leah raises a brow. "You are no longer a child, Lizzie. Neither am I. Soon becomes late faster than you'd think," there is no bitterness in her voice, but perhaps a hint of recognition. The season may be a formality for Leah, but there is no denying how quickly time presses on. Seventeen feels like an eternity and yet somehow almost an ending.
A cool breeze stirs the air, rustling the branches above and prompting Elizabeth to pull her shawl a little tighter. Leah, by contrast, lets the chill pass over her without much thought. She grew up with harsher winds and colder winters—even born in the middle of one. The softness of England's early spring is nothing compared to the sharp gales of her father's properties in the American countryside. There is something almost pleasant about it.
"You'll introduce me properly, I hope," Leah says after a beat, eyes fixed on the little dog who now wrestles with a fallen stick twice his size.
"Of course!" Elizabeth brightens again. "I had hoped you'd say so. He mentioned he would call at the next assembly, and perhaps—if you would not mind—you might.. assess him?"
Leah's lips twitch into something resembling a real smile. "What? You wish me to judge the poor man?"
"Only a little," Elizabeth admits with a sheepish look. "You are far more discerning than most and you know I value your opinion."
"Flattery," Leah says plainly, but not unkindly. "Still, I suppose I might. If only to ensure he isn't a card sharper or some other dreadful bore."
Elizabeth laughs fully this time, the sound carrying over the quiet path. For a brief moment, the world seems simple again, as it had been when they were girls before duty and title began to twist everything into shape.
Further down the path, the sound of another carriage arrives, wheels cracking against gravel, but it is distant enough not to disturb them. The park, mercifully, seems their own for now. Leah shifts her attention back to Pompom, who has abandoned the stick in favor of flopping into a patch of clover, triumphant and tired. She lets the ribbon slacken, giving him leave to bask as he pleases.
"You must not let your heart get ahead of itself," Leah warns gently, eyes still on the small dog. "Not all agreeable men are worth the trouble."
Elizabeth does not immediately reply. Instead, she looks out over the pond, thoughtful, but not discouraged. "I shall try," she says at last, with a smile Leah suspects is more hopeful than cautious.
With that, they continue down the path, skirts swaying softly and Pompom trailing behind like a prince without a care.
═╬
The sound of carriage wheels grinding to a halt in the courtyard is nearly drowned out by the rain that has begun to fall in light, misty sheets. Though the afternoon had been dry, the evening air carries the scent of damp stone and fresh earth, creeping through the open windows of the Barrett townhouse.
Candles flicker in their sconces, and somewhere down the hall, the faint notes of a pianoforte drift from the parlor played with all the lifelessness expected of a household where music is an obligation rather than a pleasure. None of it matters, none of it even registers, because Leah is already halfway down the grand staircase before the footman has a chance to announce that the carriage has arrived.
She does not wait. The moment the doors swing open and the figure of Aunt Rosaline emerges from the shadows, shaking the rain from her cloak, Leah moves forward without hesitation.
"Aunt Rosaline," her voice is alight with something dangerously close to joy, restrained only by years of careful breeding. The world outside is cold and wet, but here, standing in the entryway with the warm glow of the chandeliers reflecting off polished floors, she feels nothing but warmth.
Rosaline lifts her chin slightly, taking in the grand house, the uniformed staff, and the picture of wealth and propriety that her niece presents. She has not seen Leah in years, but she has not forgotten her. "Leah," she acknowledges, her tone even and expression unreadable. However, there is the barest trace of something softer in her gaze as she removes her gloves and hands them to the waiting footman.
Leah does not lunge forward like a child or clasp her aunt's hands or weep with relief. That would be improper. Instead, she stands straight, her fingers twitching at her sides and her heart pounding with something she refuses to name. Rosaline had been the one constant in a world of uncertainty, the only person who had ever shaped her into something more than a burden to be cast aside. She had not been affectionate, but she had been present, and that had been enough.
"I trust your journey was comfortable," Leah continues, her voice perfectly smooth.
Rosaline steps further inside, allowing the butler to take her damp cloak. "It was tolerable," she replies, casting a brief glance around the hall. "Your father was kind enough to send a carriage, though I must admit, I did not expect such hospitality."
The words are neutral, but Leah hears the undercurrent, the unspoken understanding that Lucius Barrett does nothing unless it serves a purpose. Hospitality is a performance, one dictated by obligation rather than sincerity. But Leah does not care about her father's motives. Rosaline is here, in her house, if only for a few days, and that is all that matters.
"Come, we shall sit in the drawing room," Leah says, leading the way without waiting for an answer. It is a familiar dynamic—she had learned long ago that Rosaline dislikes wasted time. The house is warm and the fire in the drawing room crackles softly as they step inside. A tea tray has already been prepared with an assortment of delicate cakes arranged in perfect symmetry.
Rosaline takes a seat, her posture impeccable. She has not changed in the slightest. The years have left her with a few more lines at the corners of her eyes and a faint touch of silver among the dark strands of her pinned-up hair, but she is still the same woman who had once ruled over Leah's childhood with quiet authority. Albeit, only for about a year.
Leah sits opposite her, hands folded in her lap. "It has been some time," she remarks, watching as Rosaline reaches for her teacup.
"It has," Rosaline agrees, lifting the porcelain to her lips and she does not bother to elaborate.
The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but it is charged with unspoken things. Leah has questions—so many of them—but she does not ask them yet because she does not need to. Rosaline is here, sitting before her, not some distant memory or ghost from her past. That is enough, for now.
A knock at the door disrupts the moment. Anna steps inside, her expression as unremarkable as always. "Would you care for anything else, Lady Rosaline?"
Rosaline barely glances at her. "No, this will suffice."
Anna nods, her gaze flickering briefly to Leah before she turns to leave. She does not comment on Leah's uncharacteristic eagerness or the way she seems lighter and more at ease, but she notices.
When the door closes, Rosaline sets down her cup with a quiet clink. "Tell me, Leah. How have you fared?"
The question is simple, but the weight of it settles between them. Leah hesitates for only a moment before she smiles, a picture of practiced grace.
"I have done well," it is the answer she is supposed to give, the one that satisfies expectations. But Rosaline is not one for pleasantries and Leah knows that. So, after a pause, she allows a sliver of honesty to slip through. "It has been.. tiring."
Rosaline watches her for a long moment before inclining her head slightly. "Society is exhausting."
A quiet laugh escapes before Leah can stop it. "That is a polite way to put it."
Rosaline does not smile, but there is something knowing in her expression. "And your engagement?"
The mention of Ciel is expected, yet it still sends a strange thrill through her. "It is wonderful," she answers, lifting her chin. "He is currently attending Weston College."
Rosaline studies her. "You are content?"
There is no hesitation this time. "I am."
For the first time that evening, something shifts in Rosaline's demeanor. It is not quite approval or warmth, but something close. "Then I am pleased for you."
Leah exhales, though she had not realized she was holding her breath. For the first time in a long while, she feels something almost like peace.
The firelight flickers against the polished wood, casting shifting shadows over the drawing room walls and rain has softened to a steady patter against the windows, muffled by thick drapes. A small clock on the mantel ticks evenly, marking the passage of time in gentle, rhythmic beats. The tea, once warm, has begun to cool.
Leah swirls the last remnants in her cup before setting it down, fingers brushing lightly against the porcelain rim. "You intend to stay the full week?"
Rosaline regards her over the rim of her own cup, gaze level. "I do, unless your father's hospitality wanes," the words carry little inflection, neither a jest nor a complaint, merely an observation.
"It might," Leah does not attempt to soften the truth. Her father has moods like the tides—distant, indifferent, sometimes tolerable, other times less so. He plays at warmth when the occasion demands it, but such efforts are never sustained. If Rosaline stays long enough, she will see it for herself.
A faint hum of acknowledgment is all Rosaline offers in return. Setting down her teacup, she smooths the fabric of her sleeve, fingers lingering over the delicate embroidery. "I had wondered whether you would flourish under this house's influence or wilt. I see now that you have not done either."
The comment settles over Leah like a weighted veil. "I am not so fragile as to wilt."
"No," Rosaline agrees. "You were never fragile."
The words should please her, but instead, they linger in a way that is almost uncomfortable. Leah does not know what she wants to hear—perhaps nothing at all. Her fingers tighten in her lap as she tries to keep her expression as smooth as glass.
"You were always quite particular about your own expectations," Rosaline continues, "and you were always quick to anger when they were not met."
A sharp exhale presses against Leah's ribs. "I was a child."
"Yes," A pause, "now you are not."
Something in the quiet of the room shifts. Leah watches her aunt carefully, searching for some trace of judgment, but finds none. Rosaline has never coddled her. She had taught her discipline, shaped her into something refined, and made her unyielding where once she had been wild. She had done what no one else had bothered to do, but she had never been cruel.
A footman enters, setting a fresh pot of tea on the table before retreating without a word. The scent of bergamot drifts into the air, curling at the edges of Leah's thoughts.
The fire crackles softly, filling the silence between them. Leah has no desire to speak of her childhood, nor of the girl she used to be—impulsive, unruly, filled with an anger she did not know how to temper. That girl had been sent away and she had been reshaped.
"Your fiancé," Rosaline says at last, shifting the conversation as if sensing the direction of Leah's thoughts. "You have no doubts?"
Leah does not hesitate. "No."
Rosaline studies her. "You are young yet."
"I am not uncertain."
"No?" one dark brow arches ever so slightly. "And what of him? You are certain of his affections?"
A lesser girl might blush at the implication, might turn coy or evasive, but Leah does not. "He is not demonstrative most of the time," she admits, tilting her head slightly, "but his affections are not in question."
Rosaline does not press further and merely nods as if considering something privately. "It is good that you are fond of one another. Affection is a luxury in a match such as yours."
There is something almost dry in her tone, something edged with quiet understanding. 'I wonder if Rosaline had ever been afforded such a luxury herself.'
Outside, the rain continues its slow descent, casting rivulets against the glass. The house is quiet but not empty—footsteps in distant corridors, the occasional murmur of servants going about their duties. It is a house of presence without warmth, of people who exist alongside one another rather than with one another.
Rosaline taps a single finger against the armrest of her chair, a slow and measured movement. "The opera," she muses as if weighing the word itself. "I assume you will be on display."
Leah exhales a quiet breath. "I am always on display."
The amusement is barely there, but Rosaline catches it. "You have been trained well, then."
"I was trained by you," Leah counters, and for the first time that evening, something flickers between them—almost close to mirth and understanding.
Rosaline's lips press together in a manner that is not quite a smile. "I was thorough, at least."
The fire dims slightly as the logs settle, shifting with the weight of their own slow burn.
"Do you miss it?" Leah asks, surprising even herself with the question.
Rosaline tilts her head slightly. "Miss what?"
"The house," Leah clarifies. "Your lessons. Me."
A pause. Not a long one, but enough for Leah to notice it.
"I do not make a habit of missing what is no longer mine to tend to."
It is not a cruel answer, nor is it dismissive. It is simply the truth, stated plainly without embellishment. Leah nods once, accepting it for what it is.
═╬
Gilded chandeliers overhead cast a golden glow upon the lavishly dressed attendees, their jewels glittering like stars against the deep, velvet red of the opera house. The performance is nearing its crescendo, the soprano's voice soaring, yet Leah barely breathes for fear of missing a note.
She sits poised, hands delicately folded in her lap, but there is a brightness in her eyes that betrays her usual restraint. The music sweeps through her like a tide and for a rare moment, she forgets the obligations of the evening—the mingling, the careful restraint of her temper, and the ever-watchful eyes of high society dissecting her every move. Here, in this moment, she is simply a girl enraptured by the beauty of it all.
Lucius, however, is less enthralled. He shifts beside her, adjusting his cuffs with a touch too much force, and exhales sharply through his nose. The gesture is not loud, but it is noticeable enough that Rosaline flicks her gaze toward him with a look of restrained exasperation.
It is a wonder he has endured this long—opera has never been his taste, nor has anything particularly European, if he is being honest. While he has spent years assimilating into English society, there are certain things he refuses to relinquish and his disregard for their cultural refinements is one of them.
The long, drawn-out performances, the endless bowing and scraping, the way these men speak in circles rather than getting to the damn point—it grates on him. He has always preferred the briskness of business dealings, the directness of American enterprise, and the simple fact that in his country, a man does not have to pretend to like someone to succeed.
Still, he does not make a scene. He is, after all, a man of considerable wealth, and wealth affords one the privilege of impatience. Even the most self-important lord would hesitate before criticizing a man whose influence extends beyond mere titles and into the very mechanics of trade.
Vivienne, seated with perfect posture on Lucius' other side, remains composed, her expression unreadable beneath the delicate lace of her mask. Unlike her husband, she has always embraced the demands of high society, adapting to its unspoken rules with a grace that makes her nearly indistinguishable from those born into it.
However, even she has little interest in the opera itself. Her focus is elsewhere, her eyes subtly scanning the audience, observing and assessing. She notes which women wear last season's fashions, which gentlemen linger too long in conversation with married women, and which families appear particularly eager to align themselves with the Barrett's. A small smirk touches her lips—these people, with all their airs and carefully practiced etiquette, are as predictable as ever.
Leah does not concern herself with such things tonight. She has spent enough of the season wading through tedious conversation, biting her tongue when faced with the more insufferable members of the peerage, or curbing the sharpness of her wit for the sake of propriety. In this moment, she allows herself the pleasure of indulgence. The soprano's voice rises once more and she is spellbound.
Then, Lucius shifts again, more noticeably this time. A few heads turn in irritation at the disruption. He mutters something under his breath, something about the "damn unbearable seats," and Rosaline finally levels him with a look that could silence a storm.
"If you cannot remain still for another twenty minutes, then perhaps you should excuse yourself," she murmurs, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. "Unless, of course, you wish to be remembered as the American who could not endure an evening of culture."
Lucius snorts. "Oh, forgive me. I had forgotten that enduring discomfort for the sake of appearances is what passes for refinement here."
His voice is low, but the distinct lack of effort in concealing his accent draws a few glances. It is not that his manner of speech is crude—his education and wealth ensure that he speaks properly—but there is a directness and an unapologetic sharpness that sets him apart from the men around him. The British have mastered the art of veiled insults and saying one thing and meaning another. Lucius, by contrast, sees little purpose in pretense.
Leah glances at him from the corner of her eye. She is accustomed to his impatience and irritation with the very world he insisted upon entering. For all his wealth and power, he will never truly belong here, not in the way Vivienne does or the way she has had to. But that is of little concern to him—he does not need their approval and never has.
Still, she wishes he would at least pretend to enjoy himself. His presence is a necessary one, if only for the sake of formality. Though her engagement to Ciel ensures her future is secured, there is still merit in maintaining their family's position and in proving that the Barretts are not outsiders but equals. Lucius' barely concealed disdain does little to help that cause.
A brief pause in the music allows for a shift in atmosphere, the audience stirring slightly before the next act begins. Leah takes the opportunity to compose herself, smoothing the skirts of her gown as she allows her gaze to wander. Across the theater, she catches sight of familiar faces—young women she has exchanged pleasantries with and gentlemen who have attempted to court her before realizing the futility of it.
The music resumes, sweeping through the theater with renewed vigor and she allows herself to be drawn back into its embrace. The night is not yet over and there is still much to be endured. But for now, she lets herself exist within this moment, where nothing matters beyond the music.
Below, the stage glows in the soft golden light of the chandeliers, the set a grand spectacle of painted backdrops and lavish costuming. Leah watches with quiet interest, her fan resting idly against her wrist as the lead soprano takes center stage again. The woman's voice is magnificent, filling the opera house with a resonance that sends a pleasant shiver up her spine.
Lucius leans back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded in what could be mistaken for appreciation but is, in reality, boredom. "I fail to see what is so remarkable," he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for his wife and sister-in-law to hear. "A woman wailing for near an hour and the people cheer as though it were the second coming of Christ."
Vivienne doesn't so much as glance at him, her attention fixed on the performance. "Because it is art," she says, her tone clipped. "A concept lost on some, I suppose."
Rosaline casts Lucius a sidelong look, unimpressed. "Do spare us your theatrics. You are in a theatre, after all."
Leah suppresses a smirk, hiding it behind her gloved fingers. Her father huffs but does not argue, merely shifting in his seat as if to make himself more comfortable. It is a rare thing to see him so easily dismissed. Perhaps the opera has its merits after all.
A soft knock at the door draws her attention away from the stage as an usher steps inside, bowing briefly before speaking. "My Lord, my Ladies, you have a visitor—the Duke of Aylesworth requests a private audience with Miss Barrett."
Vivienne's head turns sharply, her lips parting in mild surprise while Lucius raises a brow but merely glances at his daughter, waiting to gauge her reaction. Leah remains composed, though inwardly, she wonders at the suddenness of the request. It is not uncommon for gentlemen to seek conversation during the intervals.
Curiosity piqued, she nods once. "Very well."
The usher steps aside and moments later, Henry enters the box. His bow is executed with an ease that suggests he has done it countless times before, movements smooth and assured. "Miss Barrett, I hope I am not intruding," his voice is pleasant and richer than she remembers, though perhaps that is simply due to the quiet of the box.
"You are not," Leah replies evenly. "Though I admit, I am surprised."
Henry smiles. "Then I shall take that as encouragement rather than deterrence," his gaze flickers briefly to the rest of her family. "Lord Barrett, Lady Barrett, Lady Martin."
Lucius regards him with vague recognition, Vivienne with polite indifference. It is Rosaline who watches him the closest, eyes sharp beneath the delicate lace trim of her mask.
He does not linger under their scrutiny. "I hoped to steal a moment of Miss Barrett's time. May I?"
Lucius waves a hand lazily, as though already growing tired of the exchange. "She is her own keeper. If she wishes to entertain you, I see no reason to object."
Leah rises, smoothing out the skirts of her gown. "We will remain within view," she says, a pointed reminder that, regardless of her independence, certain proprieties must be observed.
Henry inclines his head. "Of course."
They move to the edge of the box, where a pair of seats offer a degree of privacy without complete seclusion. The sounds of the opera swell in the background, voices soaring over the soft hum of the audience.
"I admit," Henry begins, "this is the first time I have gone to such lengths to speak with someone. It is rather unlike me."
Leah tilts her head slightly. "Then I shall consider myself flattered."
He chuckles. "As you should. Though I would not wish to bore you with pleasantries—I am certain you have endured more than enough of those this season."
The remark earns him a small, genuine smile. "A perceptive observation, as always."
"Perceptive, perhaps, but not particularly remarkable," he says. "Anyone with eyes can see the season is a tedious affair. For ladies such as yourself, especially. It must be dull sifting through the same rehearsed conversations and the same declarations of admiration from men who hardly know a thing about you."
Leah regards him with interest. "And what of you, Your Grace? Have you come to add to the tedium?"
"On the contrary," he leans back slightly to emphasize his ease. "I came because I realized I know little about you beyond what society dictates I should. That is an oversight I mean to correct."
Her fingers toy with the edge of her fan, considering. "You are confident in your success."
Henry smiles. "I am determined. There is a difference."
It is difficult not to be at least somewhat amused. He is far from unpleasant company and unlike so many others, he does not seem to be approaching this conversation with the expectation of something more than civility. There is no cloying flattery, no attempt to impress her with exaggerated wit. 'It is.. refreshing.'
She studies him for a moment longer before speaking. "Very well. If you truly wish to know me beyond the season's formalities, then ask what you will."
Henry's expression brightens slightly, though he does not gloat. "A dangerous offer," he muses, "but I shall restrain myself."
The next few minutes pass in an easy rhythm, conversation drifting between topics that have little to do with the season. He speaks of travel, of places he wishes to visit, and she finds herself sharing small details in turn—nothing overly personal, but enough to make the exchange feel genuine rather than forced.
At some point, he glances toward the stage, then back at her. "What of the opera? Do you enjoy it?"
Leah exhales a quiet breath, considering her answer. "I do. The performance is exquisite."
"And yet," Henry observes, "you are here speaking with me rather than watching it."
A soft, almost imperceptible laugh escapes her. "You make an excellent point."
"Then perhaps I should count that as a victory," he says lightly, "to have held your attention even briefly."
A voice interrupts before she can respond. "Leah."
Turning, she finds Rosaline watching from a few feet away, expression unreadable. It is not a summons, but it is certainly a reminder. Time is not limitless, nor is the patience of those observing.
Henry seems to understand as well. He rises, offering a hand to help Leah stand. "I will not keep you further," he says. "But I do hope this will not be our last conversation."
She hesitates for the briefest of moments before offering a polite nod. "We shall see."
It is noncommittal, as it should be, but there is no outright dismissal.
Henry smiles. "Then I shall have to hope for the best."
Giving a bow, he steps back as she returns to her family's side. The performance continues below, voices soaring, but the air between them lingers with the remnants of conversation yet unfinished.
Soon enough, the intermission arrives and hums with the low murmur of conversation, nobles moving through the gilded corridors of the opera house like peacocks at leisure. Amidst the crowd, Lucius and Vivienne stand apart—not by decorum, but by the sheer absurdity of their ongoing argument, conducted in hushed but pointed tones.
"I hardly see why it matters," Lucius mutters, arms crossed, his expression carrying the distinct weariness of a man forced into an inconsequential debate. "If the man chooses to eat fish at such an establishment, that is his prerogative."
Vivienne's eyes narrow, her delicate gloved fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne flute. "It is vulgar, Lucius. Who in their right mind orders fish at a place renowned for its venison? It speaks to a certain.. lack of refinement."
"You detest venison."
"That is entirely beside the point."
Seated between them, Leah watches the exchange with detached amusement, accustomed to the silly subjects her parents could turn into battlefields. A flicker of something like recognition passes through her. She and Daniel had inherited this very trait—the ability to make the pettiest of grievances a subject of heated debate. At least they knew when to stop before it spiraled into true animosity.
Lucius sighs, exasperated. "You act as though the man has committed a crime against the Crown."
"I am simply stating that it reveals something about his character," Vivienne retorts. "One's choices in dining are a reflection of one's upbringing."
Leah, against her better judgment, lets out a quiet laugh. "If that were true, I'd imagine my upbringing to be a great point of concern."
Both parents turn to her at once, expressions shifting from irritation to scrutiny.
"And why is that?" Vivienne asks, voice slow, measured.
"Because I have been known to order whatever I please, regardless of what is expected," Leah lifts her glass to her lips, feigning nonchalance. "A terrible flaw, no doubt."
Lucius gives her a flat look. "That is hardly the same."
"No?" Leah tilts her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Then what does it say about me?"
Vivienne does not answer. Not because she lacks one, but because there is no response that does not lead into treacherous waters.
Rosaline, who has been listening in silence, finally decides to intervene. "Do stop this ridiculous quarrel," she says, not unkindly but with the air of someone who has tolerated quite enough of their antics for one evening. "We are in public."
Vivienne exhales sharply, looking away. Lucius, still visibly irritated, takes a sip of his brandy and mutters something under his breath that Leah cannot quite catch.
For a brief moment, peace settles over them. Then, just as Leah is beginning to enjoy the quiet, a voice—syrupy and edged with barely concealed disdain—cuts through the lull.
"My, Miss Barrett," coos a woman to Leah's left. "What an enviable position you find yourself in this season."
Leah turns, already schooling her expression into one of polite disinterest. The speaker is Lady Adeline Warrington, a woman whose fondness for inserting herself where she is least wanted is only rivaled by her talent for veiled insults. Older, but not yet past her prime, with a sharp gaze that lingers too long on Leah's gown, her jewels, and the curve of her mouth as if searching for some imperfection to latch onto. 'Oh dear God, please.. I don't know how much more I can take speaking about the same topic every day.'
Composing herself, Leah inclines her head. "Lady Warrington."
"A diamond, an engagement to the Earl of Phantomhive, and the admiration of all—one might say you have won the season," the words are pleasant, but the smile that accompanies them is anything but.
Leah is accustomed to such women. Women who speak in sugared tones but wield their words like daggers, waiting for a misstep or a crack in the porcelain. She has spent years perfecting the art of remaining unshaken.
"A most fortunate position," she agrees mildly. "Though I should think the season is not a competition to be won."
"Oh, but it is, dear," Lady Warrington says, tilting her head as though to assess her more closely, "and you have set quite the standard. Though I do wonder, does it not feel terribly dull to have your fate already decided? To enter a season not as a hopeful debutante, but as one merely fulfilling an obligation?"
There it is. The barb is subtle but deliberate. A challenge.
Leah does not rise to it. She merely allows the corners of her lips to curve in the faintest hint of amusement. "I would hardly call securing one's future dull," she replies, tone airy. "In fact, I find the certainty rather comforting."
Lady Warrington's expression flickers, just briefly, but it is enough.
Vivienne, who has thus far remained silent, finally interjects. "It is quite the spectacle, is it not?" she muses, swirling the champagne in her glass. "A season where some are fortunate enough to enter with their futures secured, while others must fight tooth and nail for even the slightest consideration."
Lady Warrington stiffens ever so slightly. She has daughters, after all. Daughters who, despite their breeding and their tireless efforts, have failed to make advantageous matches in previous seasons.
Lucius chuckles under his breath, taking clear enjoyment in his wife's words. "It is a rather fascinating thing to witness," he remarks. "The desperation and maneuvering," he sips his brandy. "Quite like a game of chess."
Rosaline offers a deceptively pleasant smile. "One should be careful with such games, though. One wrong move and it all comes crumbling down."
Lady Warrington presses her lips together, the first true sign of irritation showing through. Leah watches, sipping her champagne, feeling the small and quiet satisfaction of victory.
The woman recovers quickly. "Well," she says after a moment, "I do hope you enjoy the remainder of the evening, Lady Barrett. I look forward to seeing how the season continues to unfold."
With that, she sweeps away, the scent of jasmine trailing behind her.
Leah exhales, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Insufferable."
Lucius huffs a laugh. "You shall meet many more like her before the season's end."
Vivienne simply lifts her glass to her lips. "And you shall learn to tolerate them."
Watching Lady Warrington disappear into the crowd, Leah smiles against the rim of her glass.
"I sincerely doubt that."
Notes:
guess which chapter is next😼
Chapter 38: | 37 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl watches the weston college cricket tournament. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
kinda just did my own thing this chapter since the cricket tournament bored me a bit (i dislike any sport except tennis) + half of it is focused on the boys on the field, so obviously people watching won’t hear half the stuff they’re saying. i’ve also been wanting to branch out a bit from following manga chapters extremely closely and giving myself some more wiggle room for originality :p obviously any scene in the manga that i didn’t write still happened, but i write with the pov slightly leaning towards leah’s so if she wasn’t there, we just don’t see it
featuring, ciel being kinda soft
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-seven ! )
"But it's always Green House. Always. Why must I dress up just to sweat through layers of silk while pretending to care about the same outcome as every year prior?"
Standing barefoot on the velvet carpet, Leah has her slippers kicked off somewhere near the foot of the divan. Her corset is laced but her outer dress hangs open in the back, only half done. One sleeve droops down her arm as she glares at her reflection in the tall mirror. Anna waits awkwardly beside her with folded hands, uncertain whether she ought to continue or wait until the tantrum passes. Vivienne, seated near the open window with a cooling cup of tea and a lemon slice long gone bitter, sets her saucer down with a bit more force than necessary.
"Because it is tradition," she says curtly, not looking up. "Because your brother plays and because it is expected."
From behind a discarded copy of the London Evening Post, Lucius adds without glancing up, "And because we're all going. We're not leaving you behind to sulk like some overdressed child."
Leah scoffs under her breath and turns from the mirror with a dramatic flourish, her half-laced bodice flaring open like she means to discard it entirely. "You've left me behind before."
"Yes, when you were ten and halfway feral," Vivienne replies. "Rosaline was quite clear about that," she lifts her eyes only now, sharp and lined with a faint smudge of kohl. "If you'd rather go back to brawling with scullery maids and spitting into your gloves, we could always see if she's still accepting houseguests."
"Don't tempt me," Leah mutters, folding her arms and letting her weight shift to one side. "At least Rosaline wouldn't force me into the sun for hours just to watch boys with no hand-eye coordination chase after a ball."
"You're being insufferable," Lucius says as he finally lowers the paper. "It's one day, you'll survive. Bring a parasol and pretend you're enjoying yourself. That's what your mother does."
Vivienne offers a thin smile. "Except I actually do enjoy myself. Watching young men in trousers all afternoon? It's the only part of the season worth anything."
Leah glares at her. "That's revolting."
"It's honest," Vivienne counters.
"You act as though Daniel's presence alone should make it bearable," Leah says, lifting her arm so Anna might resume lacing. "As though my dear older brother's sweaty brow and puffed chest will provide all the entertainment I need."
"There's also Ciel," Lucius points out.
"I'm engaged to him, not obsessed with him," she snaps. "I see him often enough and he certainly doesn't care whether I'm there watching his little match."
Vivienne lets out a soft and humorless laugh. "You're full of dramatics this morning. Did you even sleep?"
"Barely," Leah mutters. "The ball lasted forever, the ride home was horrid, and the new maid snores through the wall."
Lucius rises from his chair, smoothing the front of his waistcoat as he crosses the room. "If I told you Green House wouldn't win this year, would you come without complaint?"
"I'd know you were lying," she turns her head slightly to avoid Anna's tug. "You can bribe the judges all you like, Father, but you'll never get boys to play sports like they care."
"Then don't watch the match," Vivienne says. "Sit under the tent. Eat strawberries. Gossip. Do something feminine, for God's sake."
"I've done all that," Leah hisses. "Every year since I was eleven. Same patch of grass, same lemon cordial, same half-baked gossip about which girl is making eyes at which boy—none of whom I care about!"
Anna gives the final tug, ties the back with shaking fingers, and flees before another verbal barb can be thrown. Leah exhales loudly through her nose, the sound almost a growl.
Lucius glances toward the door. "You'll finish dressing. You'll come with us. You'll smile for the photographers. You'll clap when Daniel makes a pass and make your presence known to every other family attending."
"Even though they all already know I'm spoken for?" she asks archly, narrowing her eyes.
Vivienne folds her hands neatly in her lap. "You're not doing it for them, Leah. You're doing it for us. Your success reflects on this family."
"I'm already the diamond of the season, or did you forget?" she says, brushing a curl behind her ear. "What more do you want?"
"Consistency," Lucius mutters. "Grace. Silence, preferably."
"Then you ought to have had a quieter daughter," Leah says sweetly, turning to grab her earrings from the dressing table.
Vivienne rises now, brushing the folds of her cream-and-silver gown into place as she approaches. "There are young ladies who would kill to be you. Who'd give up half their dowry just for a nod from Phantomhive and you mope about because you've been asked to spend a day in the sun."
"I'm not moping. I'm expressing disdain," Leah fastens the left earring, then pauses with her lips pursed. "It's completely different."
The sound of the carriage pulling into the drive cuts through the room. Footmen shuffle below. The sound of horses and wheels and afternoon bustle seeps in from the garden-side windows.
Lucius pinches the bridge of his nose. "You've got five minutes to be in the carriage or I'm having someone drag you down in a bed sheet."
Leah looks at him sideways. "You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
"Would you lace the sheet, Mama?" she asks, sweetly cruel.
Vivienne smiles faintly. "No, darling. I'd tie it in a knot and push you out the door myself."
═╬
Later that night, Weston College is awash in candlelight and laughter, filled to its golden, high-vaulted brim with velvet gowns and starched collars and the smooth hum of social niceties passed between strangers. Glasses clink, violins sing from the corner, and the Weston banners hang proudly above the long tables pressed against the walls, each draped with sweets and stewed fruits and crystal dishes that reflect every flickering flame. Beneath it all, polished shoes glide across marble while plumed fans wave away heat and unwanted conversation alike.
Leah doesn't drift through the crowd so much as she cuts through it, walking with practiced ease, chin lifted just enough to keep anyone from stopping her unless they have something particularly worthwhile to say. Her smile is faint and distant. The same one she wears to charity luncheons and dreary gallery unveilings, and though she's exchanged a few harmless pleasantries, she hasn't really spoken to anyone. Not properly or genuinely. She doesn't need to.
Her gown—a froth of pale red and ivory silk embroidered with golden lilies—trails behind her like a whisper as she rounds a crowded table, ignoring the whispered compliments that follow in her wake. Her earrings catch the light as she turns her head, scanning the room with only the faintest flicker of anticipation and hope, though she would never admit to such a thing aloud. Her gloved fingers twitch once against the tiny parcel tucked discreetly in her fan. She's nearly at her destination.
A familiar head of blue catches her eye just past a group of boys huddled in Sapphire Owl colors. For a moment, she watches him speak—cool and composed, his profile sharp beneath the pale lights. He doesn't laugh, but his eyes flick with faint amusement. She sees it and immediately knows the difference.
Then, he looks her way and his posture straightens, subtly but undeniably. The corner of his mouth barely lifts and the rest of the room disappears.
Leah makes her way to him without faltering and the instant she stops before him, the weight of the day seems to lift from her shoulders, though her mouth still holds the echo of her earlier scowl.
"I see you've not died of boredom yet," she says softly with a glance over his shoulder at the small cluster of Sapphire Owl boys.
"Not yet," Ciel replies, tone drier than the champagne being served. "Though if one more first-year tries to ask me how I prefer my tea, I might fling myself from the bell tower."
"I thought you liked being worshipped," she teases, but her voice softens almost imperceptibly. "Though I suppose you've always been particular about your tea."
He eyes her for a moment, then lets his gaze flick briefly over her ensemble. "You look very.. seasonally appropriate."
"I look exquisite. Just say it," she muses.
"Fine," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You look exquisite."
She raises her chin in a satisfied manner, then slides a hand into the hidden fold of her skirts and pulls out a small silk pouch. Her movements are delicate. She doesn't look at him as she offers it, only holds it out.
"For you."
Ciel hesitates, then takes it without ceremony. The drawstring slides open easily, and inside: a lock of soft brown hair, bound with a pale ribbon. Beneath it, a miniature photograph, expertly taken of Leah seated in profile, chin tilted, expression demure but not without edge. Her mouth is caught just before a smile, she looks like she knows something.
He holds the image between gloved fingers, silent for a beat too long. "You were in a mood," he says finally.
"I am in a mood," she counters, stealing a glance at him. "But yes, I thought it might amuse you. Or at least prevent your eyes from falling out of your head when some debutante tries to convince you she's fascinating. Even if there aren't many here."
"I'm immune to debutantes," he says, tucking the pouch inside his coat with something almost reverent.
"You weren't always."
He purses his lips. "That was before I knew better."
Leah smiles truly this time and small enough that it only barely creases the corners of her eyes. "So you do miss me."
"I never said that," Ciel says too quickly.
She tilts her head. "No. But you kept the ribbon."
He looks away then, mouth twitching like he might deny it, but doesn't. The silence stretches pleasantly, charged with all the things neither of them says in front of other people. Bluewer walks past, nodding toward Ciel with idle respect. Leah doesn't bother to acknowledge him.
"Is your mother behaving herself?" he asks after a pause.
Leah laughs mockingly. "She's drunk on compliments and lemon cordial. I count that as well-behaved."
"And your father?" Ciel tilts his head.
"Wants me to smile more. Also wants me to stop talking. Contradictory, but not unfamiliar," her smile is one of defeated acceptance.
"You have been smiling more," he says.
She narrows her eyes. "You think so?"
He steps a little closer, not quite touching. "You only look like you hate everyone a little. Progress."
"Rude," she says, but the way her gaze softens contradicts her tone. "I've done my best."
"You shouldn't have to," he says under his breath, and the flicker of sincerity startles her more than she lets on.
She lets her fan rest against her hip, her fingers drumming idly against the handle. "You'll win tomorrow?" she asks, changing the subject.
"You sound convinced," he raises a brow.
"Well, if not, you'll still look lovely in defeat. I'll console you, if you ask nicely," Leah jokes.
Ciel holds back a snort. "Very generous of you."
"I'm practically angelic," she huffs.
Ciel bites his lip. "That's not the word most would use to describe you."
Leah gives a mock gasp. "That is a blasphemous lie."
He hums, unconvinced but amused as they fall into a more comfortable quiet. Though the room behind them buzzes louder now, conversations cresting and the swell of bodies moving as more guests arrive. Somewhere across the hall, Elizabeth's laugh rings out.
"I've made it through the day without clawing anyone," she says, tone conversational. "You ought to be proud."
"I am, truly. A triumph for diplomacy."
"And self-control," she adds.
Ciel brushes imaginary dust from his pants. "Let's not go that far."
She pretends to glare at him, but Ciel only smirks faintly and offers her his arm.
"Come. I'll fetch you something sweet. If you faint from boredom, I want it to be on someone else's conscience."
"I knew you were fond of me," she says, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. "You do all this because you like me."
"I do," he says quietly, just for her. "More than I should."
Her mouth opens to respond, but someone brushes past them, too close. She says nothing, just tightening her grip on his arm. They walk into the crowd together, slow and certain, the hem of her dress catching briefly on the toe of his polished shoe. Neither of them apologize.
The moment has barely settled between them. Leah still lightly holds Ciel's arm, his gloved hand poised as if he might reach for hers when a sudden shout from across the room cuts through the polite clamor of the hall like a dropped glass.
"Leah!"
Before she can turn, there's movement—swift, unhesitating, and absurdly un-English. A blur of rich red and gold breaks through the crowd with arms already open, eyes gleaming.
"Dearest little sister!"
Prince Soma tackles her in a hug that lifts her slightly off the ground, entirely oblivious to the nearby stares it draws or the visible tensing of her fiancé beside her.
"Soma!" Leah gasps, more from surprise than discomfort, though her voice muffles against the silk lapel of his coat. "Warn a girl next time."
The young prince beams as he sets her gently back down, hands still holding her by the arms as if to make sure she won't vanish. "It has been months! I was beginning to think you had forgotten me entirely. And you are wearing red! You know that is my favorite."
"You were at my birthday," she says wryly, adjusting her skirts where they've been nudged out of place. "In March."
"And now it is June! Far too long."
Her laughter is soft but real, an amused sound laced with fondness and no real irritation. She smooths back a stray curl with her fingertips, lifting a brow at him. "You might have written."
"I did!" Soma protests, scandalized. "I sent three letters. The first, I believe, got lost in the post. The second I entrusted to Agni, but he became distracted with a puppy. And the third—I think the envelope may have been soaked in curry, but the intent was there!"
"Oh, well," Leah drawls, "if your curry meant well."
Ciel, standing just slightly to the side, remains still as a statue—his expression unreadable save for the faint downturn of his mouth. His posture has stiffened by degrees, like a sculpture hardening.
Soma turns at last, eyes bright. "Ah, Ciel! Do not glower so. I have borrowed your betrothed for but a moment."
"You seized her like a pirate," Ciel mutters.
An under-exaggerated sound escapes Soma. "I seized her like a brother!"
"Last I checked," comes a new voice, low and pointed, "Leah only has one brother."
The air shifts when Daniel emerges from the crowd like a bloodstained knife, all sharp edges and simmering presence in his crimson Weston coat. His hair is ruffled just enough to suggest he doesn't care, but his eyes cut straight to Soma's arm still looped through hers.
Soma turns, looking entirely delighted by the new addition. "Daniel! I forgot Leah is your sister.. You two do look so alike."
Leah's lips twitch. "Do we?"
"Absolutely!" Soma continues, utterly oblivious to the tension now stretching between the three men like a tripwire. "You could almost be twins."
Daniel doesn't blink. "Charmed."
There's a beat as Leah looks between them once before disentangling herself from Soma's grip with a graceful twist of her hand. "Let's not posture over me, shall we? I'm perfectly capable of choosing who I let accost me in public."
"Of course, little sister," Soma says with dramatic contrition, placing a hand over his heart. "Forgive me. I let my joy carry me away."
Daniel makes a sound that could be a scoff or a cough. "Little sister?"
Ciel, without looking, says flatly, "It's a nickname. Evidently."
"I have one brother," Daniel says, looking directly at Soma now, "and you are not him."
Leah sighs, eyes fluttering upward like she might summon divine patience from the ceiling. "You don't have a brother if you are my only brother. And don't be rude."
"I'm not," he says smoothly. "Merely confused. First I hear you're being carried around by a prince and now you're gifting Phantomhive pieces of your hair like some tragic widow."
"You saw that?" asks Leah.
Daniel stares. "Unfortunately."
Before Leah can retort, a light voice joins the gathering from the right—silken and amused, with just enough weight behind it to command attention.
"Well, if it isn't the Barrett girl."
Edgar Redmond stands beside them with his usual poise, a soft smile warming his elegant features. He looks at Leah with the sort of familiarity she's accustomed to from older noblemen who remember her in ankle socks and bows.
"My, you've grown since I last saw you," he says, tilting his head. "Still terribly sharp about the eyes, though. I remember that look when you used to chase after Daniel in the stables."
"I was eleven," Leah says blandly.
"Even then," Redmond chuckles, "you had the expression of a girl already plotting her escape."
She arches a brow. "You remember quite a bit."
"I never forget a pretty girl," he replies, then glances to Ciel, unbothered. "Or an engaged one."
Leah lets herself smile then, faint and laced with just enough arrogance to remind everyone who raised her. "You flatter me, Mr. Redmond."
"I merely speak the truth," he says, eyes sparkling. "And it is Lord Redmond now, I fear. Dreadfully pompous title, but it keeps the schoolmasters happy."
"Do stop circling her like cats around cream," Ciel murmurs. "It's unbecoming."
Redmond lifts a brow. "Jealousy ill suits you, Phantomhive."
"I'm not jealous," Ciel tries to defend himself.
It is far from believable for Redmond, but he doesn't push it too hard. "Then you've grown boring. A shame."
"You're provoking him on purpose," Leah says, biting back a laugh.
"Only a little," Redmond smirks.
Daniel clears his throat. "Is this what passes for mingling here? Hugs and passive threats?"
"I think it's called charming banter," Redmond supplies.
"It's called crowding," Ciel answers flatly. "Which we are done with."
He reaches for Leah's hand and laces his fingers through hers with such familiarity that no one dares interrupt. The room around them continues in its din, but their small corner is now tightly spun with something unspoken. Leah glances down at their hands. His grip is warm and firm.
"Well," she says, lips curving again, "it is nice to see you all, but I do think Ciel promised me a sweet."
"I'll walk with you," Daniel offers.
"You may not," Ciel says.
Redmond snorts into his palm while Soma merely waves.
"Later, then," Daniel mutters, eyes narrowing just enough to hint at something unspoken.
Leah gives a polite nod, brushing past him with Ciel still beside her.
"Little sister," Soma calls fondly, "I expect two dances tomorrow!"
"You'll have one," she answers without turning. "Assuming you survive my brother."
Just like that, she's gone with Ciel again, disappearing into the velvet swarm of bodies and voices—her fingers still curled in his, the sound of their departure muffled under the violin's crescendo.
Upon reaching the buffet table, it stretches beneath an embroidered cloth the color of old parchment, sagging slightly under the weight of gleaming silver platters and precariously tall arrangements of fruits, cheeses, and pastries that look far too dainty to be satisfying. Overhead, the chandeliers flicker with candlelight that glances off crystal bowls filled with sugared petals and candied violets.
Ciel reaches for a thin square of chocolate-drizzled cake, ignoring the savory side of the spread entirely. Beside him, Leah stabs a skewer of roasted quail and plucks a miniature tart.
"You've no taste for the sweets, then?" he asks as she deliberately passes over the almond biscuits.
"Not in the slightest. You know that," she replies, frowning faintly at a tray of lemon custards, even though she loves lemons. "It's the quickest way to an aching stomach. Sugar and I have a fragile alliance."
"You must be impossible at tea parties."
"I am," she says, stabbing the quail again for good measure. "Mother used to make such a display about it, claiming I was embarrassing her by avoiding some of the pastries. I thought it better than vomiting on the lace."
His lips twitch. "Charming."
"Would you rather I'd suffered quietly for appearances?" Leah cocks a brow.
Ciel snorts. "I'm quite glad you didn't, but I imagine your mother was less delighted."
"She rarely is, unless someone's telling her how pretty she used to be." Leah shrugs and lifts the tart to her lips, chewing thoughtfully. "Mm. This one's not dreadful."
Across the room, a ripple of laughter rises from a knot of students and visitors near the wide windows. Edward Midford, standing tall and impossibly earnest in his Green Lion colors, glances their way. When Leah's gaze meets his, she smiles. The boy flushes a shade deeper than a Scarlet Fox member's coat and turns hastily back to whoever he is speaking with.
Ciel follows her line of sight and lifts a brow. "Did you just flirt with my cousin?"
"Hardly. That was a polite smile," Leah looks at him incredulously.
"Your polite smiles don't make men blush," he scowls.
There's a pause before she sets her plate down and looks out toward the banners draped along the walls. Green Lion's crest hangs closest, smug and gleaming.
"I meant it, by the way," she says. "About hoping you win, of course. But I'll be satisfied with anyone triumphing over Green House. I'd even clap for Purple House."
"Would you?" he says dryly. "Even though Daniel tells me they once locked you in a broom cupboard for calling their prefect's recitation 'a biblical punishment'?"
"I was twelve. And he was," she says, eyes glittering. "But yes, anyone but Green."
A beat of quiet stretches between them as Ciel picks at his cake but doesn't take a bite. "You could cheer for me, you know," he says casually. "As a gesture of affection."
Leah turns toward him with that slow, deliberate smugness that never fails to make him uneasy. "Oh, Ciel. I love you dearly, but I'll be cheering for Daniel."
He stares. "You'll what?"
"I have to," she shrugs, wholly unbothered. "It's tradition. I've been cheering for him nearly every year since he joined Weston. It would be cruel to stop now simply because I'm promised to someone else."
Ciel narrows his eyes. "There is nothing cruel in supporting your future husband."
"There is when your brother might hold a grudge and refuse to carry your trunks next time you visit," she says sweetly. "Besides, he'd bring it up for months."
"You're abandoning me out of convenience."
"I'm being pragmatic," Leah gives a faux frown.
He narrows his eyes. "What happened to loyalty?"
"It doesn't vanish. It's merely.. divided," she leans slightly closer, tone playful. "Don't sulk, Ciel. You'll still have my heart. Daniel only gets my applause."
"You speak of it so easily," he mutters. "As if I'm not presently wounded."
Leah tilts her head. "Are you wounded?"
"Gravely," Ciel deadpans.
"Poor dear," she offers him a sliver of quail from her plate. "Have a bite. It'll soothe your pride."
He sniffs it with exaggerated disdain. "It smells like smoke and indignity."
"Then it suits you," she smiles.
Despite himself, a laugh escapes him. It's low, brief, and rare enough that several boys across the table pause in startled silence. Leah hides her grin in a sip of juice, the flavor too floral for her liking, but the victory worth it.
Ciel composes himself a moment later, smoothing the expression from his face like a wrinkle in cloth. "You'll regret this when I win."
"Mm," she hums. "You'll need to come in second, then."
"I don't do second," Ciel hardens.
Leah giggles. "We'll see."
Their plates half-finished, they step aside to make space for another pair of students.
Leah flicks a glance toward them, her expression unreadable. "Do you remember the first sport you ever played?"
Ciel hums. "Barely. I was shorter and angrier."
"You're still both," Leah shrugs.
Turning his head in offense, Ciel fakes a gasp. "I've grown."
"Hardly," Leah says, refusing to look up and acknowledge that Ciel did in fact hit his growth spurt years ago.
Another laugh threatens, but he swallows it down with the rest of his cake. "Tell me, then. Do you intend to spend the rest of this season undermining me with sharp commentary and unwavering support for your brother?"
"I do," she says without pause. "It's part of my charm."
He studies her face—her lightly glossed lips, the faint flush of her cheeks, and the smile that tugs one corner of her mouth higher than the other—and lets himself feel the full weight of affection without disguise.
"Leah," he says at last, softly. "I'm very fond of you."
"Mm. I should hope so," her tone is light, but her eyes flick up to meet his, open for a moment in a way she rarely allows. "I'm fond of you too."
"Even if I lose to your brother?" he questions.
A smile spreads across Leah's lips. "Especially if you lose to my brother. It'll humble you. Even if Daniel needs some humbling himself."
He shakes his head, amused and mildly exasperated. "You're insufferable."
"You like me that way," she sticks out her tongue teasingly, making sure only Ciel can see the gesture.
They linger there a moment longer, nestled beside the buffet table like they belong to a different corner of the event entirely. The room swells around them with conversation and laughter, but their exchange feels private.
═╬
The next day, Leah fans herself with a folded bit of stationery she stole from her father's coat pocket. There's already a faint red line rising along the curve of her shoulder, sunburn creeping in. Her face is still pale, but her nose has gone pink despite the frilly parasol Paula's been dutifully adjusting for the past half hour. Elizabeth sits prettily to her right, smiling like the sun itself hasn't declared war on them, and clapping whenever someone so much as touches the bat.
"My God, how long have we been sitting here? Two hours? Four?" she complains.
"It's only been—" Elizabeth pauses, checks the little gold watch pinned to her sash, "—thirty-seven minutes since the last interval."
Leah sighs like she's just been told her cousin died. "So we're not even close to a break, then."
Elizabeth giggles, brushing a stray curl off her forehead. "Not until the second match ends. But it is rather exciting, don't you think?"
"No," Leah offers nothing more.
A small sound escapes Elizabeth. "Oh."
Finnian, sitting cross-legged on the grass beside the edge of the blanket, munches noisily on a slice of peach. His face is flushed and his hat has been cast off somewhere behind him, hair sticking in every direction like he's been wrestling a sheep. "Miss Leah, look there! Master Ciel's bowling!"
"I'd rather look into the sun," Leah mutters, though her eyes do shift lazily toward the pitch.
A Sapphire Owl boy, all sharp posture and narrow-eyed, winds up and hurls the ball with such force it sends up a spray of dust. One of the Red House boys stumbles trying to hit it, and Daniel, shouting from the side, nearly leaps at him. Leah gives a tepid clap with two fingers against her palm.
"Lovely," she drawls. "Riveting. Remind me to have it carved into my tombstone: She died at a cricket match. May God rest her soul."
"Your brother's playing too, isn't he?" Finnian asks, still bright-eyed.
"Which is why I haven't left yet," she says, shifting irritably under her parasol. "Well, that and my father's glare."
Lucius, seated at the head of the small cluster of chairs beside Vivienne, says nothing but tightens his jaw whenever Leah shifts. He hasn't spoken much since their arrival, preferring to watch the match in silence, but his presence is as commanding as ever. Vivienne, dressed to outshine half the spectators despite the heat, flutters her fan at nothing in particular and mutters every so often about too much dust and absolutely no champagne.
Elizabeth continues to cheer politely, now and then murmuring a sweet "bravo!" or "how splendid!" under her breath. Behind the girls, Paula keeps the parasol angled just enough to shield both girls from the cruel midmorning light.
Leah shifts again and winces, her corset has begun to bite. "I hate sports," she announces. "And men. And especially the combination of the two."
"Why men?" Elizabeth asks, blinking.
Leah's eye twitches. "They invented cricket."
That earns a huff of laughter from Finnian. Mcmillan, seated near the edge of the group with his knees perfectly folded and posture stiff as a board, shifts slightly. Leah catches it. She doesn't know why he's here, exactly. He's not unpleasant, just there. Watching the match like it holds the secrets of the universe, hands neatly placed atop his lap, face set in that vaguely admiring way that some boys get.
She side-eyes him again, but he doesn't notice.
Elizabeth leans in closer, whispering, "He's Ciel's friend, you know."
"That explains nothing," Leah replies.
"Oh, don't be horrid."
"I'm not. I'm simply curious," she squints toward the pitch.
"McMillan is nice," Finnian pipes up.
"Is he?" Leah glances again.
This time McMillan does notice as he turns his head slightly, catches her gaze, and offers a small, unsure smile. Leah nods back, a tight-lipped thing somewhere between 'hello' and 'what do you want from me?'
Another round of applause erupts from the field. Daniel has taken a wicket and Red House is cheering like mad. Leah lets out a small, exhausted "hurrah," and slouches even further in her chair.
"That's the spirit," Elizabeth says.
"I'm trying," Leah groans. "But if this match doesn't end before I begin peeling like a roasted turnip, I shall throw myself into the lake."
"We don't have a lake," Finnian says.
"Then I'll dig one."
The umpire shouts something across the field as both teams scramble to rearrange themselves. Leah pretends not to hear them, focusing instead on twisting her empty fan into a makeshift cone and pretending it's a megaphone. She cups it over her mouth.
"Go Daniel, may the sun burn your opponents into ash!"
Elizabeth squeaks. "Leah!"
Leah tilts her head innocently. "Too far?"
"Yes!"
"...Noted," she says quietly.
The match continues, sweat gathering along Leah's back as she debates removing her gloves. She doesn't, only because her mother would make a scene.
"I need something cold," she mutters.
Finnian raises his peach pit. "Want the rest?"
She gives him a look that could curdle milk and perhaps would have thrown him across the field if she wasn't so fond of him.
Leah turns toward Elizabeth. "How do you still look alive?"
"I've always loved being outside," Elizabeth replies cheerfully. "It's good for the skin."
Leah lifts a brow. "My skin is screaming."
Giving Leah's abnormally pale skin a once over, Elizabeth tries a half-hearted suggestion. "You should try rose water."
There's a sudden roar from the field. A dramatic catch—Blue House has taken another wicket. Elizabeth leaps up in excitement, hands clapping furiously. Paula flinches, but joins her.
Leah stands only half an inch, squinting toward the field. She spots Ciel watching Daniel with narrowed eyes. Daniel laughs and says something Leah can't hear.
"Oh, please," she mutters. "You're not rivals. You're just overly dramatic teenagers with god complexes."
"What was that, Leah?" Elizabeth asks.
"Nothing, Lizzie. Just cheering," she plucks a strawberry from the plate Finnian has somehow acquired and bites into it viciously.
There's still another half of the match left. Another interval. Another few hundred minutes of boys swinging sticks in the sun.
Leah adjusts her gloves and settles into her chair again, eyes rolling toward the sky. "I miss the ballroom," she says flatly. "And proper refreshments, walls, and shade that doesn't move."
Finnian pats her arm gently. "You'll survive, Miss Leah."
By the time the next interval rolls around, the sun is finally relenting. Not entirely, of course. It's still glaring down upon the pitch like a judgmental aunt, but the sound of the umpire's whistle and a chorus of hoarse cheers signals the interval. A breeze wafts in from the trees. It isn't strong enough to cool anything properly, but it gives the illusion of mercy. A few boys toss down their bats and dash toward the trestle tables in search of lemonade and meat pies, while the spectators lean back with collective sighs of relief.
Leah lowers herself back onto the cushioned chair with far more grace than she feels. The silk bodice of her gown sticks uncomfortably to her back despite Paula's careful efforts with a linen fan. She takes a chilled glass of apricot juice from a passing servant and sips it with enough reverence to make it seem like a fine wine. The sweet sharpness cuts through the sluggish heat and revives her better than any polite clapping ever could.
"Tell me this isn't the most tolerable part of the entire affair," she murmurs, mostly to herself.
Elizabeth leans over, cheeks flushed from excitement. "They've put out fruit and little tarts as well if you'd like something sweet. Though I'm quite sure Paula could ask the staff for anything you prefer."
Leah gestures vaguely toward her glass. "This is all I require. I can taste my will to live returning."
Finnian, now lying on his stomach like a child, pops a candied plum into his mouth and lets out a happy hum. "Master Ciel was amazing out there, wasn't he?"
"He was perfectly competent," Leah answers without looking up, tipping the rim of her glass toward her lips again. "Though I still maintain the sport is dreadfully dull."
A familiar figure in white and scarlet strides into view, the red of his sash stark against the golden tones of the grass and sun. Daniel wipes the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief before he even reaches them, offering a crooked grin that says he's already aware of how smug he looks.
"Good, you're still alive," Leah mutters. "I feared you'd collapsed somewhere from overexertion."
"I'm not the one lounging about like a fainting goat," he replies as he leans in to give her a quick kiss atop her head, careful not to disturb her carefully coiffed hair. "I see the sun hasn't devoured you yet."
Leah smiles mockingly. "Only because this parasol has been shielding me like a battlefield nurse. You owe it your sister's life."
"Noted," he says with a lazy smirk. His gaze flicks to their parents. "Mother. Father."
Vivienne inclines her head with a smile and Lucius, arms crossed, gives a nod.
"You're not eating with your team?" Leah asks, glancing toward the distant tables, where boys are tearing into savory pies like starved hounds. "Go on, then. Wouldn't want to miss your fill of meat and glory."
Daniel grimaces slightly. "They're serving meat pies. I'll pass."
Leah lifts a brow. "You used to adore them."
"When I was six and lacked discernment," he rolls his eyes.
"More for the others, then," Lucius finally says, his voice like cold iron. "You'll need the energy if you plan to win."
Daniel shrugs. "I'll be fine. I'd rather not play the rest of the match feeling like I swallowed a brick."
Vivienne tuts. "You'll spoil your appetite being choosy."
"I'll live," he replies, then turns to Leah with a more conspiratorial tone. "How are you surviving all this? Has your blood boiled yet?"
Leah sips her juice and holds his gaze. "I'm one scorching gust of wind away from bursting into flame. I've been half-expecting one of the owls to mistake me for a corpse and peck my eyes out."
"I'll keep watch," he says, grinning. "For the owls, I mean. Can't have you losing both your eyes before the season ends."
Leah rolls her eyes. "How generous."
She finally looks him over properly. Sweat clings to his collar, and his hair—usually combed back with military precision—has begun to curl at the edges, damp from the match. But he carries himself easily, a natural athleticism that earns him praise even from boys who'd rather die than admit admiration. A small knot of pride unfurls in her chest, reluctant but present.
"You've done well," she allows. "I daresay your aim has improved since you used to throw stones at my head for sport."
Daniel laughs. "Ah, but back then, I wasn't aiming to miss."
That earns a laugh from Elizabeth, who covers her mouth with her gloved fingers. Leah merely shakes her head, a smirk threatening to betray her.
"Are you heading back soon?" Elizabeth asks.
Daniel glances over his shoulder, where a few Red House boys are already trudging back toward the pitch. "I guess I am now."
═╬
A cricket ball whistles through the air and slams into the dirt with a dull thud. Ciel misses again. From the Barretts' shaded viewing area, Leah watches her fiancé square his shoulders with an air of polite, unyielding frustration.
The crowd gives a faint collective wince, though no one dares laugh outright. Still, there's a subtle shuffle of whispers from the younger girls beneath their parasols and fans, the sort of giggles one learns to recognize after attending even a single term's worth of public events.
Ciel looks unbothered, the set of his mouth is perfectly neutral and his posture is composed despite his clear lack of aptitude. He isn't athletic by any definition, his limbs are too fine and aristocratic, and Leah already knows he doesn't enjoy any sport that requires much exertion. Regardless, he moves back into position without hesitation. Pride compels him forward where skill does not.
"He looks handsome in the uniform," Elizabeth offers weakly.
"Yes. Perhaps he'll distract the opposing team into forfeiting," Leah murmurs, not entirely without warmth. She draws a small fan from her lap and flicks it open, watching the sharp glint of the sunlight against Johanne's brass cufflinks as he readies the final throw.
Sapphire Owl is down by many points. If Ciel misses this final pitch, Red House claims victory.
Johanne lifts his arm, but there is a pause. Not a dramatic flair, something is off. His back stiffens and his head jerks ever so slightly. Then, abruptly, he doubles over with a guttural sound that carries far too easily across the field as the ball drops from his hand.
For a moment, there is only silence. A pause in the breath of the event.
"Oh my God," someone gasps.
Another boy stumbles sideways across the pitch, his face ashen and drenched in sweat. A third collapses onto his knees and lets out a sound that could be mistaken for a war cry if it weren't followed by a moan of unmistakable agony. Then another and another.
"What in the world—" Elizabeth's voice trails off into stunned disbelief.
Leah sits upright, her eyes wide. Her glass of apricot juice tilts precariously in her hand, nearly forgotten.
All across the pitch, Red House players are convulsing, clutching their stomachs, some even abandoning all dignity as they stagger off the field or crumple to the ground. A few try to crawl toward the sidelines, their bodies wracked with spasms. The unmistakable sound of retching cuts through the air like a blade.
Then the faint smell coming from Johanne hits.
"Dear God," Leah mutters, lowering her fan and recoiling just enough to press into the seat back. Her gaze flicks to Daniel's end of the field. He and Soma and the only ones left standing. The two exchange glances, dumbfounded and helpless.
Sapphire Owl's team, by contrast, is untouched. Ciel stands motionless with an odd expression on his face. The blue of his uniform doesn't even appear ruffled. Which, of course, means he had something to do with this.
"Oh my God," Leah whispers again, this time with far more horror. She presses a gloved hand to her mouth, then removes it just as quickly. "He didn't."
Vivienne waves a handkerchief delicately before her face. "I told you those meat pies looked too rich. No proper English meal ought to smell like a bakery left out in the sun."
Leah lets out an exasperated noise that's far too undignified for public consumption, then quickly schools her expression as Daniel trudges across the lawn to join them. His boots crunch against the gravel and his sleeves are rolled to the elbows, jacket abandoned somewhere on the sidelines. He looks like he's aged twenty years in five minutes.
"Don't," he says flatly before anyone can speak.
Leah lifts a brow. "Not even going to try to defend them?"
"There's nothing to defend. They're all shitting themselves into unconsciousness," Daniel throws himself into the empty chair beside her and yanks off his gloves. "I am never eating anything prepared by this school again."
"Daniel!" Vivienne hisses at his choice of language.
Leah almost laughs, but the stench drifting toward their area ruins the moment. She quickly fans herself again, resisting the urge to gag. All around them, the crowd sits frozen, unsure whether to intervene, flee, or pretend this hasn't just become the most undignified disaster in school history.
Her eyes flick back toward the Sapphire Owl side. Ciel has yet to move. He watches the scene unfold with all the solemnity of a chessmaster noting the fall of a pawn.
Leah's fingers tighten on her fan. "This is vile," she mutters. "Absolutely vile."
Daniel shrugs. "It's effective."
"Don't you dare encourage him," she snaps.
"I didn't say I liked it. I said it worked," he leans back in the chair, dragging a hand down his face. "Sapphire Owl wins. I hope they're happy."
Lucius lets out a dry chuckle. "Didn't think I'd see the day."
"Well, don't get used to it," Daniel mutters. "They're still terrible. Just.. less terrible than we are when drugged."
The match is officially called. Sapphire Owl claims the victory by default as the majority of Red House is deemed "unfit to continue," which is a gracious way of saying they can't make it to the field without shitting their trousers.
"The Scarlet Foxes are unable to continue playing and therefore withdraw from the match. Thus, the first match goes to the Sapphire Owls!"
It is hard to hear when the stands suddenly erupt into shouts, such news is beyond a surprise.
═╬
Much time later, they are nearing the hopeful end of the last match. Green Lion versus Sapphire Owl—the very concept outside of the original story had once seemed laughable, a joke whispered between the older boys and easily dismissed with a roll of the eyes. Yet, here they are with an impossible remnant of the morning's chaos trailing behind them.
Leah's skirts rustle faintly as she adjusts in her seat beneath the silk parasol. There's a fold in the lace of her sleeve that's irritating her, but her attention stays rooted on the field. She's perched just behind the frontmost viewing pavilion now, where the nobler families linger with drinks and gossip masked behind pleasant smiles.
"They're going to riot again," someone mutters a few seats down.
Elizabeth leans in closer, her gloves pristine despite the long day. "Do you think the judges shall call it off?"
"Not now," Leah murmurs. "They've let it go on too long. If they call it now, the whole thing's pointless."
Indeed, the tension is palpable—like the last knot in a corset drawn too tightly, one sharp tug from snapping. Minutes earlier, Blue House had been accused of ungentlemanly conduct. Jeers from a few students still echo faintly in the air like ghostly aftershocks, though the officiants have already waved their handkerchiefs and moved on. The match continues, smoothed over with the sort of blind optimism only English institutions are capable of.
Bluewer steps forward now, his brows slightly furrowed, jaw tight with finality. The last bowl of his school career. It shows in the posture and the aching precision with which he stretches his arm, rolls his shoulder back, and lines up the throw. The crowd hushes without needing to be told.
From her vantage point, Leah narrows her eyes slightly. She doesn't love cricket, but she likes watching people care this much about something stupid. And he does care. They all do, even when they're pretending not to. She lets her hand slip from her cheek as Bluewer releases the ball.
The bat swings with a sharp crack—Greenhill's clean and practiced form, but it's not the ball that captures attention. It's the sudden recoil, the jarring motion, and the sharp grunt that follows. Greenhill twists as his bat finishes the arc and strikes something behind him. The sound is not the dull tap of willow against leather. It's bone.
Gasps ripple like wind through wheat.
On the pitch, Ciel Phantomhive falls back from his crouch behind the wicket as one of his gloved hands flinches up to his head.
"Oh my—" Elizabeth's hand flies to her mouth.
Leah bursts out laughing. Not a shriek of delight or mockery. It's a reflex. Sharp, startled, and inappropriate. The kind that slips through when something awful happens.
"Oh my God," she mutters immediately after, fingers clamping over her lips as though that might call the laugh back. "I— oh my God, that wasn't— I didn't mean to—"
Her gaze darts wildly toward the pitch again. Ciel straightens, jaw clenched, a trickle of blood tracing his forehead. Greenhill turns around, his body twisted in concern, stepping toward Ciel and asking if he is alright.
Then, without a word, Ciel hurls the ball.
It arcs low and fast, almost vicious in its trajectory, and slams into the far wicket. The other batsman tries to catch up but fails.
The umpire stares in silence.
"Green House, ten outs."
"Time! The match is over!"
Screams sound from Sapphire Owl. It takes a moment for everyone to process what's just happened. Leah remains frozen for a beat, still half-laughing and half-stricken.
"That little snake," Daniel mutters with the faintest grin.
Across the field, Ciel is being lifted up by his teammates with a smile on his face as they all cheer delightfully.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Elizabeth whispers, her complexion pale. "That sounded awful."
Leah swallows and adjusts her skirts. "It was awful," she agrees faintly, "but he's fine."
"Are you positive?" asks Elizabeth.
The Barrett gives a half-hearted shrug. "He didn't faint. That is practically the same thing."
Elizabeth's brows pinch. "You really shouldn't laugh when your fiancé gets struck in the skull."
"I didn't mean to!" Leah groans. "It just happened! I didn't expect it and it sounded like a bloody melon—" she presses a hand to her mouth as she nearly starts laughing again. "He's never going to let me live this down."
Ciel catches Leah's eyes and smiles. 'Green House didn't win..'
As impossible as it seemed, he somehow managed to deliver her wish.
"Blue House won!"
Notes:
now we get starved of seeing ciel and daniel again🥰
shamelessly promoting my discord server :3 (https://discord.gg/vTBdyFRmZC) there aren’t many people in it, but it’s alice in wonderland themed, i give out little sneak peeks for chapters or fun facts for my fics, you get pinged for updates immediately, and the few of us that are in it are really nice and love to talk :D
Chapter 39: | 38 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl is the centerpiece of a ball. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
not sure how i feel about this chapter🤔
also, is there something in the air? cause i’ve been getting way more comments lately. before a couple weeks ago, i’d get one comment a month across all my fics and platforms if i was lucky and now i’m getting at least a couple a week. are schools on break for y’all? am i just attracting people that comment? is black butler gonna be popular again for a while? either way, i love y’all😭🫶🏻
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-eight ! )
"You walk like a swan, darling. Not a racehorse."
The Barrett's London home, though a few streets removed from true old nobility, is grand enough to silence whispers. Imported crystal chandeliers catch on every surface of the ballroom, flinging light like shards of glass across polished marble and the vivid rose-and-gold tapestries lining the walls. The orchestra has already taken place beneath the gallery, waltzing through a medley light enough to signal the night's beginning. The crowd has only just begun to thicken.
Leah's fan flutters delicately, but she doesn't break her stride. Her mother's voice follows her from the corridor as she descends the final steps into the ballroom, pale silk skirts swaying around her like whipped cream. The woman's words are fond for once, almost playful, but Vivienne's tone always carries a weight that Leah has long since learned to spot.
Walking slowly, Leah pauses with precise poise as a maid adjusts the ribbon trailing from her sleeve. Already the room seems to bend toward her—the deliberate centerpiece of her family's efforts, dressed in a lilac silk gown threaded with silver embroidery and trimmed with scalloped white lace at the bust and hem. Ribbons curl around her arms like vines and delicate gloves fitted tight to the wrist. Her hair is arranged higher than usual tonight, mahogany brown pinned and powdered with sugared petals at the crown. No one dares outshine her.
Across the room, her father lifts his glass, offering her a sharp, satisfied smile that never quite reaches his eyes. He's speaking to an Earl, Leah thinks, or at least someone pretending to be one. Lucius has always had a gift for charming his way into the right circles, even if his accent still rounds out vowels in ways the English find irritating. Most of them wouldn't dare say it to his face, they don't quite know how to handle Americans who dress well and have money.
Vivienne has insisted they hold this ball as a display of gratitude to all those who have graciously welcomed Leah into Society as if the girl hasn't already conquered it. But beneath the lace and flattery is something Leah recognizes more than anyone else: a bid. A well-calculated show of power from a family that most of the nobility still views as up-jumped colonials.
Leah doesn't care for the politics of it. What she does care for is how their drawing room had been stripped of its usual dull elegance and redone for the event or how the flower arrangements had been imported from the country just for tonight or how not a single guest can seem to stop looking at her.
She drifts to the refreshments table, nodding briefly to Lady Claremont's daughter as she passes. The girl drops into a curtsy so deep it nearly topples her. Leah gives a graceful smile and then promptly ignores her. 'Rather unnecessary..'
A cluster of young women are whispering near the columns, flicking fans beneath their chins in time with each other's murmurs. Leah doesn't need to hear them to know the topic is her gown. She could approach or intercept the conversation, but it's far more satisfying to let them stew in it.
Instead, she drifts to the side of the room, standing near one of the open balcony doors to breathe in the night air. The city's distant noise hums faintly beneath the melody of violins. London smells of warm stone, garden smoke, and carriage oil.
Someone approaches, but she doesn't turn.
"Well, you've got them all in knots, haven't you?" a voice mutters just behind her, low and vaguely amused. "Poor souls. I almost feel sorry for the ones who thought they stood a chance."
"Don't be vulgar," Leah replies, coolly. "They'll hear you."
He laughs. "They're too busy trying not to trip over their own pride."
Turning, Leah glances up at the man, Lord Ellington's second son, if she remembers correctly. A tall figure, pleasant enough in appearance, but about as interesting as old wallpaper. His mother had thrown two dinners and a picnic to try and get him next to her last week and Leah had tolerated it with a headache.
"Yet you've come to speak with me again," she says, flicking open her fan. "Are you hoping I'll change my mind?"
He shrugs. "No. Just like the view from here," a pause. "I meant the city, of course."
"Of course," she echoes, not bothering to hide the amusement in her tone. "How very patriotic of you."
He grins, but his courage falters under her gaze and he drifts away without ceremony as Leah returns to her place by the door. She knows the exact time to speak and when to remain silent, it's an art most girls haven't mastered yet.
The musicians slip into a new number, a familiar minuet, and couples begin to take the floor. Leah notices her mother eyeing her from across the room and makes a slow, measured turn toward the dance before she's intercepted halfway.
"Miss Barrett," says a tall, broad-shouldered young man whose name she only partially recalls. "May I have the honor of this dance?"
The boy's smile is pleasant, his teeth very white and his hair a little too well-coiffed. She lets her eyes travel up to meet his without warmth.
"I believe I've already promised this one," she says smoothly, even though she hasn't.
He hesitates. "Ah—of course. Perhaps the next."
"Perhaps," she gives an unnoticeable shrug.
He vanishes before she finishes the word. There's satisfaction in it, though her heels ache. She's tired, but she's winning and that makes it worth it.
Two gentlemen begin arguing about something at the other end of the ballroom, gesturing toward the pianist and a misplaced overture. Lucius' laughter booms above it, echoing over the sound of strings. He has a glass of something dark in his hand and one of the footmen stands uncomfortably close, waiting for instructions.
Leah sighs, raising the fan again as the music crescendos. The dance floor is filled now with faces she half-recognizes from teas and luncheons under the glint of light.
Vivienne appears behind her, stepping closer. "Smile more," she says, lips barely moving. "Not like a cat. Soft. You're too clever by half when you're quiet."
Leah lowers her fan just slightly. "Would you prefer I act as though I'm stupid?"
"No, but they are would," Vivienne says, pausing. "Now go."
Following the orders, Leah moves back into the room, posture tall and chin tilted at the exact angle to look both regal and disinterested. She smiles, politely and softly, just as instructed.
═╬
A second violin enters just behind the cello, soft and sure, signaling the beginning of another quadrille. The ballroom has warmed considerably, though Leah's face remains untouched by sweat. Powder holds, rouge softens her cheekbones, and the faintest gloss of beeswax on her lips keeps her expression fixed in something elegant.
There is a subtle shift in the air that alerts her before the voice does. One can always tell when someone is about to ask for a dance by the way they square their shoulders, the slight tilt of the head, or the straightening of cuffs or waistcoat. The approach is always formal and expectant. Polite dread settles in her stomach.
"Miss Barrett."
The voice is smooth, familiar in the way fine whiskey is familiar—refined with a burn tucked somewhere inside it.
She turns, smile already in place. "Your Grace."
Henry Moore's dark hair is swept back and tied with a pale ribbon that compliments the gold brocade along the edge of his navy coat. 'It's a good color on him,' she thinks absently.
"You look like you're trying very hard not to appear bored," he says, with a hint of a smile.
"I am trying," Leah answers. "Which is far more than I can say for some."
He inclines his head, amused. "Would you permit me the next dance? I fear I may come undone with shame if you refuse."
She lowers her fan, expression unreadable for just a moment too long. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she replies, "I suppose if you've already resigned yourself to humiliation, I might as well grant you a reprieve."
"I'm much obliged," he offers his arm and she takes it.
They step out onto the floor together just as the strings shift again. The movement is light and playful with a lilting rhythm that doesn't demand rigid formality. Leah lets herself settle into it. The two of them move easily through the opening steps, their timing precise, but not rehearsed. She's danced with him a few times by now to know that he doesn't step on toes or grip too tightly. His hand at her waist is always steady and warm through the silk and boning of her bodice.
"You didn't linger at the refreshments table," he notes. "Is the punch not to your liking or were you simply avoiding suitors who've been mentally rehearsing their proposals since breakfast?"
"I don't drink punch," Leah says flatly. "And I try to avoid men who smell like starch and fear."
Henry's mouth twitches, nearly losing count of the step. "That's rather unkind."
"Is it?" she lifts a brow. "I always thought it was rather generous. I could name them aloud if you prefer."
He gives a laugh. It's not the tight, polite laugh men give at teas or luncheons. It's genuine, a little too loud for the music, and she sees three heads turn in response. Leah's cheeks warm as she looks away and brings the back of her hand to her mouth as if she's suppressing a cough, but a snort slips out.
For a half-second, she freezes in horror.
Henry stares at her in delighted disbelief, and then—like something giving way—he starts to laugh again, shoulders shaking with it now. It breaks through the ballroom's lacquered calm like a dropped glass.
Leah covers her face with her fan, but she's quietly laughing too. It bubbles out before she can stop it. When she glances up at him through her lashes, he's still grinning.
"Well," she murmurs, voice hoarse, "there goes any chance of retaining mystery."
He leans in slightly, just enough for her to hear over the music. "On the contrary. You've only increased it."
"You're mocking me," her brows knit.
Shaking his head, Henry can't wipe the smile from his face. "I'm applauding your restraint. If I'd done it, my mother would've sent for smelling salts."
She breathes out a laugh through her nose and spins neatly as the dance shifts. They separate, circle, and return. The air between them has changed. Not quite softened, but there's something that stretches comfortably without snapping.
He doesn't speak again until they've crossed the floor and paused on one of the steps that allows for conversation.
"I suspect," he says slowly, "that if your circumstances were different, I'd be making a very different sort of request tonight."
The words don't land with weight. There's no edge to them. No lingering gaze or forced melancholy. It's said plainly, as though observing the weather.
Leah doesn't answer right away. The music resumes and they move again, weaving among other couples. She watches the swirl of gowns around her, the blur of silks and powder-blue feathers.
It takes her a moment to respond before her voice barely hits his ear. "You wouldn't get far."
"No?" his brow raises.
Another laugh escapes her at the thought of Gwendolyn. "My cousin would kill you."
Henry lets out a quiet breath, more smile than a sigh. "She'd have to catch me first."
"You're not nearly fast enough," Leah shakes her head absently.
Tilting his head, his hand loosens ever so slightly. "Is that a challenge?"
She nods. "You'd die."
He laughs again, more subdued this time. "Well. There's always next season."
"Don't be vulgar," says Leah for the second time that evening.
"I'm being patient."
They break apart again, each turning through the next sequence. She lets the moment linger and the stillness between them stretch, then settle. When they return, she catches his gaze again.
"You'd make a decent friend," she says.
A smirk spreads across Henry's face. "That sounds dangerously close to a compliment."
"Don't get comfortable," Leah hides the mock roll of her eyes.
Henry quickly shakes his head. "Never," he's smiling again, that quiet kind of smile that doesn't demand attention but simply is.
Something inside her twists in response, not with attraction, but recognition and understanding. There are few people who speak plainly with her, fewer who don't expect something when they do.
As the dance draws to its end, Leah curtsies, and Henry bows, both still smirking faintly. No declarations. No romantic stammering. Just two people who, despite everything, might have actually started to like each other.
They part at the edge of the floor and his hand lingers just briefly on hers, a gesture more of habit than hope. "I'll send a note," he says.
Leah turns her head. "I may not answer it."
With a smirk, Henry gives one last bow. "I expect nothing less."
Before she can blink, he is gone, absorbed into the crowd and she is left alone once more beneath the chandelier, breathless in a way she hadn't anticipated.
For the moment, her smile is real, and it stays even as she lifts her chin and turns back into the glittering fold. This moment doesn't last long though when she hears a soft scritch-scratch from beneath the card table. Then sees an orange paw, large and languid, emerge from beneath the silk tablecloth, swiping at the frilled edge as though it offends him personally. Leah halts in her tracks as her eyes narrow and another paw joins the first.
She mutters a curse under her breath and skirts toward the table, lifting the edge of the cloth as if inspecting a battlefield. Sure enough, Sam lounges beneath it like a king under a canopy, eyes half-lidded, entirely unbothered.
"I told you to stay upstairs," she hisses.
The cat merely blinks at her, stretches, then rolls over with a great deal of effort and a faint groan as though he's the one being inconvenienced.
"Oh, marvelous," Leah breathes.
Somewhere nearby, a footman clears his throat with purpose. Leah straightens at once and smooths the folds of her skirts, feigning interest in the wallpaper. Her heart skips, but the man simply walks past her with a silver tray held aloft so she releases the breath she had been holding.
Knowing no peace, a yip follows from across the ballroom. Leah's blood freezes. 'No. No, no, no—'
A flash of white streaks between two pairs of shoes, startling a lady into spilling champagne down her sleeve. PomPom, in all his puffy glory, is prancing madly in zigzags along the perimeter of the room, bow crooked on his head. He looks possessed in the midst of his burst of energy.
Several people look down and a few startled gasps ripple through the crowd. Someone tries to grab him, but PomPom easily evades. A gentleman in green even gets tangled in his lead and nearly topples, saved only by the iron grip of his dance partner, who looks mortified.
Leah doesn't hesitate as she sweeps toward the dog with all the speed her corset and long skirts will allow, managing to appear composed only by years of practice.
"I swear on all that is holy," she growls under her breath.
PomPom halts mid-run, eyes wide, and then bolts in the opposite direction.
'He must've escaped from the upstairs sitting room again. Probably slipped past a maid. Sam—bloody bastard—must've followed. They always do this every time there's a party or a guest.' PomPom cannot abide by not being the center of attention and Sam cannot abide him. He only follows to sabotage his efforts at stardom.
Leah lunges forward and manages to seize the lead just as the dog spins toward a tray of sugared almonds. The momentum drags her slightly, but she plants her heels and grits her teeth, yanking PomPom back with one arm while the other clutches her skirts as the dog lets out a noise of betrayal.
"You," she hisses, lifting the dog into her arms like a misbehaving child, "are not invited. You were never invited. You weren't even on the list."
A small cluster of guests have begun to notice the affair. One woman stifles a laugh behind her gloved fingers and a few young men look on with amusement. Someone whispers something about "Miss Barrett's little dog" and "how spirited," and it makes Leah want to throw PomPom out the nearest window. Though she would never really do such a thing.
Sam chooses this exact moment to saunter out from beneath the table. He stretches again and begins grooming his paw like the scene around him is an entirely private matter. A housekeeper finally notices and she makes a move toward him, but he steps lazily away, tail flicking. Then he's off, stalking through the ballroom like it's his.
"You fat beast," Leah mutters.
The cat stops to sniff at a plate of biscuits, makes a face, and continues on.
PomPom starts squirming in her arms, barking furiously at his rival as Leah tightens her grip. "You will stop," she snarls through clenched teeth, "before I dye you black and pass you off as a rat."
PomPom snaps his jaws in indignation.
More laughter now. A few ladies have gathered by the refreshments, fanning themselves and nudging one another as they watch. Leah catches the eye of one of them, a girl from Bath with too many teeth, and delivers a look so sharp the laughter cuts off mid-giggle.
She begins marching toward the nearest hallway, dog under one arm like a handbag, searching for a maid to take the animals upstairs and lock them in. Sam, sensing his cue, follows behind like a bored guard dog.
A young boy in short trousers gasps and tries to pet PomPom as she passes. Leah tilts her arm away from him without slowing her stride. "He bites," not entirely true.
Around the corner, she finally finds a maid who looks young and terrified enough to obey her without question. Leah dumps PomPom into her arms, gestures violently at Sam, and hisses, "Upstairs. Give them some food and shut them in the rose room."
The girl blanches and nods. Satisfied, Leah turns on her heel and smooths her dress. She gives herself five seconds to silently scream inside her head, then reenters the ballroom with a face like carved marble.
As she approaches the nearest refreshment table, she hears the tail end of a conversation.
"..seemed perfectly in control."
"I would have cried."
"Oh, I'd have let them destroy the place."
Leah takes a glass of wine and sips it with calculated grace, pretending not to hear even though her expression is cool enough to freeze a fire. The crowd gradually returns to its normal buzz. Music begins to play again and the evening continues.
Just as she settles near the veranda doors, allowing the breeze from the cracked windows to dry the heat from her skin, the click of heels announces someone approaching from behind.
"Darling," comes Vivienne's voice. "Your father has arranged for a small surprise in the garden. Come along, now. Do try to look delighted."
Leah turns, glass still in hand. "Oh," she says, dragging the word out like taffy. "I do love being surprised."
Vivienne doesn't answer, already walking away. Leah follows a moment later, tossing one final glance toward the ballroom to see Sam's tail has just disappeared up the stairs.
═╬
Guests begin filtering into the garden. Somewhere in the distance, a water feature hums steadily, its basin filled with floating blossoms—peach-pink camellias, white gardenias, and the palest lavender clematis, each bloom bobbing lazily in the gentle current stirred by the fountain's trickle.
A thin mist of warmth still clings to the stones beneath their shoes, evidence of a summer day well spent, but the evening air is cooler now and the sky beginning its slow slip into slate. Above them, the garden is canopied by trellises and trained vines. Along the winding paths, hedgerows and sculpted greenery shape the crowd's movement without caging it.
Leah stands just before the central pond, her gloved hands resting lightly on the carved railing that overlooks the water. The marble is cold beneath her palms, but not unpleasantly so. Her reflection ripples faintly in the surface below, distorted by the petals drifting lazily across the water. She can see the pale sweep of her skirts in it. Behind her, the chatter of the other guests weaves in and out in a soft murmuring lilt. No one has grown bored yet.
"I do like this better than being inside," she murmurs, mostly to herself.
Her mother's voice flits in nearby, low and almost cheerful. She flutters past Leah, exchanging pleasantries with a woman whose name always slips Leah's mind, and offers the barest nod in her daughter's direction. Vivienne's gown glints faintly in the fading light, a soft dove-gray layered with tulle and tiny beads, and for once, she isn't trying to direct Leah's every step.
From across the lawn, Lucius' deep, familiar laugh cuts through the garden's mild tranquility. Something about the evening has pleased him—perhaps the turnout or the lack of chaos.
Someone bumps into Leah lightly, a flounce of pale skirts, the smell of orange blossom, and then offers a hurried apology before darting back into a group of girls giggling under a trellis. Leah waves it off without comment and doesn't bother to join them. She prefers the view here.
A breeze shifts through the trees, rustling the petals and leaves like a soft exhale. Then, with no warning but a low hiss of gas and a click too subtle for most to hear, the garden begins to glow.
It starts at the far edge. One lamp flickers to life—then another. Then ten. Then twenty.
All at once, the trellises overhead bloom with soft amber light, the strings of lamps catching like fireflies in the net of branches. Their glow is gentle but bright, spreading in ripples through the garden until every path is washed in gold. The gaslights stretch from one pillar to the next, swaying just slightly with the air, arranged in graceful arches that mimic the curves of the hedgerows below.
There's a gasp, audible and collective. Guests pause mid-step and the murmurs stop. A few tilt their heads back to watch, mouths parted slightly, the light caught in their eyes. Even the servants stationed near the refreshments pause to glance upward.
Leah's eyes widen. She doesn't necessarily smile, but her lips part and she breathes in a slow breath through her nose. The lamps shimmer faintly in her irises, giving them the look of glassy sodalite. Her hands still rest against the railing, unmoving.
"It's quite something," she says, voice barely above a whisper.
Golden light dances across the petals in the pond, illuminating the blooms like little ships adrift on fire. It's so unlike anything else she's seen at these dreadful parties. No stuffy ballroom ceilings or predictable centerpieces. Just light, open air, and things that float.
The guests begin to speak again, all at once—their voices full of praise, admiration, and wonder. They seem to forget their practiced grace for a moment, pointing upward or guiding others toward better vantage points. Some younger girls twirl in their gowns just to see how the fabric looks in the light. Leah watches, faintly amused. The beauty of it all is undeniable which means, of course, it's already something to be envied.
A woman near the roses comments loudly that she must do something similar for her daughter's engagement supper. Another mutters about the price of gas. Leah lifts her chin, and then finally steps away from the railing.
She begins moving through the garden with a slow, deliberate pace, careful not to catch her hem on the stone edges. Wherever she passes, she catches the glow of the lamps overhead and the scent of lemon balm and jasmine blooming along the paths. A few people offer greetings, but they're distracted by the display and Leah is grateful for it.
She finds a quiet place near the fountain—one of the smaller ones, with carved cherubs and polished stone too fine for the countryside. The fountain's base is shallow and the water still. For once, there is no music, no instructions, and no pressure to be seen, or admired, or spoken to. Just the evening light, the faint laughter of strangers, and the soft hush of the garden.
Leah carefully sits on the edge of the fountain, resting one gloved hand in her lap and letting the other trail just barely above the water's surface. Sadly, the rustle of skirts signals someone approaching, but it's only Vivienne again as she looks down at Leah, her face unreadable in the amber glow.
"Your father's very pleased," she says after a beat.
"I'd hope so," Leah replies. "He's been dropping hints about this for weeks."
Vivienne nods, glancing out toward the guests. Her hand adjusts a ribbon at her waist, absently.
"You ought to make your way toward the arbor in the next half hour," she adds. "The musicians will begin soon and your father wants you to be visible near the center."
Leah exhales. "Naturally."
Vivienne smooths her skirts and steps back, already looking away. Before leaving, she pauses and speaks so softly that Leah nearly misses it.
"You look lovely in the lights."
Notes:
i’ve been writing and editing this chapters instead of sleeping💀 i’m gonna regret this very soon
chat we only have a couple chapters left of social season arc😭 have you been enjoying it? any thoughts? was it a good enough stand in for public school arc? i’ve been having loads of fun, so personally i’m pretty happy/content with it :3
Chapter 40: | 39 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl struggles to sleep. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
did something a little different this chapter in terms of contents. less balls and outings, more shenanigans!
probably gonna burn myself out with the speed i keep going at, but it’s worth it TvT
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter thirty-nine ! )
"You're being ridiculous, Vivienne."
The words slice clean through the silence, sharp and low and half-strangled with fury. They carry well in the townhouse's narrow halls, especially at this hour, when the servants have long retired and London's distant hum has dulled to an afterthought. The curtains in Leah's room stir faintly where she's left the window cracked, letting in a nice breeze, but the sound cuts through even the quietest spring night.
She blinks awake, lashes sticking slightly. There's a moment of hazy confusion, but then another voice rises in response—her mother's.
"You're being sentimental. I am not speaking of emotion, Lucius. I'm speaking of opportunity. Of advantage. Of a duke, for God's sake—"
Leah sits up, the sheets rustling around her. The room is mostly dark with only the faint glow of moonlight filtering through lace. She stays still for a few seconds, letting the last fog of sleep slip off her limbs.
The voices continue, muffled but rising, and she can already tell they're not in the drawing room or any of the studies. Those are too far away to hear from here. They're likely just down the stairs, near her father's office or the small sitting room Vivienne pretends is hers when company comes.
Carefully, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool floor bites at her bare feet and the hem of her nightgown brushes her ankles, soft with lace. Her hair spills freely down her back, still tousled from sleep. A candle might make things easier, but she doesn't dare risk the light. Not when whatever this is sounds important enough to rattle her mother's porcelain tongue.
As if on cue, Vivienne's voice rises again, more clipped this time. "You're not even listening. Henry Moore has expressed clear intent and he's of far higher rank. His family name alone—"
"Ciel Phantomhive is nobility, Vivienne. He's an earl. Inheritance settled, estates managed, title clean, a close and direct connection to the Queen. What more do you want?"
Leah pauses just outside her door, the latch easing closed behind her with a light click. She listens to the pace of her mother's sharp footsteps. By contrast, her father always grounds himself when he's angry, heavy-shouldered and still. She imagines him standing with one hand braced against the fireplace mantle or the back of the settee, expression carved from stone.
"And what would you have me tell the duke?" Vivienne snaps. "That our daughter is already promised to a boy whose house is shrouded in oddities? That she turned him down, despite his offer? Do you think he'll ask again, Lucius? He won't. I may be married to you, but I am still a Gray. I know how these circles work."
"I know you've always preferred them over your own children," Lucius counters sharply.
Leah freezes halfway down the corridor. There's a moment of silence that lasts a beat too long. Lucius doesn't raise his voice often—he doesn't need to. His tone is steady and grounded in the kind of quiet finality that speaks louder than shouting. On the occasions when he does snap, it tends to leave the room raw.
"Don't be dramatic," Vivienne says at last, but there's a crack in her voice this time. "I'm trying to ensure she's positioned for the future."
"She has a future," a pause. "With Phantomhive."
Vivienne shakes her head, unsure of whether it's discomfort or uncertainty. "He's strange."
Rolling his eyes, Lucius shifts on his feet. "He's loyal."
There's a thud and the sound of pacing follows, then Lucius speaks again, quieter. "You weren't there. You didn't see them together at Bexley last spring or last winter in York. That boy treats her like she's made of porcelain. He looks at her like—hell, I don't know. Like she hung the damn moon. You want to toss that out so she can secure another title she doesn't even need?"
A sharp inhale comes from Vivienne. "You're speaking like this is about her feelings, Lucius. Since when do we—"
"It isn't about her feelings. It's about ours," he interrupts, but not cruelly. "We promised her, we agreed to it together, and it's done. Over. I'm not humiliating our family for a second offer that came too late."
Leah exhales slowly through her nose, her fingers clutching the banister now as she creeps halfway down the narrow staircase that leads to the floor below. She's still well out of sight—tucked neatly into the shadows cast by the hallway lamp, which has long since been dimmed for the night—but from here, she can hear every word clearly.
Her mother scoffs. "You think this is about the Barrett's dignity? You, an American in an English townhouse, telling me about preserving family pride?"
"Don't start with that," Lucius sighs, taking a sip of his drink.
"I should have married George's uncle. You know, I should have. I could have had a seat at court, I could have—"
Lucius' voice raises. "You could have lived in Sheffield for the rest of your damn life with nothing but a crumbling estate and a cold bed."
"Oh, and this is better?" Vivienne questions.
There's a sharp creak, the sound of the floorboard by the hearth. Leah knows that one, she had nearly tripped on it as a child. For a moment, she pictures Lucius standing there, expression half-drawn and staring Vivienne down like he's trying to see past the lacquer and powder.
"I'll not sell off my daughter," he says.
Vivienne squints her eyes. "You've technically done it before. She wouldn't even fight it."
"That doesn't make it right," Lucius shakes her head slowly.
A silence settles again, tension festering. Even Leah feels it while perched on the stairs. Her heart beats a little louder now, thudding against her ribs in a slow, precise rhythm. There's something strange about hearing her parents speak of her this way. She's used to being discussed—dismissed, most of the time—but this feels different. Their tones are warier. This isn't one of those idle drawing room spats about her posture or poetry tutors.
Eventually, Vivienne speaks again, quieter than before. "So you'd see her married to a haunted boy?"
Lucius doesn't hesitate. "I'd see her married to the boy she chose. Who's already chosen her."
The grandfather clock down the hall begins to chime the hour. Leah counts the bells. 'One.. two.. three.'
Vivienne's shoes tap softly as she crosses the floor. She's likely standing by the window now, she always drifts toward glass when she's angry. It's where she feels safest and can watch others from behind it.
"I hope you're right," she murmurs. "For her sake."
Lucius doesn't reply and the silence stretches.
Leah lingers one moment longer, then backs away from the stairs, careful not to let the wood creak beneath her steps. Her nightgown trails behind her like mist, whispering against the floor. The argument's weight still clings to the air. She doesn't return to her bedroom. Instead, she creeps past the closed doors of her parents' rooms and down the opposite hallway.
The corridor is silent, save for the soft creak of the townhouse settling and the faint hiss of light fixtures long since extinguished for the night. She keeps one hand against the wall, steadying herself in the dark. There's something in her expression—a look she gets when her thoughts are moving faster than her mouth can keep up.
It's not fear that trails her as she rounds the corner, brushing past a closed cabinet with a vase she's knocked over more than once. It's restlessness and a strange urge to do something ridiculous. Anything to burn off the sick twist in her stomach her mother's voice has stirred.
She hesitates outside Anna's door and, with a small grin creeping up her face, raps her knuckles three times in quick succession. Not too loud, just enough. The door cracks open within seconds.
Anna doesn't look surprised. "You heard them, didn't you?" she asks flatly, still half asleep and with a candle in her hand. Her long braid trails over her shoulder, bits of hair escaping from their confine.
"Of course I did. Who could sleep through that? Even I can't," Leah pushes the door open wider and steps inside uninvited. "The walls are paper. Besides, it's boring upstairs."
Anna sighs. "It's past two in the morning."
Leah throws herself face-first onto Anna's bed with a faint whine muffled by the sheets. "Yet here we are, fully awake."
"I'm not fully awake, you are. You always are when you're agitated," Anna leans down and relights the wall sconce with a practiced hand, bathing the room in an amber glow.
"You make that sound like a flaw," Leah mumbles, rolling onto her side and resting her cheek on the pillow. Her eyes flicker toward the window. "Let's go out."
Anna gives her a look. "Out?"
"Not out out," Leah scoffs. "Not to the street. Just out to the garden or something. I need air. Or amusement. Preferably both."
"I thought you didn't like the garden at night. You said it smelled like mildew and loneliness," Anna's brow raises in mock suspicion.
"That was two years ago. I'm allowed to change my mind," Leah sits up with sudden energy, tossing her hair back with a flick. "And anyway, I feel like doing something to quench my boredom. It's your duty as my lady's maid to supervise me."
"I think your father would rather I chained you to the bedpost."
"Exactly. So before he gets the idea, we flee."
Anna looks toward the door, then back at Leah, then down at her own nightdress. "Fine," she says at last, grumbling as she fetches her shawl. "But if we're caught, I'm blaming you."
"You always do," Leah says sweetly, skipping toward the hallway like she hasn't a care in the world. "Now hurry. The ghosts await."
The two make their way down the main staircase, careful to avoid the spots that creak. The townhouse is a ghost of itself at night—no servants rustling linens, no doors clicking shut, no silver being polished in the back scullery. Just darkness and the occasional distant drip of a pipe in the wall.
They are nearly to the side door when a shadow peels off the corridor and moves toward them with elegant, deliberate steps.
Thomas doesn't speak right away, he simply watches them with his arms folded behind his back. He's not in his butler uniform. Only a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, the sleeves rolled back to the elbow.
Leah stops in her tracks, annoyed that they didn't make it to the exit first. "Don't you have anything better to do than slink around like a cat?"
"Apparently not," he replies with polite dryness. "Would you like me to accompany you or stand by while you hurt your ankle tripping over a root again?"
"I did not trip," she says. "I stumbled. It was poetic."
Anna bites back a smile at the words.
Thomas turns toward the door, holding it open with a slight bow. "After you, My Lady. Miss Anna."
Leah rolls her eyes and glides past him anyway. "Try not to slow us down, won't you?"
They spill into the garden with the hush of night at their backs. Moonlight glints off the small ornamental fountain at the center of the lawn and there's a faint rustling of ivy on the far wall where a breeze passes through. Leah pads down the main path, fingers grazing the tops of the hedges, eyes bright with some childish gleam that rarely gets to surface.
Anna trails beside her with practiced calm. "So what exactly are we doing out here? Is there a plan?"
"No plan," Leah says. "Plans are for when I feel trapped. Tonight I feel.." she hesitates, looking upward at the stars beyond the twisted iron arch overhead, "like I don't want to be told who I belong to."
"That's new," Thomas says mildly.
"Shut up, Thomas," snaps Leah.
He nods without question. "As you wish."
The three drift toward the back of the garden, where an overgrown lattice structure hides a little stone bench and a patch of wildflowers left to grow too long. Leah sits with a small sigh, folding her arms behind her head and staring up.
Anna takes a seat beside her, smoothing her skirt. "I suppose there are worse ways to spend the night."
Thomas remains standing, hands behind his back, casting a long shadow. "You've dragged me out here before for less."
"Yes, and you always pretend you don't enjoy it," Leah gives him a sidelong glance. "You're not as unreadable as you think."
He smiles faintly. "No, I merely let you read what I wish."
Anna stretches out her legs, yawning into her sleeve. "You two are exhausting."
"You've only yourself to blame," Leah says. "You could've locked your door or told me no, but you didn't. You never do."
"I stopped trying to say no when you were seven and found where I hid the house key in the winter room fireplace."
Leah giggles at the memory, shifting in her seat. "That was resourceful of me."
"That was reckless," Anna deadpans.
A shrug leaves the girl. "Same thing, really."
Thomas wanders a little, inspecting a flowering bush that seems to tremble under his gaze. "Would you like me to fetch something to eat?" he asks without turning. "I imagine neither of you had dinner."
Anna gives Leah a look. "I could eat."
Leah stretches her arms above her head and yawns. "Only if it isn't boring.. And nothing heavy."
"Understood," Thomas vanishes into the night like fog pulling back.
Anna shifts closer, voice dropping. "Do you ever think about leaving? Not forever. Just for a while."
Leah turns to look at her. "Where would I go?"
"Anywhere. France, Spain, Somewhere quiet."
"Sounds awful. I'd be bored within the week."
Anna nods slowly. "Still. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to live where no one knew me. Where nothing was expected of me."
Leah shrugs. "We'd still be us. Expectations follow people like us, Anna."
For a while, they sit in silence, the night holding its breath around them.
Then Leah grins suddenly. "Do you remember the time I tried to dye the pond purple?"
Anna groans. "You used blueberry preserves. It stank for a week."
"It was charming."
"It was foul."
"You're no fun."
The silence of the garden breaks with the click of the iron gate behind the hedges, causing Leah's head to turn. She's just tucked one leg beneath her, fingers idly twisting the ribbon on her nightgown sleeve, when the familiar jingle of a bell announces the whirlwind arrival of something small and white.
Pompom launches into the scene at a furious speed, his puffball body practically levitating over the grass as he circles around the fountain once before flinging himself at Leah's ankles with the force of a cannonball.
"He has so much energy at this ungodly hour," Anna mutters, pulling her feet up onto the bench in alarm.
"I'm not surprised," comes a voice from the shadows. "He took one look at my carpet and declared war."
Gwendolyn steps into view with a sleepy smirk, wrapped in a white silk robe that slips slightly off one shoulder. Her slippers don't match and there's a faint pillow crease across her cheek. Leah sits up straighter, a grin already forming.
"I heard him whining at my door," Gwendolyn says, crossing the lawn toward them. "Figured something was wrong. Then I peek into your room and voilà—no Leah. Just your bedsheets all rumpled and tragic. Very convincing, by the way. Like a governess fainted there."
Leah scoffs and flicks her cousin's hip with her toes. "He snitched on me?"
"Like a traitor, so I followed the noise," Gwendolyn bends down and scoops Pompom into her arms mid-sprint. He immediately licks her chin, tail wagging furiously. "He nearly dragged me out the window."
"That dog is a menace," Thomas says, emerging again from the hedges, this time with a linen-wrapped parcel and a flask. He surveys Pompom with visible distaste. "I fail to see how that is a birthday gift and not a punishment."
Leah leans her chin into her palm and smirks. "He's from Ciel. You're just jealous."
"I assure you I'm not," he says dryly, handing off the parcel to Anna. "Here. Raspberry tartlets. Not terribly sweet, but better than nothing."
"You say that like you didn't bake them yourself," Anna says, already unfolding the linen. "They're warm."
"That's called efficiency."
While the rest of them settle down again, Anna slices the tartlets in half with a small folding knife she pulls from a pocket. Gwendolyn flops onto the grass, back against Leah's bench. Pompom rolls from her lap like a marble and immediately begins biting Anna's discarded slipper with single-minded devotion.
"He hates me," Anna murmurs.
"No," Leah says, licking a bit of raspberry from her thumb. "He just thinks you're his chew toy. Which is worse."
"You really should be asleep," Gwendolyn says, stretching out her legs and picking a blade of grass to shred between her fingers. "You've got fittings tomorrow. Or.. today, I suppose."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Leah mutters, half under her breath, then glances up. "Besides, it's not as if anyone expects me to dance myself into a proposal. I already have a perfectly decent one."
Gwendolyn smirks. "If you say perfectly decent about Ciel one more time, I'll eat this tartlet whole."
"He is perfectly decent," Leah says innocently. "Also insufferable. And I am always finding myself in trouble when I am with him, but I find it endearing."
"You would," Anna says.
There's an ease between the four of them that only years can make. The old garden, despite its peeling edges and overgrown roses, seems to understand their rhythms. Thomas leans against the trellis post with his arms folded, observing the scene with a kind of polite detachment, though he's not nearly as aloof as he wants to seem.
"You've something on your mind," Leah says, catching his gaze. "I can tell. Your face is too smooth."
Thomas smirks. "I assure you, I'm always this smooth."
"You're always something," Gwendolyn says with a grin.
Thomas tilts his head. "I take it as a compliment."
"You shouldn't," she gives a half-hearted laugh.
Pompom tears past again, now in possession of one of Anna's ribbons. She makes a half-hearted reach for it but gives up halfway through and exhales loudly.
"This is why I never had siblings or children," she says.
"You had me," Leah corrects, "which is worse."
"You were an unholy terror," Anna mutters. "You cried if I tied your shoes too tightly. Then you cried if they were too loose."
"I still do that," Leah says. "Your point?"
"You refused to let anyone else dress you, even when you couldn't do it yourself. You used to sob if I didn't pin your bows symmetrically."
Gwendolyn raises her hand. "I can attest. She once bit my wrist over a hair ribbon."
"I was five," Leah protests, grinning. "And you stole it."
"I borrowed it."
"You never gave it back."
"I still have it," Gwendolyn admits.
Thomas watches this exchange with an expression that could almost pass for fondness if it didn't vanish the moment anyone looked at him too directly. "You always wander when you can't sleep," he says eventually, voice quiet. "You walk in circles until your feet ache and then you yell at me when they blister."
Leah glances at him. "How sentimental of you to remember."
He shakes his head in annoyance. "I've had to carry you back more than once."
"That's your job," Leah's face twists with the same feeling.
"I take pride in doing it with as much dignity as possible."
Gwendolyn snorts. "You mean you enjoy it."
"I said what I meant," he stares blankly.
Anna studies him from her place on the bench, head tilted slightly. "Why do you bother? You clearly don't need the money."
"I find the work meditative," he says with an easy shrug.
She tilts her head. "You find Leah meditative?"
"I find Leah.." he pauses, "instructive."
Leah stares at him. "That sounds like a threat."
Thomas gives a faint smile. "I wouldn't dream of threatening you. I'm far too fond of being employed."
"You're hardly even paid, you lunatic."
"Still. Fond."
Gwendolyn throws a crumb of tartlet at his head, which he catches without looking. "Stop flirting," she mutters.
"I am not flirting," Thomas says smoothly. "I'm simply answering questions."
"He does that when he's bored," Leah says. "Picks fights, plays aloof, mocks my dog."
"Your dog is currently attempting to drown himself in the birdbath," Anna says, pointing.
They all turn to watch as Pompom struggles to climb into the shallow porcelain basin, determined to ruin everyone's night.
Leah sighs. "He's perfect."
"No, he's you," Gwendolyn says, laughing. "That's what he is."
Pompom finally succeeds in sloshing into the birdbath, sits down, and lets out a bark of triumph so high-pitched it makes Anna wince.
"Absolutely not," she says, standing. "That's it. I'm going to fetch towels."
Thomas steps in immediately. "Allow me."
"I'm already up."
"You've already fed them. Let me take something off your plate."
Anna gives him a strange look like she isn't sure whether he's being genuine or mocking her. Then, slowly, she nods. "Fine. You want the pleasure of drying a wet, shivering Pom? Be my guest."
She sinks back onto the bench and tosses the linen parcel at his chest. He catches it with one hand and turns toward the house. Leah watches him go, expression unreadable.
Gwendolyn leans up on one elbow. "You ever wonder what's wrong with him?"
"All the time," Leah swallows and murmurs, then tucks her other leg beneath her and stretches out on the bench again. "But the mystery's half the fun."
Anna hums faintly, her eyes still on the house. "Might be less fun if it ever stopped being a mystery."
═╬
Inside the drawing room is quiet save for the soft ticking of the longcase clock in the corner and the occasional flutter of Pompom's slightly damp ears as he dozes in Leah's lap, his little body curled into a warm tuft of fluff against her thighs. One paw kicks out with a gentle twitch every so often, likely chasing something in his sleep.
Leah has been half-whispering to him for the better part of twenty minutes, cradling his face in her palms and kissing the top of his head in between cooing, "Oh, you're so handsome. Yes, you are. Look at that nose. Look at those eyes. I'd die for you. I'd die twice."
From the settee across from her, Gwendolyn lets out a wheezy sort of chuckle as she sprawls further into the cushions. Her hair is a disheveled mess and her eyelids are beginning to droop.
"Don't you say Sam is the most handsome man you've ever seen?" she asks without looking up, her tone dry and faintly amused.
Leah's head snaps up with a gasp as if Gwendolyn has just uttered the gravest accusation known to man. "They're both handsome," she snaps, eyebrows knitting as she cups Pompom's cheeks and squishes his face inward until his tongue pokes out in a mild protest. "Don't pit my men against each other."
"Men," Gwendolyn echoes, snorting. "You sound deranged."
"You sound jealous," Leah says coolly, smoothing a hand down Pompom's spine. "It's not my fault you haven't anyone begging at your feet."
Gwendolyn mumbles something obscene in Spanish under her breath and lets her head fall sideways against a throw pillow. She's been yawning for the past ten minutes but refuses to go back to bed. "I'll only get more tired if I move," she claims, so she remains in her heap on the couch, half-listening to the way Leah coos at her dog as if he's the last living thing on earth with any sense.
Thomas stands behind one of the armchairs, eyes half-lidded with a look of carefully curated indifference. He has been silent for so long that one might think he's gone to sleep standing up. Truthfully, he has grown used to these late-night episodes over the years. In the early days, Leah would wake in a panic and bark orders at him until she tired herself out again. Now, she simply prattles to her dog like a drunk widow.
"I daresay," he says finally, voice smooth as oil, "your affections are wasted on that thing."
Leah's head jerks up again, scowl deepening as her gaze lands on him. "Don't you speak of him that way," she hisses. "He has a name."
"So do I," Thomas murmurs, though there's no heat in it, "and yet I find myself fetching slippers and warming milk."
"You don't warm milk. Anna does," Leah says, sniffing.
"Yes. Because I'd sooner burn the house down."
"That's not funny," Anna says sharply from where she's seated in a velvet armchair by the fire, rolling a skein of yarn between her fingers. Her needles rest idle in her lap, but she hasn't picked up the pattern in some time. She's been watching Leah with a fond look she probably isn't even aware of. "Not when you nearly lit the library curtains aflame trying to boil water last spring."
Thomas doesn't dignify the remark with a response or acknowledge that he had done that on purpose, though the corner of his mouth just barely lifts. Gwendolyn chuckles under her breath again, clearly more awake than she wants to admit, and Leah makes a low sound in the back of her throat, stroking Pompom with a certain wounded dignity.
Anna rises after a moment, brushing her hands against her skirts. "Come now, Mistress. You ought to stretch your legs a little. You've been hunched over that dog for half an hour."
"He's warm."
"The hearth is warmer. Come here."
Leah lets out an exaggerated groan but rises all the same with Pompom in her arms like the pampered dog he is. She crosses the rug barefoot and plops herself down on the large embroidered cushion Anna sets out in front of the fire.
"Happy?" she mutters, curling her legs beneath her and adjusting Pompom's position against her chest.
"Yes," Anna says, gently kneeling behind her and beginning to run a hand down the length of Leah's hair with practiced familiarity. "You're not much heavier than you were at ten. Just taller and fussier."
"Not fussier," Leah mumbles, eyes falling shut as Anna begins to braid the long dark waves. "You just knew how to shut me up back then."
"I still do," Anna says softly, looping the braid with deft fingers, her motions unhurried. "You only forget."
Thomas watches from his usual perch against the wall, arms folded now and his gaze unreadable. He's not truly bored—he never is, not when Leah is within view—but there's something about the domestic quiet of the moment that sets his teeth on edge in the gentlest way.
He never intended to stay this long. Not in a townhouse or among humans. However, here he is standing in the same drawing-room he's stood in dozens of nights like this one, listening to Leah call her dog a handsome gentleman while Anna reverts to the habits of years past as if nothing has changed and nothing ever will. He turns his attention to the fire instead.
"I'm not going to sleep," Leah murmurs after a long silence, her voice a slurred contradiction of the heavy-lidded daze clouding her eyes.
"You are," Anna says without looking up. "You're nearly there."
"I could stay awake another hour if I wanted to," Leah counters.
Anna merely shakes her head with a subtle smile spreading across her lips. "I'm sure you could, but you won't."
Leah hums under her breath, stroking the soft fur behind Pompom's ears. Her lips are parted slightly, her limbs relaxing more with each pass of Anna's fingers through her hair.
"You used to hum to me," she says quietly, almost too quiet to hear. "When I couldn't sleep. When it was bad."
"I remember," Anna replies, her voice as calm and even as it was over a decade ago. "You were always too clever for your own good. Too many thoughts in your head."
Gwendolyn's head has fully dropped now, her arms slung across her torso, and the only sounds in the room are the fire's crackle and the slow, steady breath of four bodies.
"Should I carry her to bed?" Thomas asks after a while, though it sounds more like a formality than an offer.
Anna glances up at him, then at Leah, whose lips are barely moving as she presses another kiss to Pompom's crown.
"Let her be a little longer," Anna says softly. "She'll go on her own once she's ready."
He tilts his head. "If she doesn't?"
"You'll carry her then," she says simply, smoothing the back of Leah's hair once more.
It's quiet again. The kind of quiet that lingers, warm and familiar, just waiting for someone to stir. Leah awakes for the second time that morning to the rustling of soft linens. Now, she feels the tug of her nightgown being smoothed over her legs and a blanket tucked just beneath her arms.
Anna's hands move with quiet precision, practiced and maternal, never rough but not overly delicate either. She has always known how to balance care with efficiency, even when Leah had been a tempest of a child, wailing at the injustice of bedtime or sulking into pillows with all the melodrama of a stage actress.
A small groan leaves Leah's lips as her lashes flutter and her brows knit faintly. "I was asleep."
"You were slumped like a sack of flour," Anna murmurs, easing one of the girl's arms out from under her side to rest more naturally across her waist. "I feared you'd wake with a crick in your neck."
"I'm tired.." Leah's voice is low and childish with sleep.
"I gathered," Anna replies, brushing back a loose wave from Leah's temple, letting her hand linger there a moment longer than necessary. Her palm is warm, fingers a little calloused, and Leah leans into the touch with the trust of someone who has been cared for in this exact way since she was small enough to be carried.
Her bedroom is quiet, lit only by a few flickering sconces and the embers of the fire across the room. Somewhere on the upper floor, Thomas is likely placing Gwendolyn in her bed, probably with some dry remark under his breath about her weight, not that either of the girls would take him seriously.
Leah shifts slightly, burrowing deeper into the plush pillows behind her and blinking slowly. Her hair spills like a sheet of brown silk over her shoulders and down her back, unbrushed but still somehow elegant in its messiness.
She yawns, then turns her face toward Anna with something resembling a pout. "Read to me?"
The request is so quiet and plainly stated that it softens whatever edge might've still clung to the air.
Anna doesn't hesitate. "Your book is in the side cabinet," she says, already moving toward it.
She opens the door and pulls out the well-worn copy of 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland', its cover a little frayed at the corners and its pages thumbing out like the folds of an old flower. The spine has long since given up on holding straight. Leah's name is written in careful cursive on the inside cover—Anna's own hand from a decade ago.
"You've had this since you were three," Anna says as she returns, settling into the armchair beside the bed. "Your father had the gall to say it was nonsense."
"He also called me nonsense," Leah murmurs, curling onto her side and letting her cheek sink against her pillow. "Not very original, is he?"
"No, not particularly," Anna agrees, flipping open the book. Her voice dips into that old, familiar tone as she reads: gently melodic and no forced theatrics. Just the even, comforting cadence that used to lull Leah to sleep all those years ago in Barrett Manor when thunder rolled outside and the house was too large and cold.
They slip into the rhythm of it easily. The words are second nature to Anna by now; she's read this story aloud more times than she can count. Leah listens in silence, eyes half-lidded and drowsy, mouth parted just slightly.
"'..and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversation?'"
A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Leah's mouth. "I used to argue with her," she murmurs. "When I was little, I thought books without pictures were perfectly fine as long as someone was reading to me."
Anna smiles faintly, eyes not leaving the page. "You'd get very cross when the chapter ended on a cliffhanger. You once threw a hairbrush at the hearth."
"I stand by it. The Queen of Hearts was terrifying," Leah's voice is slurred with sleep, each word slower than the last. "She still is."
Anna glances over and sees that the girl's hand has gone slack against her side, her fingers no longer fidgeting with the trim on her blanket. Her eyes are open but heavy, their blue dulled by the haze of sleep and firelight.
There's something painfully tender in the way she looks so young and soft around the edges. It reminds Anna of another time entirely, back when Leah still wore pinafores and climbed onto Anna's lap without asking. When she used to cling to her skirts and whisper secrets meant only for her maid's ears. Back before the season, before society, and before the sharp edges she's had to hone just to keep from crumbling.
"You know," Anna says softly, voice almost more to herself than to the girl beside her, "you're not nearly as difficult as you think you are."
Leah shifts slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you try very hard to be cross and impossible, but I see through it. I always have," Anna's thumb brushes lightly along the spine of the book. "When you were ten, you refused to eat for two days because your father called you petulant. You were afraid if you acted out again, they'd send you away permanently, but you couldn't help it. So you tried to disappear instead."
A beat passes. "I didn't know you remembered that."
"I remember everything," Anna replies. "I remember how tightly you clung to Rosaline when we arrived. How you stopped speaking for almost a week, but held my hand every night until you fell asleep."
Leah doesn't answer, but her expression softens, some of the tension in her brow ebbing away.
Anna smooths the blanket again, her voice quieter now. "I was only twelve when I started working for your family. I didn't know how to look after a little girl properly, but I did my best. I still do."
"You're not very good at pretending you don't love me," Leah murmurs, eyes closed now. "You're bad at being cold."
"Only where you're concerned," Anna says simply.
The fire crackles in the hearth. Somewhere down the corridor, footsteps sound faintly—probably Thomas returning. Anna ignores it for now, focusing only on the girl she has watched grow from a wild little storm of silk and scowls into someone remarkably brave, even when she doesn't feel it.
She picks up where she left off, reading softly as Leah's breathing evens out and the tension in her shoulders melts into the bed.
"'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'"
After a pause, Leah murmurs without opening her eyes, voice thick with sleep.
"'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.'"
Notes:
more anna cause i literally love her and leah together
by the way, since i keep seeing it, if y’all ever feel afraid to comment after seeing some other writers tweak tf out on social media over harmless comments, you’re safe with me! i’m sane, trust TvT i love all comments, short and simple or long and elaborate. and this is a safe space❤️ the only time i’d ever be mean to one of you is if you’re blatantly (and i mean something that is very obviously supposed to be taken in a negative way) being mean to me first
i also welcome constructive criticism too! i don’t mind any comments that aren’t dripping in praise. giving a critique is waaayyy different than just saying something like “this fic is ass”
Chapter 41: | 40 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl is faced with an unexpected proposition. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
you guys better lock tf in😼 get cozy and grab some snacks. got a little surprise in store for y’all
mwuehehehehehehe
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty ! )
"You are rowing us into a thicket, Sir Davis. Or perhaps you fancy a duel with that willow tree?"
Sun winks off the water in fat golden coins, turning the ripples into lace. Around them, the park simmers with lazy opulence—white parasols, afternoon chatter, the rustle of muslin skirts, and the occasional laughter from other boats drifting by like oversized petals on the lake.
Leah's voice slices through the gentle summer haze, her gloved hand gesturing vaguely at the low-hanging branches ahead and how their green tips are nearly kissing the bow of the little boat.
Christopher Davis glances over his shoulder with mock indignation. "Madam, I'll have you know I rowed at Eton. Though I admit we had rather fewer trees on the Thames."
Henrietta snorts behind her hand. "You mean to tell me there's not a single willow tree in all of Oxfordshire? I'm scandalized."
"I believe the Eton boys chop them down and use them as paddles," Leah adds airily, crossing one leg over the other as she reclines with careful elegance. "It explains the arms. Unnecessarily heroic, but I suppose useful in this instance."
She's teasing, but the air around her is not tense. It rarely is when Henrietta is present, and Elizabeth's presence feels familiar enough to fold into the space without rattling her nerves. The same can't be said of the water though. It laps against the sides of the boat with a rhythm that's too close and loud. The hollow thunk of the oars stirs something beneath her ribs. Nothing she voices aloud, of course. That would invite fuss and if there is one thing Leah has resolved to avoid this season, it's being fussed over.
Besides, this is a leisure outing. A friendly little party on a calm lake in Hyde Park. She is not bleeding and fighting for her life beneath chandeliers and gaslight on a cursed ocean liner.
Still, her hand stays firmly at her side, nails pressing into the embroidered silk of her gown each time the boat shifts beneath them.
Elizabeth Midford leans forward slightly from her perch beside Henrietta. "You do row very well, Sir Davis," she says, her bonnet bobbing with the compliment. "I daresay we're in safe hands, even if we are surrounded by savage flora."
The viscount bows his head slightly in acknowledgment, shoulders moving with the easy rhythm of the oars. "A true gentleman guards against both pirates and shrubbery."
Leah hums, amused despite herself. "What an epitaph that would be."
Henrietta stretches her legs out in front of her, ankle boots knocking gently together. "You'd prefer pirates, wouldn't you, Leah? You've always had a soft spot for brigands."
"I do not have a soft spot," Leah replies, watching a pair of swans glide past with studied disinterest. "I have standards. The two are very different things."
"Oh, forgive me," Henrietta says, lifting her chin. "I must've confused your affection for masked highwaymen and disgraced nobility with mere indulgence."
Leah's lips twitch. "That was one time, and you're misremembering. He was not a highwayman—he owned land."
"He owned debt," Henrietta counters.
"Which is a sort of land, in its own way," Leah's face scrunches at the argument.
Christopher lets out a laugh at that, shoulders hitching. "I must say, Miss Barrett, you do have a singular approach to humor. Dry as a toast biscuit."
"Would you prefer something moist and simpering?" she asks, tilting her head. "I can flutter my lashes and remark on how dreadfully lovely the lilies are if you like."
"I rather enjoy the biscuits, myself," he replies without missing a beat. "Though lilies are lovely, I'll grant you that."
The sun is warm on Leah's shoulder, filtered through the delicate lace of her parasol. Her gown, a seafoam confection of satin and gauze, clings lightly to her frame in the heat, though not oppressively so. The lace at her sleeves tickles her wrist every time she shifts, and she adjusts it absentmindedly, eyes darting from the glittering lake to the other boats.
Christopher is decent. More than that, he's kind. Intelligent without boasting. He hasn't spoken once of stocks or hounds, or how his uncle knows someone who once danced with the Duchess of Richmond. That alone makes him remarkable and a good match for Elizabeth.
She glances at Elizabeth, who's beaming in that helplessly sincere way of hers, like her entire body's one big, fluttering heart. There's a real fondness in her eyes when she looks at Christopher. 'I would wager a week's allowance that Elizabeth has already dreamt up the wedding gown.'
"Do you know," Elizabeth says suddenly, "this reminds me of that painting—the one with the nymphs and the swan. I saw it at my aunt's manor last year."
Henrietta raises a brow. "You're going to need to be more specific. Every painting from the last century features a swan and at least two women with their bosoms out."
"Oh, hush," Elizabeth giggles. "It was tasteful."
Leah's eyes flick to the water again, where reeds bristle near the edge like waiting fingers. The shadows beneath the surface are darker here and she has to suppress the shiver that stirs at the base of her spine.
"Miss Barrett," Christopher says as though sensing the direction of her thoughts, or at least sensing her silence. "Do you enjoy rowing?"
"I prefer dry land," she says smoothly, "but this is tolerable. Especially with such pleasant company."
Henrietta laughs. "High praise, coming from you."
"I'm in a charitable mood," she offers a slight smile. "Besides, if we were to sink, I'd simply climb on Elizabeth and let her buoy us all to safety."
"Because I'm light of heart?" Elizabeth asks hopefully.
"Because your dress has the circumference of a lifeboat," Leah replies.
The giggle that follows ripples around the boat, light as the breeze tugging at the ribbon of her hat. For a moment, the tightness in Leah's chest loosens. Today is sunshine and chatter and the warmth of friends who've earned their titles.
Christopher rows them lazily toward the far end of the lake where willow branches dip low enough to brush the surface, their tips breaking the water into quiet rings. The conversation drifts from paintings to concerts to some awful ball where Elizabeth's slipper had gone missing mid-dance.
"I told you, Henrietta, it wasn't my fault the heel snapped!"
"You lunged at the pudding tray, Lizzie."
"I stumbled," Elizabeth protests.
Henrietta stares blankly. "You charged."
Leah leans back with a contented sigh, tuning them out just enough to breathe. When she glances at Christopher again, he's already watching her. His gaze is thoughtful, unreadable in that frustratingly noble way, but not leering. Just curious, like he's trying to pry a secret from her.
She meets his eyes evenly and defensively raises her brow. "I am not in need of rescuing," she says lightly, more to herself than to him.
"Good," he replies, just as lightly. "I doubt I could save all three of you anyway."
Henrietta's laugh rings out loud again and somewhere beneath the teasing and the chatter and the creak of the oars, Leah lets herself smile.
The boat drifts further toward the shaded edge of the lake, the cool breeze shifting with it just enough to lift the ends of Leah's hair.
"You'll steer us into another thicket," she says, glancing toward the trees again.
Christopher grins. "If I do, you can navigate us out."
She shakes her head. "I don't do navigation."
"Then you'll have to rely on me."
Leah considers him for a beat, one brow arching. "How dreadfully romantic," she says sarcastically.
A waterlily brushes the side as they pass. Leah watches it for a moment, her elbow resting on the side of the boat, gloved fingers curled beneath her chin. The paddle cuts through the water again, rhythmic and certain.
Christopher's sleeves are rolled just slightly past his forearms now, a concession to the heat. He doesn't look especially bothered by the effort, though a lock of hair has fallen over his brow and his waistcoat has grown dark at the collar.
Elizabeth had fretted over him earlier, of course. "Do let me take a turn," she had offered, which was met with a half-laugh and an assurance that her hands were too delicate for that sort of labor. Leah hadn't protested, naturally. The last thing she wanted was to wind up rowing a gaggle of lace-trimmed friends across a lake, especially when her arms ached just thinking of it.
"You row with more grace than any man I've seen," Henrietta comments from the other end of the boat, stretched out on the cushioned bench like a lounging cat. Her fan clicks open and she flicks it toward her face with all the theatricality of a woman melting in a desert, though the breeze is tolerable and the sun mild under the tree canopy.
Christopher grins at the compliment but doesn't miss a beat in his rhythm. "Is that so? I suspect you've not seen many men row, Miss Sánchez."
"Only the ones foolish enough to impress me," she returns, fluttering her lashes. "They've all failed spectacularly."
That earns a laugh from Elizabeth, light and tinkling. Leah doesn't laugh, but she does allow herself a faint smile. Henrietta always has been good at keeping the mood buoyant. If not for her, she might've already drifted too far into her own thoughts—too far into the memories that linger behind every ripple in the water.
She shifts slightly, legs crossed at the ankle, and her skirts catching the edge of the boat's floor. Powder-blue brocade embroidered with silver filigree. Far too fine for such an outing, really, but Leah has never known how to dress halfway.
"I daresay you enjoy rowing far more than any man ought," Elizabeth says to Christopher, leaning forward just slightly, her parasol tucked behind her shoulder.
"I enjoy being in your company, Miss Midford," he replies and though it's clearly meant to charm, his tone is mild and respectful without the slimy sort of flirtation Leah's used to seeing from titled men. 'He's either terribly sincere or terribly well-practiced.'
Either way, it works when Elizabeth turns a little pink and sinks back against the cushion, clearly pleased. Leah glances aside, pretending to examine a patch of tall grass lining the bank. She doesn't particularly mind watching their courtship unfold. Not when it is unfolding with this much ease.
There is something comforting about it. Elizabeth is prone to dramatics, but there's no performance in the way she looks at Christopher. Just genuine and sweet affection that he returns with quiet attention. It's nice. Refreshing, even.
'Not every nobleman is a predator and not every courtship a battlefield.'
Her gaze drifts to the surface of the water again. The movement beneath it is subtle, with little distortions of light and suggestions of depth. She wonders, not for the first time today, what it would feel like to slide in. Just slip, accidentally. Would the water be cold? Would it burn, like the freezing water had burned her lungs that night on the Campania? Her stomach tightens and she forces her attention back upward.
Henrietta is frowning at her. "You're quiet," she says, voice pitched low enough that only Leah can hear it.
Leah shakes her head dismissively. "I was enjoying the scenery."
"You hate scenery," Henrietta tilts her head.
Face contorting, Leah scoffs. "What kind of blasphemous lie is that? I love scenery."
Henrietta doesn't press further, though her expression makes it clear she doesn't quite believe her. It's fine. Leah doesn't need her to believe it, she just needs her not to ask more questions.
"Tell us something, Lord Davis," Henrietta says after a moment, pivoting the conversation away again. "What is your opinion of ladies who climb trees?"
Elizabeth giggles. "Oh heavens, Henrietta, don't bring that up again."
"But it's a fair question!"
Christopher looks caught between amusement and confusion. "Climb trees?"
"Yes. Let us say—hypothetically—that a young lady was once found tangled in a tree on her father's estate, clinging for dear life after attempting to rescue a kitten."
Leah arches a brow. "Wasn't it a glove?"
Henrietta shoots her a look. "That's neither here nor there."
"A glove?" Christopher repeats, laughing now.
"It was stuck on a branch. I wasn't about to leave it," Elizabeth says, both hands to her cheeks.
"You weren't about to leave it, but you nearly broke your neck," Leah points out. "You were howling like a banshee."
Elizabeth nearly screams. "Because I was frightened!"
"She was up there for all of ten minutes," Henrietta cuts in. "Screaming as if she'd been marooned."
"Well, I had never been in a tree before."
Christopher glances at Elizabeth with a small, crooked smile. "I must say, that's the first time I've heard such a story."
"Oh, I've improved since then," Elizabeth says quickly. "I haven't climbed anything since."
"That's rather a pity. I think I should like to see that."
Leah watches them with a faint tilt of her head. Something is charming about it, even if it is a touch silly. That's what Leah envies most, she realizes. Not the attention, not the gentleness of a man's gaze. Just the freedom to be a fool without feeling like you're going to pay for it.
The boat slides under a low bridge, its stone surface crusted with moss. The temperature drops for just a moment, shadows draping over their shoulders like a damp shawl. Leah shivers before she can stop herself.
Christopher notices, his brow creases faintly. "Too cold?" he asks.
She straightens and waves a hand. "Not at all. I simply hate stone," an odd lie she chooses to tell for no real reason.
The others don't question it as they drift out of the shadow again and into the light. A mallard paddles past on the left, oblivious to their presence. Leah finally exhales slowly, her stomach feels tight and her gloves are damp at the palm. She wants to ask how much longer they will be out, but the question feels too sharp and impolite for the softness of the moment. She bites her tongue instead.
There is a dock in the distance, but no one mentions it until they have stopped beside it. The barge rocks gently as it drifts into the dock, the creak of rope and the soft lap of water against wood a welcome sound now that dry land is in sight. Leah tightens her grip on her skirts, tapping against the fabric with her gloved palm in silent impatience.
Henrietta stumbles on the last step, muttering a half-hearted curse in Spanish under her breath. Leah doesn't bother pretending not to hear, simply flicks her gaze down and smirks faintly. Henrietta, bless her, somehow still hasn't learned to walk in heels without leaning forward like a soldier under musket fire.
The grass under their feet is mercifully soft. Dainty shoes sink slightly into the earth as the girls file into the manicured gardens of Hyde Park. The sun finally peeks from behind the clouds, gilding the paths in amber. It's enough to lift Leah's mood slightly, if only because the discomfort of the barge now feels like something she can put behind her.
"It's absurd, really," Elizabeth says brightly as they walk, adjusting the pale orange ribbon tied around her sleeve. "I cannot think why boat rides are such a popular activity. They are fun in the beginning, but they start to get dull."
"You quite enjoyed yourself before the wind picked up," Leah replies dryly. "Or did I imagine that laugh when Sir Davis nearly toppled into the water when he leaned back too far?"
"That wasn't laughing," Elizabeth insists with an earnest frown. "That was a startled exhale."
Beside them, Henrietta snorts. "Sounded like a wheeze to me."
Leah's lips twitch, but she says nothing. She's not in the mood to argue over semantics. Besides, the moment is broken by a sharp whistle followed by the scurrying steps of a boy in a flat cap and mud-caked boots weaving toward them through the crowd.
"Pamphlets!" he shouts, waving a bundle of folded parchment over his head. "Fresh off the press! New issue of The Somerset Whisper! Viscount secrets, debutante blunders, scandal at the opera!"
The crowd stirs, attention sharpening like foxhounds catching a scent. Women in silks and taffeta lean forward, fingers twitching toward reticules. The boy navigates deftly, pushing his way toward the knot of girls.
"Three pence, miss," he says, holding one out toward Leah.
She doesn't bother glancing at Henrietta or Elizabeth; her hand is already sliding into her sleeve to pull a small silver from the hidden pocket. The coin is pressed into the boy's palm and the pamphlet into hers in one swift, well-practiced exchange. She waits until he darts away before unfolding it.
The paper is crisp and cheap, the ink smudging slightly where it's still warm. The masthead is printed in thick, flourished lettering: The Somerset Whisper – Society's Most Loyal Scribe. Beneath, the subtitle in smaller type: An Honest Ear to Every Whisper, A Sharp Pen to Every Lie.
"How vulgar," Henrietta murmurs, but she leans in all the same.
Leah's eyes skim the page with relish. There's something unspeakably satisfying about the bite of clever prose. The writer—still unsigned, despite the social season's best efforts to uncover them—has a way of twisting even the smallest faux pas into something devastatingly delicious. Leah would be a liar if she said gossip doesn't excite her terribly. She respects a pen that cuts as clean as a surgeon's scalpel.
"Oh, here," she says aloud, not caring who listens. "This one's good."
Henrietta huffs while Elizabeth cranes closer, nearly bumping their cheeks.
"'Though Miss Darcy Blanchard appeared every inch the part of a refined young lady at Tuesday's supper at the Chesterfields', one wonders if the same could be said of her hemline which bore a suspiciously muddy stain. No doubt a result of an over-eager attempt at a garden tryst. Rumors of a rendezvous with a certain Mr. Carlson Rodger's have reached our ears, though the gentleman in question insists he was merely admiring the landscaping.'"
"Darcy?" Elizabeth blinks, scandalized. "She said she only had one glass of wine!"
"She also said she was learning Latin to impress her cousin," Henrietta mutters, "so."
Leah raises a brow but doesn't comment. She's not particularly interested in Darcy's budding reputation as a liar or a flirt, though she admires her audacity. What draws her attention more is a smaller piece nestled near the bottom, inked in finer script:
"'Word travels swiftly through drawing rooms and carriage halls alike—our future Lady Phantomhive has once again captured the eyes of many, though none dare act upon it. One wonders whether her betrothed's shadow is more fearsome than his presence. A shame, for she is rather a picture.'"
Her breath hitches only a little. The phrase is careful and calculated, but there is something about the way it's phrased that needles at her, tugging on a thread she tries not to acknowledge.
Elizabeth doesn't notice. Or maybe she does and has the sense not to say anything.
Henrietta glances sideways, brow creasing. "They're talking about you."
"Clearly," Leah answers, snapping the pamphlet shut. "I wonder how long that one's been sitting in the editor's drawer, waiting for an opportune moment. Must they keep speaking of me? Surely I am a boring topic at this point."
"If I were a boy," Henrietta says with a sigh, "I'd flirt with you anyway. Just to see what might happen."
"You already flirt with me," says Leah as she rolls her eyes, tucking the pamphlet into her sleeve as they move forward through the garden, stepping over a patch of gravel that crunches underfoot.
There's music floating somewhere ahead—violins, faint but drawing closer. From this distance, the scent of rosewater and spun sugar drifts pleasantly through the air, like a bribe.
Elizabeth hooks her arm around hers, tugging gently. "Come on. I think I see Lord Northbridge near that table. If I don't speak to him today, Mother will faint."
"Let us not let her do that," Leah says. "We'll be tripping over smelling salts for hours."
Henrietta rolls her eyes but follows, dragging slightly behind them as they step back into the fray. The paper's words still linger in the back of Leah's mind. She doesn't mind being mentioned, it's the tone she can't shake.
Still, the park is nice. The air feels less like a cage and the pamphlet is already being passed from one girl to another, gasps rippling like birds startled from a wire. There will be more whispers by evening, and more to read by morning. With any luck, someone else will do something scandalous at the ball tonight. Preferably in full view of a duchess.
═╬
The sky has yet to surrender its final streaks of pale gold, but lanterns already glitter strung from branch to branch, casting their glow across the sprawling gardens. Music hums in the distance—waltzes and minuets bleeding softly into one another beneath the laughter and chatter of silk-draped bodies.
The ball is outdoors, but it hardly lacks opulence. Stone railings have been wound with lilies and forget-me-nots, fountains titter behind hedges shaped like animals, and the orchestra is cleverly hidden beneath an open pavilion dressed in navy silks and gold tassels.
Leah stands near one of the food tables, though calling it a table feels woefully insufficient. It is a gilded monstrosity of carved wood and pastel confections, guarded at either end by towering pyramids of candied fruits and sugared almonds. She plucks a grape from a silver dish, pinching it delicately by the stem and biting only half before discarding the rest in a napkin. It's sweet and slightly overripe, still cold from the ice beneath the platter. Her stomach protests the indulgence in quiet, simmering dread, but she's in too good a mood to care much.
The evening is lovely, with not too many guests and none that are truly loathsome. The grass has been carefully flattened to prevent any danger to their heels and someone had the sense to position citronella candles near the hedges to keep the gnats at bay. More importantly, there hasn't been a single mention of her waistline, her prospects, or the Phantomhive name all evening—not in her earshot, at least. It's a rare sort of peace and she intends to enjoy it while it lasts.
Around her, a small gathering of debutantes prattle in circles, their fans fluttering like nervous birds. They stand close enough to suggest intimacy, but their eyes flick toward passersby with habitual calculation. Someone mentions Lady Anstruther's gown from last week's musical, claiming it was dyed with real crushed beetles. Another insists that Lord Gainsley has a glass eye and simply refuses to admit it. Leah listens, not with rapt attention, but with the idle amusement of someone watching a cat chase a ribbon.
"You must have seen him," a girl in coral silk says breathlessly, her voice lilting with that particular brand of excitement that always accompanies gossip about a handsome stranger. "He stood near the rose arches for nearly twenty minutes and said not a word to anyone. Tall, very pale. The sort of pale that looks intentional."
Someone gasps and clutches their fan. "How thrilling. Perhaps he's foreign."
"Perhaps he's diseased," murmurs another, which earns a round of delighted titters.
Leah rolls a grape between her fingers, pretending to examine its skin. "Or perhaps he simply detests conversation," she says, offhand.
A few of the girls glance her way. One smiles in a way that's almost genuine, another shifts closer to someone else.
It doesn't bother her. The remarks she does offer—dry, half-bored things—usually get lost in the chatter, but they serve her purpose. She's contributing just enough to be included and never enough to invite scrutiny. It's the safest way to pass the time in these sorts of settings and with the barometer of her mood tonight, she has no wish to spoil things by overextending her energy.
Someone mentions Lady Whitcomb's recent disappearance from the guest list. "an illness," they all say, with the kind of smugness that suggests otherwise. Another girl whispers that her sister caught her kissing a footman behind the conservatory and now she's been sent to Devon for the season, which everyone agrees is essentially social death.
Leah presses a grape to her lips, pauses, and lowers it. "Could be worse," she says mildly. "She might've been sent to Scotland."
A few of the girls laugh properly this time. It doesn't escape her that none of them really like each other.
The music changes, a slower waltz now, and a few couples begin drifting toward the open lawn where the dance floor has been laid out in white stone tiles. Lanterns bob gently above it, suspended on golden poles like floating moons. Leah watches them, swaying slightly where she stands, eyes narrowed just a little. She could dance if she wishes to. There's no shortage of young men eyeing the crowd with thinly veiled desperation, trying to determine which girl might giggle prettily and not step on their toes, but she doesn't care to encourage any of them tonight.
The group shifts slightly, someone excusing herself to speak with a cousin, and Leah sidesteps closer to the table, giving the impression of idly examining the confections. From the corner of her eye, she spots one of the Montclair twins whispering to a girl in mauve. They're glancing her way. Not often, but just enough. It's the same look she's been receiving in pieces all season, though no one's said anything openly. 'Are they speaking of my ears? Or more gossip?' Her earrings are larger than strictly fashionable, she likes them that way.
"Do you suppose," a brunette in green silk murmurs suddenly, "that Lady Derring's baby is actually Lord Averley's?"
It's asked with such soft mischief that even Leah glances over.
Another girl chokes behind her fan. "She only just married him last spring."
"And yet the child came early."
"Premature births aren't unusual," someone offers weakly.
Leah hums. "They're more convincing when the child isn't ten pounds."
That earns a few snorts and a muffled gasp. One girl looks positively scandalized, but in that thrilled way that ensures she will repeat the line to someone else before the night ends.
She pops the last grape into her mouth and dusts her fingers with the corner of her napkin. There's a lightness in her limbs tonight that feels foreign, like walking through someone else's dream. It's not exactly happiness, but it's near enough.
Someone nearby asks if anyone's read the new pamphlet yet—an evening edition, hot off the press. It's supposedly a rather scandalous one, full of insinuations. The girls start debating who might be the author again, each theory more absurd than the last. One of them suggests it's Lady Worthington's husband, trying to distract from his gambling debts. Another is convinced it's the Duchess of Ashcombe's third son because he once rhymed something at a dinner party.
Leah's eyes drift lazily toward the hedge maze beyond the tables, where the lanterns dim into deeper shadows. Her reflection catches faintly in the glass of the punch bowl and she barely recognizes herself in the soft golden light. Her cheeks are flushed, but not from rage. Her posture is good, but not stiff. She's not playing at anything tonight.
When Leah turns away from the confection, something shifts in the air behind her—so slight it could be mistaken for the wind changing direction. She recognizes the presence before she sees him and that fact irritates her mildly. She pivots, slow and smooth, and there he is.
Ciel Phantomhive, looking very much like he's stepped directly out of her imagination, only with a slightly more smug expression. His coat is deep navy and silver trim, his hair a touch longer since the last time she saw him. He's clearly arrived with little warning to anyone, she would have heard.
"I was under the impression you were still on a mission at Weston," she says, lifting her brows as if his arrival were mildly inconvenient rather than the most interesting thing to happen all evening.
"I was," he replies, voice crisp and low, his gaze skimming her face with that unsettling attention of his. "But it has been solved. And I thought, since I happened to be in London and you've been trotted out like a prized hound for the last nine weeks, I ought to see you in the wild. Observe the famed Miss Barrett in her natural habitat."
Leah can't help the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "How scholarly of you," she takes a step closer, just enough that her perfume brushes past him. "You might've told me you were coming."
"Where's the fun in that?" Ciel gives a mock pout.
She wants to swat him, and not in a ladylike, flirty way. But he looks too pleased with himself, and she's too conscious of the watching eyes along the terrace. Already a few of the girls near the table have gone silent, their posture straightening and their curiosity thinly veiled.
Ciel doesn't spare them a glance. "They've been talking about you all evening," he murmurs, shifting to stand just beside her now. "Or rather—about you and a certain Duke Henry Moore," he says the name without venom, but not without pointed interest. "Funny, I didn't know you were so well-acquainted."
Her fingers curl loosely around the stem of her glass, though she hasn't taken a sip. "We're friends," she says, flatly. "He's a nice man."
There's a pause.
"You sound like you're describing a Labrador," he says dryly.
Leah lifts her eyes to his and hides the laugh that threatens to surface. "What would you like me to say? That he's terribly dashing and intelligent and that I'm positively swept off my feet?"
His expression flickers, but it doesn't change much. Ciel rarely gives anything away unless he chooses to and Leah's never been fond of games she can't win. Still, she knows him well enough to catch the subtle shift in his posture and the way his fingers twitch like they're considering something violent.
"Daniel mentioned it, you know," he says, glancing idly toward the dance floor as if this conversation means nothing at all. "In passing. Something about your mother writing to him. Apparently, she thinks the Duke's quite taken with you."
"My mother also thought arsenic water would tighten her jawline," Leah replies. "She isn't what I'd call a reliable source."
Ciel makes a sound low in his throat, approaching laughter, but not quite. His gloved hand lifts for a moment like he might tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but he thinks better of it. They're not alone and he's nothing if not precise in his displays of affection. Public adoration is for men who need to be seen loving their fiancées to prove something.
He looks at her instead and for a beat, the other sounds of the ball fade into soft background noise. His eye, so cold to others, turns thoughtful. "You're enjoying yourself."
"Is that a crime?" her voice edges toward defensive, though she doesn't mean it to. She's been in a good mood. It's not his fault he's just now arrived.
"It suits you," he says simply.
For a moment, Leah forgets herself. She forgets the angle of her wrist and the tilt of her shoulders and all the countless corrections her mother has hissed at her since she was old enough to hold a teacup. The warmth of his gaze disarms her more effectively than compliments ever could.
"I heard someone say you were late tonight because of a duel," she lifts her brow. "Should I be concerned?"
Ciel makes a quiet noise of amusement. "I was not in a duel."
Leah shakes her head solemnly. "Disappointing."
The corners of his mouth tug upward. "Don't be greedy. You already have me here, don't you?"
"I'll admit, I'm not entirely offended," Leah says, and this time the smile does come. It's small, but it's real.
He leans closer, murmuring just above the shell of her ear. "I should hope not. You've been enough trouble to keep, I'd rather not find out what letting go would entail."
A flicker of something runs down her spine, sharp and electric. It doesn't show on her face, of course, it never does. "Careful," she says sweetly. "You almost sounded sentimental."
"Only almost."
The orchestra swells again, this time transitioning into something slower, lush with strings. A few couples break away to dance. The chatter near the food table fades as the crowd's attention pivots toward the main lawn. Someone whispers about fireworks. Leah hears it but doesn't look up just yet.
Ciel offers his arm. "Come. Before someone else gets ideas."
"I doubt anyone here is brave enough to steal from Phantomhive," she replies, even as she places her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Though you're flattering yourself if you think I'd simply go quietly."
His tone is cool. "You wouldn't."
They step away from the table, past the murmuring crowd, and toward the edge of the lawn. The night has deepened around them, though the sky hasn't quite turned black. Somewhere behind the trees, a technician gives the signal.
The first firework goes off with a shrill whine and bursts over the lawn like spilled jewels—white, then red, then a sharp flicker of gold. The crowd gasps appropriately. A second follows, this one higher, exploding in a crown of pale blue.
Leah's hand remains looped loosely through Ciel's arm. Another firework blossoms above the garden like the soft flare of a dying star—silver-edged with green, its tail drifting lazily before disappearing into the warm night. Leah stands beside Ciel at the edge of the lawn, her gloved hand still resting lightly in the crook of his arm, a posture that feels beyond natural. She hasn't done this in a long time.
"Will you be attending the opera on Thursday?" she asks quietly, not looking at him. Her eyes are on the fireworks. "I've heard the soprano has a tendency to die off-key. It might be worth the spectacle."
Ciel hums faintly beside her, quiet and noncommittal. "Perhaps. That depends."
"On?" Leah tries to subtly pester.
"Whether or not you intend to go," is all he offers.
Her lips twitch, but she doesn't respond. A red firework goes up next, casting a blood-colored sheen across the terrace. There's a pause. Not one of those heavy, awkward pauses that make people fidget and smooth their skirts. It's lighter than that, like a held breath that never quite gets released.
"You're fond of it," he says carefully, and it takes her a beat to realize he means the ball—the season—the whole glittering mess of it.
"I wouldn't go so far as to say fond," she replies, brushing a loose wisp of hair away from her cheek, "but it hasn't been awful. Which is more than I expected."
He gives a pleased smile. "You've done well."
"I know," she says, unbothered.
Another pause. This one does make her glance up at him, just barely.
His face is angled slightly upward as if he's watching the fireworks but not really seeing them. "I've been thinking," he begins, and immediately she knows something is off. Not wrong, just different. The tone of his voice is careful and measured in a way that makes her feel like she ought to brace herself.
She waits.
"Your season is nearly over," he continues. "You're seventeen. I'm seventeen. I have no missions for the foreseeable future. You've been presented before the Queen."
"You sound like you're preparing to issue a verdict," she says, voice light, though her heart is beginning to pick up its pace without permission.
"Not a verdict," he murmurs, finally looking at her. "A decision."
A firework cracks through the sky overhead, louder than the others. White and gold, cascading like a waterfall.
"I thought," he says, "we might marry. Now."
Leah's head tilts slightly. Not in confusion or protest, but in sheer surprise.
He says it so stupidly plainly, like they're discussing train timetables or new curtains. Not that she expected hearts and flowers—he's Ciel, not some simpering fool—but this? This is almost absurd. However, she doesn't hate it.
"Now?" she echoes.
"As in," he clarifies, "soon. Within the year. If not the season."
Her lips part, close, then part again. No words come out, which is annoying. She hardly ever stumbles over her words.
Ciel shifts beside her, a flicker of discomfort breaking through the cool façade. Not embarrassment, exactly, but something close. Awkwardness or self-consciousness, maybe. Like he's aware that he's just crossed some invisible line between how things usually are and how things will be.
"I'm not," he says, "trying to catch you unawares."
An exhale escapes Leah. "You're doing an excellent job regardless."
His mouth twitches into a smile, not overly warm, but there.
"You're already mine," he says, more quietly. "Everyone knows it. And this—" he glances toward the still-glowing lawn, the silk and powdered hair and champagne laughter—"this whole affair. It's all theatre. Your mother's little performance."
She scoffs. "You sound jealous."
"I am," he says, flushing.
Leah swallows, just once.
"Not of them," he adds quickly, "but of time. I've waited three years. I may not be able to say I have loved you all three, but I can say I love you now and I think I've waited long enough."
There's a prickling warmth at the base of her neck that creeps upward, not unpleasant. She's not used to him being like this. She's used to his gloved silences, the cool regard, the calculated affections doled out in glances and brief moments of unspoken understanding. But this is not silent or calculated. This is not a boy vaguely aware of his role as fiancé. This is Ciel deciding something and meaning it.
"I thought you weren't in any particular hurry," she says, trying for dry, but it comes out quieter than she means.
"I wasn't," he replies. "And now I am."
That shouldn't be enough to fluster her, but it is.
She turns back toward the sky if only to hide the expression threatening to betray her. The fireworks are starting to slow now, the finale still a few minutes off.
Her chest feels strangely tight. "It won't be a small affair," she says, filling the space between them. "Not if I have my way."
"I'll suffer through it," Ciel declares confidently.
Leah brings her face a bit closer to emphasize her point. "You'll hate it."
All Ciel does is give a subtle nod. "Probably."
Her fingers drift slightly against his arm, the motion so small it could be missed if he weren't paying attention. Though, he always pays attention.
After a beat, she says, "You're serious."
"Yes," he affirms quietly.
It is almost as if Leah can't believe it, even if they have been on 'to be married' status for years. "You want to marry me?"
"I do," his tone is drier now, but the edges are softer. "Unless you've changed your mind."
Leah quickly shakes her head. "Hardly."
"Then why do you look as if I've just told you I plan to defect to France?" he raises a brow in the hopes of hiding the flush that is creeping onto his ears now.
"I didn't think you'd ask me like this," she mutters.
"Would you have preferred a ring in a pudding?" Ciel attempts a joke.
She finally looks at him and he has got that faintly smug glint again, the one that usually follows a biting remark or a perfectly timed insult. Yet there is warmth under it, too. Soft and steady like it's been there the whole time and she just hasn't been allowed to see it.
"I would've preferred," she says slowly, "to have some warning."
He hides a faint laugh with a shrug. "You're the one who kept saying your season would be a formality."
"I didn't mean immediate consequences," she counters lightheartedly.
"I did."
She exhales a sharp little breath that escapes before she can help it. "All right."
Ciel blinks. "All right?"
"I don't dislike the idea," she declares.
There's a pause as his voice lowers. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."
She gives him a sidelong glance in slight annoyance and amusement. "You're being very forward tonight."
Ciel turns his head back towards the fireworks. "I've earned it."
"You're being very smug," she mockingly pouts, shifting on her feet.
"You like that about me," he grins.
The last firework shoots into the sky—a high, whistling scream that ends in a scatter of silver embers across the clouds. Leah watches them fall, one hand still at his arm, fingers pressed just slightly tighter now. She waits until the sound fades completely before speaking again.
"Then let them clear the calendar," she murmurs, eyes still on the sky.
"I've waited long enough too."
Notes:
with that, we conclude social season arc :’) kinda sad. i’m definitely gonna miss it, this has been a fun adventure
Chapter 42: | 41 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl plans her wedding. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
oh y’all thought you were getting emerald witch arc💀 nah, we still have a couple chapters before that
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-one ! )
"Is there a reason the invitations don't mention the church?"
The question, innocent on its face, floats down the length of the long drawing-room like a dagger in silk. Vivienne lifts her teacup delicately, as though she hasn't just lobbed a conversational grenade into the middle of an already fractious afternoon.
Sunlight spills through the tall, arched windows. A spread of parchment, ribbons, and floral samples fans out across the velvet-covered settee, encroaching on every available surface like a siege. In the chaos of tulle swatches and invitation proofs, Leah sits half-curled in a bergère.
For a moment, no one answers.
"We have a church?" Daniel says finally, deadpan, one brow lifting as he glances up from the seating chart he's meant to be overseeing. He's sprawled on the fainting couch like he owns it, long legs crossed at the ankle.
Next to him, Ciel doesn't bother to look up. He's reviewing a list of guests, pen in hand, neat script already marring the margins with notes. "I assumed you'd simply select whichever one had the most tolerable vicar."
Vivienne places her teacup back onto its saucer with unnecessary care. "It is customary for the bride to be married in her family's church. In England, that is."
A faint sound escapes Leah, half scoff and half breath. "We've lived here fourteen years and haven't attended a single Sunday service. If we have a church, it must be a phantom."
Lucius, seated near the hearth with his hands folded over his middle, grunts in agreement without looking up from the latest financial ledger. "Waste of time. If I wanted to be judged, I'd walk into Parliament."
Vivienne's nostrils flare almost imperceptibly. "Regardless, appearances matter. The invitations will be examined and picked apart. These little things reflect on all of us."
"They reflect on me," Leah says, voice honeyed and taut, "and I prefer not to be married somewhere that smells like damp hymn books and old men."
Daniel snorts. "So, nowhere in London, then."
"Not helping," she snaps, but there's no heat behind it.
The bickering settles into a kind of static. Leah breathes it in like air and lets it sharpen her edges. Every detail of this wedding has been hers for years, imagined and reimagined during dull dinners, tedious lessons, and lonely nights when she could almost believe someone might love her enough to marry her on purpose. Now it's here. Real and becoming more solid by the hour.
The drawing room has become her war room. The table is strewn with battlefield debris—sample menus, embossed stationery, and hastily scribbled notes from the florist who clearly didn't understand that "blush" is not the same as "dusty rose." Anna hovers somewhere near the doors with a measuring tape around her neck, wisely pretending not to exist.
Ciel, ever composed, sets down his pen. "We could use the church near the Opera House. It's clean, quiet, and no one goes."
Vivienne frowns. "It isn't a proper church."
"It's a functioning Anglican parish," he replies, unbothered. "That's proper enough."
Leah tilts her head, studying him. His dark eyes flit to her only once, but it's enough. 'He's telling me to choose.'
"I want the ceremony there," she says, quickly, before Vivienne can find new objections. "I don't want the guest list expanded again. We already cut some distant relatives. There's no reason to invite cousin Bransfield's third wife just because she knows how to feign tears in public."
"That woman is charity incarnate," Vivienne says stiffly.
Leah rolls her eyes in annoyance. "She's a harpy with diamonds in her teeth."
Lucius chuckles. "She is that."
Daniel leans over, eyeing the invitation proof in Leah's lap. "What is this font? It's atrocious. Looks like a footman wrote it mid-seizure."
"It is French," she says through her teeth. "Handwritten calligraphy. I happen to like it."
"Of course you do," he stretches lazily. "God forbid we have something that doesn't scream expensive and vaguely threatening."
"I am expensive and vaguely threatening," she crosses her arms.
"Tragically self-aware," he mutters.
"Daniel," Vivienne warns, though her tone lacks commitment. She seems distracted now, fingering a length of ivory lace as though trying to summon maternal enthusiasm.
"Could always marry in America," Lucius offers idly. "Vegas, maybe. Quicker. No church at all. Drive-throughs, I hear."
Vivienne shoots him a look so sharp it could slice marble.
Leah ignores them all, silent for a moment too long. When Ciel shifts beside her, she glances at him. He hasn't moved much, but he watches her with quiet attentiveness.
"I'd rather not be a spectacle," she murmurs.
"Too late," Daniel says.
She kicks at his boot with her slippered foot.
Ciel lifts a brow. "Then perhaps don't act like one."
It's almost a joke. She narrows her eyes at him, but there's a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, fading just as fast.
Vivienne rises, brushing down her skirts as though that will somehow reset the room. "We'll need to finalize the floral arrangements by tomorrow and the guest list is not yet approved."
"I already approved it," Leah says, standing too.
"Your father and I have not," she counters.
Shrugging with indifference, Leah glances around the room lazily. "I don't care."
The words fall out before she can stop them. The silence that follows is sharp-edged and immediate. Anna's eyes widen from her quiet corner and Lucius lowers his newspaper just an inch.
Vivienne simply stares.
Leah breathes in slowly, then lets it out. "I'm not seventeen forever and this wedding will not be yours."
Surprisingly, there is no explosion. Vivienne merely lifts her chin, lips pressed into a line. She smooths a nonexistent crease from her bodice and turns toward the door.
"I shall inform the planner that the bride has decided."
With that, she leaves. The click of her heels fades down the hall like gunfire.
Lucius mutters something about taking brandy before dinner and disappears behind the paper again. For a moment, there's nothing but the distant ticking of the grandfather clock.
Then Daniel sighs and flops back onto the couch like a corpse. "Well. I hope the dress is worth it, considering you've just murdered Mother's last nerve."
Leah doesn't answer, looking down at her hands clenched white around a silk ribbon. Ciel's fingers brush against hers, brief and unspoken, causing her to unclench slowly.
"I don't care if it kills her," she says, voice soft. "This is mine."
Outside, the bells of some distant church begin to toll.
Returning to her notebook full of scrawled words, Leah taps her pen against her lip. "I suppose I ought to change the shade of the runners," she says, mostly to herself but loud enough that the room is quiet for half a second. "The blue we agreed on clashes with the florals, I told you it would."
Ciel doesn't look up from the small stack of invitations he's half-heartedly inspecting. "You didn't say anything of the sort."
"I implied it."
"That is not the same."
Lucius chuckles from where he's standing near the drinks cart. "You two will be quarreling over napkin folds next," he mutters. "What's wrong with the damned runners?"
"They're blue," Leah says flatly. "An uncivilized, sea-sick blue. And no one asked for your opinion."
"Careful now," her father's voice remains teasing, though there's the faintest edge beneath it. "You're quite dear to me today, but that could change if I get another invoice by morning."
Daniel chuckles into his teacup. "God forbid the runners aren't the precise hue of a newborn's eyelid. You'll be inconsolable."
Leah closes her notebook with a pointed snap. "Why are you even here?"
"Papa told me to stay. Something about making sure you don't bankrupt the estate before the end of the week. I am also getting free time away from Weston, it's lovely."
"I wouldn't need to adjust anything if people would simply listen to me the first time," she replies, turning back toward Ciel with a flutter of her hand. "You ought to support me more."
"I am supporting you," he says, patient but unimpressed. "I've let you change the menu three times."
"Because it was dreadful the first three times," she says. "Don't pretend you'd be satisfied eating pigeon pie on your wedding day."
He raises his brows, only slightly. "You'll hardly even eat the food."
"That's not the point," she huffs
A brief, reluctant laugh escapes Daniel once more. "She wants everything perfect and she's marrying you. That's what matters."
Ciel doesn't respond, though a glance flicks his way. Daniel's distaste for Leah's fiancé is hardly new—though he mostly keeps it civil enough for public settings. She can practically hear him biting down on a dozen snide remarks every time he shares a room with Ciel, which, lately, has been far too often.
Outside the window, the gardens shimmer beneath the late afternoon sun, the manicured hedges and rose beds bathed in golden light. The colors are too bright, too summery, and much too vivid for what Leah always envisioned. She fiddles with the corner of her notebook, gaze drifting.
"I always wanted a winter wedding," she murmurs after a moment. "Frost on the windows. Candlelight. I used to imagine snow falling just as I stepped inside the chapel."
Ciel looks up now, not startled, just attentive. "Then why not wait until winter?"
"Because a few days ago you said we should get married now, so I am just doing as you wish," she adds quickly, swatting away her own irritation. "I've adjusted."
"You've adjusted?" Daniel repeats with mock astonishment. "Is that what we're calling this?"
"I think I'm very reasonable," Leah says. "Besides, everything is already planned."
Lucius drains the last of his brandy and sets the glass down with a clink. "Of course it is. The dress was made before the boy proposed."
"It wasn't—" she starts, then falters. "It wasn't made for him. It was made in the hope of someone proposing."
"You were six," Daniel says. "What was the rush?"
She glares at him. "You're annoying."
"Still older and taller," he sticks his tongue out childishly.
"And yet not the one getting married," she says, teeth flashing in a smile that is far too sweet to be genuine.
Daniel offers an exaggerated yawn in response. Lucius turns back to the cart, pouring himself a second drink with the serenity of a man used to tuning out the bickering of his children.
"I do think it would be better to add gold to the invitations," Leah says suddenly, "Just a small embellishment around the names. The silver looks cheap."
Ciel lifts an invitation between two fingers, examining the calligraphy with the same blank expression he's maintained for the past hour. "They cost twelve pounds a piece."
"That's why they shouldn't look cheap."
"I'll have Tanaka see to it," he says mildly.
Lucius raises a brow. "Will he also be paying for it?"
"Papa," Leah drawls. "Don't pretend you're on the verge of financial ruin. It's embarrassing."
"I'm not, but you spend as though I were immortal."
"You'll live until the reception," she replies, voice syrupy sweet. "After that, I shall mourn you with grace."
Her father merely hums, lips twitching upward despite himself. 'He's in a decent enough mood, then. For now.'
Across the room, Ciel sets down the invitations and leans back in his chair, one arm draped lazily along the armrest. He's watching her again.
"Do you want to discuss the seating?" he asks, noticing that Daniel abandoned it.
Leah shakes her head absently. "No, that's too complicated. I'll do it later."
"You've said that for three days," Ciel stares.
"And I'll say it for three more unless I have quiet to concentrate."
"God help the guests who cross her," Daniel mutters.
"They won't dare," she says, standing with a rustle of skirts and beginning to pace slowly in front of the fireplace. "Now—I want the musicians placed on the upper terrace. They'll be hidden by the lattice, but the sound will carry better. If they're on the ground level, it's far too crowded."
"You're assuming it won't rain," Ciel says.
"It won't," she states with scary certainty.
His brow raises. "And if it does?"
"Then I'll throw something," Leah's voice nearly becomes sharper.
Lucius, with surprising fondness, laughs under his breath. "Like your mother."
Leah doesn't reply. It's easier to keep her mouth shut when he's in one of his semi-fond moods. The atmosphere is rare and not to be disturbed.
There's still much to settle—final confirmations, lists, arguments about flowers and seating, and which guests to tolerate and which to shun by omission. The wedding is close now. Close enough to feel real in the weight of her gown fittings, the cool press of ring metal against her skin, and the way people look at her when she enters a room. The whispers, the congratulations, the envy.
There is still more to do.
═╬
The night drapes thick and soft over the townhouse, blanketing the manor in a peculiar hush. In Leah's chambers, the air carries the faintest scent of roses. A small fire burns in the hearth, a comfort more than a necessity in the summer warmth. She sits before her vanity, a silver brush idle in her hand, the silence hanging between her and Vivienne like a curtain not yet drawn back.
Vivienne stands by the window, her arms folded too tightly and her expression is taut. She has not sat since she entered the room a quarter-hour ago. Every few moments, she opens her mouth slightly, only to close it again as though trying to remember the start of a particularly unpleasant verse.
Leah watches her through the mirror. It's rare that her mother seeks her out for a private conversation at all, much less lingers long enough to fidget. Something about the way Vivienne shifts from foot to foot, like a schoolgirl unprepared for a recital, sets her on edge.
She sets the brush down with a soft clink. "Is something the matter, Mama?"
Vivienne inhales through her nose and turns, the candlelight catching the tiredness beneath her eyes. "No," she says, too quickly. "That is to say—nothing dreadful. Only.."
A pause.
"Well. I suppose it's time we spoke of certain.. expectations," her tone wavers near the end, as though the word 'expectations' has sanded down the edge of her teeth.
Leah turns fully toward her now, one leg tucked beneath the other. "Expectations?"
There's a long pause before Vivienne crosses to the armchair near the fire, perching herself on the edge with the poise of a woman prepared to flee at the first hint of discomfort. She clasps her hands in her lap, her knuckles paling as her fingers twist. "Tomorrow you'll be married," she begins, fixing her gaze somewhere above Leah's shoulder, "and tomorrow night, as tradition dictates, your husband will expect certain.. duties of you. It is not a subject I care to speak on, but a mother ought to, I suppose. Even if the matter is deeply—well, it is indecent, frankly."
The room, which had moments ago felt perfectly temperate, suddenly feels warm enough to boil. Leah doesn't say anything at first, she simply blinks. The implication settles in slow and heavy, a flush creeping up her neck. She half-wants to laugh just to cut the tension, but Vivienne looks so solemn that it would feel almost cruel.
Still, there's an absurdity to the entire affair. Vivienne, who never once stayed in the nursery longer than absolutely necessary, who spent most of Leah's girlhood pretending she wasn't there unless she'd done something wrong, now she decides to play mother?
"I—" Leah starts, then hesitates, unsure of what exactly she's meant to say. "I mean, I know some things. I'm not.. entirely in the dark."
Vivienne's gaze snaps to hers with a mixture of alarm and scrutiny. "Some things? Who told you?"
"Alexandra said a few things once," Leah admits almost defensively, remembering Gwendolyn's older sister. "Not much. Just bits and pieces. She's tiresome, not discreet."
Vivienne looks vaguely scandalized by this, though she doesn't say so aloud. Instead, she lets out a delicate sigh and presses two fingers to her temple, as if pained by the weight of familial gossip.
"Well, I daresay Alexandra ought to keep her mouth shut. Girls who speak too freely of such topics usually do so from experience or desperation."
The remark lands stiffly between them. Leah only nods, not out of agreement but because it's easier than arguing. She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve, pretending to smooth it down.
Vivienne watches her a moment longer, clearly warring with herself. Then, after a soft, almost inaudible groan, she shifts in the chair and continues, "It will be unpleasant, that is the truth of it. I would like to say otherwise, but it is no use dressing it up. The first time is rarely enjoyable. You will bleed. There may be pain."
Leah's brows lift a fraction. No matter what she thought she might hear, this was not it. Her lips part, then close again. "Oh," is all she can manage.
"Oh," Vivienne repeats dryly, misinterpreting the tone. "Yes, well. If I sound dispassionate, it's because I've no interest in romanticizing such matters. No woman worth her salt has ever claimed to relish the thing."
Leah opens her mouth again, only to pause, her eyes narrowing. "But it's supposed to—" she hesitates, choosing her words with more caution than usual, "—be how you.. get children. Isn't it?"
"Indeed," Vivienne's tone is clipped. "It is not for leisure. That is what women must always remember. Whatever nonsense modern ladies chatter about, the act is for bearing heirs, not enjoyment."
Somewhere in the back of Leah's mind, a vague recollection stirs—Alexandra whispering half-wrong information behind a fan at some cousin's dull engagement party, something about men and urges and something about how it only hurts the first time if you're lucky. She hadn't believed half of it, but even so, Vivienne's bleak pragmatism makes the whole thing sound as if she's being sentenced to a private execution.
"I see," Leah says finally, though she doesn't.
Vivienne gives a slow nod, clearly thinking her duty is almost done. "It's best not to dwell. It'll be over quickly, assuming he knows what he's doing. Which—" she stops herself, drawing her mouth into a prim line. "Never mind."
Leah's face pulls slightly. "Assuming he—Mama, is it supposed to hurt because of him or me?"
Vivienne flinches at the bluntness of the question. "That's enough detail. I won't get into that."
"But you said—"
"I said what I said," she holds up a hand, more distressed than angry. "This is not a conversation I care to extend. I've done my part. The rest.. the rest will happen as it's meant to."
The fire pops in the hearth, startling both of them slightly. Leah shifts again, she feels vaguely as though someone has placed a particularly large book on her lap and told her to read it with her eyes closed.
Vivienne rises, smoothing her skirts with practiced swiftness. "I must go. There are still things to attend to and I imagine you'll want a full night's rest before tomorrow."
Leah slowly nods, though her mind is too full to imagine sleep now. She feels more confused than enlightened. If anything, the whole exchange has raised more questions than it's answered.
Vivienne crosses to the door, pausing just long enough to add, "Don't fret over it. All girls survive it and in time, it becomes tolerable. So I'm told."
With that, she's gone, leaving the door to click shut with too much finality for Leah's liking.
She sits in silence for a while, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Exhaling slowly, she drags her brush back into her hand and begins to glide it through her hair with absent strokes.
Leah briefly thinks of Ciel, but the mental image doesn't help. If anything, it makes the weight in her stomach roll again. Her fiancé is many things and terrifyingly competent is one of them, but even he hadn't ever spoken to her plainly about what would happen once the wedding was done and the door closed behind them.
She presses her palm to her cheek, which is warm despite the cool air and exhales. There's not enough time to settle into the awkwardness before the knock comes.
"Come in," Leah calls, already slouching against the cushions in vague anticipation of more nonsense.
The door opens with a soft creak and in slips Anna. She curtsies automatically, then stands twisting her fingers in her apron.
"Mistress," she starts, closing the door with far more caution than needed, "your mother asked me to.. to come speak with you. About the, ah.. the wedding night."
Leah stares at her. "You?"
Anna reddens. "Yes, Mistress."
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "You're not married."
"No, Mistress," Anna shakes her head.
"You're not even—" she pauses, searching for a delicate way to phrase it and failing. "How old are you again?"
"Twenty-four," Anna mumbles.
Leah huffs, not quite a laugh but something drier and flatter. "And you know what happens?"
"Well," Anna hesitates. "Not exactly. Only what I've heard and read. Some from the other maids. There's a kitchen girl who was married once for a month—he died falling off a cart—but she said—"
"Anna," Leah cuts in. "You don't have to give me the village gossip version. Just tell me what you know."
There's a long pause. Anna fidgets again, smoothing her skirt, eyes flitting toward the fireplace as if hoping it'll swallow her whole.
"Well," she begins, stepping gingerly over to an armchair and perching at the edge like she might flee at any second, "when a husband and wife are alone on the night of their wedding, it is expected that.. they'll, um.."
"Consummate," Leah supplies flatly. She's heard the word. Gwendolyn's sister had used it far too confidently for someone who once thought a vaseline jar was meant to be a dessert.
"Yes," Anna nods, grateful. "Exactly. It's, uh.. it's a duty. To ensure the marriage is.. proper and legal. If you're hoping for children, it must be done."
Leah narrows her eyes slightly. "I know that much. I meant details."
"Details," Anna echoes, horrified. Her hands clutch the hem of her apron with renewed fervor.
There's a brief silence in which Leah begins to regret even being curious.
"Do you know how it happens..?" Anna asks, quieter now as if the walls themselves might recoil from such vulgarity.
"Not in full," Leah picks at a ribbon on her sleeve, avoiding eye contact. "I know it's done in bed. That it involves undressing and lying down and.. him. That he.. enters," her voice goes stiff like she's reciting medical literature she doesn't quite believe. "But beyond that, not really."
Anna flushes again, her face nearly matching the soft rose of Leah's hairpins. "Well, yes. That's.. that's it. He lies on top. Or I think. That's how they show it in those paintings. Not the proper ones, the other kind."
"You've seen those paintings?" asks Leah.
"I dusted the study once when Mr. Barrett was traveling."
Leah lifts her brows. "Papa keeps indecent art?"
Anna looks mildly offended. "It was in a book. Hidden behind Robinson Crusoe."
The corners of Leah's mouth twitch, but the moment passes quickly. "And does it hurt?" she asks after a pause, wanting to know if her mother was speaking the truth.
Anna doesn't answer at first. "I heard it might at the start, but not always. Sometimes ladies say it's.. unpleasant. Other times they say it's not so bad."
Leah frowns. 'That isn't exactly helpful.'
Anna presses on, voice barely above a whisper. "Some say it's quick and others say it takes time. But it depends on the man and the woman. And.. well, love might help."
Leah lets out a long breath, face pressed briefly into her knees. "Do you think he'll be gentle?"
"I think," Anna says, folding her hands in her lap now, tone with the cautious confidence of someone who deeply believes in the best outcome but has absolutely no evidence for it, "that he's never been cruel to you, not once. And he loves you. So yes, I think he will."
The fire cracks softly in the hearth and Leah doesn't answer right away. She's never been afraid of Ciel. Never once. He's hers and she trusts him. That doesn't mean she knows what he'll be like behind locked doors when it's just them. No titles, no servants, no chaperones. The thought stirs something unfamiliar and nervous in her chest.
Anna stands after a beat, smoothing the front of her apron. "Would you like me to stay a while or should I leave you be?"
Leah shakes her head, then stops, reconsidering. "Stay, just for a little. But don't talk, I feel odd."
"Yes, Mistress."
The quiet resumes, not tense, but contemplative. Leah stares at the wall, where the firelight dances across painted vines and curling leaves. She's never wanted anything as much as she wants this wedding to go well, but this part still feels foreign, like something from a novel she never finished.
She glances at Anna, who sits primly now, eyes cast down and hands folded like a child in chapel.
"..Did she really make you tell me?"
Notes:
vivienne and anna exposing lucius💀
and lowkey scaring tf out of leah
Chapter 43: | 42 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the betrothed of a certain young earl marries him. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
a long awaited day for all of us😭❤️
happy one year of this fic :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-two ! )
"I told you the sleeves were going to be the death of us."
The words are half-muffled by a whalebone bodice and a mouth full of pins, but they still carry the same exasperated tone Gwendolyn always manages to adopt when wrestling with an overly complicated piece of fabric. Leah stands perfectly still, arms outstretched and lifted, while her cousin fumbles with the third layer of silk puff that's meant to sit just off her shoulder.
Sunlight spills across the floor in bright patches, filtered through sheer curtains and dancing across embroidery and pearls like it knows what kind of day this is—her wedding day. Leah doesn't speak at first, she's trying to take it in.
The gown is everything she's ever wanted it to be. Ivory silk tulle cascades in soft but commanding folds, layer upon layer of intricate embroidery stitched by hand in Paris and ferried over in a locked trunk. Every seam is perfect, every panel structured and sculpted with purpose. Delicate silver threads loop through a pattern of small roses and thorns down the bodice and into the fullness of the skirt, blooming wider near the hem. There are rosettes stitched to the bustle like a garden that's threatening to overtake her entirely. The sleeves are dramatic, puffed, slit, and trimmed with scalloped lace, and her train drags behind her like a curtain made for royalty.
And the veil is cathedral length, trailing several feet past the edge of her skirt, shimmering faintly under the weight of so many pearls that even Leah had blinked in awe when she first tried it on. The lace at the crown is stiff and stitched so precisely she could almost cry. It is obscene and perfect.
"Do not tug it like that," Henrietta warns, swatting Gwendolyn's wrist. "The tulle is thin, and if you rip it, I shall make you pay the embroiderer yourself."
Gwendolyn glares. "We have one hour. One. I would sooner pay the embroiderer than deal with your dramatics."
From across the room, Elizabeth clutches her hands to her chest and lets out a soft, breathy sigh. "It's like something out of a fairytale, truly. I've never seen a dress like this, not even in the fashion books from Paris."
"You wouldn't," Gwendolyn mutters, but it's more habit than malice.
The chatter is distant to Leah, though she hears it. She's too still and breathless, the reality of it all finally settling into her bones like some heavy, lovely thing. The corset tightens with each breath. Her lungs feel pressed, but not in a bad way. More like she's being held together, formed, and sculpted into something holy, into the vision of what she always imagined she'd become once the day came.
"Stand straighter," Vivienne says from her corner by the mirror. She has been watching the entire process with the detached air of a woman observing a portrait being framed. "There is no grace in a slouching bride."
Leah obeys, but only barely. Her back is already aching, the bodice is unforgiving. Still, she says nothing. The less Vivienne speaks this morning, the better.
Her mother has been in a good mood, or what passes for it. No sharp remarks about Leah's height, no criticisms of her arms or her posture beyond the usual. She even allowed a touch of pink on Leah's cheeks without complaint. Leah isn't about to ruin the fragile peace. She can feel Vivienne's measuring eyes on her, though.
"You look radiant," Henrietta says softly, stepping forward now to adjust a bit of lace that's slipped from Leah's shoulder. "Do you feel it?"
"I don't know what I feel," Leah answers, honestly. "Everything. Nothing. I've not had a moment to breathe."
"Well, breathe now," Gwendolyn says, fixing the veil where it spills from its comb, "because once we're downstairs, it's over. You won't get a moment alone for the next seven hours and then you're to vanish entirely and we all pretend not to know why."
Elizabeth turns even pinker at that. "Gwen."
"I didn't say it," she puffs her cheeks.
"Not yet."
Leah gives a faint laugh, one that surprises even her. Her fingers tremble a little as she lifts them to touch the embroidery near her hip. The thread is so fine, that it feels like the texture of a spider's web. It's odd, standing here in the quiet chaos of a bridal chamber, the women around her fretting, fluffing, and tying and yet she feels calm.
She's marrying him.
The thought alone has weight. Not because she doubts him. She doesn't, not even a little. It's because, in all her life, nothing else has ever truly mattered. Not her Season and the stupid courtship balls or the endless, glittering teas. Not the girls simpering behind gloves or the ones whispering behind fans. Not even her mother's smirks. This is what matters. Ciel, her marriage, and her life. And to top it all off, she gets to leave today.
"You're thinking too hard," Gwendolyn says suddenly, eyes sharp as she pins another twist of lace into place.
Leah meets her gaze in the mirror. "Am I?"
"You're doing that thing. The one where you pretend you're not nervous and then you start brooding and sticking your tongue out in focus. Stop it."
"I'm not brooding."
"You're absolutely brooding," Henrietta agrees.
"I'm thinking," she replies. "You'll have to forgive me for not squealing like a lamb."
"No one asked you to squeal," says Vivienne, still by the mirror. "But a bride should look content. Not like she's contemplating war."
A sigh catches in Leah's chest. She smooths her hands down the front of her skirts. "I am content. Just aware."
There's another silence, a shared breath. Even Vivienne, for once, has no retort. A small clock chimes from the mantle. One-half hour.
The veil is arranged, the final pearl fastened, ribbons tied, gloves waiting and untouched. Her heels—white satin and hand-embroidered—peek out just beneath the hem. Leah doesn't move yet. She's looking at herself in the tall mirror now, truly looking.
The girl there is beautiful. Not in a way she's grown used to denying or like the compliments she's heard in drawing rooms or the shallow observations made by bored men hoping to charm. This is different. She looks like she's stepped out of a painting, like marble carved into flesh. For once, she feels that she can acknowledge and accept her beauty.
"I can't breathe," she says suddenly.
Gwendolyn goes pale. "Is it the corset?"
"No. It's—" Leah breathes again. Laughs, too suddenly to stop it. "I mean it in a good way."
Relief floods the room. Even Vivienne's posture shifts ever so slightly, her hands relaxing against the folds of her own gown.
"Thank the stars," Henrietta mutters. "I thought we'd have to cut you out like a roast chicken."
Another laugh bubbles out. Leah reaches out and squeezes Gwendolyn's hand, and then Henrietta's. Elizabeth beams beside them, almost swaying with excitement.
She does not look at her mother. "I'm ready as I'll ever be," Leah says.
Stepping out of the room, they all shuffle into the hallway. It feels narrower than it ought to be, though Leah suspects that has little to do with the actual architecture and far more to do with the sheer circumference of her gown.
As beautiful as the dress is, it makes every step feel like wading through a dream—or a nightmare, depending on how one looks at it. Now, as the final door clicks shut behind them and the corridor stretches ahead, she realizes that for all her childhood visions, she never quite imagined how utterly inconvenient her dream dress would be.
Her heel catches on a hem and she lurches forward half a step, jolting the bodice as the corset beneath reminds her that breathing is not a priority today.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she mutters under her breath, voice soft but not entirely concealed. "How does anyone move in this?"
A beat passes and then Gwendolyn, just behind her on the left, leans in slightly and murmurs, "Do you want the honest answer?"
"No," Leah says, dragging the word out like a sigh as she attempts to angle her hips to accommodate another forward step. "No, I want to keep pretending I'm gliding down the hall like a swan on a still lake."
"Right now you're more like a swan caught in brambles," Gwendolyn jokes.
That earns a sharp breath that might have become a laugh had Leah's lungs more freedom. As it is, she merely smirks, then glances sideways to catch Gwendolyn's grin, fond and dry.
Behind them, Elizabeth hurries to keep pace without stepping on the veil, her gloved hands fidgeting with the edge of it to make sure it doesn't snag on a passing sconce.
"I could carry the train again if it would help," she offers, trying her best not to sound flustered despite the speed with which she has to dart around Leah's billowing silhouette. "Or, I don't know, perhaps we ought to pause for a moment? Just until the corridor widens."
Leah doesn't stop walking, but she does tilt her head toward Elizabeth in what she hopes passes as a gracious, bridal sort of acknowledgment. "No, no," she says. "Let's just keep going. If I stop now, I may not start again."
Henrietta lets out a low, sympathetic hum from somewhere near Leah's elbow. "You really weren't joking when you said the dress was theatrical."
"I was never joking," Leah replies, voice dry. "I spent three years designing this gown in secret. If it didn't look like a stage curtain mated with a chandelier, I would have considered it a personal failure."
"And now?" Henrietta arches a brow.
"It's magnificent," Leah says, "but I feel as though I've been swallowed whole by it."
The corridor turns, then opens up into a grander passage lined with floor-length mirrors and marble columns. Leah feels a flicker of satisfaction pulse through her chest.
She looks like a bride from the fairy books, one of the ones with doomed beginnings and sweeping, romantic endings. 'This is all I've ever wanted.' Not the husband, the parties, the season, or the approval of parents who never wanted her to be anything but quiet and pretty and useful. Just this.
"I suppose this is what I deserve for insisting the veil be cathedral-length," she says absently, watching herself move. A small army of girls flurries about her like birds, adjusting the hem where it snags, fluffing the layers behind her so they trail neatly and don't fold over.
"You insisted?" Gwendolyn scoffs gently. "You threatened the seamstress."
"I was nine," Leah replies airily.
"You told her if the veil didn't touch the floor in three rooms, you would weep until your lungs collapsed."
"True. Now I can barely walk without tripping over my own legacy."
"You look heavenly, though," Elizabeth offers quickly, clasping her hands together with a kind of earnest delight that's only a little exhausting. "Like a princess in a storybook."
That coaxes a real smile from Leah. "That's the idea."
She pauses as they near the chapel doors, her heart kicking once, sharp and nervous. There's still time before the procession and the guests are still settling. Her father, somewhere, is no doubt counting down the seconds until he may hand her off like the Barrett heirloom he treats her as.
Gwendolyn notices her shift in stance and leans in once more. "Do you need to sit?" she asks, softer this time. "Or water?"
Leah shakes her head, expression composed. "No. Just thinking."
Henrietta peers up at her from her right, squinting slightly. "Nerves?"
"A bit," Leah admits. "Not about the wedding, though."
She doesn't elaborate, not that she has to. They all know her too well. Leah shifts her weight again, trying to test how long a stride she can take before the bodice constrains her. Not long, perhaps half what she's used to. Her height works against her, ironically. A petite girl would've glided effortlessly in this.
Gwendolyn watches her with a knowing look, already lifting a handful of skirts in preparation. "Walk slowly," she says. "One step at a time. No one's rushing you."
"Except the weight of my own ambition," Leah murmurs.
"And possibly your mother," Henrietta adds, "but you can't hear her from here, so let's pretend she's not real."
That finally makes Leah laugh, the tension in her shoulders drops slightly. She exhales and lets her hand trail along the carved edge of the nearest column.
It isn't the end of the corridor, not yet. There's still more walking to be done, still more breath to conserve and elegance to feign. But in this moment, surrounded by girls who know her and dressed in the dream she's carried for years, she feels something close to content.
The hush before a storm or the calm after one. Either way, she lifts her chin and prepares for the next room.
The moment the room clears, the quiet is almost shocking. The click of the door closing behind Gwendolyn is the last sound for a beat too long, the stillness settling around Leah like the folds of her gown—heavy, intricate, and impossible to ignore.
She exhales through her nose slowly when she watches her father enter. Lucius doesn't speak when he steps forward, only takes the place Vivienne left open with the kind of ease that suggests he's rehearsed this moment. 'He likely has.'
Every step of this day has his signature pressed into it—the invitations, the gilded altar, the seating arrangements, the music. Leah's aware of it all and for once, she finds she doesn't mind. It's not often her father offers anything without strings, but today the strings are visible and she knows how to untangle them.
He studies her with a long, appraising look. Not so different from the way a man might regard a painting he commissioned. There is no softness to it nor a fatherly gleam in his eye. Just pride, sharp and quiet and square-edged.
Lucius inclines his head a little. "Well," he says. "You certainly aren't subtle."
Her lips twitch at the corners. "I never intended to be."
A brief hum, halfway between amusement and agreement, comes from him as he offers his arm. Leah doesn't take it just yet, trying to take a step only to almost trip, though not quite. The fabric gathers around her ankles like waves at shore, unwilling to part easily. Her brows draw together slightly.
Lucius notices. "Do you need to adjust something?"
"No," she says, tilting her chin higher. "It's manageable."
He says nothing more, though she catches a flicker of judgment in his eyes. She doesn't rise to it. Today is not a day for provocations.
They begin walking slowly, Lucius matching her pace without complaint. Perhaps he can sense that she needs the time. The train of her gown unfurls behind her like a royal banner, sweeping the polished floor. It is all a great deal more dramatic than most weddings might allow, but she's never wanted subtlety. Ciel understands that.
She wonders where he is now—whether he's standing at the front already or if he's pacing quietly somewhere in another room. 'I hope he isn't nervous.' He's not a man who takes well to emotional fussing. Then again, he isn't marrying just anyone, he's marrying her.
"I suppose this is the part where I say something sentimental or impart advice," Lucius says, breaking the silence with the edge of something like irony, "but you've never taken to that sort of thing."
Leah glances sideways at him. "No. And you've never been sentimental."
"True."
They turn a corner, the pace still painfully slow on her part. Leah has to concentrate to keep her steps from becoming too wide. She's used to moving quickly and taking stairs two at a time, used to commanding her space. The dress is not built for that, it commands instead.
Lucius watches her walk for a moment, his gaze dipping briefly to the hem of her gown. "You're managing better than your mother would've in that thing."
She huffs out a laugh, the sound small but genuine. "Mama would've fainted before they opened the chapel doors."
"Or claimed she was ill. She's always preferred exits to entrances."
"That she has."
It's one of the rare moments they laugh together, if you can call it that. Not warm, exactly, but something close to shared understanding. Vivienne has always been something of a performance—beautiful, brittle, and best when watched from a distance. Leah sometimes wonders if her mother was ever young, silly, or free. She doesn't imagine so.
The doors at the end of the hall grow closer, the light from the stained glass leaks across the floor in fractured color. Her fingertips tighten slightly around the edge of her bouquet, careful not to bruise the petals.
Lucius slows his steps, forcing her to match them. "You'll need to move with more grace than this when the doors open."
"I'm aware," she murmurs. "I'm simply trying not to fall."
"Don't."
She doesn't respond. The nerves curl tighter, but they're not unpleasant. They feel the way excitement ought to feel when it's too tightly laced. She can handle it. She's prepared for this moment for years, long before she knew who the groom would be.
Now, she does know and knows him well. Ciel has always been cold to most, but not to her. Not lately that is. There's a comfort in knowing he sees her as more than a Barrett daughter and more than a glittering match. With him, there is no pretense or need to perform.
"You're sure about this," Lucius says, and it isn't a question.
"Yes," she replies.
He simply nods. "Good. Because there's no turning back."
Leah takes a deep breath. "I don't intend to."
He studies her again, longer this time. His expression doesn't change, but she can feel the weight of it. There is approval somewhere in it, buried beneath layers of distance and expectation.
The music swells slightly from the other end of the doors, causing her fingers to flex. Lucius offers his arm again and she takes it.
"Ready?" Lucius asks as the string quartet begins to play.
Leah squares her shoulders. "Quite."
They step forward and the curtain is drawn. The chapel doors swing wide, and a collective hush rolls through the crowd like a ripple across water. All eyes turn to her and for once, she doesn't feel compelled to look away or temper her presence. 'Let them look. That's half the point, isn't it?'
The aisle stretches long ahead, strewn with pale petals, flanked by rows of well-dressed guests in hats and gloves and layers of wealth. Even Henry Moore is in attendance—someone she expected would choose to ignore her invitation. Beside him, Lau slouches with a lazy grin, Ran Mao standing silent and statuesque at his side. There's something surreal about their presence, but Leah doesn't linger on it, smiling knowing Ran Mao has come.
Her focus remains forward.
At the altar, Ciel waits. He wears a deep navy coat with silver detailing, something dignified but tailored with a crisp cravat at his neck and his family signet glinting against one gloved hand. His expression is calm, but there's a softness to his mouth, a slight lift at the corners that he wouldn't dare wear on any other day. Not for a ball and not even for death, but today, for her, it rests there without shame.
Soma stands behind him, fussing lightly with his own cuffs. He looks like he's struggling not to fidget entirely. Leah spares him the briefest nod of amusement as she passes down the aisle, but her attention flicks right back to Ciel as if magnetized.
Lucius walks her with steady, deliberate steps. There's a formality to the way he holds her, not quite affectionate but not cold either. He's doing his duty and he's doing it well.
As they reach the front, Lucius places her hand into Ciel's without ceremony. The moment is brief. He doesn't say anything sentimental, simply inclines his head and steps back, retreating to his seat beside Vivienne who watches the exchange with unreadable eyes. Beside her, Daniel sits trying to hide the tears that spill from his eyes.
The officiant begins the ceremony, voice slow and clear, the cadence grand enough to suit the setting. Leah tunes in and out of the words, focusing instead on the weight of Ciel's hand in hers. His thumb brushes against her knuckles in a gesture so small and personal, that it anchors her more than anything else.
The exchange of vows is elegant and brief—no tearful proclamations or overwrought speeches. Just the essentials, delivered with poise and clarity. Ciel's voice is quiet, but not cold. Leah doesn't smile too wide or cry, but she knows her expression is softer than most have ever seen. She doesn't care. It feels earned.
When the time comes to sign the Parliament, Leah steps forward first. The fountain pen is sleek, and heavy in her grip, and the parchment is thick with Parliament's seal impressed upon the header. Her name flows in graceful script, learned from years of practice under the threat of Rosaline's sharp gaze. Ciel signs second, his writing more restrained.
There's no kiss. It would be inappropriate, bordering on scandalous.
"I now pronounce you man and wife."
The guests erupt into polite applause.
Ciel leans in just slightly as they turn to face the room together, his voice is quiet against her temple. "You look more magnificent than Versailles."
Leah smirks. "I should hope so. I've always liked to win."
Together, they begin their slow recessional down the aisle, arm in arm. The guests rise as they pass—rows and rows of relatives, nobles, merchants, and allies. Mostly coming from Leah's side.
The reception is only a short walk away, prepared for the next stage of the day. Opulent, but tastefully so with long tables and heavy linens, arrangements of peonies and orchids, crystal chandeliers dripping with light.
Behind her, Gwendolyn is already pulling Henrietta into a tight hug. Elizabeth hovers nearby, fidgeting with her gloves and trying not to burst into fresh tears.
Soma rushes over as soon as decorum allows, his grin blinding. "You two looked wonderful! And you," he says, turning to Leah, "I think I nearly forgot to breathe when you walked in."
Leah laughs, light and unguarded. "It's the dress."
"It's you in it," Soma insists, then spins on his heel to drag Ciel into conversation, clearly thrilled with himself.
For a moment, Leah allows herself to simply stand there watching the chaos unfold. The guests milling about, the servants discreetly shuffling champagne glasses into position, the low hum of conversation building like a tide.
Her eyes drift to the side, catching her mother's narrowed gaze from across the room. Vivienne's lips are pursed like she's smelled something sour, though she masks it with a sip of wine. Lucius is already off speaking with someone else, deep in some humorless conversation.
'It doesn't matter. I'm not going home with them.'
Leah turns back to the center of the room, where Ciel now stands half-listening to Soma and sparing her a glance that softens immediately when their eyes meet.
Everything she wanted and everything she's been made to endure has led to this. It's excessive. It's a spectacle. It's exactly how she wanted it.
═╬
Sunlight filters in through the tall stained-glass windows of Barrett Manor's ballroom, casting a soft glow over the long tables dressed in fine linen and adorned with silver candelabras and overflowing arrangements of peonies and orchids. Harpists in emerald green gowns perform softly near the far end of the room, the melodies delicate and fleeting.
The scent of warm bread, fresh fruit, and strong tea mingles with imported florals and expensive perfume. The setting is perfect—ornate, elegant, and entirely excessive—but that was always the intention. After all, Leah has never been accused of moderation.
Though it is hardly afternoon, champagne flows freely and laughter rises from every corner. Dozens of her relatives, most of whom she has not spoken to in over a decade, are engaged in various states of polite conversation, excessive fawning, or outright gossip.
It is not just the Barrett name that has drawn them, but the scale of the affair. There is a duchess sipping tea next to a retired opera singer. A marquess' third cousin-in-law smiles across the table at a Spanish countess who, rumor has it, has a son she intends to introduce to Leah's younger cousin.
Ciel looks like he has been dropped into an unfamiliar wilderness and told to navigate by starlight.
His posture remains composed, expression unreadable but distinctly tight around the mouth. The subtle twitch of his brow every time someone else with the Barrett nose and cold blue eyes approaches does not escape Leah's notice nor does the way his hand lingers near his waistcoat pocket, itching for a pocket watch or a reason to excuse himself.
"You're counting them, aren't you?" she murmurs, sidling close enough that her shoulder brushes his.
"I ceased counting after the fifth round of congratulations from a great-aunt who called me 'the boy with the bleak face.'" Ciel replies lowly, voice clipped but not without a trace of dry humor.
"Ah, that's Aunt Louise. Her husband sells tobacco. He has a limp, she has an attitude. Avoid both," Leah plucks a strawberry from a nearby silver tray and pops it into her mouth, speaking around it. "I could draw you a map, but I suspect it would only make things worse."
"Are there.. this many of you?" he asks, side-glancing at her with the barest flicker of something like awe. Or perhaps dread.
"You've seen but a portion. They multiply like weeds," her voice is amused, tone bordering fond despite the dig. "Don't worry, most of them are only here for the food and the spectacle. You'll never have to see half of them again."
"And the other half?"
"You'll pray you don't see them again either."
A chorus of delighted shrieks cuts through the music—a cluster of children, perhaps ten or so in total, dart past the newlyweds' table. One of them, a girl with dark braids and mismatched shoes, crashes directly into Leah's leg and nearly ricochets off her train. The child looks up, stunned, wide-eyed and red-cheeked.
Leah steadies her with a hand on her shoulder. "Careful now. If you ruin this dress, I shall haunt your dreams forever," the words come out sweetly, but the girl still pales.
That is, until Leah tucks a loose braid back behind the child's ear and murmurs, "Go on. Just not near the cake."
The girl squeaks and scurries away.
"You say you dislike children," Ciel mutters, watching as two more little ones approach Leah with the sort of reverence reserved for princesses.
"I do," she leans forward slightly, smiling as a boy clutches her gloved hand and starts rattling off something about his pet rabbit. "But they're not terrible if they're small and quiet and have the good sense to listen."
"You have a remarkable ability to make that sound maternal and tyrannical at once."
"Thank you."
Daniel, now two drinks in and recovering from what was very nearly a full emotional breakdown at the altar, approaches their table with a forced sense of dignity. His eyes are still suspiciously glossy, but his voice holds steady. "Leah, you look like a damn fairytale. And you—" his gaze lands on Ciel with a sneer barely hidden behind a tight-lipped smile. "You look.. like you're not entirely certain what you've gotten yourself into."
"On the contrary," Ciel says, standing just enough straighter. "I know exactly what I've gotten into. That is what makes it so terrifying."
Leah barely holds back a laugh.
"I'll kill him if he hurts you," Daniel adds under his breath as he leans in to kiss Leah's cheek.
"I know you will," she gives his hand a small squeeze before letting him retreat back to the safety of their cousin's table.
Another round of guests descends. Cousins from her mother's side, one with a laugh like a dying bird and another who insists upon shaking Ciel's hand thrice in under a minute. Leah explains their names in short, quiet bursts.
"That's Cousin Maribel, talks too much. Avoid asking about her twins. That's her sister, Maria, but she goes by Lulu now for some reason. That man in the plum coat is Uncle Rafael's bastard, number four, I think—no, wait, six. Or was it seven?"
"Seven?" Ciel repeats, barely keeping his voice neutral.
"He likes to pretend he's very proper now, but he once threw a bottle at my father during Christmas supper. Mama still invites him every year," her smile tightens. "Probably out of guilt, since she introduced him to his second mistress."
"Delightful."
"That's one word for it."
Gwendolyn appears just then with a plate stacked high with sugared pastries, Henrietta close behind her carrying a fresh pot of tea. The contrast between the two is always jarring: Gwendolyn, slender and composed, almost royal in the curve of her posture, while Henrietta bounces slightly with every step, her face already pink from laughter. They seat themselves without invitation, chatting brightly as if the weight of decorum is nothing to them.
"Henrietta nearly tripped into the refreshment table," Gwendolyn says flatly, stealing a macaron off Leah's plate.
"It was slippery!" Henrietta insists. "Someone spilled cordial on the floor."
"Your own glass, likely."
Elizabeth joins a beat later, her voice cheerful, bright as sunlight. "They're serving almond cake soon. I made sure yours has no rose flavoring. You loathe it, don't you?"
"I do," Leah says, surprised. "Thank you."
"Of course! I remembered from that party last winter—you barely touched it then either," Elizabeth nods along to her own words.
Leah smiles, more genuine than she means to, and suddenly feels very aware of how tired her cheeks are from smiling so often already. Her whole body aches from the sheer weight of her dress, but she is content. For the moment, at least. The worst of the formalities are over.
Still, the reception stretches on. There are too many eyes, too many names she has to pretend to recall, and more questions about children and estates and future inheritances than she knows what to do with. But her fingers touch against Ciel's under the table, steady and subtle, and she remembers there is a carriage waiting to take them away when the time comes.
One particularly small boy, maybe three, clutches her hand with alarming determination. His fingers are sticky. Leah glances down with a stiff smile.
"You've jam on your face," she murmurs, bending slightly, her gloved fingers dabbing uselessly at his mouth with a handkerchief, "and now, on my glove. Splendid."
The boy only giggles, utterly unfazed. Another girl tugs at Leah's sleeve with bright eyes and frosting on her nose, babbling something about wanting to see the veil again, "up close and proper." Soon she's surrounded by a miniature horde of them. Loud, syrupy, and almost endearing.
Eventually, though, the small crowd is ushered off by a nursemaid and Leah exhales with mild relief. Ciel appears at her side shortly after, his hand brushing hers. He doesn't say anything at first, but the look he gives her is enough to make her smile. It's soft and mellow. The kind of expression only she gets to see.
"You seemed cornered," he says under his breath.
She nearly rolls her eyes. "Do not act as though you weren't the one who fled the scene the moment the jam-fingered one began his pursuit."
"I value my cravat and my sanity," he replies.
There's a fondness beneath the dryness and it settles in Leah's chest with more warmth than she expected. She leans toward him slightly, catching the scent of bergamot and his cologne.
Their brief reprieve ends when a trio of older women approach, two of them powder-faced and beady-eyed, dressed in silk too tight for the heat. One of them, a cousin on her father's side—twice removed, thrice meddling—smiles as if she's about to offer sage wisdom when it's only ever veiled insult.
"Well," the woman says, looking Leah up and down with a heavy sort of scrutiny, "you are a lovely bride, my dear. Though I daresay you've barely touched a bite this morning."
"I have eaten," Leah answers politely, measured. She keeps her posture straight and her tone sweetened just enough to pass inspection.
The woman tsks. "A woman is to be well fed if she is to bear children. A narrow frame is all well and good for gowns, but it's hardly practical for motherhood. I trust your husband will encourage heartier appetites."
Ciel's expression doesn't shift, but the air around him goes still in that unnerving, deliberate way of his. Leah can feel the tension in his silence and swiftly interjects before he has the chance to speak.
"I assure you my health is in no danger," she says with a smile poised like the blade of a knife.
"Indeed," the woman says, waving her fan like a scolding schoolmistress, "but you're young and these habits tend to follow girls into womanhood. I've always said—"
"Mm," Leah hums, smile still intact. "How fortunate I'm not in need of advice, then."
That earns a stifled cough from Gwendolyn somewhere behind her, clearly trying not to laugh. The older woman pauses, uncertain if she's been insulted. She chooses to ignore it, settling instead on a muttered comment about "delicate temperaments" and moving along with her companions.
As the group retreats, Leah exhales slowly through her nose, feeling that her hands are clammy inside her gloves. Ciel touches her wrist beneath the drape of her sleeve, brief and wordless.
"Did you want to say something?" she asks quietly.
Ciel nods quietly. "I did."
"And?" she inclines her head.
"I thought better of it."
She studies him sidelong, searching for any trace of the cold detachment he so often presents to others. There is none. Only carefully worn restraint.
They linger through the rest of the brunch with polite smiles, cutting cake and sipping from crystal flutes of elderflower cordial. Gwendolyn steals the last tart, Henrietta convinces a distant uncle of Leah's to dance, and Elizabeth hugs Leah for the sixth time and nearly trips over the edge of her train. Even Lau and Ran Mao stick around, followed by Soma and Agni who seem to be hassling Henry Moore.
Eventually, the guests begin to thin. The sun has shifted, casting longer shadows across the lawn. 'It's time.'
Their carriage waits at the front of the estate, white-lacquered and glossy, gilded like something from a fairy tale. The luggage has already been secured, the footmen standing poised.
Leah takes one last look at the terrace—the silk and ribbons, the half-finished plates, the lingering guests with flushed cheeks and champagne laughter, and finally, at her family. Lucius, stony-faced near the entryway, murmuring something sharp into Vivienne's ear. Her mother nods, barely looking toward Leah at all. A little behind them, Daniel is waving at her with a sad smile, tears flowing down his cheeks once again.
Leah doesn't bother waving and her parents, but she sends one towards Daniel, childishly blowing a kiss.
Ciel helps her into the carriage, his hand firm at her waist, the gesture more functional than sentimental. She gathers the folds of her skirts and veil, settling into the seat with a faint rustle of silk and before she knows it, the door shuts behind them.
As the carriage begins to pull away, she watches the estate fade through the window.
═╬
The drive is long enough that the hem of Leah's gown pools over the carriage bench, layers upon layers of fabric folding and crinkling in the cramped space. Outside the window, the countryside stretches, slowly giving way to dense forest shrouded in rolling mist.
When Phantomhive Manor appears through the trees, it does so like a monolith. The sight of it makes her straighten and for a moment she forgets how tight her corset is. The earth crunches under carriage wheels, the air turning sharp as the horses slow before the estate gates. Even the trees seem to part for the family name.
Sebastian is already waiting, standing at the manor entrance. Leah catches Anna's familiar figure a step behind him, hands folded primly and head bowed.
The footman opens the carriage door with a nod and Ciel steps out first. There's a moment where he simply stands, adjusting his coat with that well-worn precision, glancing once toward the door as if to assess the probability of her emerging without calamity. The dress is another creature entirely; Leah shifts inside it like a woman wading through a pond.
Ciel exhales, just barely.
"I can manage," she says, one heel appearing beneath the miles of silk.
He offers a hand anyway. Not with flourish, more like a man offering a truce to a lion. Her gloved fingers brush his. With effort and an audible swish of fabric, Leah descends. Her skirt thumps the gravel as she rights herself with practiced grace.
Then, hesitating, Ciel glances toward the doors of the manor.
"You needn't carry me," Leah says, eyes narrowing slightly.
"It's tradition," he replies, though he doesn't sound particularly committed to it. "If you trip, it's considered bad luck."
"Then it's good that I don't trip."
A pause stretches, then snaps. He steps back, gesturing for her to proceed. "After you, Lady Phantomhive."
A smile curls at the edge of her mouth as she steps forward, the title sounds sweet. If nothing else, it's hers.
Inside, the manor smells like polished wood and cold stone. Leah doesn't give Sebastian the courtesy of her attention as she passes. The entry hall is grand, but she's too focused on the weight of her veil catching on the carpet and the rustle of her underskirts to truly admire it. She turns slightly to make sure Anna is following, noting her maid's silent precision.
Everything is going well until something catches Leah's eye.
"What the hell is he doing here?" her voice carries like a whipcrack, slicing through the hush.
From the far end of the hall, Thomas bows as if that will excuse the offense of his presence. Dressed in his usual dark uniform, face unreadable, hair slicked back as though he wants to appear quite proud to be stationed at Phantomhive Manor.
Leah's blood boils instantly. "No," she says, jaw tight. "Absolutely not."
Ciel looks at her, puzzled at first, but it takes only a glance at Thomas to piece it together. His brows lift. "He was reassigned by your father."
"Well, he can be unassigned by you," she demands.
"He's not my servant," Ciel looks away, shifting on his feet.
Leah scoffs loudly. "He most certainly is not mine."
Thomas says nothing as he keeps his eyes low, though Leah can sense the smugness radiating off him like heat. She knows his silence well. It's always meant to imply he's above rebuttal, that infuriatingly civil quiet.
Ciel's gaze flicks between them, but before he can speak, an orange blur bounds from the side corridor, yowling indignantly as it leaps onto the stair railing. Sam.
"Samson!" Leah exclaims.
The cat's ears twitch at the sound of his name, blinking lazily at her before slinking down the banister and landing with a soft thump. He rubs himself along the base of her gown, tail twitching like a metronome. Ciel inhales sharply.
"You brought the cat," his eyes narrow.
Leah puts her hands on her hips. "Of course, I brought the cat."
"I'm—"
"—Allergic, yes, I know," she says, stooping slightly to scoop Sam up in her arms. "You'll live."
Ciel regards the cat as though it's a loaded pistol. "Is he to roam the halls?"
"He's to do whatever he likes," she replies. "Unlike Thomas, who is to leave."
A small yip echoes from behind and then PomPom rounds the corner with a flourish, pink ribbon tied between his ears. He skitters to a stop beside Ciel's foot, spins twice, and plops down with an expectant huff.
Ciel stares at the two animals. One in Leah's arms and one trying to chew his shoelaces. "Wonderful," he mutters.
Leah adjusts Sam in her arms and regards the room like a queen deciding what to burn first. Anna, as usual, says nothing and simply begins collecting the veil, guiding the fabric up into her arms so Leah can move more freely.
Leah gives Thomas one last withering look. "This isn't Barrett Manor," she says. "You weren't invited."
Sebastian clears his throat, stepping forward with a small, diplomatic bow. "Lady Phantomhive, it may be wise to discuss household arrangements with the master before—"
"I am the master now," she snaps, eyes cutting to him. "I'll discuss it with whoever I please, whenever I please."
Ciel's lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk threatening his otherwise neutral expression.
"Shall I show you to your chambers?" Sebastian asks, tone as smooth as ever.
Leah doesn't answer, glancing up the stairs instead. "I know the way."
She begins the climb up the stairs, Anna trailing behind with the veil still in her arms. PomPom follows, tiny paws tapping on marble. Ciel waits a beat, gives one last glance to Thomas, then turns to follow his bride.
At the landing, Leah slows, turning to look down at the grand entrance. The manor does not yet feel like home despite the amount of times she has been here. However, there's something satisfying in knowing it's hers now.
Even if her cat will have to share it with a man who might sneeze himself to death.
Even if her father has once again had the final word in sending Thomas like a final thorn tucked into the bouquet.
She breathes in and lets the thought settle.
At the top of the stairs, she hears Ciel behind her. "You're certain the cat must stay?"
A small nod. "Yes."
"And the dog?" Ciel tests.
"He belongs here," she drones.
A pause. "Of course he does."
She smiles and doesn't hide it this time. The door to their chambers looms ahead, open and waiting. When they finally step inside, Anna is quick to exit while PomPom is shut out by Ciel.
The door clicks shut behind them and the quiet that follows feels heavier than before—thicker, like the room is holding its breath. PomPom scratches lightly at the other side, letting out a muffled whine when it becomes clear he is not permitted entry. Leah stares at the wood for a second longer than she means to, like the absence of the dog somehow deepens the finality of the moment. No maid, pet, or buffer. Only her husband and his room.
She turns, surveying the space she is expected to share, and finds herself mildly disappointed. It's not ugly or cold, but plain. It looks nearly the same as the last time she saw it. The walls are a light shade of green, the furniture heavy and austere. A few items rest atop the dresser—his pocket watch, a pair of cufflinks, a closed book—but there are no flowers, no lace, and nothing that seems pretty or fun. Only some portraits and shelves seem to line the walls.
"Your chambers could use some more decoration," she says as she trails a hand along the back of a chair. "At Barrett Manor, my room had gold leaf on the ceiling and my favorite items lined the walls."
Ciel adjusts a cane leaning against the wall by the wardrobe. "You may alter it to your liking."
"Oh, I will. But I rather thought you might have a personal touch or two. Some evidence of taste, perhaps," she teases.
"There's taste in restraint," he replies evenly. "Not every surface requires embroidery."
There's no real bite to it, though and she allows herself a small smile. The veil is already slipping from her hair, the pins loosening from the weight and hours of motion. With an annoyed huff, she reaches up and begins yanking the remaining ones free, letting the gossamer spill into her arms like a cloud come undone. It flutters to the floor in a soft heap.
"God, I thought I'd be buried in it," she mutters, bending to gather it and tossing it gently over a chair.
Ciel moves toward her with the practiced calm of a man trained not to startle. He doesn't reach for her, just stands at a distance, enough to allow her the space to undress without intrusion. Though she half expects Anna to appear out of nowhere and begin pulling laces free, she remembers with a flicker of irritation that the poor girl dismissed herself only moments ago, as custom dictates which leaves her with him.
"You may laugh," she says, voice lilting as she turns slightly, trying to reach the back of her gown, "but I do not know how I am meant to get out of this thing."
He tries to hide the smile growing on his face. "I thought you said you could manage."
"I said I could walk in it. Getting out of it is an entirely separate campaign," she whines quietly.
Ciel hesitates, then steps forward, his gloved fingers brushing the lower buttons, slow and careful. Leah stiffens instinctively but forces herself to relax as he begins with the outermost layer, unclasping the overskirt with a soft click. There must be six layers beneath, maybe more.
"I think," she says with a laugh just under her breath, "the modiste expected me to be unwrapped like a gift."
"You look like one," he hums.
Leah imagines what his expression might look like from behind her. "You don't strike me as the sort to enjoy gifts."
"Not usually," he murmurs.
The next clasp resists him. She can feel his fingers fumble slightly and when he exhales in a quiet puff of frustration, she can't help the giggle that escapes.
"Go on," she teases, not turning around. "You may admit you're struggling."
Ciel mutters something under his breath, tone too clipped to be flattering. She bites her lip to keep from laughing harder.
Between the two of them, the gown slowly begins to come undone. There's something absurd about it, how long it takes and how serious the atmosphere was only minutes ago compared to this awkward dance of hooks and satin and shifting weight. With each undone layer, she feels less ceremonial and adorned. Her corset remains, though it digs at her ribs like a clenched fist. She finally turns to face him when only the chemise remains beneath.
He averts his eyes, not in panic or disgust, but out of habit or maybe guilt. Leah studies him for a moment. The way he pretends not to be tense and the way his posture tightens just slightly as though someone invisible is watching. She recognizes that feeling. The sense of being seen when one would rather not be.
The room, already quiet, feels like it holds too much, like it might tip if one of them speaks too loudly.
She takes a step closer, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. "You're nervous."
"No," he says quickly, then corrects, "Yes. A little."
"That makes two of us," she whispers.
His gaze lifts to meet hers, something guarded flickering behind his expression. He doesn't mask himself around her entirely anymore, but there are parts of him she's learned not to press too hard. This, she suspects, is one of them.
Her voice softens. "You needn't be.. I don't expect.." she falters. "I know it's not supposed to be perfect."
He doesn't speak, but he does reach out, brushing her shoulder with the backs of his fingers.
"I was told it would hurt," she admits, tone light but not mocking. "That it's.. unpleasant the first time."
"That depends on the man," he says dryly.
She lets out a surprised snort and covers her mouth, giggling. "Ciel."
"Well, it's true."
She laughs again, too hard this time, and nearly stumbles back into one of the chairs. The moment breaks the tension between them like a cracked pane. He steps forward instinctively, steadying her. They're properly close now and her hands find his sleeves without thought.
For all her teasing, her palms are damp and her mouth feels dry. "It's just.." she starts, then glances down. "I've only ever kissed you once, that's all. So I don't know exactly what—"
"You don't need to know everything," he says quietly. "I don't mind going slow."
Her eyes flick back up. This is the first time he's said something that sounds the least bit unsure. Not hesitant because he doesn't want her, but because he does. Enough that it seems to unmoor something in him.
They stand like that for a long moment, not rushing. Her hand brushes the edge of his collar, fiddling with it like she means to smooth it down. She doesn't know what she's doing, but she wants to do it right. For him and for herself.
"You may kiss me," she says, just above a whisper.
He doesn't smile, but the corners of his mouth shift ever so slightly as his hand lifts to cradle her cheek, fingers cool against her skin. When he kisses her, it's soft and deliberate, more careful than she expected. Not like the first time where it was short and quick, just warmth, closeness, and something steady beneath.
When they part, she leans her forehead against his, her lashes brushing his skin. "I don't want to talk about my parents again," she says. "Ever."
Ciel nods his head slowly. "Then we won't."
"And I want Sam and PomPom to be allowed in during breakfast," she adds quietly.
He groans, barely audible. "You're negotiating now?"
"Marriage is compromise," she says primly. "You said so yourself."
He pulls back, looking at her fully now, and something in his face settles. The apprehension isn't gone, but it's smaller and more manageable than before.
With a small sigh, he nods toward the bed. "We'll take off the corset next."
"You say that like it's a simple task."
"I say it with faith."
"Dangerous of you."
Regardless, she turns toward the bed anyway with Ciel following close behind, her steps slow and deliberate. When the corset finally slips off with a tug and a relieved sigh, her ribs expand, grateful for the freedom, and she presses a hand to her waist where red marks now bloom like bruised lace. The chemise is all that remains—thin, soft, and not particularly modest. It reminds Leah of how she spent nearly an entire night on the Campania is just a ruined chemise.
She sits on the edge of the bed, one foot idly swinging as the silence thickens between them again. It's not unpleasant, but it isn't exactly comfortable either. Ciel's coat is gone, as well as his waistcoat. Only his shirt and trousers remain, but they might as well be armor the way he holds himself—guarded and aware of every breath. His eyes aren't on her body. Instead, they flit to her face and stay there, searching for something.
Underneath the soft weight of the canopied bed, the world grows quiet. Not in the peaceful, romantic way Leah imagined, but in the prickling, anticipatory sort of quiet when your heart beats a little too loud and you're too aware of how your fingers brush against silk.
Ciel draws the curtains around the posts halfway, muting the moonlight but not banishing it entirely. Shadows settle along the carpet and the length of the coverlet. Her corset lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, discarded with only minor struggle. He's more adept than expected, though neither of them had looked at the other much while it happened.
The air isn't cold, yet her skin has the gooseflesh of nerves. She pulls the sheet up across her front, not out of modesty exactly—more to have something to do with her hands.
He sits on the edge of the mattress, back half-turned to her in a way that perfectly hides his branding scar, his shirt discarded, and trousers still fastened. The line of his spine is sharp under pale skin. There's no softness to him, not even in repose, his shoulder blades are pointed like folded wings, and his posture stiff with something not quite fear, but not ease either.
"Are you all right?" Leah asks, her voice gentler than she means it to be.
Ciel's gaze shifts to her slowly. "Of course."
She raises her brows slightly.
Ciel hesitates, then lies beside her, the bed dipping with his weight. They're close, but not yet touching. A few inches, but it feels like a mile.
"This is strange," she says. "Not bad. Just.. odd. Isn't it?"
His eyes meet hers, unreadable. "It is."
They fall silent again as the wind rattles faintly against the panes, but there is no storm to interrupt them. Just the hush of linens and the rise and fall of breath. Leah draws in a long inhale through her nose, then shifts to face him more directly.
"I should like to try now.. If you would like to as well," she says, because someone has to say it, and it's not going to be him.
There's a beat of hesitation, then the faintest nod. He leans forward, softly brushing his lips to hers once again. Her hand finds the side of his neck, fingers cold against his skin.
The second kiss is longer, deeper, and a bit more unsure. He doesn't move quickly, seeming to be measuring every touch like if he makes one wrong step the entire room will vanish. Her lips part on instinct and for a while, they simply kiss, warmth building between them slowly.
Leah's limbs grow heavier and she lowers herself back onto the bed with him above her. There's nothing seductive in the moment as her chemise slips halfway down her shoulder and he brushes it the rest of the way off without any particular grace. He's as careful as he is awkward.
Still, her chest is bared to him now and for a moment he just stares, blinking once. A flush rises in both of their cheeks. The way he looks at her is unfamiliar. Not entirely lustful, but curious, reverent, and even hesitant. He reaches out and touches the hollow of her collarbone with two fingers, tracing the shape down.
She's slightly trembling, as is he. "You needn't look like you're about to faint," she mutters, attempting levity.
"You're shaking too," his eyebrows almost knit together.
"Yes, well, that doesn't mean you may," Leah playfully rolls her eyes.
He actually smirks a little, just a little before he leans down and his mouth finds her breast, causing her to make a sound she doesn't mean to make. Her body jolts, thigh brushing his hip. She lets out a sharp exhale through her nose and closes her eyes tight.
"I didn't know it would feel like that," she admits shyly.
"Too much?"
"No. Not enough."
Ciel's breath hitches. For a moment, he kisses her again like it's the only thing anchoring him to the moment. Then his hand slides down, past her stomach, over the sheet, until he slips under it. His fingers find her entrance—delicate and unsure—and she tenses.
"Don't look at me," she rasps, pressing a hand to her face.
He doesn't, keeping his head bowed and focused, but his touch is shaky and she doesn't know what he's trying to do exactly. Still, it's not unpleasant. Certainly strange, though.
When she opens her legs further to give him better access, he pauses briefly.
"Are you ready?" he murmurs.
Leah nods, swallowing. "I believe so."
There's no ceremony to how he undresses the rest of the way, trousers coming off with minimal effort. Ciel does not bother with dramatic gestures or flourish and when he's above her, she feels her mouth go dry. He positions himself between her legs, braced on his elbows, and she can feel the slight tremor in his arms.
"Leah," he breathes out. It's the only warning she gets.
She gasps when he presses into her, hands clutching at the sheets instinctively as her teeth catching her bottom lip. The sharpness of it is immediate, though not unbearable. Her brows knit and her legs shift.
Ciel stills. "Are you—"
She quickly shakes her head. "Don't stop."
His voice is tight. "Tell me if I hurt you."
"You already did," she mutters.
His mouth twitches at the corners again, though the moment is hardly comedic as he begins to rock forward slowly, inch by inch, and she exhales with a broken sound. There's pressure—a burning, stretching fullness she's never felt before—and she doesn't know where to put her hands. One finds his arm, gripping tightly. The other tangles into his hair. She clings to him as he buries himself fully, staying there once he's seated deep inside her.
They stay like that for a long breath before he finally moves, faintly acknowledging the faint trickle of blood that starts to stain the sheets beneath them.
Leah breathes through her teeth at first, then gradually loosens her grip. The ache becomes a pulse, then a rhythm, then something else entirely. His breath brushes against her neck and he shifts his angle just slightly, causing her eyes to fly open.
"Oh—Ciel—"
His name sounds different on her lips now, like it belongs in a darker register. She can feel him twitch inside her. He's not graceful or practiced, but he's trying. He holds her like she'll break, even when her legs lock around him as she arches and lets out a sound that surprises them both.
Ciel pants against her ear, every movement raw with effort. There's nothing slow about the way his hips snap now, restraint fraying.
"Don't stop," she cries, almost begging. "Please—don't stop—"
He doesn't.
The heat builds fast and when she tightens around him, making a sound between a sob and a whimper, he jerks, gasps, and spills into her with a shudder so deep she feels it in his spine.
His body goes tense, then limp as he collapses beside her, chest rising and falling erratically, sweat glistening at his temple. Leah lies very still, staring at the ceiling, not sure what to say. She can feel that her thighs are damp and sticky as well as part of the sheets beneath her.
For a moment, she can still feel the impression of him inside her like her body hasn't quite realized it's over. A strange hollowness lingers between her hips, but not in a bad way. It's more of an afterecho. The kind of feeling you get from touching something too warm or hearing a sound that lingers after the note's gone.
Ciel pulls the coverlet up over them both and doesn't move, wrapping his arms around her waist and she sinks into the hollow of his side like she belongs there. His skin is warm against her cheek.
Neither of them is quite sure what to say.
The candles burn low, her skin is damp where it meets his, but not unpleasantly so. His fingers drift along the length of her spine, slow and aimless. At first, she thinks it's accidental, an idle twitch of sleep, but it continues—up and down, feather-light pressure. She almost asks if he's still awake, but the occasional soft inhale through his nose confirms he is.
There's a flicker of soreness growing between her thighs. Nothing sharp, just a dull ache that makes her shift slightly against the mattress. Her face warms and he probably feels the mess they made of each other too.
Leah watches the ceiling and speaks without thinking. "I suppose I'm a woman now."
He laughs softly. "That seems a rather arbitrary distinction."
"Well, I bled on your sheets, didn't I? That's supposed to be the sign," she asks innocently. Whether she was a woman when she flowered or when she got married was a confusing thought.
"Charming."
"I thought so."
Smiling against his chest, she presses her cheek to his shoulder. His skin is smooth, surprisingly soft for someone always so composed. The occasional bump of bone beneath—his collar, the dip of his sternum—gives away how thin he really is. Thinner than she imagined and quite similar to her, all sharp angles and restraint. His heartbeat under her ear is steady, but a little fast still.
"Henrietta would be thrilled," she murmurs, half-laughing.
Ciel doesn't respond to that, but she feels his hand tighten just slightly on her waist as if to hold her closer or perhaps to remind himself this is real. That it's done and it wasn't terrible.
A shiver runs through her when his palm brushes up her ribs, then back down. He doesn't go lower, doesn't grope, grasp, or make a show of it. He just absentmindedly touches like he's drawing lines on her skin to memorize the shape of her.
Leah wonders what he's thinking. If he regrets it or if he's embarrassed.
She tilts her head slightly, peering up at the edge of his jaw. "You aren't brooding, are you?"
Only offering a faint shrug, Ciel slightly shifts beneath her. "No more than usual."
There's a pause, but not quite long enough to be uncomfortable. The weight of their breathing fills the space between words.
"You didn't seem frightened," she murmurs.
"I wasn't," he says.
Another pause.
"Well," she adds, "you didn't seem particularly confident either."
"I was focused," he replies like that makes all the difference. "Confidence implies certainty. I had no such thing."
She hums at that, the movement shifting her against him slightly and she feels the dampness between her legs again, thicker now, cooled with time. Her thighs slide together and she makes a face. "It's—ugh. I'm—rather a mess."
Glancing down at her, he also makes a small expression. "I gathered."
"You could clean me up," she suggests with mock seriousness.
"You've limbs of your own," Ciel yawns quietly.
"I just gave you my maidenhead, the least you can do is fetch a cloth," Leah tries to counter.
He doesn't rise or even bother to move, but the corner of his mouth tugs upward in something almost smug.
Leah huffs a quiet laugh. "Lazy."
They lay in the hush of the room for a while, the warmth settling into something quieter than desire. Something closer to comfort. It isn't perfect, it never was meant to be, but it is theirs.
Adjusting the coverlet, Leah brushes her leg against Ciel's under the sheets. Her skin is still flushed in some places, her pulse skimming just beneath the surface. When she shifts again, she catches a faint twinge of soreness in her lower belly, a reminder of how deep he'd been. It makes her blink, startled more by the strangeness of it than any pain.
"You're rather quiet."
Notes:
this was my first time ever writing smut, so i’m really sorry if it’s not the good or not realistic or something TvT it’s not exactly my strong suit and i was kinda awkward writing it, but i tried
Chapter 44: | 43 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl enjoys her honeymoon. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
this is a chapter of some highlights from ciel and leah’s honeymoon! chronological order, but none happen in the same day—there’s space between all of them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-three ! )
"Read the sentence again— I was listening that time."
The room is warm as afternoon light leaks through gauzy curtains, casting honey across the carpet and the velvet of her dress. Somewhere in the manor, a door closes—distant enough to be polite. There is nothing to do and no one to impress; it feels oddly illicit.
Ciel exhales through his nose. His tone doesn't shift, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. "You were not listening the first time, either."
"I was. Mostly," Leah drapes herself more languidly across the chaise, bare feet pressed together at the ankles and knees parted just enough to be indecent if anyone else were present. Her bodice is untied at the back, and her hair hangs long and brushed behind her. "I just want to hear it again. You sound less dreadful than usual."
He doesn't take the bait. The novel rests in one gloved hand, pages flicked lightly by his thumb. His other hand sits curled on the armrest, elbow sharp and clean in posture as he turns the page back.
"'He paused, looking down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, but her gaze unflinching. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more," he said, and turned away—'"
"Wait," Leah lifts her head, eyes narrowing. "Is that Austen?"
"Yes," Ciel confirms.
"Which one?"
"'Emma.'" the reply comes without flourish. "You said you'd never read it."
"I haven't," she reclines again, sighing. "I thought it'd be dull. All those dreadful little parties and letter-writing women with no business of their own."
He raises a brow. "And now?"
"I suppose if the men speak like that, I can be persuaded," she shrugs.
Ciel's fingers twitch minutely, but he says nothing. He sits straight-backed in the armchair opposite her, boot resting neatly atop his knee. The page turns again.
Leah shifts to her side, watching him read, hands occasionally brushing over PomPom, who naps beside her. "Did she end up with him?" she asks after a moment.
"She does."
"Even though he said that terribly serious thing and walked away?"
"He comes back. They always do."
She hums in the back of her throat and glances toward the window. "I think I'd hate that."
"You hate everything."
"That's not true," her eyes flit back toward him. "I like you. That's one."
Ciel doesn't respond, but a muscle in his jaw tightens. He doesn't look up from the page.
"..Two," she adds, "I like the gardens here. Even if the flowers are awfully fragile. That's not Finny's fault, is it?"
"No," he murmurs, still reading.
"I knew it," she stretches her legs out and crosses them at the ankle. "Three, I like when it rains. And four— I like when you read to me."
"You're only saying that so I'll continue."
"I'm saying it because it is true, but if you're so easily flattered, then yes, continue."
The words flow from him, smoother than before. She lets them blur at the edges of her hearing, half-listening, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. His voice isn't particularly dramatic, but it's steady and assured, and the way he reads female dialogue makes her grin into the velvet cushion.
She doesn't mean to fall asleep.
Or maybe she doesn't. It's only for a few minutes—ten at most—but when she blinks herself awake, the sun has shifted, and the book is shut on his lap. Ciel's looking at her, not with judgment, but that particular kind of amusement he wears when she's done something ridiculous and he won't say so aloud. Her hand has slipped over the edge of the chaise, fingers brushing the floor, and the back of her skirt has crumpled beneath her.
"I wasn't asleep," she says immediately.
His brow raises. "You were snoring."
Leah puffs her cheeks. "I don't snore."
"Your protest makes me think you're lying," says Ciel.
She scowls, sitting up with a wince. "Well, maybe I was bored. That's not your fault. It's Miss Austen's. I liked the other book better."
"The other one had murder in it."
"Precisely."
He shakes his head slightly and rises, slipping the novel onto a nearby table without ceremony. The jacket he wears is still buttoned, though his hair has begun to curl a little at the nape from the heat of the room.
She frowns at it. "You're overdressed."
"You're underdressed," Ciel counters.
"That is how it's meant to be," Leah rises too, smoothing her skirts as she does. "It's my honeymoon. I'm meant to lie around in nothing and eat sugared plums, or whatever it is newly married women do."
Ciel wipes the look off his face. "I believe the tradition calls for bridal tours."
"Well, I call it nonsense," she moves toward him, fingers catching his sleeve. "Besides, you'd hate it. We'd have to smile at people."
"I've done worse," he shrugs.
Leah rolls her eyes. "I haven't."
He studies her quietly, gaze flicking down her figure and back to her face. His hand lifts to touch her waist, just briefly, before falling again. For a moment, neither of them speaks.
"I've never read a book aloud to anyone before," he says.
Leah's brow arches.
"I didn't mean—" Ciel exhales. "I only meant.. it's not unpleasant."
"You sound like a scholar remarking on a particularly well-behaved parasite," she laughs.
"I'm trying to be sincere."
"You're terrible at it."
His hand comes up again, this time resting more firmly against her side, fingers splayed just below her ribs. He doesn't pull her closer, but he doesn't let go either. Leah leans into him, resting her chin on his shoulder. It's a strange fit, standing—she's almost level with him, and neither of them is particularly inclined to softness when it comes to affection—but it's warm and steady. She closes her eyes briefly.
"You can read to me again," she murmurs.
"You'll fall asleep again," Ciel complains.
"I might not."
"I won't hold my breath."
Leah's nose scrunches. "You're not allowed to die on the honeymoon. It's gauche."
"Is that so?" he raises a brow.
"Mmm," she nuzzles into his coat just slightly. "Very."
His thumb brushes over her side, absent and slow. It makes her want to say something, or nothing, or anything ridiculous just to fill the space, but she doesn't. The quiet is fine like this.
Somewhere outside, the wind picks up. A soft creak of branches against the glass and the curtains ripple with movement. She doesn't move.
They're only partway into the month.
═╬
The sun is warm above them, but not cruel. The bridle path cuts clean through the estate's woods, dappled light filtering through the high canopy as the horse moves in an even, steady rhythm. Leah's skirts billow softly with the motion, silk over velvet over lace, layered too fine for practicality but suited well enough for the aesthetics of newlywed bliss.
She's perched sidesaddle in front of Ciel, spine straight, hand resting over the pommel with a care that's more appearance than necessity. His arm wraps easily around her waist, gloved hand resting over the reins she's not actually holding. His chest is warm against her back, the faint rise and fall of it brushing her shoulders with every breath he takes. Neither of them has spoken in several minutes, but it doesn't feel like silence. There's the low creak of leather and the soft exhale of the horse. Birds call, and wind rustles through the hedgerows. Everything smells faintly of violets.
"You needn't keep your back so straight," he says eventually, voice low in her ear. "You look like a portrait."
"I am a portrait," she replies without looking at him. "And I'm being ridden like one."
His breath catches in his throat, but he makes no comment. She smirks.
The path curves gently, revealing a break in the trees where the lawn slopes down toward the pond. Afternoon sunlight flashes off the water, golden and clean, and a few ducks stir as the horse's hooves disturb the gravel. Ciel tugs gently on the reins to steer them toward the open field instead, and Leah feels the slight shift in balance as the horse adjusts beneath them. It's a big beast, a black Hanoverian, calm and well-trained, but powerful—she can feel the muscles moving under its coat with every step.
She leans back into him just enough to make a point. "If we were in America, I'd be riding astride."
"If we were in America, I suspect you'd be shooting at pheasants and calling it romance," Ciel purses his lips.
"I would never harm an animal," she huffs.
His fingers tighten slightly at her waist. "You would harm a person. You'd do it in a ball gown, too."
Leah lets her head tip to the side in mock thought. "..Would that be frowned upon?"
"Only by the people."
They pass the edge of the gardens where wisteria blooms wild along the trellis, bright and tumbling, and she watches the petals fall like confetti as the breeze picks up. The grounds are manicured and beautiful in the way things are when someone else has maintained them for centuries. It's too quiet to be anything but private. She doesn't like the stillness, but here, like this, it's palatable. She wouldn't call it peace, but it's something close.
She adjusts her posture again, lifting her skirts slightly to shift her legs. Sidesaddle is elegant, yes, but her thighs are aching from the uneven pressure, and the saddle feels like sitting on the edge of a grand piano.
"I think this is more for your amusement than mine," she mutters, tugging at a fold of silk that's clinging to her knee.
"It's traditional."
"Most traditions are invented by people with bad taste."
"You agreed to it," he grunts.
Leah fights the urge to throw her head back and whine like a child. "I agreed under the impression that we'd dismount after ten minutes and feed each other treats beneath a cherry tree."
"We don't have a cherry tree."
"Then the deception runs even deeper than I thought."
He laughs softly behind her, the sound barely more than a breath against the back of her neck. She feels it more than hears it, which is somehow worse.
A beat passes before he speaks again. "You've a good seat, even sidesaddle."
"Praise from you? I shall write it in my diary," she hums.
Ciel's brow raises slightly. "You don't keep one."
She shrugs. "I'll start."
The reins shift again as the horse slows to a walk. They're approaching the far edge of the estate, where the land dips again and the fences are whitewashed and freshly repaired. Beyond, there's nothing but hedgerows and quiet countryside. Leah watches a bird take off from one of the fence posts, wings flashing silver as it disappears into the trees.
"I could ride by myself," she says after a moment, not with challenge, only thoughtful.
"I know."
"I'd ride faster."
"I know that, too."
He doesn't release her, nor does he loosen his grip. Just enough pressure to keep her balanced, nothing more.
The wind picks up, fluttering her veil where it's pinned into the back of her hair. One of the pins has come loose; she can feel the slight give at her nape, but she doesn't bother adjusting it. Let it fall and unravel. There's no one out here to see her except him.
"Yet," she adds, voice low, "you insisted we ride together."
"We're married," Ciel says matter-of-factly.
Leah rolls her eyes. "That's not an answer."
He shrugs. "It's not a question."
She scowls, twisting slightly to look at him over her shoulder. His expression is calm, unreadable, but the light catches the corner of his mouth again, barely there. The sort of smile he wears when he's won a match of chess and doesn't care whether anyone noticed.
"Say it plainly," she mutters.
"I wanted you close," he doesn't even hesitate. That annoys her more than it ought to.
"Close," she echoes. "To what? Fall off?"
"To me."
They ride a moment longer before she leans back against him again, more deliberately this time, and her cheek brushes his coat.
"You're sentimental," she says flatly.
"And you're not."
"I never said I was."
He doesn't argue. His hand lifts instead, brushing a strand of hair away from her temple and smoothing it back behind her ear. The gloves make it gentler, less tactile, but the weight of the gesture lingers anyway.
Their horse picks its way slowly down a gentle incline, hooves sinking softly into the grass. A dragonfly skims across the water, and the ducks have all moved to the far bank. The silence isn't heavy anymore, it's just quiet, and they ride until the shadows begin to change.
═╬
Steam curls upward in thin ribbons, clinging to the stone walls like lace. The room smells faintly of jasmine oil, something too delicate to last on her skin for more than an hour, but potent enough to cling to the air. The bath itself—deep, porcelain, claw-footed—is half-filled, rippling with movement as Ciel shifts. He leans back against the curve of the tub, chin tipped upward, lashes lowered, and eye half-closed in what could be contentment or boredom. It's difficult to tell with him, even now.
Leah watches from the doorway without announcing herself, arms loosely crossed over her waist. The firelight flickers against his skin, and for a brief, stupid moment, she thinks he looks like something carved in marble until his foot twitches beneath the surface and shatters the illusion. Perhaps the eyepatch that remains on his eye could have done the same if she weren't so accustomed to it. She figures not to question it, despite the oddness of keeping it on for a bath. 'Must be because of me..'
She steps into the room without permission, and he doesn't move as the door shuts behind her with a soft click. She starts unlacing her bodice before she speaks.
"You were gone," she says mildly, tugging at the silk ribbon at her back. "I woke, and the bed was cold."
Ciel opens his eye, but he still doesn't look directly at her. "It was late. I thought I might sleep better with a bath."
"So you abandoned your wife like a coward."
"I left a note."
"You didn't."
There's a pause as his lips twitch faintly. "I meant to."
Her chemise slips down her arms, and the steam thickens. She doesn't ask if she may join him. Doesn't pause at the edge or attempt any polite sort of warning. The water shifts as she climbs in slow and deliberate, not for show but because the heat bites at her skin in waves, like standing too close to a fire. It's near excessively hot in her opinion, the sort of temperature he prefers, and she always endures in silence despite how it makes her lightheaded. Though she may just be dramatic in how warm the water really is. Her foot finds the porcelain bottom, then the other, and she lowers herself into the water with a slow exhale.
He shifts to make room, though not much. The tub is large, but not indulgently so. Her legs brush against his beneath the water. She doesn't move them.
"I could've drowned," she says as she settles back.
"Hardly," he hums.
Leah's nose scrunches, the corners of her mouth lifting faintly. "All the servants are asleep. What if I had fainted? Split my head open on the floor and bled out? You would've found me cold."
"You would not have fainted."
"You sound awfully sure."
"You've never mentioned fainting before."
Her fingers glide along the surface of the water, drawing lazy shapes in the ripple between them. A piece of her hair sticks to her collarbone, and she flicks it away, then lets her hand fall back into the bath.
Silence again, though not uncomfortable.
"I dislike being alone in that bed," she says.
He's quite a moment longer. "I'll remember that."
"You say it like it's a note to be filed."
"It is."
"Next to what—'how to handle a horsewife'?"
Now he does glance at her, brief but pointed. "That was one time."
"It was two," she huffs.
"You said you wouldn't bring it up again."
"I lied."
Her eyes close, and she leans her head against the rim, bare neck stretching into the steam. The bath is quiet, save for the small, occasional shift of limbs. Her knee brushes his thigh, then remains there without apology.
"I had a dream just before I woke," she murmurs after a beat. "Your head was missing and someone had put a birdcage in its place."
His brows raise. "That sounds like something you'd think up sober."
"No," she says lazily, "mine would be worse."
"You could paint it," he suggests.
Leah shrugs. "I could, but I won't."
"Why not?" he asks.
"It was too strange to look at. It made me angry," her lips pout.
He's watching her now—she knows, without needing to see him. She can feel it, the way one feels a weight pressing close, testing edges. He doesn't reach for her yet, but his knee presses more firmly into hers beneath the surface.
"You don't seem angry now," he says.
"I am."
"Liar."
"You left me alone."
"Now you are not."
She cracks an eye open, arching a brow. "Not yet forgiven."
"I've never asked to be."
"Good."
Water laps softly at the edges of the tub as she shifts again, pulling one leg up and resting it over his. Her heel nudges the inside of his calf, and their knees bump. She's not quite looking at him now, but her mouth is set in the same half-annoyed, half-amused slant she wears when she's trying not to smile but refusing to stop provoking.
"You're awfully comfortable," he says under his breath.
"So are you," she replies.
Neither of them moves. Everything smells of warmth and lavender and something beneath that—skin, breath, heat curling at the base of her spine. She reaches for the bar of soap without thinking, fingers slipping slightly over its surface, then leans forward to set it down again when she realizes she doesn't need it.
His hand brushes her back when she shifts again. She doesn't flinch. The contact is incidental, barely more than a touch, but the temperature of the water has flushed her skin, and she knows he must feel it.
"Was it cold?" she asks, voice quiet now.
His brow furrows. "What?"
"The bed," she says. "When you left it. Was it cold then, or did it only feel cold after you'd gone?"
He doesn't answer at first.
"Both."
Her lips part, but no response forms.
The water shifts again, more deliberately this time, and his hand slides fully along the small of her back slowly, as though testing whether she'll push him away. She doesn't. She breathes in instead, slow and even, though her pulse has begun to thrum at her throat.
Her head tilts again, neck bare, and his hand doesn't leave her. Doesn't press further, either. She can feel the pressure of it even through the water, the heat of his palm burning through where it rests, and one of his fingers slides along the edge of her spine.
"I don't like when you vanish," she says softly.
"I didn't vanish," he counters.
"You do it often."
"I thought to give you space."
Leah huffs. "I don't want space."
Ciel purses his lips. "Then say so."
She shifts, this time to face him, knees folding beneath her as she turns. The water stirs around them, little waves brushing the sides of the bath. Her hands settle lightly on his shoulders, wet and warm. He looks up at her, expression unreadable but not cold.
She leans forward until their foreheads nearly touch, and her mouth hovers just above his. "I shouldn't have to," she murmurs.
"You don't," he says.
His hands rise, deliberate this time, gliding up her sides to anchor at her waist. Neither of them moves any further, but the air is thicker now. The scent of jasmine has faded, overtaken by something warmer.
He tilts his head a fraction. Their lips don't meet, but they're closer than before. The bath ripples once more, and his lips brush hers. Not quite a kiss, more a pass of breath and warmth, but her heart stirs all the same. He's close enough for her to count each flicker of his lashes. There's a quiet patience in his eyes, a rare gentleness, like he's already read her mind and intends to wait out the last of her pride before doing as he wishes.
Leah shifts her weight slightly, water lapping higher on the porcelain as her knees press into either side of his hips. Her fingers ghost down from his shoulders, slow and light, tracing the dip of his collarbone and the slope of his chest. Her touch trails lower still, skimming the thin line of skin just below the ribs, where she's always found him oddly ticklish, though tonight he doesn't flinch. He exhales instead, the barest sigh, and watches her.
"You're staring," she says softly, though she's not looking at his face.
"I am," a single word, unbothered, honest, and he doesn't stop.
Her chest rises with a quiet inhale, the movement drawing her skin further into the light. The light dances across the water's surface, casting flickering shadows across her throat, her breasts, and her stomach. She feels his gaze drop, and she lets it, feels it like a touch in itself.
Her hands reach to steady herself against the bath's edge, drawing her posture straighter and taller. She doesn't speak, doesn't have to. His attention lingers on the curve of her chest a beat longer—less guarded now than the first time, less tense and unsure. He's touched her before. He's kissed and pressed and moved within her before. This is not new, and he still looks at her as though it is, like he hasn't quite learned how not to.
The water is near still again, but there's something unsteady beneath the surface now, something neither of them voices.
When he moves at last, it's slow. His hand rises from the bath, trailing wet across her side until his thumb presses lightly under the swell of her breast. His palm follows, smooth and deliberate. His breath hitches faintly when she doesn't stop him and only lifts her chin, proud and without shame.
Leah leans into the touch a little, just enough to signal that she won't pretend to be coy about it. She never has been, not with him, at least.
"You're warm," he murmurs, the words soft and low against her skin.
She hums. "So are you."
He huffs quietly through his nose, though it's not quite amusement. More like focus as he's memorising something again. He leans forward then, one hand still resting against her, and brushes his mouth along the base of her neck. His lips trail slowly downward, over her collarbone and to the center of her chest, where he pauses.
She tilts her head, eyes half-lidded now, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the tub. The heat of him is far more noticeable now, no longer dulled by the bath, but rising up with each brush of skin. When he takes one breast into his mouth, the reaction is immediate—sharp breath, a twitch of her hips forward, a hand that flies to his hair almost instinctively. She doesn't yank him closer, but she stays there, gripping just enough to feel his hair against her palm.
"Don't stop," she breathes.
He doesn't. His mouth is slow but firm, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. His other hand rises to mirror the first, and she lets herself move with it, spine arching forward, shoulders pressing back, and a faint sound slipping from her lips before she catches it with her teeth.
It isn't quiet, not truly. The room isn't echoing with noise, but the wet sounds of his mouth, the rustle of water, and the occasional hitched breath from her. All of it builds in waves, undercurrent tension climbing steadily. She doesn't tell him to go faster, she doesn't have to. His hands begin to roam again, lower this time, skimming her sides, her waist, and her hips. The water splashes faintly as she shifts closer, drawn in whether she means to be or not.
"Ciel.."
He looks up at her, and her voice falters. Not from uncertainty, but from the look in his eyes—unflinching, focused, lips slightly parted. There's a flush on his cheeks now, one that has nothing to do with the bath.
He presses a kiss to her sternum, then moves up again. Their mouths meet fully this time. It's deeper than before, more demanding. His hand slides behind her waist and pulls her forward, and she feels the tension in his body immediately. His chest against hers, the rise and fall of his breathing, and the undeniable hardness pressing into her thigh now. A flush rises in her chest, blooming across her shoulders. She grinds down slightly, slow and purposeful, and he groans into her mouth.
"Do you want to?" she asks.
He nods without hesitation.
They've done this a couple of times before, so he knows her body now, not perfectly, but well enough to touch her with confidence rather than caution. He doesn't fumble as he moves her with ease, guiding her as she lifts herself above him, the water parting between them. His hand slides between her thighs, fingers brushing gently, checking she's ready—another habit left over from the first time when everything had been shaky and strange.
She reaches down between them, fingers fumbling briefly under the water, and the way his breath catches tells her she's found what she meant to. His hand flies to her wrist, not to stop her, but to steady. He's never particularly vocal, but there's a certain sound he makes low in his throat that spills out when her touch shifts from teasing to deliberate.
She is, and he knows it.
When she sinks down onto him, the stretch is just as familiar as the ache. Her breath hitches again, soft and sharp, and she steadies herself with both hands against his shoulders. He exhales hard beneath her, jaw tightening, and head dropping back briefly as she settles.
They don't move at first, just sit joined in the water, skin against skin as his arms are around her waist and her body curled into his. Their breathing syncs slowly, and is hands run up and down her back in long strokes.
Then, finally, she moves. It's slow at first, rhythmic and steady. She rolls her hips forward, water rippling around them. He bites back a sound, one hand sliding down to grip her hip more firmly. She moves again, and again.
The sounds of splashes, quiet groans, and the occasional hiss between teeth rise. Her name slips from his lips once, low and hoarse, and it spurs her on.
He lifts his head to kiss her again, this time harder. His hand cups the back of her neck, holding her in place as their bodies move together, faster now. The tub rocks slightly beneath them, but neither notices nor cares.
Leah pulls back from the kiss, lips wet and swollen. Her breath comes fast now, heat curling in her belly, her thighs, and her chest.
"Don't finish before I do," she whispers.
His eyes lock with hers, breath ragged. "Then hurry," he groans.
She nods, it's all she needs to hear. Their pace quickens. His hands roam again, gripping her tighter now, their bodies slick and sliding against each other with every movement. Her nails dig into his shoulders as he grits his teeth and groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her chest.
And then, sharp and fast, she comes with a stifled cry, head bowed, thighs trembling as she clutches at him. He follows seconds later, spilling into her with a soft curse against her collarbone, clutching her tight as though he's afraid she might vanish.
For a moment, everything stills.
Their bodies remain tangled, breathing ragged. The water sloshes faintly around them as Leah leans forward, resting her forehead against his. His hands stay locked around her waist, not loosening yet. They don't speak. Not until their breathing evens again and the water cools just enough to stir them from the warmth of the afterglow.
But they're not quite done. Not if the way his fingers begin moving again along her spine is any indication, and certainly not if the flicker in his eyes returns when she shifts in his lap and doesn't yet rise.
═╬
The morning sun filters weakly through the sheer curtains, warm light pooling across embroidered coverlets and the soft white curve of a woman's shoulder. The windows are half-cracked, allowing in the pale hush of summer air, which cools the warmth left behind on the sheets by the previous night's indulgences. Though the clock has long since struck ten, there is still no sense of rush in the stillness of the room.
Leah lies propped against several pillows, her hair a tangled, glossy spill over bare shoulders, only somewhat tamed by the pale lace wrap shrugged loosely around her arms. The breakfast tray across her lap is mostly untouched. A fine crystal glass of apple juice sits off to one side, dewed with condensation, and on a porcelain plate edged in gold, there are neatly sliced strawberries, skinned orange segments, and a cluster of green grapes arranged with more care than she'll ever appreciate. She picks at them absentmindedly, the tines of her fork moving a single grape around the plate.
Beside her, reclining back against the headboard, Ciel is nursing a cup of black tea. The tray beside him holds his own light meal—smoked salmon on dark bread, a coddled egg, and a few artfully positioned slices of pear.
A quiet clink breaks the silence as Leah sets her fork down again. Her legs shift beneath the sheets, one knee rising slightly. She's still sore—not terribly, just enough to remind her how thoroughly she'd been kept up the night before. Yet, she feels no irritation about it, not really. Only the faint ache and a bone-deep laziness that makes her unwilling to move unless absolutely required.
"You ought to eat more than that," he remarks after a sip of tea, not looking up.
The fork clinks again, though this time not by accident.
"I am eating," she answers, dragging a sliced strawberry through a bit of condensation on her plate and popping it in her mouth like that alone absolves her.
He glances at her finally, his gaze unreadable. "Barely."
She doesn't respond at once. A grape is plucked and rolled between two fingers, cool and smooth. Her eyes remain fixed on it, lashes low.
"You know I don't like breakfast," she murmurs.
"I recall. You don't like much of anything before noon."
"And yet," she breathes, raising the grape to her mouth, "you continue to speak to me before then. Curious."
He huffs quietly, amused despite himself. "It's either speak to you or sit in silence while you pick your food apart like a dissatisfied duchess."
Her lip curls, faintly pleased.
"I could summon Thomas to keep you company instead," suggests Ciel.
Leah scoffs. "I'd rather starve."
His lips press into a line. "Which, evidently, is already your intent."
This time, her fork is dropped outright, clattering lightly onto the tray. The movement earns his full attention, though he doesn't shift his position.
"That wasn't funny," she says flatly.
"It wasn't meant to be."
The tension is soft, not brittle. Familiar ground. Still, her posture draws tighter, like a cat flicking its tail. Her pride always flares when her habits are brought up, even when it's him. Especially when it's him.
A long moment of quiet passes between them, broken only by the faint whistle of wind against the glass.
"You presume much," she mutters, but she picks the fork up again. Doesn't eat, though. Only holds it.
"And you presume I cannot tell when you're trying not to faint," he counters.
A sharp look shoots toward him, but he doesn't flinch or smirk. The remark lands heavier than the rest, matter-of-fact, as though it's already been established that this is simply how things are. How she is.
Leah sets the fork down again, more gently this time.
"I don't want to look grotesque," she says, the words barely more than a whisper. There's no dramatic tone, no forced self-pity, just the bare truth of it laid on the sheets between them. "Is that so wrong?"
He shifts at last, reaching to set aside his empty cup. Then he leans in, his posture unhurried as his hand brushes against the curve of her knee beneath the sheets.
"No," he says, "but starving yourself isn't beautiful either. There are better ways to have your way."
A pause.
"And what would you know of beauty?" she asks, though her tone isn't cutting. More curious than anything, like she's prompting him for something she already knows he won't say aloud.
He reaches for her tray and sets it aside without asking, then slides closer across the bed. One hand drags the sheet lower, down to her hips, and he gathers her in without ceremony. She lets him, curling against his side, head resting just below his shoulder.
"I married you," he says finally. "If I cared about the weight of your waist, I'd have found another."
"I suppose I should feel flattered," Leah's brow cocks.
"You should feel loved," he replies, and his fingers press lightly into her side. "But if flattery helps you eat, then yes. Be flattered."
Her eyes close briefly. She breathes in slow, shallow pulls, the kind that don't disturb much but fill the silence enough to make it seem like she's considering his words. "I'd rather feel spoiled."
"Then finish your breakfast," says Ciel.
She groans quietly, and he can feel the rise of it against his chest.
"You're insufferable," she murmurs.
"You're petulant."
"I'm delicate."
He doesn't argue that. Instead, he shifts her into a more comfortable position, his hand slipping beneath her robe to rest at the curve of her lower back. His thumb draws absent patterns into her skin.
"You are," he agrees. "And difficult. And temperamental."
"And you enjoy every moment of it."
"I wouldn't have brought you fruit if I didn't."
Her gaze lifts to meet his, narrowed. "You'll be smug about this all day, won't you?"
"Only until lunch," he smiles.
She glares. Then silence settles again, but it's a warmer and familiar sort this time. His fingers stay on her skin, slow and aimless, and her legs tangle further with his beneath the sheets. The tray of fruit remains untouched at the edge of the bed, but she doesn't push it away this time.
A clock ticks somewhere down the hall. The manor is otherwise still.
Leah presses her lips lightly to his collarbone, no warning or reason. A wordless thing. He doesn't comment, only breathes in once and continues the slow motion of his hand.
She thinks she might doze off like this just for a few minutes, and if she wakes up hungrier, then maybe she'll finish the strawberries.
═╬
The grandfather clock in the corridor chimes seven, its low, resonant tolls echoing through the east wing of the manor. Warm light spills from the high windows of the drawing room, gold against the dusky lavender sky beyond. Ciel has settled on one of the deep crimson settees, legs crossed neatly, one arm resting along the back as though posing for a portrait. His waistcoat is slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, the stiffness of earlier formality long since discarded.
A half-empty decanter of wine sits on the low table between them, joined by a dish of lemon biscuits that no one has touched. Cards are scattered across the table's surface in disorderly patterns, some bent slightly at the corners from Leah's restless fingers and some cast face-up in a state of tragic defeat.
She reclines across from him, slipper dangling off one foot, back slouched enough to annoy the ghost of her aunt had she been present. The bodice of her gown is slightly off-center from leaning, the silk wrinkled from where she's bunched it over her knee. Her hair's been pinned up and redone twice now, and a third time seems likely, judging by the way she keeps tugging strands loose with the occasional frustrated swipe.
"You've cheated," she accuses, peering down at the card in her lap as though it's somehow deceived her. "There is no world in which you beat me five times in a row without some form of trickery."
Ciel raises a brow, but the faint tug at the corner of his mouth betrays the amusement. "You declared you understood the rules after the second round."
"Yes, and that was before I realized the game was designed by sadists," she huffs.
He draws a card from the pile without looking, sets it on the table. "It's whist, Leah. Not fencing."
She narrows her eyes. "There's a trick to it. I've no doubt you learned it in the cradle."
"There's no trick," he replies mildly, and leans to refill his glass. "Only arithmetic."
Leah grumbles something about arithmetic being a poor substitute for charm, but sits upright again to gather the cards nonetheless. Her fingers are quick, though her method is a chaotic mess of half-shuffling and half-smacking them into order. The first time she handled the deck, she bent one of the corners nearly in half, which prompted a look from Ciel sharp enough to freeze the air. She's since tried to be more delicate, but her patience only stretches so far.
They have played three hands of whist, one round of vingt-et-un, two attempts at hazard, and one miserable, drawn-out disaster with a spill of dice neither of them wishes to revisit. Somewhere between the second and third game, she called him smug. Somewhere between the third and fourth, he called her erratic. She slapped his wrist during the fifth.
It has been a good evening.
By the time she gathers the last of the cards into a neat pile, her fingers are sticky with sweat. She glances toward the fire, watches the way the flames reflect in the glass of a cabinet, then tosses the deck at him with a flick of the wrist. He catches it one-handed, but not without arching a brow.
"What now?" she asks. "Or have you exhausted your appetite for humiliating me?"
"I could continue," he offers, eyes glinting above the rim of his glass. "But you do seem near tears."
"Oh, do shut up," she gets to her feet and moves toward the hearth, arms crossed beneath her chest. The fire's heat prickles her skin, drawing warmth through the silk and lace as she watches the embers shift. "There must be something I'm good at, surely. God wouldn't be so cruel as to grant me a face and nothing else."
From behind, there's the sound of a card snapping lightly against the table.
"You're tolerable at vingt-et-un," he says, and she hears the faintest pause. "When you don't insist the dealer is lying."
"I know when people are lying. You shouldn't hold that against me."
"I suppose not, but it makes the game unplayable."
She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder. "You ought to invent something better. A game without so many rules."
Ciel's gaze meets hers, cool and thoughtful beneath the flicker of lamplight. "And leave room for chaos? Never."
Rolling her eyes, Leah crosses back toward the table and reclaims her seat, this time letting her limbs drape with deliberate, feline laziness. "You are dreadfully boring sometimes, do you know that?"
He doesn't offer a reaction. "And you are delightfully uncivilized."
The corner of her mouth curves. "See? You can be charming when you wish."
"I'm always charming. You're simply too bitter to notice."
She leans forward, elbows to knees, chin in hand. "That sounds like something a bitter man would say."
He lifts his glass in a mock salute. "Touché."
The room quiets for a moment, and the clock ticks in the hall. A draft curls along the wainscoting, stirring the hem of Leah's skirts. She eyes the cards again, then the dice set aside in a small crystal dish. Too many games have passed in one sitting; the thrill has softened now, leaving behind only warmth, company, and the steady pleasure of unspoken intimacy.
Ciel sets the wine aside. "There's always charades."
Her lips pout. "You are not dragging me into a game of charades."
His smile returns, slow and sly. "Are you afraid you'll lose again?"
"I'm afraid I'll throw myself from a window," Leah says.
"Come now," he murmurs, tone feigning innocence, "it requires no arithmetic."
She considers the set of his shoulders, the glint of mischief edging into his eyes, and the small twitch of his gloved fingers against the tabletop. Then she sighs, long and dramatic.
"Fine," she concedes, voice drawling like someone being marched to the guillotine. "But if you make me act out something as humiliating as a goose again, I will bite you."
"Noted."
They shift, rearranging the chairs to face one another, and Leah smooths the wrinkles from her skirt with exaggerated precision.
The first round is awkward. She stares blankly at him when it's her turn, vaguely miming a person, then an action, then—when he fails to guess—flinging herself onto the rug with a groan of despair.
"You're abysmal at this," he says, tone utterly without sympathy.
"It was clearly 'woman hurling herself from carriage to avoid conversation with dull husband.'" she growls.
He doesn't dignify that with a response.
The second round goes better. She guesses pirate after he limps across the rug pretending to have one leg. It makes her laugh hard enough that she nearly snorts, which prompts a scandalized hand over her mouth.
They play for longer than intended. One round becomes two, then three. Her slippers end up discarded beneath the table, and his waistcoat is shed and tossed over the back of the settee. The wine is finally gone.
Though Leah loses more often than not, she's flushed, smiling, and breathing easier now than she had when the evening began.
When she stumbles through an act that might be meant to represent "storm at sea," and collapses across the chaise in a dramatic heap, she glances up to find Ciel standing over her, arms crossed, one brow raised.
"You're not trying," he accuses.
"I am. You simply don't know art when you see it," she kicks a foot.
He leans down slowly and plucks a loose hair from her forehead. "That's what they all say."
Her hand darts up and slaps his away. He smirks and lets her.
Outside, the wind picks up slightly, rattling the branches against the windows. The fire burns low, casting long shadows along the walls. Neither of them reaches to light another lamp. The night has grown long, but neither of them moves to end it.
═╬
The east parlour is swathed in pale light, heavy with the perfume of roses. It creeps in through tall windows and settles on the sprawl of opened boxes, ribbons, and half-wrapped parcels that have all but overtaken the floor. Every table surface has been claimed by something. A gold clock in the shape of a swan, a set of bone china too delicate to touch, embroidered linens that still smell of starch. There's a lace parasol propped against the edge of the chaise, absurdly ornate and utterly impractical. Leah eyes it with the sort of disdain she normally reserves for lesser girls.
The gifts have been trickling in since the wedding. Dozens—hundreds, likely. Items from far-flung family, sycophants, social climbers, and overindulgent friends of her parents. A few from people she and Ciel actually tolerate, but most of them bear the stamp of polite obligation, the kind that turns her stomach if she dwells on it for too long.
She unwraps a box containing what appears to be a crystal decanter shaped like a blooming tulip. A note nestled inside reads 'To a match made by Heaven and sanctioned by society. May your union be as enduring as cut glass.' She snorts and tosses the card aside. The decanter isn't terrible, at least. If anything, Leah thinks it's cute. She holds it up to the light and watches it catch a rainbow against the ceiling.
"You've made a disaster of the room."
Ciel's voice floats from the doorway. She doesn't look up right away as there's tissue paper caught under her slipper, and she leans down to free it with a wrinkle of her nose. When she straightens, he's stepped further in, one hand holding a pair of letters.
"I didn't realise it was your parlour," she answers, gesturing lazily to the chaos. "Shall I ask for your blessing before I wrinkle the rugs?"
"I'm the master of the house. It's all my parlour."
"Marvellous. I'm sure you'll enjoy the mess I've made, then."
He approaches slowly, his gaze drifting over the array. One of the tables bears an enormous glass vase filled with sugar roses, peonies, and violets, all so finely crafted she thought them real at first. She's grown to detest them. The arrangement is almost vulgar in its prettiness.
"You've gone through all of them?" he stops just beside her, nudging a box aside with his toe.
She shakes her head. "Not yet. I thought I'd pace myself. Something to look forward to."
His mouth twitches, but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of a smile. There's a set of pearl-handled letter openers nearby, lying in a crushed velvet box. Likely meant for correspondence she'll never read. She picks one up, spins it between her fingers, then returns it with exaggerated care.
"You're not keeping that," he mutters.
"It has a satisfying weight," Leah says.
"It's hideous."
"That's why I like it."
She moves past him to another stack. Someone had the gall to send a wedding portrait she and Ciel never sat for. Their faces are distorted, a little too angular, and the colours are too bold. Ciel's hair is the wrong shade, and her own gown is rendered in an offensive yellow, not even close to what she wore. She turns the frame face down and hopes the artist meets some unfortunate end involving fire.
He watches her with folded arms. "You've only unwrapped the gifts?"
"Mm, and mocked them. Thoroughly."
"No thank-you notes?"
Leah shrugs nonchalantly. "You may write them yourself if you're so concerned."
"That would defeat the purpose of you appearing grateful."
"I'm grateful enough for the ones I didn't hate."
"That's not how gratitude works."
She plucks up a handkerchief monogrammed with their initials entwined like a pair of serpents. The stitching is expert, something she can appreciate. She folds it neatly and tucks it back into the box, then pushes it away with a fingertip.
Ciel lowers himself into the chair beside her. One of the letters he carries is torn open, the wax seal broken cleanly. He reads in silence, posture composed, only glancing up when she exhales sharply through her nose. Her attention has turned to an elaborate candelabrum shaped like a twisted tree, each branch ending in a porcelain bird.
"What is that?" she asks.
"French," he replies.
"Of course it is."
She drags it closer, inspecting the birds' painted faces. One of them has a chip in the beak, hairline thin, only noticeable in the right light. She runs her thumb over it.
"I rather like this one," she mutters. "Shame it's flawed."
"It suits you, then."
Her eyes flick to him, narrowed, but he's still reading, serene as ever. 'Bastard.' She leans across the table and aims a half-hearted swat at his arm. He catches her wrist without looking, holds it just long enough to be annoying, then lets go.
"Shall I sort the ones I like?" she asks, reclining back into the cushion, all mock effort. "We could build a separate wing for the rest. Call it the Hall of Mediocre Tokens."
"No need," he murmurs. "We'll simply re-gift them to people we dislike."
Leah lets out a quiet snort and shifts, drawing one leg up under her as she reaches for another box. This one's tied in red silk ribbon and doesn't have a card. She tugs it loose and peels back the wrapping. Inside is a music box shaped like a carriage, gold, lacquered, and grotesque. When she twists the key, it plays something that vaguely resembles Clair de Lune, though the mechanism grinds audibly with every rotation.
She snaps the lid shut. "That one's going in the fire."
"I'd rather not poison the household," Ciel grimaces.
She glances toward him again, her gaze trailing over the sharp lines of his profile. He looks less tired now than he did in the days leading up to the wedding. His face no longer bears the stretched-thin look of someone pretending to be fine for the sake of appearances. There's an ease in his shoulders now, a looseness to his posture, like the world has stopped biting for just long enough to let him breathe.
"You're not going to make me write those thank-you notes, are you?" she asks, quieter this time.
"No," he doesn't elaborate.
She watches him for another moment, then returns to the boxes. The next one contains a fan carved from ivory, its paper hand-painted with scenes of lovers in a garden. Excessive, but it's pretty, and she lets it rest on her lap while she tears open the next ribbon.
There's something satisfying about it, the rustle of paper, sprayed fabric, and the idle sorting of treasures and horrors alike. It's the sort of mindless work that fills an afternoon without fuss. She might hate half the contents, but at least they're hers now. The collection grows around her feet, a little more ridiculous with each addition. She could sit like this for hours.
Ciel doesn't move.
The music box still rests at her elbow. She considers winding it again, just to annoy him. Or perhaps not. There's still another box to open, and the next ribbon is knotted a little too tightly. She begins to work at it with her thumbnail.
The light shifts through the window again, dimmer now. Dust motes drift, and the fire hasn't been lit, but the room is warm enough without it. Her fingers pause on the bow as she glances sideways, then undoes the knot.
═╬
The evening is still, soaked in gold from the candles flickering high in the sconces and along the centre of the table. Heavy drapes have been drawn, keeping out the dusk and its curious chill. A lace cloth drapes over the table, gathered at the sides like a gown. Two plates rest across from one another, touched by silver and delicate bone china, their contents modest but elegant—duck glazed in something faintly sweet, a curl of buttered carrot, thin green beans trimmed like ribbons.
Leah's knife moves in quiet arcs, slicing through her portion with practiced ease. She isn't ravenous, and she won't pretend to be, but it's not unpleasant tonight—the food, the quiet, the faint crackle of the hearth behind her. The air smells faintly of orange peel and woodsmoke, and though everything around her seems arranged for intimacy, it lacks the suffocating edge of earlier nights when they both still stumbled over the novelty of being married. The silence isn't hostile. It lingers without need to be filled.
Across the table, Ciel is watching her with his usual calm, his elbow on the table and his chin barely tilted in thought. He's already finished most of his meal, not rushing, but content. His expression rarely betrays much in front of others, but there's a softness in the line of his mouth that she only ever sees when it's just the two of them and no one else to notice.
She picks up her fork again, nudges a sliver of duck onto it, then glances up at him through the veil of her lashes. "You're awfully quiet tonight. Should I be worried?"
"You might, if you'd done anything worth worrying over," his tone is dry, almost careless.
Leah chuckles. "Mm, give me time. The night's young."
He lifts his wine glass to his lips, but the edge of it catches on a smile. A real one, faint and flickering.
They've had no visitors since morning, no correspondences requiring immediate attention, and even Thomas has learned to leave them be after dinner hours unless the manor is on fire, which, blessedly, it isn't. Time has slowed these past few weeks, bending to their schedule in a way that feels indulgent and fragile all at once. No trips, no galas, and no pretenses, at least not outside of their own.
Leah eats slowly, less out of dread and more for pacing. It's easier when there's no conversation to perform, no social obligation to finish everything, and no Sebastian lingering just out of view waiting to clear her plate. She's eaten enough, more than enough, so she lets the fork rest.
Ciel finishes his wine and sets the glass down with an absent motion. "The estate accountant requested another audience. I've refused him."
"Why?" she reaches for her own glass but doesn't drink.
"Because I would rather spend my evening doing anything else, and he's tedious."
"You do love a tedious man."
"Not when I'm dining."
A flicker of amusement dances through her expression. She leans back slightly, fingers toying with the edge of her plate, tracing the rim with one pale fingertip.
"I think I ought to learn the accounts myself," she muses aloud, tone light but laced with sincerity.
"You?" Ciel lifts a brow. "You'd sooner set fire to the ledgers than balance them."
"Incorrect. I'd have them bound in something prettier and perhaps printed in color, but I would balance them," she fights the urge to twiddle her thumbs.
Ciel hardly looks up. "Decorating the margins with ink roses does not qualify as finance."
She lifts her glass this time and takes a sip. The wine has mellowed since it was poured—softened, like the mood in the room. "Then teach me properly. If I'm to be paraded about as the mistress of this place, I ought to know more than which wine glasses to choose."
"You already know more than most wives of your rank," he gives a faint tilt of his head.
"I'm not most wives," she licks her lips.
"No, you're not," he says, quieter, eyes not leaving her.
The room feels warmer then. Leah sets the glass down gently. Her other hand lies idle in her lap, fingers curled against the silk folds of her skirt. She shifts, just enough that her foot brushes his under the table.
He doesn't move, his gaze remaining steady.
"You'd let me do it, wouldn't you?" she murmurs. "Go through the books. Take notes. Ask too many questions."
"I'd let you ruin the whole estate if it meant you'd do it in here, with me," there's an almost unnoticeable flush on his cheeks.
She almost laughs, but doesn't. Instead, she leans her cheek into her hand, elbow resting again on the table's edge. Her eyes flick past him to the window, then return. "That's a sentimental answer."
"It's true."
"Yet if I so much as breathe near the wine cellar, you act like I'm going to poison our guests."
"That's different."
"How?"
"You're impatient," he leans back in his seat.
"You're smug."
"And you married me."
"I must've been tricked," Leah huffs.
"You weren't," he murmurs.
She hums, soft and low, not an agreement but not a challenge either. A loose strand of hair slips near her cheek, and she doesn't bother to tuck it away.
"I didn't think I'd like this part of it," she says, not looking at him. "The quiet. The hours where we're not doing anything at all."
"What did you expect?" Ciel's brow raises.
"I don't know. Something more.. dramatic," she shrugs. "I thought I'd grow bored of you."
"You will."
"I haven't yet."
Ciel lifts his hand, brushing his thumb across his lower lip as if in thought, though his eyes are trained solely on her now. Not distractedly. Not because she's beautiful, though he clearly thinks she is, but in the way one looks when they're listening more than watching.
She takes another sip, then rises from her seat with unhurried grace. The air shifts as she moves, her gown rustling faintly with every step. She circles the table, fingers brushing the linen surface as she walks. When she reaches his side, she stops just behind him.
He doesn't turn.
Her hand lifts, fingertips grazing his shoulder, then smoothing along the line of his coat. He still doesn't look at her, but he's not avoiding it. He's waiting.
"I could sit with you," she murmurs. "Watch you work. Be quiet. Just for once."
"That would be suspicious."
"I'm capable of being well-behaved."
"Briefly."
Her other hand drapes over his other shoulder now, and she leans in, not quite against him, not yet. Her mouth hovers near his ear, and when she speaks again, it's quieter.
"You like when I'm near you, don't you?" she smiles.
He tilts his head just enough that she sees the faintest curve of a smirk. "When you're not biting."
"I might still bite," she lets her hand slide lower, slow and measured, fingers light over the buttons of his coat. "You'd deserve it."
"I usually do."
The fire crackles behind them. Somewhere down the hall, a clock chimes the quarter hour, muffled by distance and heavy walls. She lets the silence stretch just a moment longer, fingers stilling.
"You're in a better mood than you were last night," she says lightly, tone veiled, thoughtful.
"I'm not being pelted with hairpins this evening," he replies, tone flat.
"So yes, perhaps I am."
Notes:
sorry if the smut isn’t that good again. it’s awkward for me TvT i tried my best
anyways, this marks the end of what i’ll deem “wedding arc”! so i guess i’ll see y’all in emerald witch arc :3
Chapter 45: | 44 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl finds herself in germany. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
i REEAAALLY hope no one missed that pregnancy tag💀 it’s not gonna be a major thing for a while, but it’s there and exists. it’ll come into play occasionally.
i was going insane so i used a mixture of the official and fan translation for the quotes taken directly from the manga🧍🏻♀️ though as you can see, i added some of my own stuff. i figured the older chapters may have been a bit boring so i wanted to give it some flair and keep it interesting for y’all.
other than that, WE’VE FINALLY REACHED EMERALD WITCH ARC :’) I’M SO PROUD OF MYSELF. TOOK WAY LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED. small confession: i still haven’t started watching the new season TvT
anything spoken in german is in italics btw
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-four ! )
"Ihhi furoy-eh.. mihhi jii kenen tsureru nen.."
The pronunciation is mangled, clumsy, choked, and flat in the throat. Not even the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels beneath their feet can hide how wrong it sounds. Ciel finishes the line with a faint clearing of his throat and a glance downward, as if he's half-hoping the pages of the book will swallow him whole before the inevitable critique comes.
Across from him, Sebastian adjusts the cuff of his white glove and regards his master with the cool precision of a surgeon preparing to make an incision.
"That will never do. Your accent is preposterous," the butler says, now inspecting a smudge on his glove with an air of grave disappointment, as though the German language itself has suffered an injury under Ciel's assault. "At this rate, the locals shall think you are confessing to kidnapping their livestock."
Ciel slumps back against the train seat, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee.
"I can't do this anymore! I feel sick," he complains, holding the book above his head in irritation.
Sebastian looks down at the boy with feigned pity. "So undisciplined."
From under his lashes, Ciel scowls. "German pronunciation is impossible. I can read it just fine, isn't that enough?"
The book, now on his stomach, rises slightly with each breath he takes, then settles again. He closes his eye and lets the motion of the train lull him into a stillness that borders on sulking.
Across the narrow aisle, Leah sits with a small pillow propped behind her back and a closed fan beside her hip. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes remain fixed on the gentle, unremarkable swaying of the trees beyond the glass. Their leaves catch the light like scales on a fish, fluttering past in streaks of green. The air smells faintly of coal and polished brass.
Anna leans closer from her position beside her, voice lowered but not urgent. "It still hasn't come, My Lady?"
"No," Leah doesn't look at her. Her tone is even, almost bored.
"And you're still feeling poorly?"
"I haven't fainted or vomited, but I'm not sure exactly well either," she replies, eyes narrowing faintly at a particularly blinding ray of sun, "I can't keep cream down, I gag at the scent of boiled meat, I find myself falling asleep at any time of day, and yesterday morning I cried because I spilled rosewater on my slippers. I loathe those slippers."
Anna's brows knit in quiet sympathy, but there's a glint of relief behind her gaze. "Then.. it might be that. It's been over a month since.. well. Since your wedding."
Leah lowers the fan and flicks it once, more for something to do than for any real need of breeze. "Yes, I'm aware of the date, thank you."
"You should tell Lord Phantomhive."
Leah hums noncommittally and glances sideways. Across the aisle, Ciel is still sprawled out like an abandoned doll, his face turned just enough to make out the curl of his lip and the subtle furrow in his brow. His fingers drum once against the cover of the book, as though debating whether to hurl it out the window.
'It's strange,' she thinks—not because he looks childish, but because he doesn't. At seventeen, he carries himself like someone thrice his age, all sharp lines and sharper responsibilities. But sometimes, when he forgets to be the Queen's Watchdog or the heir to a great house, he just looks tired and young.
For reasons Leah doesn't feel like sorting through, she finds herself softening.
"I doubt he'd faint dead away at the news," she murmurs, more to herself than to Anna.
"No, My Lady. I don't think so," Anna agrees.
A moment passes as the train turns gently, curving along the hills, and the sunlight dapples her lap through the window.
"He'll probably be pleased," Anna adds, brushing a piece of lint off Leah's sleeve with a maternal sort of fussiness. "An heir so soon.. that's a blessing."
"Mm," Leah watches her own reflection in the glass. It stares back, pale and severe in the afternoon light, the shadows under her eyes betraying too many late nights and too little sleep. Her lips press into a thin line. "It was expected."
Anna doesn't respond right away, but she reaches over to refill Leah's teacup from the small silver pot nestled in the compartment beside them.
"You ought to eat more," she says quietly. "For the baby."
Leah lifts the cup without much enthusiasm. The word sits heavy on her tongue, even if she doesn't say it aloud. Baby. It's such a small word, practically a whisper.
She looks back toward her husband. His book has slipped slightly, and he adjusts it without opening his eyes. There's a kind of domestic intimacy to the whole tableau—the languid slouch, the way his mouth moves ever so slightly as though still muttering phrases under his breath.
He is not a gentle person by nature, and she knows this, but he tries for her. In his own odd way, in his own stiff, calculated gestures. She knows that, too.
The quiet stretches between them like lace being pulled taut.
Eventually, Ciel shifts and opens one eye, peering through the fringe of his hair at the seat across from him. "You're being suspiciously quiet."
Leah raises her cup. "I'm always quiet when you attempt to speak German. It feels wrong to interrupt a crime in progress."
His eye narrows as she sips the tea.
"I suppose I ought to study, but it feels pointless," he mutters, fingers brushing the spine of the book again. "They'll understand me well enough."
"You could hire a tutor or just bribe the mayor," she suggests absently.
"That's not a terrible idea," he muses. "The bribery, I mean. You'd make an excellent criminal."
"I've had excellent schooling."
Their eyes meet across the aisle. There's a flicker of something almost amused in his gaze, and the corner of her mouth tugs upward.
"Will you walk with me once we reach Bremen?" he asks, voice low but clear, as though making an offer and not a command.
She doesn't answer right away. The train lurches slightly, and her tea ripples in the cup.
Finally, she sets it down and folds her hands in her lap. "If I feel like it."
Ciel huffs a sound that might be a laugh and doesn't press her further. Outside, the landscape rolls by in endless green fields and smudged cottages under a sky streaked with light. The day leans lazily into the afternoon, and the conversation fades again into quiet, but something lingers between them now.
Leah rests her temple against the windowpane, fingers draped idly in her lap. Her thoughts have already wandered, drawn more by the dull ache in her lower back than the scenery rolling past. Anna folds her hands neatly atop her skirt, quiet until she isn't.
"You ought to tell him," she tries to urge again, keeping her voice just above a whisper.
The suggestion hangs in the air. Leah does not answer at once, drawing her fingers along the hem of her sleeve, then flicks her eyes back to the window. "And announce what? That I've missed a month and feel ill?" she breathes, dryly. "I may as well send for a town crier and ring a bloody bell."
Anna suppresses a smile, though it threatens to show. "He is your husband."
"Yes, I know. I was there when it happened," her voice flattens.
She lapses into silence again, picking at a small thread on her sleeve with almost surgical attention. After a moment, she tilts her head back, letting it rest against the glass. Anna waits, dutifully patient, a lady's maid through and through.
Eventually, Leah's fingers still. She shifts her weight, straightens, and rises to her feet in one graceful motion, arms steadying her on the side of the seat. She says nothing as she crosses the aisle, simply slides into the space beside Ciel, bumping the edge of the book with her elbow until it slides half off his torso.
He opens his eye, looking more annoyed than surprised. "I was using that."
"You weren't," she picks up the book anyway and places it spine-up between them. "You said reading on a train makes you ill."
"It does."
"Then I've saved you the trouble of looking at it again."
He watches her for a long beat, then closes his eyes again, exhaling through his nose. Leah doesn't speak at first. She watches the rise and fall of his chest and the faint twitch in his brow as he pretends not to notice her hovering stare. She reaches up and smooths a piece of his bangs from his forehead, more absent-minded than tender, and waits until his eyes open once more.
They meet hers, reluctant and resigned. "What?"
"Do you know what courses are?" she asks.
He blinks, and there's a pause, half a second too long. "I beg your pardon?"
She arches a brow. "Monthly courses. Lady troubles. Women's matters. You know. The thing no one mentions, and every man pretends not to exist despite having mothers and sisters and wives."
A flush of irritation colors his expression. "Why are you bringing that up?"
"I haven't had mine," she says simply.
Ciel stiffens slightly, his eyes searching hers as if expecting her to laugh or retract the statement. When she doesn't, he leans up, propping himself on an elbow. "You mean— since the wedding?"
"Since before," she corrects.
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn't speak. The words sit heavy between them.
"I've been ill every morning this week," she continues. "My appetite's turned strange, I've gone faint twice, and I could smell the brandy in that man's flask two carriages down," she nods toward the back of the train without glancing. "If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is."
Sebastian turns the page of his newspaper he picked up with surgical calm. If he hears them, he doesn't show it.
Ciel frowns, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're not.. certain."
"No," she replies. "But it would be a rather elaborate coincidence, wouldn't it?"
There's something unreadable in his expression as he leans back again. Not panic, not quite. He stares at the ceiling, lips parted, thinking. The train rocks beneath them.
"I suppose it was bound to happen," he mutters after a moment.
"You sound thrilled."
"I'm seventeen, Leah."
"You're married, Ciel."
His mouth twitches faintly into a mixture of a grimace and a smile. "I know."
The silence that follows is less awkward than it should be. Her arm brushes his lightly, but neither of them shifts away. Her eyes trail over his profile—long lashes, smooth brow, that ever-present shadow of calculation in his gaze.
"I haven't told anyone but Anna," she says eventually.
"Why tell me, then?" he raises his brow.
Leah rolls her eyes dramatically with a furrow in her brows. "You're the one who did it."
He snorts. "I recall you participating."
She hums, satisfied. That earns a small smile from him, the first real one today. Brief, but sincere.
His eyes move to her again. "Have you given thought to what happens now?"
"I thought you'd be the one to do that," she replies, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "You're the one with a ledger for a brain."
"And you've a mouth for mischief."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't meant kindly."
She smirks.
Their banter is quieter than usual, toned down and subdued. Neither looks especially thrilled, but neither looks displeased either. It isn't joy, not exactly, but it's not dread either.
After a while, he shifts closer, resting his head lightly against her shoulder, as if anchoring himself. His hand curls beside hers on the seat between them, not touching, but near enough that she could close the distance if she wanted to.
"You ought to rest," she says, brushing a bit of lint from his sleeve. "You look terrible."
"You flatter me," he fights a smile.
Leah shrugs jokingly. "I'm generous."
"Mmm," he hums.
A beat passes.
"Are you well?" Ciel asks, barely above a murmur.
She pauses and looks down at his profile again, softened in the light of late afternoon, more boyish than usual.
"I've felt worse," she says quietly.
His eyes close again.
Sebastian turns another page, the newspaper rustling faintly as the countryside speeds past, blurring trees and fields into green streaks of nothing. The train carries on, and the moment folds itself into the quiet rhythm of the journey.
═╬
A few children scatter as the iron-rimmed wheel of a wooden cart rattles past, cutting a muddy track through the center of the town. Most of the homes bear slanted roofs and hand-hewn beams, with the smell of livestock and smoke clinging heavy in the air. The buildings tilt forward as if eavesdropping on the visitors below—foreigners with fine coats and unreadable expressions. A bell chimes somewhere in the distance.
Ciel stands before a thick-set man in a woolen vest, brows drawing together as the German rambles on, arms folded firmly across his broad chest. Behind the earl, Sebastian watches with gloved hands behind his back, his expression politely blank. Leah remains to Ciel's right, fingers lightly brushing the fur trim of her cloak, gaze wandering to a crooked sign hanging from a thatched eave that reads something about a miller's wife and her pastries.
The man gestures roughly, his voice a deep garble of syllables that seem to tangle together like knotweed.
Ciel stares at him for a few beats too long before muttering, "Sebastian, what language is he speaking?"
Sebastian tilts his head with mild amusement. "East Franconian, young master. A southern German dialect."
Ciel gives a soft, disbelieving scoff. "The dialect is too strong! My studies were practically useless," a scowl tightens his features. "I can't even follow what they're saying."
Leah huffs faintly, but it's not unkind. "You're not alone. Half of it might as well be barking."
Ciel ignores that and turns to Sebastian again. "So— what's he saying?"
Sebastian chuckles under his breath. "The fundamentals are vital in everything, young master."
Ciel looks ready to strike him. "Sebastian."
"As you wish," the butler dips his head, then straightens. "He says, Ach, I ain't gonna go bite it from the witch's curse. No thanks. Dun matter how much gold you got, no's a no. ..so he says."
The man shrugs as if to punctuate it, looking at them with disinterest. Leah watches him with narrowed eyes. There's something lazy in the way he leans against the carriage, the same sort of boredom a butcher might show when discussing an animal that's already been slaughtered.
Ciel presses on, ignoring the looming stack of refusals. "Has he seen an accursed human?"
"And don't interpret the dialect into your own dramatics," he adds sharply, but Sebastian ignores him.
The man doesn't grow animated or glance around in fear. He speaks low and dry, only pausing once to scratch at his chin. Leah tunes out halfway through—something about survivors, something about the wolfman. She's already heard the stories. In these kinds of towns, stories fester like mold. They thicken in the corners and under beds, and no matter how often you clean the floors, they come back more fevered.
She doesn't mean to drift.
There's a wind curling in through the alleyways, threading past her ankles. Her mind slips somewhere quieter, far from the sour breath of the man and the clink of Ciel's boot on stone. She doesn't remember the last time she felt warm. Maybe in the bath, but even that was fleeting. Her skin had started to itch the moment she was dressed again.
A sharp movement to her left pulls her back.
Ciel turns abruptly, pulling her by the hand, not rough, but certainly not gentle either. Her palm fits neatly into his; he doesn't say anything, just tugs her forward, away from the man and his dismissive tone. She stumbles on the first step, then catches herself. His pace is brisk and purposeful. A deal struck, then.
"Ciel—"
"We're buying the carriage," he says flatly. "If the bastard won't drive us through the woods, he can give us the bloody thing instead."
Leah's eyebrows lift a fraction. "You mean to drive it yourself?"
"Sebastian will manage it," he huffs.
They round a corner, and the carriages come into view. Two of them, plain and open-topped, but well-kept. The horses, dappled and alert, stamp their hooves in the dirt. The man had refused to drive, but he hadn't refused to sell. Gold, after all, remains gold.
One for them and one for the rest.
Sebastian glides forward to begin preparations. The servants are not far behind, already organizing supplies. Leah suspects Thomas had known what would happen three exchanges ago. He always has that look, like he's listening to a script written in advance.
She lingers a moment beside the carriage, one hand brushing the wooden paneling. It's old but sturdy. The wheels are greased, reins newly repaired. Nothing grand, but it will carry them through the forest.
A low grunt catches her attention.
Ciel has already climbed in. He sits with his gloves off, fingers adjusting the lapel of his coat. He doesn't look up.
Leah raises a brow. "Am I meant to climb up without help?"
Ciel flicks his gaze toward her, lips twitching at the corners. A second passes, then he shifts forward, reaching a hand down toward her. She takes it, letting him pull her up, skirts brushing against the wooden frame. He holds on a moment longer than necessary.
Her seat dips as she settles beside him. The wind picks up again, bringing with it the scent of damp earth and something metallic beneath it.
"I think he liked you," Leah murmurs, watching the townspeople as they disperse from the square. The man they'd spoken to had already vanished back into the folds of his home, as if afraid his defiance might be taxed.
"I couldn't understand a single word that left his mouth."
"Charming nonetheless."
Ciel doesn't grace that with a reply.
Sebastian finishes his inspection and climbs into the driver's seat. He glances back once, receiving an almost imperceptible nod from the earl before he lifts the reins. A low whistle to the horses and the wheels creak forward.
Leah pulls her cloak tighter, eyes drifting to the tree line in the far distance. Beside her, Ciel leans slightly back against the bench, his leg pressed against hers.
The carriage turns down the road, following the other. Stone becomes dirt, and the town fades.
═╬
The forest creeps in like a breath held too long, branches rising overhead in twisted silhouettes that scrape at the darkening sky. The horses trot slowly along the damp path, hooves muffled against the moss-laced earth, the wheels creaking faintly under the weight of carriage and silence alike. It's not cold, but the air has turned thinner and strange, carrying the scent of pine and something older.
Ciel still sits beside Leah with the stiff sort of posture that only masks how at ease he's grown with her over time. His gloved hand rests against his knee, fingers lightly tapping as his gaze cuts through the overgrown path ahead. Sebastian sits up front, guiding the reins with one hand, the other flicking a glance at the small brass compass nestled in his palm.
"The compass has begun to drift," he remarks without turning.
Leah doesn't look up from where her elbow is propped against the edge of the carriage, chin in her palm, half-turned toward the second cart behind them.
Her voice carries lazily across the space between. "Is that so, Thomas? Do you intend to fall asleep and send us straight into a ditch?"
Behind them, the second carriage rattles. A pause, then Thomas's drawl wafts forward, amused and deadpan all at once. "If it would please you, my lady, I might consider it."
She smirks to herself and doesn't bother responding. That's the thing about Thomas—he rarely gives her anything worth tearing into, which only makes the occasional jabs more satisfying.
Back in the driver's seat, Sebastian lifts a brow, casting a glance back over his shoulder.
"It may just be that mineral resources are buried around here," Ciel offers, somewhat absently.
A subtle smirk touches Sebastian's mouth. "It may just as easily be a curse."
That earns a brief, dry look from the earl, but nothing more. Leah hears them, vaguely, but her attention doesn't linger. Whatever they're muttering on about—grim reapers and curses touch her ears—it fails to strike any chord in her at the moment.
Instead, her eyes flick to the treetops, the way they knot together so tightly the light struggles to push through. Leaves rustle, but nothing falls. No birdsong or wind, only the low creak of wood and the occasional snort from a horse.
Her spine aches from sitting too straight, so she shifts slightly, easing into Ciel's side in a way that feels natural. Her shoulder brushes his, and he doesn't pull away.
Rather than comment, he shifts just enough to allow it, his hand coming to rest lightly at her waist—a brief pause there, as if confirming something, before his thumb gives the faintest brush against the silk of her bodice. He glances at her only once, then back ahead, but it's not dismissal.
She tips her head toward him, cheek almost touching the edge of his collar. "I think Thomas wishes death upon me."
"Not for the first time, I imagine," Ciel murmurs, dryly amused. "You do provoke him."
"Of course I do. If I don't, who will?" her voice drops half a tone, near a purr of mock sweetness. "He'd grow far too dull if left to his own devices."
Ciel's hand presses just slightly firmer against her side, the movement hidden to anyone who might glance over. "You're too kind to him."
"Mm. You're right," she nods. "I should have him flogged for incompetence."
She turns her face slightly, enough that her nose brushes the high collar of his coat. There's nothing particularly romantic about it; she's not trying to be, but there's a quiet comfort in it. Familiar and settled. When he speaks next, it comes without its usual sharpness.
"You've been quieter today."
Her lashes lower slightly, a hum passing her lips that isn't quite agreement, but not denial either. "I don't trust forests, they're too quiet. You can't hear anything sneaking up."
"I thought you liked being snuck up on," he quips under his breath, the smallest twitch of a smirk betraying his tone.
She lifts a brow. "From you, maybe."
He doesn't answer, but his arm curls slightly more around her, just enough that her balance leans more securely into his side. The movement is protective without being coddling, firm but without a single ounce of fanfare. It's something she'd have mocked months ago, but doesn't now.
From the back, a voice drifts again. "Careful, My Lady. You may lose yourself in that misty affection."
Thomas again.
She doesn't turn this time. "Careful, Thomas. You may find a dagger in your back and not know whether I or Anna put it there."
A beat.
"How thrilling."
Leah scoffs softly, more breath than sound. It's all too easy, playing that game. There's no real malice in it, not anymore. Not when everyone already knows where the lines lie.
Ciel glances sidelong at her again as his fingers curl just slightly at her side, deliberate this time. "You're warm."
"Then stop touching me," she jabs.
He doesn't. Instead, his hand smooths just once down her side, and his voice lowers into something quieter, just for her. "You always get like this before something happens."
She tilts her head, glancing up at him with a touch of sharp amusement. "Like what?"
He looks ahead, expression unreadable. "Trouble. You get mouthy. Nervous."
"I'm always mouthy."
"But not always nervous."
Something in her settles at that. A part of her wants to argue, but she doesn't. The forest is too still, the wind too soft, and the thrum in her chest that she keeps ignoring has not quite faded. But even then, the way Ciel keeps his hand at her side grounds her.
The air seems to grow thicker as the carriages roll forward, and yet the trees do not close in so much as loom. Shadows flicker between trunks, fleeting and without shape. A crow cries once, sharp and distant. Thomas mutters something behind them, and Anna gives a small laugh, one not quite natural.
Leah closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, the branches overhead have twisted anew. Or perhaps they've always been that way. Her hand finds Ciel's without thinking, fingers brushing along the back of his glove.
He looks at her fully this time.
Her voice is quieter now, but not shaken. "If we vanish here, I'm haunting you first."
His expression doesn't shift much, but the corner of his mouth pulls. Not quite a smile, but close enough. "You already do."
For once, she doesn't feel the need to say anything cruel in return. The rhythmic creaking of carriage wheels fades into stillness as they stop along the outer edge of the forest.
Sebastian's head tilts, something sharp flickering through his gaze. "Oh-hoh."
The carriage jolts slightly as it settles. Ciel glances up at the butler's remark.
"What is it?" he asks, tone clipped but alert.
Sebastian gestures with a faint motion. "Young Master, please see for yourself. There are buildings over there."
Ciel peers past the canopy. Leah leans subtly into his shoulder, her eyes narrowing beneath feathered lashes. "At last," she murmurs, voice dry as bone. "I feared we'd die of tedium before arriving anywhere remotely worth being murdered in."
Ciel stands at once, and Leah moves to follow, gathering her skirts before she can step down. A hand appears before she can make the effort—Ciel's.
Her lips part into a faint smile. "What a gentleman."
He arches a brow. "It would not reflect well on me to let my wife fall face-first into a ditch."
"True," she murmurs, "you'd hear about it for weeks."
Leah steps down gracefully, skirts shifting about her ankles as she adjusts her footing. The air is dense with the green hush of leaves and earth, but something shifts as they pass from the forest into a clearing.
Behind them, the second carriage comes to a halt. Thomas hops down first, hand slipping behind his back with a little theatricality, and opens the door with exaggerated courtesy. Anna descends with cheerful care, followed by Baldroy, who mutters something under his breath about gloomy woods, and Mey-Rin, who nearly trips on her skirt, which almost takes Finnian down with her.
Thomas waits at the edge of the step, his gaze flicking over to Leah like a moth drawn to flame. "And here I believed I'd seen all the horror this land had to offer, but alas.." he looks her up and down. "She descends."
"You're looking to be smacked in the mouth," Leah says without looking at him.
"I live in hope, My Lady."
She lifts her skirts just enough to step over a root, muttering something in French under her breath about ridiculous men.
At the edge of the village, the trees open like drawn curtains to reveal a tableau of ancient homes gathered around a stone well. Weathered wood, latticed windows, moss-covered roofs—the place breathes an old, quiet life.
Ciel narrows his gaze. "So there really was a village in this forest.."
Leah doesn't turn when Thomas draws closer, but she glances sidelong at the sound of his step. He smiles faintly, and she clicks her tongue at him. "Don't linger too close. You've got a stench about you that may frighten the locals."
"I shall do my best to keep the wind at my back, My Lady," he replies, tone mild and eyes glittering.
She doesn't smile, but her mouth quirks slightly, and that's more than enough to please him.
A bridge of rough wood leads them further in. Finnian squints around, peering at the empty lane. "No one's around.. Is it abandoned?"
"No," Sebastian replies at once, his eyes trained elsewhere. His gaze settles on the well and the delicate rise of smoke from a few of the chimneys. "The houses have been taken good care of. I am certain people do live here."
Finnian cups his hand to his mouth and calls out brightly, "Hey! Is anybody he—"
A loud slam cuts him off. A wooden door swings open violently, banging against the wall with a burst of sound. Women pour out in a rush, half a dozen at first, then more—arms laden with spades, pitchforks, rusty scythes. Long dresses, aprons, braided hair under white coifs. Their speech is foreign, sharp-edged German, their eyes wild with alarm.
"Intruders!" one cries. "Everybody, come out and fight!"
Weapons are brandished without hesitation. A spade glints in the half-light. Several of the women flank out to encircle the group on the road. One jabs her trowel in Leah's direction, and without hesitation, Thomas places himself between them, coat flaring behind him like a black wave. His hand curls loosely at his side, ready.
Ciel's arm, though less overt, has shifted forward subtly in front of Leah. Just enough to shield and make clear she is not to be touched.
Bardoy snorts. "Talk about a warm welcome."
A gardening hoe levels towards the group. "Who are you bastards?! How did you find your way here?!"
The accents are thick, the words rough like gravel. Leah's brow rises, but she doesn't flinch. She understands them clearly, though she doesn't yet speak.
Something is wrong. Not in the supernatural sense, but in the way every single face glaring them down is that of a woman. No men, not even children at windows, and their clothing is strange. Outdated, like an old painting come to life.
Ciel leans toward Sebastian, voice low. "Tell them I wish to speak to the lord of this land."
Sebastian nods and translates fluidly. The moment the words leave his mouth, the air fractures again with fury.
"Could they be targeting the Honorable Sullivan?!"
Their confusion twists into outrage.
Ciel stiffens. "Hey, what are they—"
"You lot must be the rats, right?!" one of the women shouts, raising her gardening hoe as if ready to swing.
Finnian's face pales, his usual cheer bleeding out. "A.. A rat?! We're not—!"
The women move closer, yelling over one another.
"We will spare none of your ilk!"
"Don't let them out alive!"
"Death to the rats!"
Thomas takes a single step forward, eyes glowing faintly. His teeth flash in something between a warning and a threat. Leah can sense it without looking—he's not far from acting.
"Shall I kill them?" he asks, languid and almost bored. His eyes sweep the angry mob as though tallying fruit in a basket. "It would be more efficient than conversation."
"No," Leah replies at once. "They're just scared," her eyes narrow faintly. "Though, if they keep waving that gardening fork near my face, I may reconsider."
"You heard the lady," Thomas murmurs, casting a smug glance at the woman in question. "Mind the fork, dear."
Ciel shifts slightly again, one hand near his coat where Leah knows his firearm lies hidden. She puts her fingers on his wrist, not tightly but enough.
The chorus of aggression is abruptly pierced by a commanding cry, clear and forceful despite its higher register.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
Silence. The effect is immediate as the gathered women freeze as one and almost drop their weapons to their sides when they move to kneel.
"Th—the Honorable Sullivan!"
Leah glimpses her first real look at the speaker as a tall, broad-shouldered man steps forward carrying someone. A girl, pale, delicate, and dressed in finery unlike any other. She is perched atop his arms like a doll, one arm hooked primly around his neck.
Sebastian's head inclines politely. "You are.. the Lord, Master Sullivan?"
The girl, expression cool and composed, lifts her chin slightly. "Indeed," she answers in flawless German.
"I am Sieglinde Sullivan. Liege of this forest!"
Notes:
how are we feeling about the first chapter of emerald witch arc? :3 i had fun. feels kinda good to be going back to my roots of following canon <3 we were drowning in a lot of original content chapters for a hot minute
we’re also back to thomas being a little shit🥰 he’s going back to his normal self
Chapter 46: | 45 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl finds herself at a dinner in a mysterious castle. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
personally not the biggest fan of this chapter, but idk🤔 next one will be longer and more entertaining tho
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-five ! )
"From whence do you hail, peon?"
The words are sharp, snapped through clenched teeth, and come far too close to Sebastian's face. Wolfram's nose is practically touching his, his expression one of absolute distaste—upper lip curled, brow knotted so tightly it's a wonder he can still see. His posture is taut with indignation, like a wolf caught sniffing something foul.
Sebastian, unfazed, simply inclines his head ever so slightly, the faintest glimmer of a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Yes, well.."
Wolfram's hair jerks backwards abruptly, a small grunt of surprise escaping him. Sieglinde, still perched in his arms, has wound her small hand around his hair and given it a punishing tug.
"Enough, Wolfram," she murmurs coolly, her voice quiet yet firm as tempered steel. Then, directing her attention to the broader group, now a small audience caught between tension and curiosity, she lifts her chin slightly. "Excuse us. It has been quite some time since we last had visitors in this village."
Leah watches her, noting the curious calm that hangs over the girl's features. Sieglinde's gaze sweeps over the strangers with slow interest until it catches on Ciel.
There is a pause as Sieglinde stares, a few seconds longer than polite. Leah's eyes flick to Ciel. He doesn't flinch beneath the scrutiny, but his shoulders stiffen the way they do when someone tests his patience. Sieglinde hardly looks at Leah at all for longer than a moment. Which is, frankly, insulting.
Then Wolfram, recovering his dignity, continues in her place, voice stern. "I do not know how you managed to reach us, but here in our village of Wolfsschlucht, outsiders are not welcome to stay. Now that we're clear, go back to where you came from!"
The women behind him, still holding their makeshift weapons, mutter among themselves, several nodding emphatically. Leah's expression remains blank, disinterested at best.
Right on cue, Ciel speaks up. "Best to retreat and consider alternative approaches, I think."
Sebastian nods. "A prudent strategy, My Lord," he turns back to Wolfram and lifts a hand in placation. "Very well, then we will take our leave—"
"Wait!"
The shout rings out across the square, and the villagers' weapons snap back up in perfect sync. Leah doesn't even blink. The whole thing is theatrical, obnoxiously so. A few women look downright gleeful at the chance to threaten someone again.
"You and your party don't seem to understand how fortunate you are to have passed through the forest unscathed," Wolfram warns, voice lowering now into something darker.
Leah's attention drifts; she's had enough of being glared at by farmers with shovels. One of the older women is muttering something snide under her breath about the cut of Leah's bodice, too fine and revealing. Leah's eyes slide lazily to the woman, and she tilts her head with an arched brow. The woman averts her eyes almost immediately, muttering something even uglier this time.
Leah loses interest.
"..the talk of the wolfman.."
Her attention flicks back only when the word wolfman reaches her ears. She doesn't catch the start of it, too busy glaring at the wrinkled cow, but her interest piques. Sebastian's face remains unreadable, but she can hear the even lilt of his voice answering something. Wolfram's arms tighten subtly around the girl in his hold.
"Listen well," Wolfram continues. "If you head back into the forest now, darkness will fall before you make it out. The forest at night is far too perilous a place."
A hush settles.
"No. You'll never be able to leave its confines again. So we will make an exception and permit you all to stay the night."
The shift in atmosphere is immediate. Leah doesn't miss the flicker of surprise from Finny, or the way Bardoy mutters something under his breath about "women changing their minds faster than a kitchen fire." Even Ciel's eyes narrow faintly. It isn't gratitude. He doesn't like unexplained charity, least of all from hostile strangers.
"We can provide beds for the night," Wolfram adds, lifting his chin. "But come the very break of dawn—"
A voice interrupts, shrill and uninvited.
"You would house them?! Are we to suffer betrayers in our own liege's halls?"
Leah rolls her eyes. The woman is loud, shrieking nonsense in ugly dialect, gesturing dramatically like she's performing for an invisible audience. Her voice grates, nasal and high, all fury and no power. Leah is already bored. She keeps her gaze level on Sieglinde, who hasn't so much as flinched at the disruption. Neither has Wolfram.
Ciel leans in slightly, his tone low. "What's happening?"
"I believe," Sebastian says mildly, "we are being permitted to stay at the liege's residence for the night."
Leah's eyes lift, and there it is. Far across the darkening skyline, lit by the last rays of dusk, is the silhouette of a castle—tall and narrow, almost like it's grown from the earth rather than built upon it. Ciel stares, Leah doesn't say anything.
Wolfram gestures toward the shape on the hill with a stiff arm. "That is my lady's Emerald Castle. Follow me."
He shifts Sieglinde higher in his arms before turning sharply on his heel, the girl still as silent as stone. The villagers part as he walks, the way stalks bend in a field when the wind moves.
The rest of the group hesitates for just a moment. Then Ciel moves, and the others follow. Leah doesn't trail behind this time; she walks beside him. Her eyes remain fixed ahead, not on the castle or the people, but on the path.
Ciel narrows his eyes, gaze fixed on the backs of their hosts. "They told us to leave, then told us to stay the night. Really, what are they playing at?"
"Difficult to say, but it is clear this is not a normal village," Sebastian answers without missing a step.
The path leads them back through the center of the plaza, which reveals more of its secrets. Iron maidens stand open with rusted hinges, their sharp interiors lined with darkened stains. A cage the size of a man awkwardly sits. Beside it sits a chair fitted entirely with rusted spikes.
"Eep! What is this place?!" Meyrin's voice breaks the hush with a startled squeak.
"'You do realize that it's packed with instruments of torture?!' says Wilde," Snake adds, shoulders drawn up tight.
Anna, walking just behind Leah, folds her arms a little tighter. "These contraptions shouldn't be out like this.. it's as if they expect to use them again."
Thomas, lips pressed into a firm line, flicks a glance toward the iron maiden as though suspecting someone might still be inside. "Or never stopped."
"Those were quite popular in the witch trials," Sebastian remarks smoothly, as if discussing decorative sconces.
Ciel's jaw tightens. "This is all fast becoming occult for my tastes—"
"Hey!" Sieglinde's voice slices through the conversation with adolescent sharpness, her German clear and high. "You there, gnome. Bleak face. What's your name?"
Leah catches the shift in Ciel's posture instantly. A subtle jerk of the shoulder, the smallest twitch of an eyebrow. He doesn't understand the words, but he knows he's been insulted.
Sebastian lifts his brows faintly, just short of theatrical. "Oh dear! Forgive us for not introducing ourselves sooner.."
Ciel's hand moves subtly toward Leah's back, guiding her over a patch of uneven stones without thinking. Leah doesn't miss Sieglinde's choice of words. 'Gnome?' It's not even clever, yet she almost laughs.
Sebastian bends slightly toward Ciel, voice lowered just enough to be heard. "She's asking for your name."
Ciel meets Sieglinde's gaze evenly. "I'm Ciel Phantomhive."
There's a flicker in the girl's expression—not surprise, but not quite curiosity either, more like someone flipping through a mental catalogue for reference.
Sieglinde's eyes slide past him to Leah, lingering for a breath, then moving on. Leah doesn't offer anything. She holds the girl's gaze flatly, expression unreadable, and allows the silence to stretch just long enough to become intentional.
Sebastian, too practiced to allow a silence to stretch too long, steps in. "And this is the young master's wife, Leah Phantomhive—née Barrett."
Sieglinde studies her more intently now, as if taking in the details of a new specimen. Her lips purse faintly, and something shifts slightly in Sieglinde's face. Perhaps she expected a mistress, not a wife.
"How old are you?" she asks with the calm confidence of someone used to getting answers. Her eyes return to Ciel.
"Both the young master and his lady are seventeen," Sebastian supplies with his usual poise. "A recent marriage, early July."
Sieglinde hums, just a single note, void of any readable tone. Her stare stays level, neither approving nor scornful. Leah is fine with that; better to be regarded like a book than a child.
They've reached the edge of the village now, where the land drops steeply into a darkened ravine. A stone bridge stretches out over the chasm, connecting the village to the far side where the castle looms.
"Whoa!" Bardroy leans over the edge with all the idiocy of a boy on a playground. "So high! I'd be dead meat if I fell from here!"
Wolfram doesn't so much as glance back. "We have arrived. This is the Emerald Castle."
The structure rises like a forgotten cathedral. It's smaller than expected, tucked and narrow, with what looks like a jagged tower.
"I don't want to go inside," Leah murmurs, voice flat but not childish.
Ciel casts her a glance. "It's only for the night. We'll leave at dawn."
His tone is low, coaxing but not pressing. There's a rare softness in it; he's not arguing. He doesn't need her to like the place; he just wants her to stay close. She exhales through her nose and steps forward, following anyway.
Finnian nearly brushes against a flower, and Leah hears Sieglinde bark something at him.
Wolfram resumes climbing the stone steps that lead to the grand doors. "This way."
Sebastian halts halfway up and looks back toward the others. "You lot wait here."
They begin to fan out across the foyer like obedient dogs, each finding a spot to linger that seems marginally less threatening.
Leah doesn't stop. "Thomas. Come," she calls, with a flick of her fingers, like she's calling a hound to heel.
He straightens immediately and follows, like a well-trained hound.
Inside, the castle walls glitter faintly with veins of green crystal embedded between ancient, damp stone. Leah's heels click softly on the floor, echoing faintly as the doors creak shut behind them. There's even a tree in the center.
Wolfram and Sieglinde ascend the steps ahead, his posture never once faltering beneath her weight. Not a grunt or a twitch. The silence inside seems heavier than the one outside, somehow.
Leah watches the odd spires overhead from the corner of her eye. The castle architecture is unnerving in its asymmetry. Strange, narrow turrets lean at impossible angles, like they were added by someone who had never seen a castle before but heard a child describe one.
Ciel walks beside her, and he's silent too, but she doesn't need him to speak. He brushes his gloved fingers lightly along the carved banister as they ascend. There's a brief moment where their hands are close enough to touch. He doesn't reach, and neither does she, but the space between them is measured all the same. Behind her, Thomas keeps a half-step's distance. She doesn't tell him to walk faster; he knows how close to stay.
Ahead, a door creaks open, and they enter. Inside, the dining room is more peculiar than grand—ceilings high, walls mostly bare, and the chandeliers overhead oddly bright.
"You are our first guests in many a year. Let us treat you to a special feast," Sieglinde's voice slices the air from her seat at the head of the table, her tone more announcement than welcome.
Sebastian gives a courteous dip of the head. "We're much obliged."
Wolfram, still bearing her like she's made of porcelain, lowers her into the high-backed chair with strange horns beside Leah with practiced care. Ciel claims the seat to Leah's left with a slow, deliberate motion. She lowers herself next to him, not bothering with the same poise. Thomas settles behind her, silent and still except for the occasional tilt of his head as if studying the tapestries rather than the humans. Sebastian remains behind Ciel's chair, his shadow more than a servant's.
Sieglinde's voice continues, something in German, crisp and childlike. Leah lets the words fade. She doesn't care to think, not when her skull feels like it's been stuffed with cotton and her eyes threaten to fall shut every time she stops blinking. The first signs of her usual fatigue have been creeping in like mold.
Beside her, Ciel's gaze has drifted downward. He's studying the girl's feet, what little can be seen of them.
"You there," Sieglinde calls again.
Ciel stiffens. "..Are you addressing me?"
Sebastian's smile is tired, the kind he wears when dealing with foolish nobles who try to summon wine out of stones. "I am very sorry. The young master has not yet achieved fluency in German, you see.."
Sieglinde's eyes narrow, just a fraction. "..Is that so?" her voice is flatter now, almost absent of interest.
Leah doesn't bother offering a translation. She easily could, but there's no particular reward in it, and besides, Thomas hasn't so much as lifted a finger to help either. Let Ciel sweat a little.
The silence that follows is so heavy it seems to hang from the ceiling beams. One of the candles gutters in its brass holder, casting a dancing shadow across the table.
It drags on.
Now and then, Ciel turns slightly toward Leah, murmuring something—a small remark, maybe, or the beginnings of one—only to find her eyelids already drooping, chin briefly dipping. She doesn't respond most times. Thomas observes with vague amusement but offers no intervention.
At one point, when she jolts back upright, he shifts closer. Ciel tries again. "You're not cold, are you?"
Her response is a slow blink. "Do I look cold?"
Sebastian's lips twitch, but he says nothing. Across the table, Sieglinde's chin tilts slightly to the side.
"..What's wrong with her?"
Ciel glances her way sharply, one hand rising instinctively toward Leah's. He stops himself just short of touching her, but the gesture is unmistakable.
"She's.." he clears his throat. "She may be in a rather delicate condition."
That seems to pique Sieglinde's interest. "Delicate?" her voice sharpens. "Is she injured? Sick?"
Sebastian steps in again, voice soft and pleasant. "There is a possibility the lady is with child."
"I see. How unfortunate," she says after a moment. "I am told the early months are most burdensome. Perhaps that is why she looks so sour."
Leah stirs at that, nose wrinkling faintly. Her tone is dry. "How flattering."
Sieglinde leans forward the barest inch, hands folded like a miniature professor preparing to make a declaration. "I have studied physiology and reproductive cycles. If you permit, I may confirm the presence of gestation."
Ciel's face colors just slightly when Sebastian relays her offer. "That will not be necessary."
Another long stretch of silence settles in. Leah lets her head rest against her knuckles, resisting the urge to close her eyes again. Something about the stillness of this room, the too-quiet air and unmoving shadows, feels soporific. Even the candle flames seem to breathe slower here.
Thomas taps a finger once against the back of her chair. Not to wake her, just to be annoying. Her brow furrows.
The moments crawl past. Ciel's gaze flickers from the candles to the door, from the door to Sieglinde, who hasn't so much as twitched since her last remark. He opens his mouth once or twice, but always thinks better of it. The entire room is wrapped in silence thick enough to chew. This cannot continue.
He turns slightly, voice low. "Sebastian, say something!"
Before the butler can respond, a noise erupts from the head of the table.
Sieglinde's stomach growls like an injured bear, drawing every eye in the room. Leah jerks upright, startled and wholly unamused. Her eyes land on Sieglinde with a sort of flat disdain, as though she's been personally affronted by the sound and the fact that no one offered an apology for it. Her face doesn't shift much, but the slow drag of her glare speaks volumes.
Her voice is a touch raspy from disuse and sleep, but clear enough. "Was that your stomach?"
Sieglinde blinks at her, unfazed. "That is my body's signal that I ingest some sustenance."
Ciel stiffens, ears tinged with a faint blush. It's not so much the sound, it's the way she speaks of it without shame. No "pardon me," no attempt at decorum. English ladies wouldn't dare.
Sebastian, as unbothered as ever, checks his pocket watch with a faint frown. "Herr Wolfram seems to be delayed. Perhaps something untoward has taken place?"
Sieglinde tilts her head, her hair bobbing faintly. "He is indeed later than usual."
"If I may," Sebastian begins, his voice the model of civility, "I should like to visit the kitchen and ensure that all is well."
Sieglinde nods. "You may."
Just like that, he steps away. Leah tracks him briefly with her eyes, but doesn't speak. Ciel watches his retreat with something like dread settling in behind his ribs.
Sebastian gone, Leah half-asleep, Thomas about as useful as a flower vase. That essentially leaves him alone with Sieglinde, whose German he can hardly understand and whose stare keeps wandering toward him with faint, unreadable amusement.
Thomas finally shifts, the fabric of his sleeves whispering as he leans in slightly.
"Would you like me to throw her from the window, My Lady?" his voice is syrup-smooth and too quiet for Sieglinde to catch.
Leah doesn't look at him. "Do try to resist the urge."
"As you wish."
Her lips twitch upward, faint and humorless. The candle nearest her is guttering just enough to draw her attention once again. Leah's chin rests on her knuckles, her eyes slitted with the vague disinterest of someone who's neither awake nor asleep, just waiting for either state to win out.
Ciel tries not to fidget, but the chair beneath him feels more rigid by the second. His left leg taps once beneath the table, then stops when he catches himself. Across from him, Sieglinde watches without blinking, like a serpent in the tall grass—curious, perhaps, or simply content to observe him squirm. Her expression doesn't waver.
"..Black hair.. man.. name?"
The words are broken and stilted, clearly not English. Yet Ciel manages to make out the fragments, his mind slowly slotting them into meaning.
"Sebastian," he says, pausing between words like he's teaching a child. "My. Butler. Understand?"
His hand rises, palm facing upward, as he gestures toward the door Sebastian exited through, then he points to himself. It feels ridiculous, and he hates every second of it, but Sieglinde nods. So at least it's working.
She leans forward slightly in her chair and squints at him with more scrutiny than before.
"Your.. parents.. where?"
The question hits harder than he expects. He straightens in his seat, suddenly aware of the way the candlelight flickers across his gloves. His fingers twitch once at his sides, and for a moment, there's no answer.
"Parents. Don't.. have. Dead," his words are clipped and dry, like he's swallowing stones. He doesn't gesture this time.
Sieglinde doesn't immediately respond, her gaze dropping to the edge of the table. Her lips press together faintly, and the silence that follows isn't uncomfortable. Ciel looks to Leah, her head now nestled into her arm. She's fully committed to sleep, and he doesn't blame her, but he needs her.
He clears his throat sharply. "Leah."
No response.
He nudges her arm with the back of his knuckles. "Leah. Wake up."
A low sound escapes her, almost a growl. Her lashes flutter, then lift slowly as she glares at him through narrowed eyes, groggy and visibly unimpressed. "What?"
"I need you to translate."
"For what? You're doing fine with your caveman hand signs."
"Please."
The word seems to surprise her more than anything else. She blinks once, then lifts her head, stretching her neck.
"You'd better be grateful," she mutters, then turns and kicks Thomas' leg with the side of her foot.
He barely moves, just straightens a little and smirks with all the satisfaction of a man who's won something.
"Yes, My Lady," he drawls, voice syrup-smooth and entirely unbothered. "Do make sure to take out your temper on the help. I so live for it."
Sieglinde's brows lift in mild shock, watching the interaction unfold like a strange play with no clear genre. She glances from Leah to Thomas and back again, expression caught between disapproval and confusion.
"You are married?" she asks after a beat.
Leah lifts a brow. "To him?" she jerks her thumb at Thomas without looking. "God, no. I'd rather be buried alive."
Thomas gives a small, pleased sigh. "You do flatter me."
Sieglinde blinks, visibly more puzzled now. "I meant.." her eyes flick between Leah and Ciel, then lower toward the subtle way Ciel's fingers rest near Leah's wrist, not quite touching. "You two.. do you like?"
It's a strange question. Leah tilts her head slowly, as if weighing whether to take offense.
Ciel exhales through his nose. "We are married."
"That's not an answer."
She shrugs, her tone dry. "We like each other fine. Well enough to be stuck like this."
"Stuck?" he echoes, a flicker of irritation threading his voice.
Leah gives a half-smile. "I meant married, not to you, relax."
Sieglinde looks vaguely more satisfied by the banter. Maybe that was what she needed—something human, even if sharp around the edges.
"She's simply irritable because she insists on wearing that horrid bonnet," Ciel remarks offhandedly.
The words hang in the air like a gauntlet thrown, but Leah doesn't rise to it with the ferocity he expects.
Instead, she simply frowns at him. "I like it."
His gaze narrows. "You would."
"I bought it with your money," she says sweetly. "So really, you like it too."
The corner of her mouth twitches, threatening a smile before she catches herself. Sieglinde watches them in silence, chin resting on the back of her hand, her head tilted slightly like she's watching an insect crawl across glass.
"You touch her there," she gestures vaguely toward Leah's hand, "but fight."
"We're married," Leah says, tone blunt. "Touching's allowed."
"And bickering, apparently," Ciel mutters.
Sieglinde doesn't seem dissuaded, only vaguely contemplative. "Marriage is strange."
"Tell me about it," Leah murmurs, before promptly kicking Thomas again. This time, it's closer to his shin as she rounds on him instantly. "Fetch me a napkin, useless ornament."
"You already have one," he notes idly, gesturing to the crisp white linen at her place.
"Then fluff it, I don't care. Just don't stand there breathing."
"As you wish, My Lady." His voice is airy, and his smile borders on whimsical. "Shall I fluff it counterclockwise? Or with theatrical flair?"
"Fluff it straight into your eye socket," she mutters.
Thomas bends into a genteel bow. "Oh, lovely."
The flickering candlelight softens the harsh angles of the room, but does nothing to dull the weight of time. Somewhere in the back corridor, a door creaks faintly on its hinges, followed by a gust of air cool enough to send a chill down Leah's spine. She rubs her arm. Sieglinde's stomach growls again, and for the first time, she looks faintly annoyed.
Leah sighs, resting her cheek in her palm again. "Do you starve your guests for entertainment, or is this some form of hospitality unique to gremlins?"
Sieglinde tilts her head slowly, her voice flat. "You think I am a gremlin?"
Leah meets her eyes. "I think you're weird."
A beat of silence.
"I like you," Sieglinde replies.
"Unfortunately, I may start to feel the same."
Behind Leah, Thomas leans down and murmurs softly, "A touching display, My Lady."
She elbows him sharply without looking. "Touch that."
He grins. "With pleasure."
Ciel glances toward the door, the flicker of unease creeping in again. "Sebastian's taking too long."
"So are the drinks," Leah adds.
Thomas hums. "Perhaps they're related."
She throws a fork at his shoulder.
He catches it mid-air with an exaggerated yawn. "I'm beginning to think you missed me while I was gone."
"You were gone?"
Another silence falls, shorter this time. Leah stifles a yawn and doesn't move away when Ciel's fingers briefly touch hers.
"Sebastian had better come back with food," she mutters, eyes half-closed. "Or I'll eat Thomas."
Thomas, naturally, beams. "I'd be honored."
═╬
Steam curls upward from polished platters as Sebastian and Wolfram return, the scent of rich broth and crisped meat sliding into the air with alarming precision. Leah shifts, subtly straightening her posture as the clink of silverware heralds the end of awkward silence. Thomas perks up only slightly, though his gaze darts over the table with mild disinterest.
Sebastian moves with fluid ease, setting plates before the seated guests. "Maultaschen and wurst soup. Eisbein made of ham hock," his tone is pleasant, clipped in that way that always feels just short of mocking.
Then, from a covered dish with its silver top gleaming, he reveals a final plate. "And for dessert, rote Grütze."
Sieglinde brightens almost immediately, a quiet little gasp escaping her as she takes in the spread. She grips her utensils like twin weapons, visibly restraining herself from outright bouncing in place.
"Hohh.. this looks good.." her voice lifts, both hands raised with her fork and knife in tandem as if in awe. "A marvelous feast. Nicely done, Wolf."
Leah lifts a brow but says nothing, distracted briefly by the scent of the soup, pungent with spice, but not unpleasant.
She watches as Wolfram leans slightly toward his mistress, looking both pleased and flustered. "No.. er.. that butler assisted me," he mutters.
Sebastian, while setting Ciel's plate before him, offers a casual nod. "As you are allowing us to stay the night, it is only fair."
Sieglinde leans forward with childlike glee. "Let's have a taste."
Without ceremony, she plunges her utensils into the meat, lifts the whole bone to her mouth, and bites directly into it. The sound of tearing flesh is almost indecent, but the look on her face is one of pure rapture.
"Mmm! D'lish! I'b neber had sush shoft bwead befowe!"
Leah stares.
Beside her, Ciel goes still, his eyes locked on the sight with visible discomfort. "Sh— she eats with such gusto.."
"Indeed," Sebastian intones from behind him, eyes cool and expression blank. "She doesn't seem to mind people's impressions."
The food does look good. Leah has to admit that much, even as Sieglinde goes in for another bite with unrestrained glee, bits of broth dribbling onto her chin. Her gaze flickers to her own plate, still untouched. The soup glistens, the dumplings puffed and golden, the meat gently resting in its own broth like something lovingly placed. But her stomach turns in quiet protest, more from habit than true revulsion.
She feels Ciel watching her before she even looks up.
"Try the soup," he murmurs, too softly for Sieglinde to notice through her chewing. "Just a bit."
Her brows lower. "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten properly all day."
"I ate some fruit earlier."
"One grape does not constitute nourishment."
Thomas sighs dreamily behind her. "Ah, to be doted upon so tenderly. Shall I compose a sonnet in honour of your concern, Young Master?"
Leah picks up her knife and very deliberately turns to glare over her shoulder. "I will stab you in the throat."
"I should hope so," Thomas smiles, entirely unaffected. "I'd like the scar."
She turns back around with a sniff, cutting into the maultaschen just enough to appease Ciel, though she doesn't lift her fork. Her appetite's gone, the same place her patience often goes when Thomas is in the room—straight to hell. Ciel seems to register it, but doesn't press. Instead, he pushes a piece of the dumpling toward the edge of her plate with his own fork, as if to say, 'try this one instead.'
His brow is faintly furrowed. "You'll feel worse if you don't," he says without looking at her.
That gets her, somehow. Not the nagging, she's used to that, but the sincerity. She takes the bite. It's good. Rich, with just enough herb and a strangely comforting chew. Humble food, not the kind she's used to, but good all the same.
Still chewing, she glances at Ciel. "Happy?"
He leans back in his chair a touch, letting his gaze drift downward as he sips from his glass. "Moderately."
"You two are disgusting," Thomas mutters.
Sebastian snorts, a rare breach of his composure. "Indeed. One might almost mistake you for a real butler, Thomas, the way you loiter and offer commentary like a parlor aunt."
"Loitering's a skill," comes the reply, lazy as ever. "As is keeping my employer alive, which you seem to rely heavily upon, proximity to accomplish."
The temperature of the room dips only slightly. Leah doesn't react beyond another bite, though she lifts a brow when Thomas tugs her napkin from her lap and flutters it over her like a bowing stagehand.
"Shall I feed you next, My Lady?" he offers.
"You shall die," she replies.
Before anyone can say more, a sharp pounding echoes up the stairwell. The doors burst open with a slam, Hilde bursting into the room like a gust of wind and hay. Her apron's askew, hair slightly mussed, cheeks red from exertion.
"Herr Wolfram, it's terrible!"
Everyone turns at once—Ciel's fork pauses halfway to his mouth, Leah lowering her glass with a muted clink.
Wolfram straightens, eyes narrowing as he moves toward her with quick steps. "What is it, Hilde?"
"The wolfman has come!" her voice cuts clean through the clatter of plates and silver.
Ciel jerks slightly in his seat and straightens his back. Leah blinks, barely catching the way Sieglinde's eyes widen. Around them, the table stills. Sebastian's hands return to his sides, gaze shifting sharply toward the doorway. Thomas lifts his head, expression finally losing its boredom.
Sieglinde wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist frantically. Behind Leah, Thomas makes a low sound, barely audible.
"Oh dear."
Notes:
leah and her mixed feelings on new people💀 can’t tell if she likes sieglinde enough to deem her a friend
Chapter 47: | 46 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl has an eventful night. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
leah and sebastian actually interact a bit for once in this chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-six ! )
"Th— this wound?!"
Sieglinde's voice cuts through the tense air, trembling as she leans over the collapsed woman laid out on the woven rug, barely shielding her from the cool earth beneath. Crimson slashes stretch across the bare skin of her back, torn through the linen of her dress, deep and oozing. From shoulder to hip, three parallel claw marks laid upon another three rake across exposed flesh.
The woman trembles, her cries wet and animal, high in the throat. The blood paints the clothes around it dark. Leah hovers near the edge of the gathered women, off to one side with Ciel and the others, her arms curled about herself for warmth, teeth just beginning to chatter. Her dinner remains hardly eaten somewhere indoors, abandoned the moment Hilde barged in.
Sieglinde's voice rises over the crowd again, desperate. "Th— this is the first time such a thing has happened. Herr Wolfman has never turned his claws upon the people of our village before.."
At her side, Wolfram answers with grim efficiency, unfastening the cork of a small glass bottle, and passes it to Sieglinde. She doesn't hesitate. The liquid inside glimmers as it spills over the ruined flesh, and a howl rips from the woman on the ground. Sieglinde lays a gentle hand on the woman's head, murmuring while she pours.
Leah shifts her weight, her balance a little unsteady. She grimaces and rubs her wrist absently, still hugging her elbows. Her spine prickles from the cold, and her skin's gone clammy from the sudden shift between warmth and the forest night. Of course, she hadn't had the chance to grab anything—coat, shawl, even a pair of gloves.
She leans subtly toward Ciel without truly thinking about it, drawn more to his body heat than anything else. His fingers brush hers, brief and light, and she doesn't flinch when he does it.
"Wait," Sieglinde breathes, then louder, "Where is your talisman?!"
There's a pause, and the murmuring stutters.
A voice, high and quivering from within the crowd of village women. "Sh— she was just going to pick some medicinal herbs nearby, so she left it behind.."
"Fools," Sieglinde snaps, sudden fury and fear flaring in her. Her voice breaks as she turns back to the girl writhing beneath her. "After I told you, over and over, to keep it close to you at all times, you still.."
Leah's brow tightens. The scene shifts in her eyes, no longer just horror and chaos but something off, something askew at the edges.
She turns, her voice low, murmuring to Thomas at her side. "Why would she remove something that protects her in these woods?"
Thomas gives a long, lazy blink. "Hm. An excellent question, My Lady," his voice carries that same insufferable note of indulgence it always does when he's not especially invested. "Perhaps she had grown too confident."
"That's a stupid answer," Leah mutters.
"I'm not here to be clever. Just decorative."
Leah scowls at him, but she doesn't argue further. Her gut's crawling like she's walked into a room that looks clean but smells of blood.
Wolfram steps forward, casting a tall shadow, his cloak catching torchlight. "He might still be near," he announces, the boom of his voice jolting the crowd to motion. "Light all the torches."
Women scatter, lifting their skirts and rushing to grab long poles, flint, and steel. Flames flicker to life one by one, joining the stars above in setting the forest ablaze with trembling light.
Beside her, Sebastian and Ciel converse in quiet tones, too hushed for Leah to bother with. She isn't listening anyway.
Instead, she leans toward Thomas again, tugging at the hem of her sleeve, her mouth tight. "I don't buy it."
"Which part?" he murmurs, not looking at her.
"Any of it."
There's no chance to say more. A voice like rusted hinges shrieks out from the dark.
"'Tis the wrath o' Herr Wolfman!"
Heads turn, Leah's stomach lurches. At the fringe of the torchlight stands a figure cloaked in rags and darkness. Bent at the spine, long white hair streaming from beneath a hood, she looks like a walking curse. One eye glares white and bulging, the other dull and glazed, blind.
"'Tis his wrath at having strangers intrude upon his forest!" she croaks, gnarled finger stabbing through the air at Leah, at Ciel, at Sebastian behind them. "Begone, ye outlanders!"
Leah doesn't move.
Sieglinde, still on her knees, voice ragged from the pain of both the moment and her own constrained feet, cries out, "It's because she didn't have her talisman! If she'd had it with her, she wouldn't have been attacked!"
"Bah!" the crone spits. "Has Herr Wolfman ever before harmed us by his own hand?! Protect the outlanders, would ye?! Well, Emerald Witch?!"
A murmur stirs the gathered women. Doubt bleeds in with the light.
The old woman draws herself higher, ranting now, voice shaking with age and wrath. "Lest ye forget, Emerald Witch! Our ancestors suffered countless atrocities at the hands o' folks from the outside!"
Leah swallows a bitter taste in her throat, tuning out the rest of the woman's ramblings. Cold creeping through her slippers, the soreness blooming in her back from standing too long—those are easier to ignore than the way this hag's eyes keep lingering on her. A flush creeps up her neck, and not from shame.
The crone rounds on them, sharp nose practically quivering. "Hear ye, foolish interlopers! 'Tis ye who have unleashed the fury of Herr Wolfman!"
Now she's in Ciel's face. Long yellow fingernail lifting his chin with a sick intimacy that turns Leah's stomach.
"'Tis all your doing, swine! Yours! Sw—"
Leah's fist moves before her thoughts do. One moment, the old woman is sneering, and the next, Leah's knuckles connect with brittle cheekbone. The crunch is sickly and sharp as the crone crumples back, more surprised than injured, falling into the mud with a screech.
A silence follows, even the torches seem to be still. Leah blinks. Her wrist stings. That wasn't quite what she meant to do.
Thomas's mouth quirks into the shadow of a grin. "Well, that escalated delightfully."
Leah ignores him, rubs her hand against her skirts, and exhales. The silence breaks as Sieglinde coughs—a small, startled sound, eyes wide and expression unreadable.
Ciel is staring at Leah, unreadable, but not upset. A beat of silence passes, then he reaches for her wrist and carefully checks her knuckles, as if just making sure she hasn't cracked anything too important.
"You're ridiculous," she mutters, tugging her hand back. She doesn't pull away entirely, though.
The crone is already sitting up in the mud, one eye watering, her nose bent sideways, still cursing low and furious.
Wolfram, his voice rough and clipped, gestures sharply toward the remaining women. "Anyhow, stay inside 'til dawn! It's plain to all of you now, isn't it? Don't carelessly venture into the forest if you value your lives. Ever!"
No one argues. There's only a shuffle of skirts, a door clapping shut, the brassy squeal of an old latch locking in place.
A moment later, their small party turns away from the scene—six figures weaving beneath torchlight toward the looming silhouette of the Emerald Castle.
The path back cuts through a winding thicket of trees, shadows flickering along the moss-choked earth. The torches do little to warm her bones. Leah crosses her arms, tugging her sleeves taut as another gust of chill wind needles at her bare shoulders. The silk of her evening gown feels woefully thin against the night.
Ciel notices—he must, even if he doesn't say anything. His gaze lingers a second too long on her arms, then drifts ahead again. He walks with the same quiet deliberation as always, hands tucked into his coat pockets, posture stiff with thought. From this angle, his expression is unreadable.
She breathes out, long and slow, then mutters toward Thomas without looking. "Next time we storm out mid-supper, remind me to grab a shawl."
He's trailing half a step behind her like some ridiculous shadow, arms neatly folded, chin raised just enough to appear both mockingly dutiful and insufferably smug.
"As you command, My Lady," he says lightly. "Shall I embroider it with the words 'Leah's Emergency Wolfman Response Cloak'?"
She spares him a side-eyed glance, biting the inside of her cheek. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'Touch Me and Die.'"
Thomas hums, unfazed. "Too sentimental."
She doesn't dignify him with a reply, shifting closer to Ciel instead. His presence is steadier and quieter. Though he still says nothing, he allows it when her fingers lightly graze the back of his hand. There's warmth there, cold fingertips brushing against his glove, and his pinky curling ever so subtly around hers in return.
Their pace slows naturally to match the rhythm of Wolfram's long strides. Sebastian walks just behind them, ever so slightly turned in toward Ciel's side, his eyes narrowed, but not out of suspicion.
At one point, Thomas leans toward him with the smugness of a cat. "I thought it was your job to manage impudent old women. Growing weary of that duty, are we?"
Sebastian doesn't so much as blink. "I find there is little need when Lady Leah takes matters so.. personally."
"Oh, I quite agree," Thomas replies, resting a knuckle beneath his chin in mock thought. "She was so swift, I barely had time to savor it."
Leah rolls her eyes without looking back. "You savor it too much, and I'll break your nose next."
"Promise?" Thomas's tone lopes between teasing and fond. "What a violent creature you've become, My Lady. Marriage suits you."
"She's always been like this," Ciel remarks dryly, not glancing back either.
Leah doesn't argue. She's too tired, too cold, and there's an odd flutter just beneath her ribs that won't settle. Probably nerves, or the sick tang of metal she can still smell from the injured girl's blood.
Sebastian steps forward slightly, addressing her now. "Shall I retrieve a coat from the castle once we return?"
"No," she murmurs. "Too late for that. And it won't kill me."
His brow quirks faintly, unreadable. "I do not doubt your constitution. Still, it would be unwise to fall ill while abroad, particularly in unfamiliar climates."
Thomas leans toward her again, faux whispering. "Translation: you look like a walking goose bump and it's embarrassing for the help."
She smacks the back of his head without pausing her stride. Sebastian offers no comment on the exchange, nor does Ciel.
The wind shifts again, sending leaves rustling along the path, and Leah pulls her arms tighter across her stomach. There's a slight nausea that stirs beneath her diaphragm, not enough to slow her down, but enough to make the thought of walking another half-mile unpleasant. The dizziness is brief and dull, but lingers just behind her eyes. If she mentions it, she'll be ushered into a chair and plied with honeyed tea and hot cloths and sympathy. She doesn't want that.
Ciel's hand grazes her lower back as they pass beneath a sagging arch of branches, guiding her gently when her balance falters on a loose stone. It's so subtle she nearly misses it, but the gesture is deliberate.
"Watch your step."
She glances up at him, momentarily surprised by how close he's drawn. "I wasn't going to fall," she mutters, though her voice lacks bite.
"You looked like you might," he answers, and he doesn't let go right away.
The castle comes into view at last, its spires looming pale and greenish in the torchlight, windows dark save for a few flickering sconces on the upper floor. A crow takes off from one of the parapets with a harsh cry and wheels into the night.
Sieglinde lifts her head faintly, murmuring something into Wolfram's collar. Leah can't hear what she says, but the man makes a low sound of agreement, adjusting his grip on her before moving forward.
Behind them, Thomas sighs dramatically. "I was beginning to think we'd perish out here in the wild, devoured by mystical beasts and slandered by one-eyed hags. What a fate."
"You'd taste awful," Leah mutters.
"Oh, I should hope so."
Ciel suppresses the faintest twitch of his mouth.
They cross the threshold into the outer courtyard, the worn stone echoing beneath their steps. The great doors await.
═╬
A faint breeze lingers at the windows of the guest room, though they've long been shut. The bed, massive and ornate, is the kind meant for queens or traitors. Ciel perches at its edge, coat unbuttoned, one leg crossed lazily over the other as he addresses Sebastian, who stands at the tea tray like a man conducting an experiment.
Leah doesn't linger near them. She's by the arched window on the opposite side of the room, arms folded loosely, half-listening. Thomas lounges beside her, one hip tilted against the wall, inspecting his nails as if they might peel up something more interesting than the scene before him. Anna stands behind her, silent and patient.
Sebastian pours dark amber liquid into a china cup with a steadiness bordering on unnatural. Ciel's voice is even, clipped, as always. "Make it strong."
Leah lifts her chin slightly. "If we're staying up, could you make something less bitter for me? Not too much honey, but something soft. Chamomile, perhaps."
Sebastian's eyes flick toward her. "Of course, My Lady—"
"No," Ciel interrupts without turning. "You'll be sleeping."
That earns him a pause. Leah narrows her eyes faintly. "I beg your pardon?"
He glances toward her then, face unreadable but firm. "You're not needed for this."
"And what, pray tell, is 'this'?" her tone is mild, but her arms tighten across her bodice.
"Business," he says. "You'll retire for the night."
"Why?"
"Because I've said so."
The heat in her chest spikes a little, a sharp, slow irritant, like vinegar on a cut. She opens her mouth again, then closes it. He's her husband, and she is meant to obey.
Her jaw sets. "Fine. Thomas, help me out of this dress."
Ciel's expression darkens at once. "He will do no such thing."
Thomas halts mid-reach, hand hovering dramatically over the brass clasp. "How tragic. The fantasy was so brief."
Leah turns toward Ciel. "Why not?"
"Because I am your husband. And another man—servant or not—has no business seeing you undressed, if it can be helped."
Leah tilts her head, visibly unimpressed. "He's seen me in less a dozen times over. He was dressing me long before you were ever in the picture."
"And that picture has changed," Ciel murmurs into his teacup. "You'll have Anna."
There's a silence thick enough to stretch across the entire suite, even Thomas's amused hum is quieter than usual.
"Anna," Leah mutters with a flick of her fingers. "Come here."
The maid crosses to her, and Thomas makes a small, wounded noise. "I suppose I'll fold handkerchiefs alone tonight," he murmurs.
"Choke on one," Leah snaps, but without real ire.
He brings a hand to his chest, swooning. "Yes, My Lady."
She takes the nightgown from him without thanks. It's soft between her fingers—light muslin, pale ivory, with short, puffed sleeves and a lace trim that falls modestly at the collar but doesn't leave much to the imagination once candlelight gets involved. Not indecent, exactly, but certainly not a nun's garb. The kind of garment made more for private comfort than propriety. She doesn't care much. It's comfortable, and she's tired.
Behind the tall lacquered screen, Anna begins loosening the laces of her gown. Leah exhales, grateful to be out of the corset even if it leaves her dizzy for a second. Her skin is a touch clammy, and her legs ache more than usual. It's not even late, but the warmth of the room and the weight of the day has her head slightly swimming.
Outside the safety of the screen, Ciel's muffled voice reaches her through the rustle of fabric. The door creaks open, followed by a soft thump.
"Well, well, Lady Sullivan," Sebastian announces.
Then a flutter of something above—balloons. They drift to the ceiling like escaping secrets, caught against the arch of the roof.
Another thump and a rustle of fabric. Leah cranes her neck slightly, her chemise half-draped across one arm. She glimpses the shadow of motion through the carved wood of the screen, hears the creak of leather boots and the subtle wheeze of string.
Then Sieglinde's voice, small but bright. "I am a witch. I can see right through you two and what you're doing."
Leah's mouth curls faintly as Anna finishes tying the ribbon at the back of her gown. Her ears stay trained on the voices behind the screen, but her eyes flicker upward toward the balloon strings still dancing against the beams. A child's trick, but clever all the same. Something in her tone, confident and almost wry, reminds Leah of herself.
Back in her own world, Leah tugs at the sleeve of her gown and examines her reflection in the ornate mirror beside the dressing screen. The fabric's soft and clingy, a little translucent in the wrong light. She doubts Ciel will care, but Thomas might say something, if only to annoy her.
She steps out from behind the screen a moment later, hair loose and nightgown swaying just past her ankles. She ignores Thomas's pointed look and Sebastian's brief glance, instead drifting toward the armchair by the fireless hearth, easing into it slowly. Her legs fold neatly beneath her.
Her stomach twinges, a strange emptiness. She's a touch hungry, or maybe just queasy. She doesn't dwell on it. Leah smirks faintly, chin resting in her hand.
Sebastian clears his throat, offering another cup of steaming tea to Ciel. "Shall I prepare something more calming for Lady Leah, now that she's retired?"
Ciel glances toward her. He looks for a moment like he's about to object again, but stops short. Maybe it's the nightgown, or maybe it's the way she isn't looking at him.
She doesn't wait for his response. "Yes," she says. "Chamomile, please. With a bit of orange peel, if there's any to be found. I've had enough bitterness for one evening."
Ciel shifts on the bed, clearly on edge from Sieglinde's rather abrupt entrance minutes prior. Leah glances over just in time to see the girl suddenly throw herself backwards onto the mattress beside her husband.
"Well, come on, then!" Sieglinde declares.
The mattress gives an offended bounce under her weight. Ciel jolts, catching himself with one hand on the bed, eyes wide. Leah, who has just perched herself on the other edge of the bed with a wary grace, feels her heart hiccup in her chest.
Sieglinde props herself up on her elbows and grins between them. "Never did I imagine my first time would be a foursome, but this is all experience gained. Please do be as gentle as possible."
Leah freezes, her hand tightens slightly over her robe's sash. It's not the implication that bothers her—well, it is—but the absurdity of the phrasing.
Ciel, understandably, does not appear amused. He stares at Sieglinde like she's just grown another head. "What.. did she just say?"
Leah doesn't answer, lips parting in either disbelief or impending laughter—it's impossible to say which. Her eyes flick toward Sebastian, who merely raises an eyebrow, who is surprisingly also rather shocked.
Sieglinde's eyes flit toward Ciel, her fingers reaching up to the fastenings at the front of her bizarre contraption of a garment. "It appears you are perplexed by the design of my garb, yes? First, you must undo this button here—"
"No, no, no!" Ciel all but recoils, his voice rising. "Hold on! What exactly are you trying to do?!"
The girl pauses, cheeks pinkening only slightly as she gives a bemused blink. "So you prefer to conquer the citadel alone, do you? Your face says otherwise, but you're a man after all!"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about!" His voice is sharper now, louder, his discomfort practically vibrating off him.
Leah leans slightly away from the growing chaos, her stomach curling with an odd cocktail of amusement and nausea. The bed is warm beneath her, unpleasantly so. Anna stands near the screen where she'd just helped her mistress change, while Thomas lounges by the window with an expression of detached interest.
Sebastian murmurs, "So the young master is the kind of man who prefers to undress a woman himself," the barest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Or perhaps you're the kind of man who likes to have his women clothed?!" Sieglinde overlaps seamlessly.
Leah glares, but only half-heartedly. Her limbs feel too heavy to lunge. The sheer absurdity of it all is dragging a reluctant smile to her lips.
"I don't understand what you're saying, but I do know that you've got it utterly wrong!" Ciel yells.
Sieglinde gives a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowing. "Wait, could you be.."
Without warning, her hand darts forward and tugs slightly at Ciel's waistband. "Huh, so you're a male after all," she muses, blinking at what she's seen.
Ciel recoils like he's been stung. "How dare you?!"
The force of his reaction sends her tumbling backwards off the bed, limbs flailing and hair fanned out like a ruffled raven on the floorboards. A beat of silence follows, then a slight whimper.
Sebastian peers over the edge of the bed, stifling a laugh. "Lady Sullivan, are you quite alright?"
"What a boor you are to humiliate a young and innocent maiden!" Sieglinde moans from the floor, clearly undeterred. "You effeminate cur!"
Ciel springs in his spot, nearly stepping over Leah in the process. "Like I said, I haven't a clue what you're saying! You deviant damsel!"
Leah moves back slightly, tucking one leg under the other. On the floor, Sieglinde props herself up, her eyes now landing on Leah—more specifically, Leah's nightgown, or what little of it can be seen through the loosely tied robe. A slow grin unfurls on the girl's face.
Leah blinks once. "Don't even think about it."
Sieglinde lifts herself with what is clearly practiced effort, shuffling forward on her knees until she's by the bed again. "You are so very beautiful," she murmurs in soft, rolling German, her fingers brushing against Leah's ankle through the gauzy hem of her gown. "May I..?"
"You may not," Leah retorts, narrowing her eyes, though her voice isn't sharp.
That doesn't stop the girl. Her hand trails higher, fingertips ghosting along Leah's calf. The movement is featherlight and exploratory. Her head tilts. "I've only ever read about touching another woman," she continues thoughtfully. "But you are like marble with silk draped over it."
"Sullivan—" Leah warns, and she means it, but her tone is tinged with fatigue more than menace. She's far too aware of Ciel's stare boring into her from across the bed.
Ciel, of course, looks seconds from combustion. "Get away from her!"
The girl only glances up, expression impish. "Is she not your wife? Are you not meant to share things?"
Sebastian chuckles in the corner. "I do believe you're giving the Young Master heart palpitations, Lady Sullivan."
"Stop encouraging her," Ciel snaps, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he storms around to Leah's side.
Sieglinde turns her attention fully now, pressing closer. "I merely wish to see what is so very precious. I do not intend to steal her— only to borrow."
Her hand finds the edge of Leah's robe and begins to tug, gentle but determined. Leah doesn't stop her. It's hard to tell if she's frozen or simply curious. Her expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between boredom and faint interest. Her brain feels a few seconds slower than it should, weighted by the tea, the heat, the entire sequence of nonsense. She meets Sieglinde's gaze without flinching.
That's precisely when Ciel all but lunges. The silence that follows Sieglinde's second dramatic fall from the bed is broken by the indignant sound of her skirts rustling and a soft, wounded exhale. She lies sprawled on the floorboards, tangled in her own layers of ruffles and ribbons, blinking up at the ceiling as though the heavens themselves had betrayed her virtue.
Leah exhales slowly through her nose, her hands pressed flat against the covers as though trying to steady herself. She resists the urge to rub at her eyes.
Ciel's voice rises again in indignant protest, rattling off something about propriety and scandal and—God help them all—boundaries. Sieglinde, now propped upright on her elbows, stares at him with open, bemused offense, cheeks glowing pink.
"Now, now, you two."
Sebastian's voice cuts through the tension like a needle through silk. A familiar silver tray appears in his gloved hands, held out in front of him with the poise of a seasoned waiter presenting a crown jewel. Nestled on fine porcelain are three neat rows of sweets: golden caramel macarons, delicate eclairs piped with coffee cream, and slender dark chocolate florentines glistening with candied peel and almonds.
"Sharing sweet moments in bed can be delightful as well," he offers smoothly, his gaze drifting with pointed innocence across the room, "but what do you say to some sweets of the edible sort first?"
Leah very nearly slaps the tray out of his hands. Sebastian only smiles, bowing his head with mock humility. His timing, of course, is intentional.
Sieglinde's eyes sweep over the selection like a scholar before a sacred text. She snatches up a Florentine and takes a bite so large her cheeks puff like a chipmunk's as crumbs fall into her lap.
"'Men are always overwhelmed by the lusts of the flesh.' Or so it is invariably written in books."
From his post near the wall, Thomas exhales sharply through his nose, amused.
"Well," Sebastian concedes, moving to stand behind Leah's shoulder, "such men do exist, but—"
Sieglinde waves her hand, interrupting him with another mouthful of sugary confidence. "Only females reside in Wolfsschlucht. So this is my first time seeing a living, breathing man."
The statement hangs in the air. Leah glances up, blinking. It's difficult to imagine never seeing men—not at social functions, not on the street, not even within one's own household. Her entire life had been shaped by men; their rules, their wants, their expectations. She's lived in a world built and run by them. It hadn't occurred to her that someone else's world could be entirely devoid of them.
"What about Herr Wolfram?" Sebastian's inquiry is light, almost offhand.
"He's more like a guard dog," Sieglinde replies plainly, licking eclair cream off her thumb without thought.
A long pause follows. Leah doesn't speak. She simply listens, her breathing steady but slower than usual, the way it often is these days when she's trying to keep from being sick or dizzy. Sieglinde speaks with such nonchalance about the village, about her ancestors, about the witches that came before her. There's mention of emerald bloodlines and spells cast.
Through it all, Leah remains silent.
Sieglinde's voice draws the room back into focus. "As such, I've never once set foot outside of this village since birth. I'm certain I'll live out my days here without ever doing so."
Her eyes flick between Leah and Ciel. "You return to the world outside on the morrow, yes?"
Leah nods once.
"Let me hear all about the world I'll never come to know. The world that exists beyond the forest!"
Sebastian leans down, whispering something into Ciel's ear. The boy's brows twitch, as though debating it, but in the end, he sighs and extends his hand toward Sieglinde.
"Sorry.. just now. Let's be friends."
Sieglinde blinks at his outstretched hand like it's a strange creature trying to climb into her lap.
Leah lifts a brow, shifting her weight where she sits. "It's customary where we're from," she explains dryly. "A handshake. It signifies acquaintance, or trust."
Understanding dawns across the witch's face. She bobs her head and then promptly latches onto Leah's hand instead, her grip comically firm.
"Oh, that's right. I shall give you these."
From beneath the folds of her gown, she draws out three talismans. "They're charms to keep the wolfman at bay. Wear them on your way back."
Thomas lifts a brow. "Do I get one as well, or is this a ladies-only affair?"
She peers at him, brow furrowing in brief confusion, before passing over a fourth. "For the house pet, too."
Thomas, grinning faintly, tucking it in his pocket with mock solemnity. "How gracious."
Then Sieglinde's attention turns with sudden purpose toward Sebastian. "Now then! Let's have you get right down to it and tell me more about those 'sweet moments in bed' you mentioned before."
Sebastian puts a finger to his chin. "I suppose I did say something to that effect. What shall I do, young master?"
Ciel looks positively murderous. "Must you even ask? Go get toys or something and play with her."
Turning to Sieglinde, Sebastian murmurs, "It would seem that the Young Master wishes to play with toys in bed."
The witch nearly drops her Florentine. "What a terribly keen appetite from the onset!"
Ciel's face twists in dismay. "What kind of reaction is that?! I bet you've gone and misunderstood something again, haven't you?!"
A soft laugh escapes Leah before she can suppress it. She draws her legs beneath her on the bed, patting the space beside her and gesturing Sieglinde over with a flick of her wrist. The girl obeys, scooting up beside her like a curious pet.
"Don't act so eager. You'll strain something," Leah says.
"I'll strain something regardless," Sieglinde replies without thinking, and immediately claps a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Her cheeks pinken, the blush crawling high and fast. "Oh no, that came out wrong—"
"Did it?" Leah asks sweetly, dry as chalk. She leans in just enough that the scent of her skin catches in the air. "I hadn't noticed."
A nervous laugh bubbles from the other girl's throat. Leah waits for it to settle, then tilts her head against the wooden post, lashes low.
"Sometimes," she murmurs, "when he's tired, he falls asleep with his cheek pressed against my hip. That counts, doesn't it?"
Sieglinde gasps—delighted, scandalized, and fully invested. "It must! That's— oh, that's so intimate."
Leah only hums, feigning thoughtfulness. "And once," she adds, almost absently, "he kissed the inside of my thigh for so long I forgot what day it was."
The squeal that escapes from the other girl is muffled by both hands.
"He's rather thorough," Leah continues, voice lilting like idle gossip over tea. "Very detail-oriented. Sometimes he apologizes before leaving marks, but that's never stopped him. I suppose he likes his work to be seen."
The girl squeals and hides her face behind her hands. Her blush spreads to her ears.
"Oh, and once, he— oh, no, I shouldn't say," she grins slyly. "But it involved honey and a very long night."
Behind them, Ciel is visibly suffering. His face is pale, then red, then pale again. "Leah," he warns.
She merely shrugs, entirely unrepentant. It's then that the door creaks open softly as Anna reenters the room. It's only when she kneels at the edge of the table, smoothing out a small bundle of paper, a tin of well-kept pencils, and a worn deck of playing cards that anyone notices she had left at all. Her hands move with steady precision, expression mild.
A sigh escapes Leah as she leans against the plush pillows behind her. The warmth of the bed is starting to get to her. If she could, she would very much prefer to lie down fully and drift off into that sweet, dreamless haze her body's been begging her for ever since dinner. Unfortunately, there's still Sieglinde propped against the pillows beside her.
Leah glances over, watching the girl lean slightly toward the table, visibly excited by the paper and pencils.
Anna rises and offers a small bow, speaking in her usual dull murmur. "Shall I take my leave, My Lady?"
Leah's lips twitch faintly. "Yes, go on. You've earned some peace tonight. Thank you."
With the maid gone, the atmosphere shifts. Thomas lingers by the door like an ornament, perfectly polished and bored out of his mind. Sebastian is already perched near Ciel, ever-watchful, like a cat who's pretending not to be interested in the birds pecking at the windowsill.
Sieglinde reaches for a pencil, rolling it between her fingers. "Shall we draw?" she asks.
Ciel, to Leah's mild surprise, actually humours her. He lifts a sheet of paper and starts sketching with a casual ease. He doesn't seem enthused, exactly, but he's calm and willing. Leah watches him from her spot, legs tucked to the side, a hand resting just below her ribcage.
Her first drawing is little more than a bored circle. Then she adds lines, then a vaguely human form, and then something dark curls in the corners of her lips as inspiration strikes.
It's hideous. A caricature of Sebastian, with exaggerated demon horns, sharp little fangs, and a grin too wide to be anything but obscene. Yet it's drawn well. Meticulously detailed, almost disturbingly so. She takes her time with it, pausing only to stifle a yawn.
When she finally nudges the sheet toward Sebastian's elbow, her face is schooled into something resembling mild innocence. He glances at it and his lips twitch.
"How flattering, My Lady," he murmurs, adjusting the plate of sweets nearby with unbothered elegance. "You've captured my essence so thoroughly I dare not contradict it."
Leah arches a brow. "Glad you agree. Now go put it in a frame and hang it above your bed."
"I shall treasure it forever," he doesn't even blink, tone syrup-smooth.
Ciel leans over just enough to glance at the paper, snorts softly, and mutters something about her being insufferable. Leah just stretches her arms overhead. The flicker of chill through the room makes her shiver.
"I want to be read to," she declares suddenly, shifting her attention toward Thomas, who still hasn't moved.
His gaze flickers lazily toward her. "A story, My Lady?"
"No, a cookbook," she deadpans. "Of course a story, idiot."
Thomas bows slightly, too exaggerated to be genuine. "As my lady wishes."
He disappears, then returns not a minute later holding a slim volume in hand, one she instantly recognizes by the scuffed spine and shimmering gilt edge.
"Not that one." She wrinkles her nose. "The book I bought last week. The French one."
Ciel's pencil halts mid-line, and his head turns slowly.
Thomas raises a brow. "Ah. That one."
"Yes, that one," Leah replies, stretching back against the pillows again, crossing her ankles with catlike laziness.
He opens it and, with no sense of propriety, begins to read. "His hand brushed the swell of her—"
"That's enough," Ciel interjects sharply, sitting upright as though slapped. "What the devil is that book?"
Leah shrugs. "I bought it with the allowance you gave me."
"You— bought it?"
She reaches for a Florentine and nibbles at the edge, eyes half-lidded. "It sounded interesting. The premise involved aristocratic lovers exchanging secret letters during wartime. I didn't realize it had so much— flesh."
Thomas, helpfully, closes the book with a very audible snap. "There was quite a bit of it, My Lord."
"You're not reading that filth," Ciel decides with finality, tone like frost.
Leah sighs, more annoyed at being interrupted than truly scandalized. "Fine. Fetch Alice, then, Thomas. You'll do something useful for once in your long, dreary life."
"With the greatest delight, My Lady," he vanishes again, clearly amused, and she tosses a pillow after him. It misses, but the gesture counts.
Sieglinde, who has been watching all this with some confusion and a great deal of curiosity, finally pipes up, holding out her drawing—a horse, or perhaps a goat, with enormous eyes and smoke puffing from its ears. Ciel accepts it with something bordering on patience, muttering a soft, "Thank you," while sketching a tree in response.
Leah leans forward, sketching something beside Ciel's tree—something crooked and bent and probably supposed to be an owl, but it ends up looking like a disgruntled man with feathers. She adds a top hat for good measure.
Thomas returns, this time with Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, the familiar worn cover almost comforting as he presents it to her like a holy text.
"Page sixteen," she instructs, folding her arms.
He reads with less sarcasm this time, perhaps sensing the shift in her mood. Leah closes her eyes briefly, listening. The rhythm of the words, the flutter of pages, Sieglinde's laughter as she tries to mimic the English words, the warmth of Ciel's thigh brushing hers—everything knits together into something strange and hazy.
═╬
The sound that wakes her isn't thunder, nor footsteps, nor any sort of alarm, but rather a low, muffled groan of exhaustion near her shoulder. A warm weight shifts the mattress beside her, prompting her lashes to flutter open just in time to see Ciel half-collapse onto his elbows, hair slightly askew and coat discarded.
"She's finally asleep..!" he breathes, voice tight with disbelief and low enough not to wake the girl.
Leah blinks, the edges of her vision still blurred, caught somewhere between sleep and irritation. Her head throbs faintly, not enough to be painful, but enough to be noticed. She shifts slightly, one hand rising to shield her eyes from the candlelight, before it drops again as she props herself onto one elbow.
Scattered across the bed are the remnants of earlier chaos—sketched pages curling at the corners, half-bent playing cards, pencils without their points. One has rolled precariously close to the edge of the bedframe. Sieglinde lies nestled in a fortress of pillows, her hair unbound and sprawled in all directions like fine silk thread. Her lips part slightly as she breathes in that childishly deep, slack-jawed sleep known only to those who wear themselves to pieces before surrendering to it.
Sebastian stands near the foot of the bed, composed as always, though there's an almost imperceptible amusement flickering beneath the surface. "Admirably done, Young Master," he murmurs.
Ciel exhales something between a scoff and a laugh, shifting to sit back properly. "Even though I just had single words, I managed to keep up the conversation. Her speech was easier to follow than the fellow who sold us the carriage."
Leah huffs a quiet breath through her nose and pushes herself upright, pulling the blanket loosely over her thighs. Her gaze flits over Ciel's profile, tired but not frayed. He doesn't look as worn as she would expect from someone who spent the better part of an hour entertaining a girl in another language, but he's clearly had enough of the day.
A sharp knock slices through the stillness. Ciel straightens immediately, shoulders taut as Sebastian turns toward the door, just in time for it to ease open without awaiting response. Wolfram steps in.
"Looks like my lady has paid you a visit," he says, voice flat, eyes flickering first to Sieglinde, then briefly to Leah.
Ciel's hand moves instinctively, drawing up part of the blanket to cover Leah's legs a touch more thoroughly. It's subtle, but it earns him a glance of quiet appreciation from her, even if she doesn't say a word.
Wolfram crosses to the bedside without fanfare and gently begins to gather Sieglinde into his arms. She stirs only slightly, brow creasing in her sleep before nestling into his shoulder.
Sebastian's tone remains perfectly polite as he notes, "She has only just fallen asleep."
At that, Wolfram turns toward the door, gaze unreadable. "Whatever my lady may have told you, put it out of your mind. You leave at daybreak. Are we clear?"
He doesn't wait for acknowledgment, just pivots and disappears as easily as he entered, Sieglinde still sleeping soundly in his arms.
Once the door shuts, Leah shifts her attention between Ciel and Sebastian, brow arching as the two of them exchange a glance that seems to communicate more than words ever could. It's one of those quick, fleeting things that feels like a secret unfolding right in front of her. Ciel stands, Sebastian moving with him, already drawing a modest winter cloak across Ciel's shoulders as if this were all rehearsed.
She doesn't bother hiding her annoyance. "You're going," she mutters, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, fingers curling around the nearest sheet of paper before discarding it. "You're both going."
Ciel doesn't answer right away. Leah rises, swaying just faintly, enough to make her grab the foot of the bed for support. Not out of weakness, not that she would admit to it, but the room swirls when she moves too quickly.
"Are you sure I can't come?" she asks, voice too even, too cool, betraying just a sliver of vulnerability tucked between her tone and the silence that follows it.
"I'd rather not risk you being dragged into something dangerous," he answers, tone light but firm. "Especially not if— if you're actually with child."
Leah flinches inwardly at the phrasing. Not from shame or worry, but from the implication that her body is no longer entirely her own. She doesn't care for it.
"I'm not porcelain," she mutters.
"You fell asleep two hours before she did and barely moved the entire time. I'd say you're not at your most resilient just now."
He steps toward her and presses a kiss to her cheek. The kind of gesture that isn't loud, but is honest. Leah softens against it without meaning to, tilting her face up only slightly, breathing in the smell of wool.
He doesn't say anything else, just leaves. Now, the door closes behind them with the finality of a guillotine, and the room seems emptier, still full of the remnants of the evening but missing its most active pieces. The silence left in their wake is infuriating.
Leah sinks back onto the bed with a groan, kicking a few playing cards onto the floor. Her head is aching again. She stretches her legs out, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Thomas," she calls, snapping her fingers.
He appears from the shadow near the hearth where he had been seated, cross-legged like a lounging cat. He lifts his chin in the most passive form of acknowledgement. "Yes, My Lady?"
"I'm bored."
"I gathered."
"Entertain me."
He doesn't even blink. "How?"
"I don't know. Juggle something. Set yourself on fire. Dance. You're a monster, do something unholy."
"There's a limit to what I'll do," he replies mildly, walking over with his hands in his coat pockets. "Though if you insist, I could always recite The Inferno in its original Tuscan. Or strip."
Leah huffs, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at his head. "Don't be disgusting."
"Too late," he says, catching the pillow and setting it back in place. "It's in my nature."
She shifts again, pulling her knees up and hugging them. The room feels too warm and too cold all at once, her skin either crawling or numbed. She's tired but not sleepy, restless but too heavy to pace.
"Very well. Shall I sing you a tragic ballad whilst tossing apples in the air with my eyes closed?" he murmurs, standing with exaggerated reluctance.
She waves a hand. "Do as you please, but if you drop one, I'm going to throw the candlestick at your head."
His smile curls like smoke. "A risk I'm willing to take."
He does juggle—three pieces of fruit from the side table, which he plucks with feline grace. It's absurd, watching a man in a silk waistcoat and polished boots spinning pears in the air while wearing the expression of someone who'd rather be stabbed, but it works.
Leah lets herself laugh, a breathless, amused thing that dies in her throat just as quickly. Her limbs feel heavy, like she's been swimming. There's a mild pressure building at the back of her neck again, and a sudden sourness rolls through her stomach.
Thomas notices. "My lady looks pale."
"She's tired," Leah counters.
"I daresay she always is these days."
She rolls her eyes and leans back against the pillows, arm draped dramatically across her brow. "Keep juggling or I'll make you eat that pear off the floor."
He juggles, she watches. Night stretches long before her, empty of Ciel's voice, of movement, of certainty. Thomas is on his third round of balancing silver teaspoons on the tips of his gloved fingers, pretending to look invested while clearly imagining himself anywhere else, while Leah stares with a dispassionate eye. He finishes the act with a soft flourish and a slight bend at the waist, mockingly theatrical.
"You're utterly useless," she drawls, arms folded.
Thomas straightens, dropping the spoons back into their porcelain dish with a soft clatter. "And yet you're still here watching. Makes one wonder which of us is the more pathetic."
She huffs. "You're the one doing parlor tricks for a bored girl. I think the answer's clear."
His mouth lifts slightly, a tilt more than a smile. "As ever, your logic cuts deeper than steel, My Lady."
She rolls her eyes. "Don't be dramatic."
The corner of her lip twitches, and that's enough to satisfy him. He dusts his palms together and approaches the window, glancing back over his shoulder with the air of someone tired of being the entertainment.
"That's quite enough nonsense for tonight. Sleep now."
"I'm not tired."
"You were yawning mid-insult."
"I was bored," she mutters, refusing to move.
Thomas doesn't push it. He merely lifts one hand to the iron latch of the balcony doors and murmurs something under his breath—a short phrase that turns the metal hot for the briefest of seconds before sealing it tight with an almost inaudible click. It doesn't look locked, but it is.
"What was that?" her voice sharpens.
He turns, fixing her with a look both flat and pointed. "You're not to go near balconies alone. Must I keep reminding you?"
A long pause. Her stomach flips, sour and sudden and uninvited.
"That was years ago," she mutters.
"You were fourteen. You threw yourself from the third floor. If I hadn't caught you—"
"Well, you did catch me," she cuts in, sharper than intended. "So perhaps you might consider letting it go."
His gaze doesn't soften, though there's no real anger there. "And if I hadn't?"
She doesn't answer, she won't. Instead, she folds deeper into the bedding, pulling the blankets tighter around her legs. "You're terribly sentimental for someone who's not even human."
"I'm many things, My Lady. Sentimental is merely a performance."
With that, he vanishes into shadow, leaving the room emptier than before. She glances at the balcony, heart thudding in a strange, uncomfortable way. The weight of the lock, invisible but present, presses against her chest more than the blankets. She tries not to think about it.
Her body won't relax. The scent is wrong, the silence is wrong. The pillow feels like it belongs to someone else, and Ciel isn't here to murmur something dry or sarcastic that would at least break up the stillness. Her legs ache, her back itches near the base of her spine, one of her shoulders feels colder than the other, and her chest is tight in that way that only ever means she's about to overthink something to death.
For a while, she manages. She thinks about the events of the day, the way Sieglinde's hair had curled like silver wire across the pillows, the way Ciel had looked when he collapsed beside her. Sebastian's voice echoing low across the room. She picks at the edge of the blanket, rubs her thumb over a bruise she hadn't noticed earlier on her arm. It fades purple under her touch.
Then her thoughts wander. Not like footsteps through snow, more like a fall. She doesn't notice when it begins, only that her breath catches and suddenly she's staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, throat dry.
It starts with one image—her mother's hand, pale and streaked with blood, gripping the side of a silk-sheeted mattress. The sound of shouting. Her father's voice, low and frantic.
"You have to choose, My Lord."
Then it unspools.
Leah shifts, suddenly clammy beneath the covers. The flicker of memory is too strong, too loud. She was five. The maid had dragged her from the corridor, but not before she'd heard enough. Not before she'd seen enough. Not before it was repeated to her by her father.
Her breath hitches, and she swallows. It shouldn't bother her. Her mother is a witch in her own right—controlling, critical, never kind—but the memory is still there. That moment when the nursemaid whispered, "You nearly had a little sister." The silence that followed, the way the house felt colder for weeks, the way her father wouldn't look her in the eye for days.
Her stomach turns, and she pushes the blanket away and sits up too quickly, palms pressed to the mattress. Her nightgown clings unpleasantly to her skin, too warm in some places. The candle guttering beside her throws a shadow across her lap.
She doesn't want this. Not really. Not now, not ever, and no one's forcing her to care. Not Ciel, not even herself, but her body's acting like it's happening, and that alone is enough to make her want to claw her skin off. The very idea of something forming inside her—something small, faceless, wordless—sends a shiver up her spine.
She doesn't want to die. Her mother had almost died. No, she can't think like that.
Leah lets out a sound, quiet and ugly, and curls forward, arms wrapping tight around her knees. Her throat stings. The room spins just slightly, and her heart is hammering in her chest.
It's too much. She wants Ciel. She wants the weight of his arm over her hip, his quiet, steady breathing. His voice. Even his stupid little frowns. Anything but this room. Anything but this empty bed. Anything but the silence that feels like it's digging into her skull.
The thought of him choosing her or the baby rips through her like a blade. Would he pick her? Would he hesitate? Does he even think like that? And if he wouldn't have to choose, if it all went perfectly fine, then what?
What the hell is she supposed to do with a child? She's seventeen. She only just started believing that maybe someone could love her without strings. She can't even make it through the night without needing someone else in the room.
Her palms press to her temples. She doesn't cry, just lets the shaking settle over her like dust. Minutes pass, or hours. She doesn't know.
Eventually, Leah lies back down because she can't hold herself upright anymore. Her body is exhausted, and her mind is wrecked. The nausea fades, but the rest doesn't. She stares at the ceiling. Sleep doesn't come. Every time she blinks, something ugly flashes in her mind. Blood, hands, a midwife's face twisted in something between horror and regret.
The sheets tangle around her ankles. She shoves them off with a growl, tossing a pillow across the room just to hear something break the hush. It thumps dully against the writing desk and knocks a bottle of ink sideways. The blot spreads slow and black like rot.
"Ugh— God, this room," she snaps aloud, voice cracking around the consonants. Her chest tightens further, the tremor in her hands no longer ignorable.
She stands too quickly. The world tips, only slightly, but enough to make her stagger. She presses her palms to her stomach, not softly, not lovingly. Like she's checking for damage. Finding none, she paces. One lap, then two. Her bare feet make soft sounds on the polished wood.
Then she screams. Not a dramatic, drawn-out wail. Not theatrical. It's brief, loud, and ripped straight from her lungs, the kind of noise that feels involuntary, pulled from some part of her she can't shut up tonight.
The chandelier flickers overhead. A low pulse rises in her ears. She slaps her palm against the foot of the bed.
"I am not doing this," she hisses. "I am not dying in some damn bath of blood while everyone stands around wringing their hands. I'm not—" her voice spikes again, nearly shrill, "—not going to be cut open for something that isn't even real yet!"
She kicks the footstool beside the vanity hard enough to send it skidding. Her lungs hurt, and her throat stings.
"I am not my mother!" she yells at the empty air. "And I don't— I don't care what anyone thinks! It's my life. Mine. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't—" her voice breaks entirely. She presses her knuckles to her mouth and shakes.
There's noise beyond the door, a shift of footsteps, and two distinct voices. One deep, clipped, German, and unmistakably Wolfram. The other lazy, silken, amused even as it murmurs apology after apology.
"..I do beg your pardon, she's rather spirited when she gets like this," Thomas is saying. "Yes, yes, of course, Sir Wolfram. I'll see to it that she calms down. A thousand thanks."
Their voices trail off as Wolfram moves further down the corridor. The door creaks open a second later, just wide enough to let in Thomas's narrow silhouette. The light from the hallway glints off one cufflink and a single, watchful eye. He leans against the frame, gaze sweeping over the chaos in the room with the same disinterest one might afford a spilled glass of wine.
"You truly must learn to suffer in silence, My Lady."
She turns on him, still trembling. "You—"
"—Are not the one making such an ungodly racket at this hour, no," he interjects, stepping inside and quietly clicking the door shut behind him. "What, precisely, was the goal of that display? To terrify the locals? To frighten the furniture?"
Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. "I'm not in the mood."
"Oh, clearly," he glances toward the overturned pillow, the ink staining the wood. "But do be honest— was there ever a moment when you were?"
The sharpness in his voice surprises her. Not mocking, not his usual detached sweetness edged with sarcasm. A shade of real irritation hiding beneath the velvet.
She glares, breath still uneven. "If you don't like being here, you can leave."
"I wasn't here. I was outside, enjoying a perfectly peaceful nothing, until you began screaming like a Victorian banshee."
"That is what I am."
He lifts an eyebrow. "A banshee?"
"Victorian."
She's still shaking; the room doesn't feel quite real anymore. Her muscles hurt from holding tension for so long. She wants to hit him, or cry, or collapse into a chair and vanish through the floor. Instead, she digs her nails into her own arm just to feel the sting.
Thomas, of course, notices. "Now, now," he murmurs, stepping closer with all the caution of someone approaching a wounded, feral thing. "If you're going to bleed, at least do it prettily."
She turns away, but too slowly.
"Leah."
The rare use of her name stops her breath. He stands at her side now, and though his tone shifts back toward lightness, it doesn't mask the undercurrent.
"You're not going to die," he tells her flatly.
She doesn't look at him. "You don't know that."
"I know most things."
"You're not—" her voice catches, mouth suddenly too dry "—not God."
A pause as he laughs, low and quiet. "Thank hell for that."
She sags backward, catching herself on the edge of the bedframe. "I don't want them to choose."
"Choose what?" but he already knows.
"Between me or it," she says, voice low now. "If it comes to that, I know how it ends. I've seen how it ends."
"Your husband would not make that choice lightly."
That earns him a bitter sound. "You sound certain."
"I know him well enough," Thomas's voice is calmer now. Less irritable, more like the way he sounds when brushing her hair out of the way so she doesn't roll onto it in her sleep. "I know his dog as well."
Her throat tightens, and she swallows. "And what if it kills me anyway? No decision needed."
"Then," he says, and for once the sarcasm in his voice dies entirely, "it will have made a very grave mistake."
She goes still. He's standing much too close now. Not in a way that's threatening, but there's a pressure in the air around him. The same sort of thing that hovers when one stands near lightning. He reaches forward, as if to brush the back of her hand, but stops short of touching her. Her breath trembles.
"I hate this," she mutters, nearly to herself. "I hate being this scared. I hate feeling. I didn't ask for— this," her own hand waves vaguely to her midsection, as if the idea of saying the word aloud might hex her.
Thomas exhales softly. "Oh, My Lady. Most people don't, but here you are. It is somewhat your fault," he whispers the last bit.
His words aren't comforting, nor is his presence. She knows exactly what he is under all that polish and playfulness. That's what makes this worse. Being known by something like him.
"I need—" her voice drops, her fingers clenching in the sheer fabric of her gown. "I need Ciel."
Thomas doesn't answer. His expression doesn't change, but the breath he releases is quieter, less flippant than anything he's offered all evening.
"Well," he murmurs eventually, "you know where he is not."
She glares at him. "You're terribly helpful."
"I do my best," he doesn't quite smirk, only gives her that faint, unreadable curve of the lips, all too satisfied with being tolerated for another night.
He turns toward the door, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. "Do try to keep the screaming to a minimum. If you insist on sounding like a gutted pheasant every quarter hour, no one will take you seriously."
"Then leave."
"Mm. I intend to. Though, between us—" his eyes flick over her disheveled figure; nightgown rumpled from pacing, cheeks still damp, voice hoarse "—it is rather difficult to be angry with you when you look so sweetly unhinged."
"Out."
With a lazy half-bow and something dangerously close to a wink, he slips through the door, and she's alone again. The room is too quiet now. Her ears ring from the silence that settles over everything like dust. She lies back onto the bed, stomach flipping faintly at the movement, and drapes an arm across her brow.
She tries not to think of anything. Not about the screaming. Not about how she doesn't want this. Not about what might already be happening to her body, slipping out of her control with no announcement and no return.
She tries not to think of her mother bleeding out on beds, of Daniel's voice when he held her through it all. Of the way her father had sat still and silent at the table for hours afterward, choosing between a woman he loved too little and a child who hadn't asked to be born.
Her eyes close, and she breathes. Inhale, slow. Exhale, slower. Eventually, she drifts—half-asleep, not fully gone, but calm enough that her mind loosens its grip. Then a sound breaks through it. A faint noise, metallic. Click of a shoe or a buckle, or maybe the soft scrape of something on the balcony railing. Her breath stops. Slowly, she turns her head toward the windows.
A shadow moves across the terrace, and she bolts upright. There's no hesitation as her legs swing off the bed and she stumbles toward the doors, heart hammering a rhythm too fast to reason with. Whoever it is isn't trying to hide.
She grabs the handle and twists. It doesn't move.
"Locked—" she breathes, and yanks harder. Nothing.
Her fingers fumble at the latch. "Goddamn it, Thomas—" she jabs and tugs and pushes with increasing panic until something finally clicks loose. The moment the door gives, she jerks it open.
"Leah?" Ciel's voice.
The breath she hadn't realized she was holding rushes out. For a moment, she forgets everything else and only sees him.
He steps in, glancing behind him briefly. "Why is the door locked?"
He sounds more confused than annoyed. His hand runs through his hair, and he moves without hesitation toward the bed as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Thomas," she answers flatly, but she's not focused on that anymore.
She moves forward a step and stops dead. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Her throat tightens, eyes locked on him, widening with every second she stares. Then the scream tears loose. She stumbles back, nearly tripping over her own feet.
He freezes. "What—"
She's already turned, voice ragged and rising. "What happened to your face?"
Only now does he glance at his own hands, lifting one in the low light. His eyes narrow. The skin is reddened, angry, swollen, blistering faintly along the knuckles and creeping toward his wrist. His expression shifts; he hadn't noticed it before.
"What in hell—"
Leah presses herself against the wall, heart racing again. "Don't touch me!"
"I wasn't—" his gaze snaps toward her, flickering with something unfamiliar. "Leah, I didn't even realize. I don't know what—"
Another figure drops lightly to the balcony with the faintest thud. Sebastian. Leah doesn't even get a chance to scream again; her voice is already raw. The sight of him doesn't help; he's similarly marked, hands dark at the joints, face pale and glistening with sweat.
Sebastian straightens, eyes sweeping the room. "Young Master!"
Ciel turns his hand again under the light, watching the red blood from his nose drip into his hands before he suddenly collapses onto the floor and vomits.
"Sebastian!"
Notes:
it appears leah isn’t good at being left alone with her thoughts
also.. leah bicurious confirmed??
Chapter 48: | 47 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl worries about her husband. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
sadly, there isn’t much for me to yap about today cause i’ve felt like shit the last few days and all i’ve done is lay in bed and sleep
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-seven ! )
"Thomas! Thomas, I swear— get in here!"
The entire corridor reverberates with her voice. Somewhere down the hall, a door slams and footsteps echo. Her chest rises and falls too quickly, as if the air refuses to settle in her lungs. She can barely see straight, vision tunneled and shaking from what she's just witnessed. Ciel is limp and silent in Sebastian's arms, skin blistered and greyed like he's been dipped in acid.
She's not even fully sure what she's screaming for. Maybe to stop time or to do something—anything—other than stand still and feel useless.
Her voice echoes again, shriller this time. "Thomas!"
Finally, as if summoned by obligation more than alarm, Thomas materializes at the far end of the corridor, expression unbothered and eyes half-lidded.
"What could you possibly want now?" his tone carries all the energy of someone inconvenienced in the middle of a nap.
Leah doesn't respond in words. She grabs his sleeve, her grip tight, and yanks him forward so hard he stumbles to keep pace.
"You're coming with me," she snaps. "You're going to do something helpful for once."
"I do plenty," he replies, blinking, not resisting. "You simply fail to appreciate subtlety."
They turn a corner. Down the next hall, Sebastian vanishes through a staircase with Ciel still in his arms. Leah quickens her pace, Thomas trailing after her with a look of mild interest and no urgency.
They reach the cauldron room just as Wolfram does. Sieglinde is pale, and she's already directing them with sharp little hand gestures the moment her eyes land on Ciel's body, the weight of it unnatural, slumped against Sebastian like a corpse waiting for breath.
Bottles clink somewhere and fluids bubble. Sieglinde lifts her voice, gesturing toward Sebastian. Leah can barely register the words, but she understands enough from the urgency. She doesn't move—too fixed on Ciel's face, the pallor of it, the way his head has tilted too far against Sebastian's collarbone.
Sebastian doesn't question her. The coat comes first. Then Ciel's vest, shirt, and trousers. The fabric, speckled with dried bile, is thrown into the roaring belly of the oven as Sieglinde waves her hand, snapping something fast and urgent. Leah steps forward unconsciously, then stops when a hand comes across her eyes.
"You shouldn't be watching this," Thomas murmurs near her ear.
She jerks her head away, trying to push his hand down. "I have to see—"
"You do not," he answers flatly, tightening his fingers just enough to remind her he's stronger. "Be still."
"I am still," she hisses. "I'm not a child."
"No, you're a storm pretending to be a girl," he says, and for once, there's no sarcasm to it. "Now hush."
She doesn't answer him. Her stomach twists violently, nauseated from anxiety, from the heat in the room, and the dizzying movement of too many bodies at once. Her eyes squeeze shut beneath Thomas's palm.
Water sloshes, the thick glug of something being stirred. Then the wet slide of flesh entering the cauldron. She can hear Ciel's body hit the water like a rag doll tossed in, and her throat closes.
When Leah finally pushes Thomas's hand away, it's not to gawk at Sebastian's bare shoulders—though she catches the shimmer of something burned into the back of his hand; a sigil, dark and precise.
She blinks, then her gaze shifts. Ciel's face is half-submerged in the decoction, lips parted, throat taut, and there—his left eye. The mark on his magenta eye glows under the firelight, exposed now that his hair is plastered away from his face and no patch remains to shield it.
"What.." her voice breaks. "What the hell is that?"
Thomas exhales through his nose. It might be annoyance or dread, either way au, he doesn't look at her.
"Thomas," she demands.
He shakes his head dismissively. "I wouldn't worry yourself."
"I'm not asking for your opinion— what is on his eye and Sebastian's hand?" her voice has climbed half an octave.
Thomas watches the cauldron, his expression unreadable.
"I saw it. I'm asking you what the hell it means."
A wet, retching sound breaks through the air, causing Leah to flinch. Ciel coughs violently, something splashing. Again, then again, until the sound grows too awful to bear.
Her knees nearly give. "I can't— I can't watch this, I—" her voice collapses into itself.
Thomas takes her arm. "Come."
"No, no, no— he needs me! I have to stay—"
"You'll only make it worse," he drags her backward, hand firm at the base of her spine, steering her like a marionette.
"Thomas, let go of me!"
"You're not hearing it," he snaps. "You're feeling it. Every cry, you're drawing it in until you've made it yours. Stop."
His grip tightens until her breath catches, her voice trembles now. "What was that on his eye.."
Thomas finally looks at her, and there's something too close to pity in his expression. "You don't want the answer to that."
"I do."
"Then calm yourself. You'll get nothing from me when you're howling like a wolf with its paw caught."
Her lips part, trembling, but the next scream dies in her throat. The sound of the retching behind the door lingers, echoing in her skull.
Thomas's tone lowers. "Would you rather he see you like this? Clawing at walls like a madwoman? Or would you like him to wake and see you with your dignity still intact?"
She bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. "You're going to tell me, or I swear to God, I'll put a fork through your throat!"
Her voice splits the corridor like a whipcrack, vibrating against stone, too sharp for how dimly lit and airless this wing of the manor is. Leah doesn't wait for an answer, her palm colliding with Thomas's chest.
"I saw it," she snaps. "His eye. Sebastian's hand. Do you think I'm an idiot? Tell me what it was, now."
Thomas's response is infuriatingly slow. He lifts a brow, expression flat as though this all bores him deeply. "You know, this is rather beneath you—"
Leah swings a sharp, open-handed slap across his cheek that echoes. His head turns with the impact but he barely gives a blink. Another blow follows. She grabs at the collar of his shirt, fists tightening, and shoves him back against the wall hard enough that the mirror above him rattles. Her chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, strands of her hair clinging to her cheek, the thin muslin of her nightgown sticking to her back in patches from the heat.
Her heart pounds, bile rising. "You know what it is," she growls, shaking him. "You saw it. You've always known—always—and you just.. you just let me stand there looking like a fool—"
"You are a fool," he interrupts, voice suddenly sharp, tone slicing through hers like ice through fire. "And you're panicking. Not thinking or listening. You want answers, but you've no stomach to hear them."
She slams him again. "I'll rip out your tongue—"
Thomas grabs her wrists before she can strike again, one in each hand, twisted slightly outward to break her balance. "You're shaking," he murmurs, more observation than concern.
"I'm not—!"
"You are," he repeats, dragging her closer with a surprising lack of effort. "You've worked yourself into such a state I can practically taste the adrenaline coming off you."
She struggles, wrenching her arms, legs stumbling into his as she tries to kick him away. Her stomach cramps with the force of her own movement, and her breathing quickens further, dizziness creeping in. It's too much, all of it, Ciel's body, the smell of the room, the sigils on his skin, the retching.
"Let go of me!"
"You're going to lie down," Thomas growls, dragging her backward down the corridor with both wrists in one gloved hand now, the other pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her folded. "You're going to stop screaming, you're going to breathe, and then, maybe then, I'll answer your inane little questions."
"Get off me, you absolute worm!" she screams.
"Flattered," he quips, already dragging her into the side room across the hall and slamming the door with his heel. It's an unused guest room, spare but with a low velvet chaise and heavy curtains drawn over the windows.
Leah writhes like a cat about to claw its way through a net. Thomas wrestles her toward the chaise with the patience of someone who has done this before.
Her elbow connects with his ribs. He grunts but doesn't let go. One leg kicks out, nearly catching him between the thighs.
"For someone barely five weeks along," he mutters, annoyed, "you've got all the fury of a woman full-term and carrying twins."
"What did you just say?"
She's pinned now, back against the cushions, chest heaving. Thomas leans over her, palm planted firmly over her mouth and the other gripping her cheeks in place, pinching them in a way that distorts her mouth.
"You want to know?" he snarls. "It's a Faustian Contract, Leah. Your darling husband sold his soul to that thing in there, and when whatever bargain he struck is fulfilled, that thing gets to eat him."
Her eyes widen, horror blooming across her face.
He doesn't let her speak. "That is what you saw. That is what's burning through his eye and Sebastian's hand. And you— you stand there, shrieking like a lunatic, as though that's going to undo it. What did you think this was? Nobility? Honour? Romance?"
The hand at her mouth finally lifts and she screams a raw, shrill cry that tears from her chest like she's been stabbed and doesn't know where.
Her hands claw at her hair, nails digging into her scalp. "How could he— why would he— he didn't tell me! Why would he do that?!"
Thomas's mouth twitches, barely containing a scowl. "You are so stupid when you panic. I say that with admiration."
Her next scream rises, but cuts off when he grabs her shoulders and shakes her.
"Stop it!"
Her body jerks in his grasp, and she nearly bites her tongue from the force of it.
"You'll lose the baby if you keep carrying on like this."
Everything stills and Leah stares at him. It's not the words that hit, it's what they imply—that it's real. That the morning sickness, the mood swings, and the weird shifting pains in her lower back haven't just been stress or indigestion or wishful thinking. That this thing inside her exists and other people see it as real even if she can't yet. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, broken rhythms.
"Do you think I'm joking?" Thomas's voice drops to a near growl. "You are one month along, and you've done nothing but scream, throw things, starve yourself, and run around barefoot while hallucinating. Keep it up, and you'll miscarry before the week's end."
He lets go, but she doesn't move. The room spins. A distant clatter echoes from behind the wall. Maybe the cauldron room. Maybe the oven. Maybe Ciel again.
A sob escapes her lips before she can stop it. She slaps her hand over her mouth immediately, furious with herself. The sound came out unbidden, soft and pathetic, and she'd rather swallow glass than let Thomas see her cry. But he's already seen it, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"..Are you done?" he asks, quieter this time.
Leah swallows hard, then wipes her face with the back of her hand. Her voice is hoarse when it comes. "I'm going to kill him."
Thomas exhales, finally sinking into the arm of the chaise beside her. "Get in line."
═╬
Curtains are drawn back just enough for a sliver of morning light to creep in, but it feels dim despite that. The guest bed, sumptuous but foreign, is drowned in white linens and damp cloths. Finnian kneels on the left side, fingers curled tightly around Ciel's limp hand, as if any slackening in his grip might pull the boy under again.
Leah sits near the pillow, knees drawn up under her silk dressing gown, arms crossed tightly. Her eyes are on Ciel's face, but her thoughts are elsewhere. She hasn't spoken more than a few words since her conversation with Thomas, and even now, with Ciel's chest rising and falling in sleep rather than unconsciousness, she doesn't exhale. Her whole body is caught in suspension.
Then, Ciel suddenly jolts up like he's been struck by lightning, his spine arching against the mattress and his right hand shooting into the air with clawed fingers. A strangled scream tears from his throat and everyone startles.
"Young Master!"
The shouts of relief tumble over one another. Finnian grips his hand tighter, Bardroy drops his cigarette, Meyrin gasps and clutches her apron, Tanaka lets out a breath that nearly sounds like a laugh, even Sebastian's eyes lift slightly with what passes for concern. But Leah doesn't move.
Ciel's arm trembles above him, fingers twitching as if reaching for something or someone. "Ciel?" he whispers aloud, voice thin and searching.
Sebastian steps forward and gently takes hold of his wrist. "Young Master? Is something wrong?"
At the touch, Ciel recoils like he's been burned. The scream that follows is sharper and more terrified. "No!" he thrashes violently, flailing his arm to knock Sebastian back. "Ciel doesn't want to be hurt anymore!"
Ciel moves fast, reaching across the bed, and seizes Finnian's coat with both hands, knuckles going white. In the chaos, Leah is shoved backward, her shoulder colliding with the wall behind her, hard enough to knock the breath from her chest.
The room falls still again. She blinks through the sting, brows drawn tight. Her head swims from the scene. 'Why in God's name is he speaking like that?'
Ciel trembles. His hands cling to Finnian as if the boy is a lifeline in open water. "It's dark.." he murmurs, voice faltering. "Where am I..? I'm scared.."
Sebastian tries again, stepping forward, his tone calm but tinged with unease. "Young Master, what is the matter? It's not dark at—"
Tanaka intercepts him, placing a hand on Sebastian's arm. Leah watches the interaction closely, still seated against the wall. Something crackles at the edge of her nerves.
"I can't see," Ciel breathes. "Who's there? I can't see anything."
Finnian's face contorts, eyes going wide. Bard curses under his breath.
Tanaka looks to them all gravely. "I believe.. the young master cannot see."
"Someone," Ciel whispers, more desperate now, "please turn on the light!"
No one moves at first. Then the servants quietly, wordlessly excuse themselves one by one, their expressions a muddle of confusion and grief, and shock. Tanaka follows, gesturing for the others to give space. Sebastian lingers only for a moment before slipping out behind the others, the quietest footfalls of them all.
Only Finnian and Leah remain behind. Ciel's breathing has slowed, but his grip hasn't loosened.
His brow twitches. "Where.. where did everyone go?"
"I'm still here," Finnian says gently.
Leah's voice doesn't come right away, she doesn't trust it.
Ciel tilts his head slightly, sensing the silence. "Leah?"
She closes her eyes, briefly, then pushes herself to her feet. The ache in her limbs is dull but constant, and her head feels too full. She steps closer to the bed, standing just beside where Finnian kneels.
"I'm here," she murmurs.
At the sound, Ciel finally turns toward her, his brows knitting further. "Leah.."
Her name in his mouth is small, uncertain. She's never heard it spoken like that.
Finnian looks up at her, his expression soft. "He— he was asking for you while he was out of it.."
She doesn't answer him. Ciel slowly reaches a hand forward, groping blindly in the space between them. His fingers brush the air where she was sitting before, lost and searching.
"I can't see you," he says, voice raw. "I don't.. understand what's happened."
Leah lowers herself again, settling on the bed near his side, careful not to touch him without permission. The sheets are damp beneath her fingers, but warm.
"I'm right here," she says again, quieter.
His hand finds her wrist, and once it does, he clings. He shifts toward her, nearly collapsing against her shoulder, face pressing lightly to her collarbone. Her throat tightens, and she glances at Finnian out of the corner of her eye. His shoulders are stiff now, his mouth parted like he wants to say something but doesn't dare.
Leah doesn't flinch from Ciel's weight, but doesn't lean into it either. Her hands hover, then settle lightly on his arms, bracing him.
There's something terribly childlike in the way he breathes now—fast, uneven, muffled in the folds of her nightgown. She can feel it in the fabric; feel the shaking, and the absolute quiet need beneath all of it.
Finnian finally stands. "I'll— go fetch more towels," he says softly.
He hesitates in the doorway, looking back once, then slips out with only the faintest creak of the door behind him. The room is quiet again, save for his breath and the faint ticking of the wall clock. Leah closes her eyes, her fingers tightening against his sleeves.
Ciel's arms curl around her middle in a careful hold, almost reverent, though he leans heavily against her chest. She's trying not to tremble, her head lolling back against the bed's carved headboard, eyes cast upward though she's not really looking. A dull throb has settled between her temples, and her stomach has that roiling heaviness again. A tide tugging the inside of her ribs. Her eyes burn from lack of sleep, but she doesn't move.
"Is it truly you?" his voice is muffled, small, pressed against her skin.
She doesn't answer right away. Her hands, which are resting lightly on his arms, flex a little. After a moment, her thumb grazes over his sleeve.
"Do you think me a ghost?" her voice is low, dry. "You've never clung to me so sweetly before."
That draws a soft noise from him—an almost-scoff—but it crumbles before it's fully formed. He doesn't lift his head.
"Ghosts are cold," he murmurs. "You're not."
"No, I suppose I'm not," she breathes, the corner of her mouth tugging in something that could be called a smile if one were being generous.
He shifts enough to rest his forehead against her shoulder instead. His breath hits her collarbone in waves; it tickles.
Leah studies the curve of his temple, the faint shine of sweat along his hairline, the way his lashes press so tightly to his cheeks. Her hand lifts, hesitates in the air, then smooths gently through his hair.
He doesn't flinch from her touch. "I can't see," he says again, quieter this time. "Everything's just.. black. There's nothing."
"I heard," she murmurs. Her tone is flat, but not cold. "You announced it quite emphatically."
"I didn't mean to. I—"
"I know."
Leah reaches across her body to tug the sheet up higher over his back. "You frightened me," she mutters.
Ciel flinches. "I frightened myself."
That earns a sharp little breath from her, the closest thing to a laugh she's managed all day. It dies just as quickly.
"You screamed and shoved me into a wall," she reminds him.
"I didn't shove you," he protests, too quickly.
"You did."
"Not on purpose."
"No, I gathered that," she exhales. "If you ever do it on purpose, I'll break your nose."
Another beat of silence. Then, from somewhere near her collarbone, a rasping little laugh. "I'd like to see you try."
She leans her head to the side to rest it against his, carefully. "Well, you won't. You're blind."
The air stills, she regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth. Ciel doesn't pull away, but his grip on her relaxes. She doesn't say anything else, just lets her hand move slowly through his hair again, back and forth.
"I'm sorry," he says after a long time.
"For what?" she asks.
"For.. whatever this is. For worrying you."
"You didn't do it on purpose."
He goes quiet. She can almost feel the thoughts swimming behind his eyelids, frantic and sharp. She's seen that expression on his face more times than she can count, usually in drawing rooms, not curled against her like a boy lost in a forest.
"I don't want to be like this," he whispers.
"I know."
"I don't want you to see me like this."
She smiles weakly. "I'm not particularly pleased about it either."
That draws another weak laugh, though it's so breathless it nearly falls apart. His hand travels upward, dragging lightly along the side of her neck until it brushes her cheek. He traces the angle of her jaw with a featherlight touch, then the curve of her cheekbone. He's not shaking as badly now, but there's a tentative quality in every movement.
"I thought I'd lost you," he breathes, as if he's saying it to himself. "Or I would."
Leah's brows lift faintly. That wasn't something she expected him to admit—not out loud, and not so plainly. Her chest tightens despite herself.
"You were the one unconscious and moaning like a dying pig," she replies, dry but not cruel.
His mouth twitches against her collar. "A romantic image."
"You're welcome."
He huffs something that might be a laugh, but it turns into a soft cough. She straightens a little, instinctively, as if ready to call for someone if needed, but it passes, and his grip on her doesn't falter.
"I hate this," he admits after a long moment. His fingertips rest just under her eye now, thumb brushing the bridge of her nose. "Not being able to see you. It's like waking up in someone else's skin."
Leah leans her temple into his hand before she can stop herself. "You remember what I look like," she says. "Don't be so dramatic."
She exhales slowly, shifting and adjusting her weight slightly, wincing when a cramp tugs at the top of her thigh. Probably from sitting too long in one position. Her spine aches, her joints feel wrong. Everything feels a little wrong lately.
"Do you feel sick?" Ciel asks suddenly, startling her. "Your breathing's different."
She blinks down at him. "I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm just tired."
He lifts his head at last, his sightless eyes seeking hers with an intensity that makes something pinch behind her ribs. His fingers slide down her arm until he finds her wrist and holds it gently.
"I know what you said on the train," he says, voice low.
She doesn't answer.
"I've been thinking about it," he continues, thumb brushing over her pulse, "though there wasn't much thinking I could do while unconscious, so—"
"That explains the improvement in your personality," she cuts in dryly.
Ciel huffs. "I'm trying to be serious."
"That's your first mistake."
"I want to take care of you," he says, all at once.
She stares at him. His expression is unreadable, not because he's closed off, but because he looks so open. It's disarming.
"That sounds dreadful," she murmurs.
His mouth twitches.
"I mean it," he presses. "Even if you don't want me to. Even if I.. even if this is permanent. I can't see, but I still love you."
Her face doesn't change, but something sharp and unwelcome coils low in her belly. She leans forward just slightly, enough for her forehead to rest against his until their noses almost touch.
"I know you do," she whispers.
Her fingers are back in his hair again, and for once, he lets himself fully relax. The tension in his shoulders dissolves, and his weight sinks fully into her side.
"Are you going to fall asleep like that?" she murmurs after a while.
"Maybe."
"You'll crush me," she complains.
He shifts slightly. "You can take it."
"Bold of you to assume."
Another pause.
"I really am glad you're here," he whispers.
Leah closes her eyes. She says nothing, but she doesn't pull away. Her fingers brush his wrist carefully, then draw away. "Sleep, Ciel."
"I'm not tired," he huffs.
"You're always tired," she counters.
"I don't want to stop hearing your voice."
"Then listen to it in your dreams."
She thinks he might argue, but instead, he nestles in closer, breath soft against her collarbone. His hand finds her again, resting over her stomach this time, though she's certain it isn't intentional.
═╬
The moment the door shuts behind her, the weight in Leah's chest worsens—not in any poetic, cloying way, but in the very real, bodily sense that her ribs feel too tight and the air is too sharp and her skin doesn't fit right. She's shed Ciel's room like a second skin, but it clings anyway, under her nails and on her breath.
The room she finds herself in is dim and quiet. Thomas and Anna are already there, Thomas slouched with his legs crossed over the arm of a gilded chaise, and Anna fussing with a folded linen on a tray; doing nothing, really, just folding and refolding like it might give her hands something useful to do.
Leah doesn't speak as she enters, only sways a little on her feet and lowers herself into the cushioned window seat. The moment her skirts settle around her, the tremor in her hands becomes obvious. Her fingers curl over the swell of her knee, clenching hard enough to whiten the knuckles.
She's bone-tired and underfed and sick to her stomach, and though she doesn't look it, she feels five years old again—hot-faced, wet-eyed, and on the verge of shattering into sobs that will never end.
"I take it Ciek hasn't dropped dead quite yet," Thomas drawls lazily, head tipped back against the settee. His lashes cast long shadows down his cheeks. "Pity. I was rather looking forward to having the title all to myself."
The remark barely lands. Normally she'd insult him, or roll her eyes at the theatrics. Instead, her mouth parts slightly, her brow twitches, and she simply stares at the edge of the tea table, eyes glistening with an unspent storm. Thomas's smirk falters.
Anna straightens at once. "You needn't say things like that," she clips, with the kind of rare sharpness she saves for when Leah starts biting herself from the inside out.
"I was only teasing," he mockingly protests.
She covers a scoff. "Then learn when to stop."
The tears hit hard and without warning, two fat ones spilling down her cheeks before she even thinks to hide them. A quiet, strangled breath stutters from her, and then her hands are lifting to press against her eyes with the graceless desperation of someone who knows once it starts, she won't stop.
"Oh, darling—" Anna's arms are around her before the rest of the sentence forms, pulling her into the older woman's chest like she used to when Leah was a child in white stockings and scraped knees.
Leah doesn't speak right away. She just folds into Anna's arms and hides her face in the soft wool of her bodice, and her shoulders jump with each uneven breath.
"I'm—" she starts, voice muffled, breath hitching. "I'm so tired. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know— what if he dies? I don't know what I'll do—"
"You're overtired, that's all," Anna soothes, petting her hair, murmuring low. "It's been a trying few days. You need rest and food and a warm bath, not despair."
"I haven't eaten," Leah admits, mouth trembling. "I— I tried, but I couldn't. I felt sick and it smelled wrong and everything's just— it's too much."
"You've eaten barely more than tea biscuits since we arrived here," Anna murmurs.
"I know."
A pause, just the wet click of her swallowing, trying to wrestle her composure back into place.
"I don't want to be a widow," she mumbles. "God. I don't want to be someone's widow at seventeen. Do you think—" her voice cracks "—if he dies, my mother will make me remarry? She'll parade me around like a broodmare for some bastard I hate."
Thomas, from his place on the chaise, finally shifts to sit upright. His expression is unreadable now, slack, but not unfeeling. "She would," he says flatly, voice mild.
"Thomas," Anna snaps.
"She would," he repeats, "but your child would complicate things. Especially if it's a boy."
Leah blinks, as that hadn't been said outright before. She doesn't question it, too worn down to notice the implication. Just sniffs hard and wipes at her eyes, voice still wobbling as she speaks.
"What if it's not?" she asks. "What if it's a girl? Then I'm just.. useless, aren't I? My mother will say so. She'll pretend to be happy, but she'll tell everyone in confidence that it's a waste of time, like she always does. She'll remind me that I've done nothing worthwhile and Ciel would've hated me in the end for being weak and empty and—"
"Leah," Anna's hands frame her face firmly, fingers brushing back damp strands of hair. "You're not empty, nor are you weak."
"You don't know that," she whispers.
"I do."
Thomas tilts his head. "Well, you're certainly not empty. Not physically, at least."
Anna gives him a withering look, but Leah lets out a faint, wet sound, somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup. She leans her head against Anna's shoulder again, speaking into the fabric.
"I'm scared," she admits softly. "I hate it. I hate it here. I hate crying. I can't stop. I can't sleep. I feel like I'm coming apart, and I miss him even when he's right there."
There's a long pause, he weight of it filling the whole room.
Thomas stares out the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other. "He isn't going to die, you know," he says, offhand, like the sky is blue and death is far away. "Men like your husband don't get the luxury of dying young, too much still clings to them."
"And if he does?" Leah asks.
He shrugs. "Then I'll kill him for you."
She rolls her eyes through the tears, pressing her sleeve to her face. "Very helpful."
"You know me," Thomas replies smoothly, brushing imagined dust from his coat. "Service is my greatest virtue."
Anna lets out a long, tired breath and cups Leah's cheek again. "You need food and sleep, My Lady. I'll bring broth; something warm, gentle on the stomach. You'll have it if I must pour it down your throat myself."
"I'd like to see you try," Leah mumbles against her shoulder.
"Don't tempt her," Thomas drawls. "She looks deceptively strong for someone who sobs like she just watched her dog get killed in front of her when she sees a spider."
Anna ignores him.
"I want to go back to Ciel," Leah murmurs at last. "Even if he's asleep. I just want to be near him."
Anna nods. "We'll let you, once you've eaten something."
"I'm not hungry," she complains.
"You weren't crying a moment ago either."
A sigh of defeat escapes her. Leah leans heavier into Anna's arms and closes her eyes. "Fine. Broth. But if it's cold, I'll throw it on Thomas."
"Delighted," he purrs from the window seat.
"I've always wished to be soup."
Notes:
leah’s really going through it lately💀 just torturing her
Chapter 49: | 48 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl tries to keep herself distracted. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
not even gonna lie, this chapter is filler💀 probably would’ve done better attached to last chapter, but it’s ok ig. i tried to do some character interactions to keep it entertaining. next chapter should be more interesting as long as my brain doesn’t short circuit
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-eight ! )
"My Lady, I've brought—"
Leah turns her face into the pillow, not lifting her head from where it's half-buried in the feathered mass. Anna's presence registers behind her. She knows the scent in the air: eggs, broth, and perhaps lightly toasted bread. It turns her stomach.
"I can smell it. Take it away."
Anna doesn't move at first. "You ought to eat something," she murmurs. "You'll feel worse without it."
"I'll feel worse if I eat it," her voice is flatter now. "Please."
With a pause, the tray is taken. The door clicks open and then shut again softly, and Leah is left in quiet save for the rustling of Anna's skirts as she returns. Warmth lingers where the older woman had just been seated. Leah shifts, curling further into the mattress like a wounded animal, knees drawing up under the fine silks of her nightgown.
The nausea hasn't left—it coils low in her belly like something living and stupid, flaring up in waves that make her mouth wet with the warning of it. She clenches her jaw and breathes through it.
The curtains are parted slightly, letting in a wan sliver of morning. Pale gold light casts across the room in quiet patches, gilding the heavy drapery and the delicate lace on the pillows. Her mouth tastes stale, her limbs feel sluggish and untrustworthy, and her chest hurts.
The bed shifts, and then there's a hand against her spine. Anna strokes down the line of her back slowly, saying nothing. They had slept in the same bed, as they used to when Leah was a child, and waking from dreams she couldn't explain. Last night, it hadn't even been a request. Anna had simply climbed in when Leah had failed to dismiss her.
"I can have a basin brought if you need it," Anna murmurs.
"I'll manage."
"You don't look it."
After several more minutes of quiet, Leah forces herself upright, slow and stiff. Her hair tumbles down over one shoulder, mussed and dark. Her eyes burn with that after-cry weight, the skin beneath them purpled.
She slips from the bed without waiting for Anna to offer help, feet brushing against the cold floor. A shiver races up her spine, but she ignores it. There's a dressing gown hanging near the wardrobe, and she reaches for it mechanically.
"Would you like to see him?" Anna asks behind her.
Leah hesitates mid-tie, her hands still over the silk knot. "Is he awake?"
"No, not yet."
She finishes the knot, fingers twisting tighter than necessary. "Then I'll go later."
There's no use in standing beside a silent bed, watching him breathe, and pretending it's the same as being with him. She wants to be near him when his eyes are open, when he can speak and she can pretend this is something they might outrun.
"Have Thomas meet me by the stairs," she mutters. "If I'm to be followed around like a lost dog, I'd rather it be the one I can insult."
Anna's sigh is long-suffering. "You may not insult him too cruelly today. I think he may be in a good mood."
"We'll see."
The corridors are quiet when she emerges, empty but for the low hum of activity behind closed doors. Leah walks slowly, one hand gliding against the wall for balance. Her stomach protests faintly with each step. She breathes through her nose, jaw tight.
Thomas waits at the top of the staircase, leaning against the railing with the bored elegance of a portrait subject. His coat is different today, some elaborately dark thing with lapels that glint faintly in the light. He doesn't bow.
"You look radiant," he observes mildly. "Like death, but dressed for court."
"You've been spending too much time with yourself. The mirror is leaking."
Thomas steps aside and follows at her shoulder without being told. "How is the beloved young master? Still tragically unconscious?"
She doesn't answer, the silence is its own warning. They pass the hall that leads to Ciel's room. Her gaze lingers there for a moment, hand brushing the wall as she slows. She turns her face forward again.
"Your restraint is admirable," Thomas notes, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"It isn't restraint, it's timing," she huffs.
"A distinction without a difference, I'm sure."
They reach the lower hall, where light slants through the high windows in gauzy sheets. A vase of pale roses sits on a small table, full and overripe. She plucks one by the stem without stopping and twirls it absently between her fingers.
"You're walking slower today," Thomas observes. "Should I fetch a cane?"
"Should I have you shot?"
"You always did know how to charm a man."
They reach the sitting room, where the air is cooler. She doesn't sit. Her skin itches and her throat is too dry. Instead, she moves to the hearth and stares into the empty grate as if it might offer an answer. Her stomach curls again, gentler this time. She closes her eyes and breathes through it.
"You haven't eaten," Thomas remarks behind her.
She opens her eyes. "Yes, thank you. I was unaware."
There's a long pause. The scrape of his boot heel against the floor as he shifts.
"You're not.. glowing," he adds. "In case you were wondering."
She lifts the rose slowly and flicks it at his chest. "Good. I should like to maintain my reputation."
Anna reappears in the doorway with a fresh robe over one arm. "Your bath is being prepared," she says. "Shall I send for tea?"
Leah hesitates, then nods. "Something mild with lemon."
"Of course."
"And biscuits. Not the kind from yesterday. Those were too sweet."
"I'll make note," Anna bows.
She turns back to Thomas. "Go loiter elsewhere. I've no interest in being gawked at while bathing."
Thomas inclines his head. "As my lady commands."
"Tell Anna if you try to peek, I will drown you."
"You wound me," he says sweetly, and then drifts from the room with the same aimless grace as always.
Leah remains at the hearth a moment longer, fingers curling loosely around her wrist. The nausea has dulled, but not disappeared. She finally turns and follows Anna. The corridor narrows, then curves, and the sound of running water beckons ahead. She doesn't know what to make of the silence in her.
Steam rolls thick across the marble floor as Anna pushes open the tall door to the bath chamber. The heat swells against her skin, already prickled and irritable from the walk.
The tub has been drawn deep and high, rosewater curling faintly over the surface. Candles burn low at the far corners of the room, half-melted and flickering. Leah lets her dress slip from her shoulders without ceremony and steps into the water. The water is too hot at first, scorching along her ankles and knees, but she sinks down into it anyway, mouth pressed shut to keep from wincing. It burns the discomfort out of her joints in slow waves. Her muscles don't quite loosen.
Anna kneels behind her at the edge of the tub, beginning to unpin Leah's hair with gentle fingers. She doesn't speak at once, which Leah appreciates. The scent of soap, expensive and colorless, begins to bloom beneath the lavender.
"I saw someone drop a basket of apples outside my window this morning," Anna says finally, voice soft and steady. "He looked ready to weep over it. You'd have thought he'd smashed a reliquary."
Leah leans her head back, eyes closed. "Men grow sentimental over the strangest things. Or perhaps he was simply eager to impress you."
"I'm not especially easy to impress."
"Precisely. Which is why they try."
There's a faint snort, and the comb begins to pass through the dark wet strands at the base of Leah's neck.
"Did you ever love anyone?" Leah asks suddenly, voice low and a touch hoarse from the heat. Her eyes don't open.
Anna's hands pause mid-stroke.
"Not your family," Leah continues, before Anna can attempt to redirect. "Not me, obviously— I know I'm your one true joy and all that. I mean.. a man. Or a woman. I suppose I wouldn't be shocked either way."
The comb resumes its path with mechanical rhythm, drawing long, smooth lines. "That's a rather bold question for someone who nearly vomited on me an hour ago."
Leah exhales slowly through her nose. "Boldness is one of my only remaining virtues. You should be grateful I still exercise it."
A pause, then, very dryly, "There was someone. Briefly."
She lifts her head a little, enough to peer over her shoulder with faint interest. "Why only briefly?"
"Because I had work to do, and he lacked spine," the corners of Anna's mouth twitch, more sardonic than wistful. "He didn't much like that I put your hem before his pride."
Leah doesn't smile, but something eases at the corner of her expression. "Foolish creature. What became of him?"
"Married a baker's daughter, last I heard. Had a soft face. He liked to be coddled."
"Not your type, then."
"Certainly not."
Water sloshes softly as Leah adjusts, pulling one knee up and resting her arm along it. She stares at the rippling surface, the faint reflection of her collarbone wavering just beneath the waterline.
Anna sets the comb aside and reaches for the soap, beginning to lather it slowly in her hands. "You might consider sending word to that one cousin of yours," she says after a moment.
"For what purpose? To reassure her I haven't perished in a ditch?"
"You're the only family she has left."
"She has a husband now," Leah mutters. "And, as of last year, I'm fairly certain she finds me tiresome."
"You are tiresome, but affection can bear it," Anna replies.
"I'll write when I feel like it."
"You should do it before you feel like it."
Leah sinks further into the water, letting it creep over her shoulders. The warmth presses into her spine.
"Were you frightened?" she asks, words half-muffled by the curve of her arm. "When you found out you were to raise me."
"I wasn't meant to raise you. I was meant to serve you."
"But you did raise me."
There's no answer for a while, only the sound of water being poured gently over her hair, sluicing away the lingering soap.
"I wasn't frightened," Anna replies at last. "I was.. angry."
Leah turns her face slightly, eyeing her through wet lashes. "At me?"
"Never at you. At them. For what they left you with, and what they expected you to become."
A pulse of something lodges in Leah's throat. She swallows around it, but it doesn't move. "You did well, all things considered."
Anna arches a brow faintly, tugging her hair back to rinse the last of the lather away. "You're still here. That's enough for me."
The water has cooled slightly, enough that her skin no longer tingles. Her limbs float lazily beneath the surface, pale and weightless. A thin ache is beginning to bloom behind her eyes.
"Would you rather marry a man who adored you," she muses aloud, voice lilting and strange, "or a man who feared you?"
Anna tilts her head. "Is there a difference?"
Leah almost laughs.
"I imagine being adored must be tiresome," Anna continues. "All that swooning. One can't get any peace."
"So you'd prefer fear."
"I'd prefer silence, but yes, if I had to choose."
Leah closes her eyes again, letting her neck rest against the edge of the porcelain. "I'd like a man who loved me and feared me in equal measure."
"You'd like a man who obeys you."
She exhales slowly. "That as well."
Anna rises, drying her hands on a towel, voice gentler as she adds, "You have someone who listens. Whether or not he obeys you is another thing entirely."
"I didn't say I wanted obedience from him," Leah mutters, almost childishly. "Just in general."
The door creaks open a touch, and Anna glances over her shoulder. "The tea's ready. I'll bring it in."
When the door closes again, Leah lets herself sink down until the water touches her chin. Her fingers skim along the edge of the tub, nails dragging lightly against the enamel. Her skin smells of mint, lavender, and rosewater, and her stomach finally feels still enough to allow a few biscuits.
She stays like that a while longer, listening to the muffled clink of porcelain from beyond the door, and the soft hush of the water moving gently around her. It's the first time all day her body doesn't feel like an enemy.
═╬
The corridors stretch longer in silence. Leah walks slowly. Her slippers drag a bit with each step, not enough to scuff, but enough to mark her passage if anyone listened carefully. She doubts anyone is.
Her hands are laced loosely in front of her, half-hidden in the soft folds of the dressing gown she hasn't changed out of yet. Thomas hadn't followed her—probably off bothering the silver, or speaking to portraits, or whatever irritating pastime he's picked up today. Anna had offered to accompany her, but Leah declined without words, a faint shake of the head that wasn't quite refusal and not quite invitation either.
Her stomach has calmed a little, though there's still a faint coil of nausea that rises now and again, like a ripple under her ribs. She doesn't eat when she's unsettled, and now the absence of food is giving her a headache.
Turning down another long passage—emerald drapery tied back with tarnished gold ropes, the stone dark and uneven underfoot—she hears them before she sees them. The clang of metal, a short yelp, followed by what sounds like Snake's murmuring. Leah rounds the corner slowly.
The servants have overtaken a small stone terrace. Finnian crouches beside a flowerbed that clearly doesn't belong there, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he tries to force a twisted little sprout upright with too-heavy hands. Meyrin is hunched over a teacup someone has dropped, pieces in her apron, and Bardroy is lighting something on fire. Snake is seated apart, whispering to his companions.
Leah pauses just before the open archway. They haven't noticed her yet, and she should probably keep walking, but there's something disarming about the sight.
"You'll set the damn castle ablaze at this rate."
All four of them jerk to attention. Bardroy drops the lit match, which fizzles out harmlessly on the stone. Meyrin stammers something indistinct and goes red up to her ears. Finnian stands too quickly and knocks over the pot.
"M— My Lady!" Finnian's voice cracks like a boy caught stealing jam.
She steps onto the terrace, folding her arms loosely. "No need to leap from your boots, I'm not here to scold anyone. Though perhaps I ought to. What are you even doing?"
"We was— uh, just tryin' to.." Bardroy's cigarette wobbles between his lips. "Figured if we cleaned up this side of the terrace, maybe the Young Master'd like it when he wakes up."
"He's not dead," Leah mutters. "You're speaking like you're building him a grave."
Snake's voice cuts in after a pause, as gentle as ever. "He's still warm. Warm means hope. Says Emily."
Finnian nods quickly, eyes wide and strangely wet. "We were tryin' to make it nice. He always said we were a disgrace to hospitality, so.."
Leah lifts a brow. "So naturally your first instinct was to burn things."
"We wanted it to look pretty!" Meyrin blurts out. "Finny planted the flowers. I was— well, I was fixin' tea! Bard said fire keeps smells out—"
Finnian rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and looks down at the crushed flowerpot. "We know he'll get better," he mumbles. "It's just hard. Seeing him like that."
"He don't complain," Bardroy adds. "Even when he should."
Leah walks toward the edge of the terrace. Her hand grazes a stone balustrade that's cracked down the center. She watches the cloudy horizon.
"He doesn't complain," she murmurs, almost to herself, "because there's no point in saying what no one can fix."
"You're right, My Lady," Snake says quietly. "Words don't always help."
Behind her, Finnian speaks up again, tentative. "Um. Would you.. like to help us, Lady Leah?"
She turns her head. His cheeks are flushed again—likely from more than just the sun—and his hands are dirt-stained, trembling a little, though whether from nerves or the sheer excess of strength he never seems to be able to keep inside, she can't tell.
"You mean," she says slowly, "would I like to join your misfit gardening project, or whatever you're calling this?"
He nods, smiling faintly. "Yes, m'lady. It might help, just a little."
She should decline. She's tired, her head aches, the fabric of her gown clings too tightly around her waist, but when she looks down at Finnian's hopeful expression there's something not entirely irritating about it.
"..Give me the trowel."
The response stuns him so fully that Meyrin has to nudge him before he fumbles it into her hand. She kneels with less grace than usual, skirts settling awkwardly around her legs. The soil is dry and crumbles in her fingers. The flowers Finnian tried to plant are bruised but salvageable.
He sits beside her cautiously, as though afraid proximity might scare her off. "I'm sorry," he says, after a moment. "About the Young Master. I know you.. I mean, you're his wife. It must be hard for you."
"I'm not the one who's supposedly cursed," she mutters. "He's the one who looks like something scraped out of a grave."
Finnian laughs nervously. "He'll be alright. He's tough."
"Stubborn. Not the same thing."
There's a pause, then he asks softly, "Are you alright?"
Leah blinks at the dirt, then at him. There's affection there, certainly—sweet and awkward and painfully obvious—but the question isn't a ploy. He means it the way a child might mean it, sincerely and without strategy. It occurs to her that she doesn't often receive sincerity that isn't either bought or barbed.
"I'm fine," she answers, without sharpness. "Just wandering."
"That's what I do when I feel sad."
"I'm not sad."
Finnian doesn't argue. He just offers a smile. Behind them, Snake begins to hum, voice low, a strange lullaby tune murmured through the lips of his companions. Meyrin pours fresh tea, careful now. Bard doesn't light another match.
═╬
Leah reclines with her feet up on the low settee, fingers listlessly carding through a stack of German newspapers she found after rummaging in her luggage. Her eyes skim headlines, but none of the words stick. Most are old anyway—print from a week ago or more, all talking circles around the same politics she doesn't care to follow. A curl of her hair slips forward into her eyes. She doesn't push it back.
The emerald castle is quiet with no sign of Sieglinde or Wolfram since that afternoon. For the last hour, she's been pretending she isn't waiting. That she's not pausing every time the wind changes, every time a footstep echoes. She isn't waiting, she's just resting and simply avoiding being bored. The door creaks open, but she doesn't look up.
"Your husband appears to have stirred from his charming slumber," comes Thomas' voice, smooth and dry, "and has even begun to form complete sentences. A miracle. Or perhaps an inconvenience, depending on how much one enjoys your undivided attention."
Her head snaps up so fast the paper slides from her lap and flutters to the floor. "Is he awake?"
Thomas lifts one shoulder. "Sebastian claims he is sitting upright and reading. You've been replaced by a letter from Her Majesty."
She's already on her feet. Her slippers barely whisper across the stone as she strides past him, skirts brushing the threshold like waves. She doesn't glance back.
"Charmed to be dismissed so ruthlessly," he calls after her, faintly amused. "I do adore when you pretend I'm not your entire world."
"Keep talking and I'll see to it you're flayed and put on display in the conservatory," she snaps over her shoulder.
A delighted little sigh answers her before the corridor swallows his presence entirely. The nausea that had settled in her stomach like warm milk begins to churn as she nears the corridor where Ciel's bedchamber sits. Her chest feels tight.
The door is already ajar. She pushes it open without knocking. There he is sitting upright in bed, blanket folded over his lap, eyes skimming a cream-colored letter marked with the Queen's seal. His hair is still mussed from sleep, but the dull glaze has left his eye. He looks up at her.
Her gaze flicks immediately to Sebastian, standing just off to the side of the bed like he's been stationed there for hours. "You didn't tell me."
Sebastian offers the faintest tilt of his head. "Forgive me, My Lady. I presumed—"
"No, you didn't," she's already crossing the room, voice sharp. "You presumed nothing. You knew I would want to know the moment he opened his eyes, and you deliberately chose not to tell me."
The demon butler doesn't move. That alone is enough to infuriate her further.
"You arrogant—insufferable—parasite. Is your job title not to serve the house? Who gave you leave to decide who hears what and when?"
"My Lady, the Young Master—"
Her hand connects with the side of his face in a clean, open-palmed slap. The sound cracks against the stone and lingers for a beat too long. Sebastian doesn't flinch, he simply closes his eyes with the barest breath of movement.
"You're not to speak to me until I tell you otherwise. Get out."
"My Lady."
"Out!"
He inclines his head. Then, with all the grace of a predator feigning servility, he slips from the room in silence. She doesn't watch him go. Instead, she draws a slow breath, turning toward the bed again. Her shoulders drop slightly, as though she's only now realized how tense they were.
Ciel's gaze is fixed on her, a touch curious. The letter is still in his hand, though he seems to have forgotten it. "You're out of breath," he observes quietly.
"I ran," she sits beside him without invitation, but her hands twitch once in her lap before settling.
"You never run," he murmurs, his tone even.
Her eyes scan his face, slow and searching. The pale color is retreating from his skin. His lips are no longer bloodless. And his left eye, visible and clear, is focused.
"You're alright," she says softly.
"I am."
"Why didn't you send for me?"
He watches her. "You were resting."
"I was waiting," her voice is quieter now, and not nearly as cutting. "I was counting the hours since you last moved. I was imagining—" her jaw tightens, "—what I would do if you didn't."
His hand, resting loosely on the coverlet, turns palm-up. An offering, not a command. Leah stares at it for a beat, then lays her fingers lightly over his.
"I woke up, and Sebastian handed me a letter," he says. "Didn't even know where I was at first."
"I don't care," she exhales through her nose. "He should've told me. Or Anna. Or someone."
"He does what I ask him to."
"Then ask better."
A faint huff of breath escapes him. It might be a laugh—she chooses to believe it is. For a moment, there's only the sound of paper rustling faintly between his fingers.
She glances at the letter, then at his face again. "You're really alright?"
He lifts her hand, his thumb brushes her knuckles before letting go. "I am."
Her shoulders sink, the weight of tension bleeding slowly out of her spine. She leans forward, head resting lightly against his shoulder. "I was furious with you."
"I noticed," Ciel hums.
She closes her eyes. "You could've died."
"I didn't."
"And now you're back to reading letters from an ancient woman who probably doesn't know what year it is."
"She's quite lucid, actually."
Leah's face contorts. "She smells like mothballs and lace rot."
He chuckles, low under his breath.
"You'll tell me what it says?" she asks.
Ciel nods. "In a moment."
Her fingers curl softly into the edge of the coverlet. His warmth leaks faintly through the linen of his sleeve to her temple where she's leaned.
"I thought you'd feel colder," she mutters, more to herself than him.
A pause.
"Disappointed?"
"No."
The letter from the Queen lies abandoned on the side table now, folded too neatly to be a coincidence. Her eyes flick up toward his jaw, taking in the steady line of it, the faintest bruise blooming below the ear.
"You know," her voice drops, lazy but deliberate, "I had the most charming chat with Thomas the other day. He was being unbearable, as usual, but now and then something useful slips out of that pompous mouth."
Ciel's posture shifts by inches. He doesn't speak.
Her thumb brushes the back of his hand once, the gesture quiet and too brief to register as affection. "Do you know what he told me about?"
She waits, though not long enough for him to properly answer.
"Faustian Contracts," her tone is light and airy, like she might follow it with a jest. "Awfully fascinating things. I thought it was just a metaphor for bad bargains, but no— turns out one can really sell one's soul."
His silence is too perfect.
She sits up just slightly, the loss of her weight against his shoulder making the air between them colder than it ought to be. "Imagine that," she murmurs, tilting her head just so. "Sealing your own death with a contract."
Still nothing.
Her gaze lingers on his profile. "Thomas didn't say much. He wouldn't, I had to needle it out of him. I suspect he finds it amusing when I'm clueless," a pause. "He's like that."
"I see," Ciel's voice is quiet and measured.
"I don't think you do."
Finally, he looks at her. His eyes are unreadable, shuttered.
"You're not foolish," she continues, more gently now. "You've always been far too clever for your age, but that doesn't mean you always make the right decisions."
His lips press into a flat line. "I did what was necessary."
"I know, but you didn't tell me," her fingers press into the mattress between them, steadying.
"You never asked."
A humorless laugh slips from her. "So that's the bar now? I need to ask if my husband is planning to damn himself?"
Ciel swallows. "You wouldn't have understood."
"I understand perfectly," her voice lifts. "I've known what you are since before we married. I've known what he is. Don't insult me with this coy little dance— if you think I haven't noticed these things, you're being insulting and stupid."
His mouth opens, but no words follow. He looks more boy than earl in this moment, more wounded than noble.
"You're dying," her tone dips again, softened now. "Aren't you?"
"No," it comes too fast.
Her head tilts. "Not today or tomorrow, but it's coming. That's the thing with contracts. They always collect."
The denial fades from his face, replaced with something she doesn't often see there. Something wounded.
"I'm not ready," he says quietly, after a long beat. "I made peace with it once, but now.."
She doesn't speak.
"Now I think about the way you fold your gloves when you're angry. I think about how you sleep with your mouth parted, like you're about to say something," his voice begins to crack. "I think about the baby you won't consider thinking of a name for because you refuse to believe it's real. And I wonder how long I'll be allowed to have any of it before— before I'm gone."
He turns his face toward his knees, toward the window, toward anything that will let him hide. He breathes harshly, as though trying to force the emotion back down.
She watches him, but doesn't move until she's sure he's not about to collapse under the weight of his own restraint. Then she shifts, curling back into his side with a slow, measured grace. Her hand brushes behind his neck, and she draws his head down toward her shoulder until it rests there.
"I'm not angry you made the deal," she murmurs into his hair. "I'm angry you didn't trust me to know."
"You would've left," he croaks.
"Don't be stupid. That will never be an option for me after I signed my name on that paper."
A faint shudder travels down his back. She feels it under her fingers, and a small frown creases her brow, though she says nothing of it.
Instead, she runs her hand gently through his hair, thumb brushing lightly at the nape of his neck. "I can only guess you were a child when it happened."
"I'm still a child," he mutters, voice thick.
"No," she corrects, soft but stern. "You're mine. And I don't intend to let you be dragged off by some red-eyed leech."
It's not fair, she knows that, but the bitterness in her stomach doesn't care for fairness.
He huffs softly against her, she thinks it might be a sob or maybe a laugh. His hands stay clenched in the blanket. "I didn't want you to see me like this."
She hums. "Human?"
"Weak."
"You're not," Leah whispers.
Another beat.
Ciel leans into her. "Neither are you."
A sigh leaves her chest before she can stop it. Her head throbs faintly, a rhythm in time with her heartbeat.
"I'm not going to stop you," she says at last, voice softer now. "I know that's pointless. But I will hate it, and I won't pretend otherwise."
"I don't expect you to."
They sit together like that, tangled quietly in each other, until her stomach grumbles audibly.
Ciel lifts his head slightly. "Was that you?"
"No, I think a bear wandered in and made itself at home in my ribcage."
A small smile touches the corner of his mouth. His eyes are still glassy, rimmed red, but they meet hers more steadily now. "I'll have Sebastian bring something."
"You'll have Anna bring something," she mutters, rubbing her temple. "I've had enough of monsters for one afternoon."
He smirks faintly. "Even your own?"
"Especially my own."
Her lips twitch. "Though I wouldn't mind seeing him trip down the stairs."
"I'll request it formally," Ciel smiles.
"You do that."
Notes:
aw, look, they’re bonding🥰 totally not acknowledging an impending doom. leah’s better than me tho cause if i found out my husband was gonna have his soul eaten by a demon and essentially (even if unintentional) set me up to be a widow from the beginning and was never planning on telling me this information, i would’ve beat his ass💀
Chapter 50: | 49 |
Summary:
IN WHICH — the wife of a certain young earl makes some unsurprising discoveries. ✟ུ᳝᳜᳝ ू⚰️᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏
Notes:
sorry for the long wait💔 for some reason, i really had no motivation to write for this fic. i tried to see if giving myself some time away from it would help, but it didn’t entirely so i kinda forced myself to get through this since i always feel bad making y’all wait a long time for updates. but hey, at least y’all don’t have to wait 2+ months like the readers of my hotd fic😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
( chapter forty-nine ! )
"The textile mills in Manchester are proving most profitable this quarter, Father."
Leah shifts in her chair, the heavy velvet of her dress rustling against the mahogany seat. The dining room feels impossibly grand tonight, with its towering windows draped in emerald silk and the crystal chandelier casting fractured rainbows across the polished table. Lucius nods approvingly at Daniel's report while reaching for his wine glass.
"The cotton imports from America have increased substantially since the new trade agreements," Daniel announces, cutting into his roast.
"Excellent observation, my boy. The Barrett interests in textiles will serve you well when you inherit." His voice carries the particular tone of satisfaction reserved for discussing money and legacy. "The key is understanding which investments will flourish and which will prove fleeting."
Uncle Edmund, seated to Lucius' right, adjusts his spectacles and leans forward. "Speaking of investments, have you considered the railway expansions through Yorkshire? The potential returns are considerable."
Conversation flows around the table like a river, carrying with it discussions of stock prices, property acquisitions, and political maneuvering. Vivienne sits with her hands folded delicately in her lap, occasionally offering a soft smile but never speaking. Aunt Rosaline mirrors this behavior, as does Cousin Margaret, their silence as much a part of the evening's ritual as the fine china and silver cutlery.
Leah watches her brother field questions about market trends and business strategies with an ease that seems almost rehearsed. His responses earn approving murmurs from the men, each word adding another brick to the foundation of his future role as head of the family.
"The Queen's recent policies regarding trade with the continent have opened new opportunities," Cousin Frederick remarks, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "Though I suspect the French will prove difficult partners in any venture."
Uncle Edmund chuckles, a dry sound that echoes off the dining room's walls. "The French are always difficult, Frederick. It's their nature. But profit has a way of smoothing even the roughest diplomatic waters."
Leah finds herself leaning forward slightly, her mind racing with something she'd read just that morning in one of the newspapers her governess had left in the library. The information burns on her tongue, demanding to be shared.
"Actually," she begins, her voice clear despite her age, "I read in The Times that the French are struggling with their own textile production because of the worker strikes in Lyon. They might be more willing to negotiate favorable terms than usual because they need our goods more than we need theirs right now."
The table falls silent, and even the gentle clink of silverware against china ceases. Her father's fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and she can feel the weight of every gaze settling upon her like a physical thing.
Uncle Edmund's eyebrows raise in what might be surprise or irritation. "I beg your pardon, child?"
"The strikes in Lyon," Leah repeats, though her voice wavers slightly under the scrutiny. "The silk workers are protesting their wages, and it's disrupted production significantly. The article mentioned that French merchants are already seeking alternative suppliers, which means—"
"Which means," her father interrupts, his voice carrying a sharp edge that makes her stomach clench, "that little girls should concern themselves with their needlework rather than matters of international commerce."
Cousin Frederick lets out a bark of laughter that holds no warmth. "Good heavens, Lucius, wherever did she pick up such notions? Reading The Times, indeed. What's next, shall she demand a seat in Parliament?"
The men around the table join in his amusement, their laughter creating a wall of sound that makes Leah's cheeks burn with shame. She can feel her hands trembling slightly as she grips her fork, the silver handle growing slick with perspiration.
"Perhaps we should send her to university as well," Uncle Edmund adds with mock consideration. "I'm sure Oxford would be delighted to admit another headstrong girl who believes herself capable of understanding the complexities of global economics."
"The very idea," Frederick continues, shaking his head as though contemplating something both absurd and mildly offensive. "Women lack the natural capacity for such analytical thinking. Their minds are better suited to domestic concerns—managing households, raising children, maintaining social connections. These are worthy pursuits, certainly, but hardly comparable to the demands of business and politics."
Lucius sets down his wine glass, the crystal meeting the table with a soft chime. "My daughter seems to have forgotten her place at this table. Children speak when spoken to, particularly young ladies who would do well to learn the value of silence and observation rather than presumptuous commentary."
The words land like physical blows, each one carefully chosen to remind her of her position in this hierarchy. Leah's throat tightens, and she can feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill over. Her hands move to her fork, fingers wrapping around the handle as though it might anchor her to something solid in this moment of humiliation.
Daniel clears his throat softly, perhaps preparing to defend her, but Uncle Edmund continues before he can speak.
"It's concerning, really, this trend toward educating girls beyond their natural station. Reading newspapers, discussing politics—such pursuits only serve to make them restless and dissatisfied with their proper roles. A woman's greatest strength lies in her ability to support and complement her husband's endeavors, not to compete with them."
Cousin Frederick nods, cutting another piece of meat with exaggerated care. "Precisely. The natural order exists for good reason. Men are equipped by Providence with the rational faculties necessary for commerce, governance, and intellectual pursuit. Women possess different gifts—emotional intuition, domestic wisdom, moral sensitivity. To blur these distinctions serves no one."
Leah bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to taste copper. The chandelier above seems to pulse with light, its countless crystals catching and reflecting the flame from the candles below. Each point of light becomes a star, distant and cold, while the voices around the table fade into a distant murmur like ocean waves heard from far inland.
The fork in her hands grows heavier, its silver surface reflecting fragments of the room in distorted miniature. She can see her own face there, warped and strange, surrounded by the blurred shapes of the people who should love and protect her but instead choose to diminish her at every opportunity.
Uncle Edmund's voice drifts through the haze of her disconnection, discussing something about the proper education of young ladies, the importance of accomplishments like watercolor painting and French conversation, skills that will make her an ornament to some future husband's household rather than a participant in the world's larger workings.
The light from the chandelier seems to grow brighter and more encompassing until it fills her vision entirely. In that brilliant space, she can almost forget the sting of the way they speak about her as though she were a problem to be solved rather than a person with thoughts and feelings of her own.
Somewhere beyond the light, she hears Cousin Frederick mention something about the importance of breaking willful spirits early, before they can take root and cause trouble in marriage. The words float past her, present but somehow unable to touch her in this strange, suspended moment where only the crystal light matters.
Her breathing becomes shallow and distant, while her fingers continue their mechanical grip on the fork. The conversations around the table blur into meaningless sound, punctuated occasionally by masculine laughter that seems to echo from very far away.
The crystal facets of the chandelier blur and shift, each point of light fragmenting into smaller pieces until they dance like distant stars across her vision. The ornate fixture above seems to pulse, hypnotic and consuming, drawing her consciousness away from the present moment and into that suspended space where nothing can touch her.
A gentle pressure on her shoulder pulls her back to the guest bedroom of the Emerald Castle, the memory dissolving. The chandelier above her is different—smaller, more delicate than the grand fixture from her childhood dining room.
"What has captured your attention so thoroughly up there?" Ciel's voice carries a note of curiosity, though his brow furrows slightly as he studies her face. "You've been staring at that chandelier for the better part of ten minutes."
Leah blinks, her focus shifting from the ceiling to her husband's concerned expression. The transition back to reality feels slightly jarring. She straightens in the chair by the window, smoothing her skirts with hands that still feel disconnected from her body.
"The craftsmanship is quite remarkable, that's all. German artisans have such attention to detail," she replies, her voice carrying practiced dismissiveness she's perfected over the years.
The lie comes easily, as it always does when discussing anything remotely connected to her childhood. Some wounds are meant to remain private, even from those closest to her. Especially from those closest to her. Ciel has enough burdens of his own without carrying hers as well.
He doesn't press the matter, which she appreciates. Instead, he moves closer to where she sits, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The afternoon light streaming through the windows catches the blue of his eye, making them appear almost luminous against his pale skin.
"The castle is certainly impressive," he concedes, settling into the chair beside hers. "Though I confess I find the abundance of green somewhat overwhelming."
A small smile tugs at the corners of Leah's mouth, the first genuine expression she's managed since the memory overtook her. "Perhaps the previous owners were fond of making a statement."
"Or perhaps they simply lacked imagination," Ciel adds dryly, which draws a soft laugh from her. The sound seems to ease some tension she hadn't realized was building in her shoulders.
The conversation flows more naturally now, safer ground that doesn't require her to excavate painful memories. They discuss the peculiarities of German architecture, the strangeness of being in a foreign country where even the most basic interactions require careful translation. Leah finds herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of their exchanges, the way they can move from serious observation to gentle teasing without missing a beat.
"Your German is proving invaluable," Ciel observes, leaning back in his chair. "I had no idea you were quite so fluent."
"My Aunt Rosaline insisted on a proper education," Leah explains, though she doesn't elaborate on the circumstances that led to that education. "She believed young ladies should be equipped for any social situation, including conversing with foreign dignitaries. German, French, a touch of Italian—all part of being a well-rounded aristocrat, apparently."
"Remind me to send your aunt a thank-you note when we return to London," Ciel remarks with genuine appreciation. "Without your translation skills, Sebastian would have me gesturing wildly and hoping for the best."
The mental image of Ciel attempting to communicate through elaborate hand gestures brings another smile to her face. She can picture him growing increasingly frustrated as his attempts at diplomacy devolve into what would essentially amount to charades.
"I'm certain you would have managed somehow," she assures him, though her tone suggests she finds the prospect rather amusing. "You're nothing if not resourceful when the situation demands it."
"Resourceful, perhaps, but hardly diplomatic when faced with a language barrier. I suspect I would have offended half the village by now through sheer miscommunication."
They fall into a comfortable silence. Leah finds herself studying his profile as he gazes out the window. There's something peaceful about these quiet moments between them, when the weight of their respective responsibilities can be set aside in favor of simply existing in each other's presence.
A wave of fatigue washes over her suddenly, the kind of bone-deep tiredness that seems to strike without warning lately. She shifts slightly in her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position, though comfort seems elusive these days.
"Are you feeling well?" Ciel's attention has shifted back to her, his gaze sharp with concern. "You look rather pale."
"I'm always pale," she replies, which is true enough. "This castle, impressive as it may be, lacks the familiar comforts of home."
He nods, accepting her explanation though she can see the lingering worry in his expression. It's endearing how attentive he's become to her well-being lately. Perhaps it's simply the natural progression of their still-new marriage, this increased awareness of each other's moods and needs.
"Would you prefer to rest?" he offers, already beginning to rise from his chair. "I could have a tray sent up."
The consideration in his voice makes something warm unfurl in her chest. This softer side of him still surprises her sometimes. The rest of the world sees the calculating earl, the sharp-tongued businessman who can reduce grown men to stammering nervousness. But in moments like these, she glimpses the boy he might have been, had circumstances been different.
"Perhaps in a bit," she concedes, settling more comfortably into her chair. "For now, I'm content to sit here with you."
Ciel resumes his seat, seeming pleased by her decision to remain.
Outside their window, the German countryside stretches in rolling hills, a landscape so different from the familiar streets of London that it feels almost like another world entirely.
"Do you ever wonder," Leah muses, her voice soft and contemplative, "what it would be like to simply disappear into a place like this? To leave behind all the expectations and obligations?"
It's not something she would normally voice, a quiet longing for escape that sometimes surfaces in unguarded moments.
Ciel considers her words carefully before responding, his gaze distant as he contemplates the view beyond the window. "Sometimes," he admits quietly. "Though I suspect the reality would prove far less romantic than the fantasy suggests."
"Probably," she agrees with a rueful smile. "We're both far too accustomed to comforts and social standing to truly embrace the simple life. Still, there's something appealing about the idea of anonymity, don't you think? Of being judged solely on one's present actions rather than family history or title."
The conversation drifts into philosophical territory, touching on questions of identity and duty that neither of them can truly answer. Yet there's comfort in the sharing itself, in the knowledge that these complex thoughts and feelings don't have to be carried alone.
As the afternoon light begins to shift toward evening, painting the room in softer, golden hues, Leah finds herself genuinely relaxed for the first time since their arrival. The memory that had gripped her earlier feels distant now.
═╬
Outside, darkness has claimed the German countryside, transforming the rolling hills into an indistinct mass of black silhouettes against a star-scattered sky. The urgency of their impending departure hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet efficiency of final preparations.
Sebastian moves with precision as he assists Ciel with the final adjustments to his evening attire. Meanwhile, Thomas tends to Leah's appearance with similar attention to detail, though his movements carry less mechanical perfection and more studied elegance.
"The carriage will be waiting at the designated location," Ciel explains. "Thomas will escort you there and remain until Sebastian and I complete our business here."
Leah adjusts the delicate lace at her sleeves, her fingers working automatically while her mind processes the careful way her husband phrases everything. The deliberate vagueness doesn't escape her notice, nor does the protective undertone that colors his instructions. She's learned to read these subtle inflections in his voice, the way he modulates his tone when trying to shield her from something he considers too dangerous or complicated for her involvement.
"Of course," she replies simply, her voice neutral and accommodating. There's no point in arguing about arrangements that have clearly already been finalized without her input. The decision has been made, the roles assigned, and her designated part is to wait safely away from whatever confrontation or negotiation Ciel anticipates.
The resignation in her response seems to satisfy him, though she catches the brief flicker of relief that crosses his features. He expects resistance, she realizes, prepared for the kind of sharp-tongued objection she might normally raise about being excluded from important matters. Perhaps her unusual compliance puzzles him, or perhaps he simply attributes it to fatigue.
Thomas fastens the final clasp of her traveling cloak, the emerald velvet falling in elegant folds that complement the rich fabric of her gown. She catches her reflection in the mirror across the room—pale skin luminous in the candlelight, dark hair arranged in an elaborate style that speaks to Thomas's skill with such matters, blue eyes reflecting the flickering flames with an intensity that seems almost otherworldly.
"You look beautiful," Ciel observes, moving closer now that Sebastian has completed his ministrations. His hand finds hers, fingers intertwining gently. "I know this isn't how either of us envisioned spending our time in Germany."
The understatement draws a soft smile from her, the first genuine expression she's managed since learning of their hasty departure plans. "Few things ever unfold as we envision them," she points out, her thumb tracing gentle patterns across his knuckles. "At least this particular adventure has provided some interesting stories for future dinner parties."
"Assuming we survive to tell them," he responds dryly. "German castles and mysterious circumstances don't typically end well in novels."
"Good thing we're not living in a novel, then," she counters, enjoying this brief moment of levity. "Though I confess the setting is rather atmospheric. All we need is a thunderstorm and some howling wind to complete the scene."
Banter feels natural despite the underlying tension, a familiar rhythm that helps ease some of the apprehension building in her chest. Not fear, exactly—she's learned to trust Ciel's judgment in matters of strategy and planning—but a restless energy that makes sitting still feel almost unbearable.
Ciel studies her face in the dim light, his gaze searching for something. "Are you feeling well enough for travel? The roads here aren't as smooth as what you're accustomed to, and the journey to our rendezvous point may prove uncomfortable."
She appreciates his discretion, even as she recognizes the protective instincts that drive his concern.
"I'll manage," she assures him, which is true enough. "A bumpy carriage ride is hardly the worst thing I've endured."
Sebastian clears his throat softly, a subtle reminder that time is passing.
"We should take our leave shortly," Ciel acknowledges, though he makes no immediate move toward the door. Instead, he steps closer, his free hand rising to cup her cheek. "Stay close to Thomas and don't attempt anything foolish while I'm occupied with other matters."
He's asking for her word, her promise to follow the careful plans they've laid rather than indulging any impulsive desire to involve herself more directly in whatever confrontation awaits. It's a reasonable request, given her tendency toward independent action when left to her own devices.
"I understand," she murmurs, though something in her voice must betray her true intentions because his eyes narrow slightly with suspicion. "You needn't worry about me, Ciel. I'm perfectly capable of waiting in a carriage for a few hours."
The kiss he presses to her lips carries an intensity, urgent in a way that has nothing to do with passion and everything to do with the possibility that this might be their last quiet moment together. She responds instinctively, her hand fisting in the fabric of his coat as though she can anchor him to this false sense of safety they've constructed around themselves.
When they part, his forehead rests against hers, his breath warm against her skin as he struggles with words that refuse to be spoken. The vulnerability in his expression makes something twist painfully in her chest, a reminder that beneath all his careful planning and strategic thinking, he's still just a boy carrying impossibly heavy responsibilities.
"Come back to me," she whispers, the words slipping out before she can stop them. It's not like her to voice such sentiment, to admit the depth of her concern so openly.
"Always," he promises, and she believes him despite the circumstances that make such promises impossible to guarantee. "Take care of yourself while I'm gone."
Thomas approaches with practiced discretion, his presence a subtle indication that the time for private farewells has passed. Sebastian mirrors his movement on the other side of the room. The efficiency of their preparations speaks to experience with hasty departures and dangerous circumstances.
"The carriage awaits, my lady," Thomas informs her. "The route has been mapped to avoid the main roads, as per his lordship's instructions."
Ciel releases her reluctantly, his hands lingering on hers for just a moment longer than necessary. She squeezes his fingers gently in response, her own way of acknowledging the unspoken words that hang between them.
As they prepare to leave the relative safety of the guest chamber, Leah catches herself memorizing details of Ciel's appearance—the way the candlelight plays across his pale features, the determined set of his jaw, the careful composure that masks whatever anxieties might be churning beneath the surface. These moments of quiet intimacy have become precious to her, islands of normalcy in their otherwise chaotic existence.
The corridor outside their room stretches into darkness, illuminated only by the occasional wall sconce that casts more shadows than light. Their footsteps echo softly against the stone floors, a rhythmic sound that seems to emphasize the solemnity of their procession. At the branching point where their paths will diverge, they pause for one final moment together.
Thomas stops beside her, his hands clasped behind his back in a manner that suggests he's prepared to wait indefinitely for her next instruction. She can feel his gaze upon her, that peculiar intensity he sometimes displays when he's trying to read her mood or anticipate her next move. The quiet grows heavy, punctuated only by the soft rustle of her skirts as she shifts restlessly from foot to foot.
After several long moments of contemplation, during which she weighs her options and considers the consequences of various courses of action, she reaches a decision that surprises neither of them. The compliance she displayed earlier had been a performance, a carefully constructed facade designed to avoid unnecessary conflict before their departure. Now, with Ciel safely out of earshot, her true intentions can finally surface.
"Take my things back to Anna," she instructs.
Thomas accepts the items without question, though she catches the slight narrowing of his eyes that suggests he's beginning to suspect where this conversation is headed. The delicate necklace follows, its chain catching briefly on her hair before sliding free.
"If Ciel truly believes I intend to spend half my evening sitting in a carriage with you of all people, then he's far more naive than I gave him credit for," she continues, her voice carrying a particular edge of disdain reserved for situations that insult her intelligence. "I have no intention of being relegated to the role of helpless wife while he involves himself in whatever dangerous scheme has captured his attention."
The protest she expects from Thomas comes immediately, though it lacks any real conviction. He's known her too long to believe that formal objections will carry any weight once she's made up her mind about something. Still, duty apparently compels him to make the attempt, his voice taking on that tone of careful reasonableness he employs when trying to dissuade her from potentially reckless courses of action.
"My lady, his lordship was quite explicit in his instructions regarding your safety," Thomas ventures, though the words sound hollow even to his own ears. "Perhaps it would be wiser to follow the arrangements that have been made rather than—"
"Rather than what?" she interrupts, turning to face him with an expression that makes it clear she finds his concern both unnecessary and mildly offensive. "Rather than involving myself in matters that directly affect my own well-being?"
The questions hang in the air between them, rhetorical challenges that highlight the absurdity of expecting her to remain passive while others determine the course of events around her. She's never been particularly suited to the role of decorative wife, content to wait quietly while the men handle important business. The very idea strikes her as both insulting and impractical.
Thomas knows her well enough to recognize when an argument is futile, when her mind has been made up with the kind of stubborn determination that admits no possibility of compromise. The years of their acquaintance have taught him to read the subtle signs of her moods, to distinguish between momentary irritation and genuine resolve.
"Where exactly would you have me escort you, my lady?" he asks finally, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer but hopes she might reconsider if forced to articulate her intentions aloud. "The castle is rather large, and without specific knowledge of their destination—"
"Don't be obtuse," she cuts him off. "You know perfectly well where they've gone, just as you know exactly how to find them."
"Very well," he concedes, beginning to move in the direction opposite to the route they were originally meant to take. "Though I feel compelled to point out that his lordship will be less than pleased when he discovers you've disregarded his carefully laid plans."
"His lordship can be as displeased as he likes," she replies with a snort of derision. "I'm his wife, not his pet. If he wanted absolute obedience, he should have married someone more suited to that particular role."
They begin to move through the corridors with purpose now, Thomas's supernatural senses apparently guiding them toward whatever confrontation awaits in the depths of the castle. She focuses on placing her feet carefully on the uneven stone floors, mindful of loose stones or unexpected obstacles that might cause her to stumble in the dim lighting. The concerns of navigation help keep her mind occupied and her body moving forward with determination.
"I trust you understand the risks involved in this course of action," Thomas observes as they navigate a particularly narrow stairwell that seems to descend into the very bowels of the castle. "Your condition makes such adventures rather more complicated than they might otherwise be."
"My condition," she replies firmly, "is hardly relevant to the current situation. I'm perfectly capable, and I won't be treated like an invalid simply because of circumstances that are barely worth acknowledging at this stage."
The dismissive tone she employs doesn't quite mask the underlying irritation she feels at the constant subtle references. While she appreciates that others feel compelled to consider her well-being, their careful handling has become more burdensome than helpful. She's the same person she was two months ago, possessed of the same intelligence and capabilities, yet everyone seems determined to treat her as though she's made of spun glass.
Thomas makes a noncommittal sound that might indicate agreement or simply acknowledgment of her position.
As they move deeper into the castle's hidden areas, Leah finds herself grateful for Thomas' presence despite her general irritation with him. His ability to navigate these unfamiliar surroundings with confidence provides a sense of security she wouldn't have possessed attempting such a venture alone.
The sound of distant voices begins to filter through the stone walls, too muffled to make out specific words but clear enough to indicate they're approaching their destination. Thomas pauses at a junction of corridors, tilting his head slightly as though listening. His expression grows more focused, the casual demeanor he typically maintains sharpening into something more predatory and alert.
Narrow stone corridors open into a wider chamber carved directly from the living rock of the castle's foundation. Ahead of them, the familiar figures of Ciel and Sebastian stand before what appears to be an elevator shaft. Sebastian holds the small form of Sieglinde with careful precision, the young woman's delicate features pale but alert as she observes their surroundings with obvious curiosity.
The sound of approaching footsteps causes both men to turn, and Leah watches as Ciel's expression shifts from focused concentration to barely contained irritation in the space of a heartbeat.
"What are you doing here?" The question emerges through gritted teeth. "I distinctly recall giving you very specific instructions about where you were meant to be at this moment."
Leah steps forward, her chin raised in that particular gesture of defiance she's perfected over the years. The slight tremor in her hands, barely noticeable, betrays the nervous energy coursing through her system, but her voice remains steady and unapologetic.
"I'm here because sitting for hours while you involve yourself in potentially dangerous activities struck me as both unnecessary and insulting," she replies with directness.
Sieglinde shifts slightly in Sebastian's arms, her gaze moving between the arguing couple with obvious interest, though her limited English prevents her from following the full exchange.
Ciel's attention snaps to Thomas, his frustration finding a more acceptable target than his wife. His voice drops to a particular register he employs when issuing commands he expects to be followed without question.
"Why did you not follow my instructions regarding her whereabouts? I was quite clear about the arrangements that were to be made for her safety and comfort during our absence."
Thomas regards him with an infuriating expression of mild interest that never quite crosses the line into outright disrespect but somehow manages to convey complete indifference. His posture remains relaxed, hands clasped behind his back. The slight curve of his lips might indicate amusement, though it's difficult to be certain.
"With all due respect, my lord," Thomas responds with deliberate courtesy that somehow manages to sound more insulting than open defiance, "I am not under your direct authority in matters concerning the Lady's personal choices. My obligations lie with her comfort and safety, not with enforcing restrictions she finds unreasonable."
"Your obligations should include recognizing when her choices might place her in unnecessary danger," Ciel retorts with rising irritation. "The arrangements I made were for her protection, not my convenience."
"The Lady's assessment of the situation differs from your own. She believes her presence will prove beneficial rather than burdensome, and given her unique qualifications, I find myself inclined to agree with her judgment," Thomas counters smoothly.
Leah can see the mounting frustration in Ciel's posture, the way his hands clench and unclench as he struggles to find an argument that will carry sufficient weight to end the discussion in his favor.
"This is neither the time nor the place for such debates," she interjects before the argument can spiral further out of control. "We're wasting valuable time that could be better spent addressing whatever situation requires our attention."
Her practical observation cuts through the mounting tension, forcing both men to acknowledge the larger context of their current circumstances. Sebastian's slight nod indicates his agreement with her assessment, though he maintains his professional silence throughout the exchange.
Thomas moves with decisiveness, stepping forward to place his hand on the small of Leah's back in a gesture that appears supportive but effectively guides her toward the elevator. The pressure is gentle but insistent, making it clear that he considers the discussion closed and her participation in whatever follows to be a settled matter.
"The matter appears to be resolved," he observes. "The Lady has made her decision, and I believe we would all benefit from focusing our attention on the tasks that await us rather than continuing to rehash arrangements that have already been superseded by circumstances."
The confined space of the mechanical contraption makes further argument impractical if not impossible. The brass fittings gleam dully in the torchlight, and she can feel the subtle vibration of machinery humming somewhere below their feet.
Ciel follows with obvious reluctance, his expression cycling through frustration, resignation, and what might be grudging acceptance. He recognizes the futility of attempting to physically remove her from the elevator now that she's established her position, particularly given Thomas' clear support for her decision and Sebastian's apparent neutrality in the matter.
Sebastian steps into the elevator with Sieglinde still cradled carefully in his arms. Leah notes the way he adjusts his grip to ensure her comfort throughout the process.
The elevator's interior feels even more cramped with all of them present, the brass walls reflecting their faces in distorted fragments. The mechanical sounds grow louder as someone—presumably Sebastian—activates the controls, setting the contraption in motion with a series of clicks and whirs that echo in the confined space. The sensation of downward movement creates a peculiar weightlessness that makes her stomach lurch unexpectedly.
"I trust you understand the risks involved," Ciel addresses her directly, his voice carrying resignation rather than anger now.
"You needn't treat me as though I'm made of porcelain simply because our circumstances have recently become more complicated," she replies, though she appreciates the concern underlying his words.
The elevator shudders to a halt with a mechanical grinding that echoes through the confined space, leaving them in relative silence broken only by the distant sound of machinery humming. When the doors slide open, they reveal a tunnel. Lighting has been installed along the walls, creating harsh shadows that dance between patches of brilliant illumination. The air carries a different quality here—warmer, with an underlying chemical scent that makes her nose wrinkle involuntarily.
Ciel steps out first, the lantern in his hand casting additional light that reveals a series of doorways set into the tunnel walls at regular intervals. Each entrance appears identical to the others, unmarked and unremarkable, giving no indication of what might lie beyond their heavy wooden frames. The uniformity strikes her as deliberately designed to confuse intruders or prevent easy navigation by unauthorized personnel.
The sound of their footsteps echoes strangely in the confined space, each step seeming to multiply and reflect off the surfaces until it becomes difficult to determine the source of any particular noise. Sebastian follows with Sieglinde still cradled carefully in his arms, her pale face alert and curious as she takes in their surroundings.
Moving from door to door, Ciel peers into each room with focused attention. The lantern light penetrates only a few feet into each space before being swallowed by darkness, making detailed observation impossible without actually entering. Most of the chambers appear empty or contain nothing of immediate interest, prompting him to continue his methodical investigation without comment.
At the fourth doorway, something catches his attention. He pauses longer than usual, holding the lantern higher to better illuminate whatever has captured his focus. After a moment of careful observation, he gestures for Sebastian to join him, their quiet conversation too low to be overheard from where Leah stands with Thomas several feet away.
"I have no intention of squeezing into another cramped space to examine whatever fascinating discovery you've made," she announces when Ciel glances in her direction.
Thomas settles himself comfortably in the doorway, his position allowing him to observe both the room's contents and monitor the tunnel for any signs of approaching danger.
"The amulets function as tracking devices," he reports after several moments of silent observation. "Rather ingenious, really. The room contains what appears to be a comprehensive mapping system showing the precise location of every individual currently wearing one of the blessed trinkets."
The revelation confirms suspicions that have been building in her mind since their arrival at the village.
"How utterly predictable," she murmurs with sardonic satisfaction. "I've been suspicious of this entire charade since that dreadful woman supposedly got attacked by a wolfman for leaving her amulet at home when she knows it protects her. The level of theatrical performance should have made the deception obvious to anyone with half a brain."
The sound of approaching voices cuts through her commentary, echoing down the tunnel. Multiple speakers, their tone suggesting urgency or alarm.
Moving with quick decisiveness, Leah spots a door different from the others they've been examining. This one features a large wheel mechanism rather than a simple handle, suggesting either more secure storage or access to areas requiring special consideration for safety or secrecy. Without waiting for discussion or debate about the wisdom of her choice, she grasps the wheel and begins turning it with determined effort.
The mechanism resists initially, requiring considerable force. The wheel turns grudgingly, each increment accompanied by the sound of heavy bolts withdrawing from their housings with metallic clicks that seem unnaturally loud in the confined space. Finally, the door swings inward to reveal a chamber vastly different.
Steam billows out in thick clouds, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of chemicals and heated metal that speaks to industrial processes. The space beyond appears to be some sort of factory or processing facility, filled with large tanks and complex machinery that hums with constant mechanical activity. Pipes snake along the walls and ceiling, occasionally releasing jets of steam that create an almost fog-like atmosphere throughout the chamber.
Without hesitation, she steps through the doorway and immediately moves to take cover behind one of the larger tanks. The metal surface radiates heat that she can feel even through the fabric of her dress, but the concealment it provides outweighs any discomfort the temperature might cause. The others follow quickly.
The voices from the tunnel grow clearer as their sources draw nearer, though the industrial noise of the factory chamber makes detailed eavesdropping impossible. Steam hisses and machinery clanks with mechanical regularity, creating a cacophony that would mask their presence effectively as long as they avoid making any distinctly human sounds.
"Look here! Our Emerald Witch has finally accomplished it!"
From her position behind the tank, she can see a stair landing at the far end of the room where a figure stands addressing a gathered crowd. The speaker appears to be an elderly woman, her voice carrying clearly over the industrial noise despite the distance involved. Around her, dozens of individuals wearing elaborate wolf-head masks listen with rapt attention.
Recognition strikes her with unpleasant clarity as she studies the speaker's posture and gestures. The voice, the mannerisms, even the theatrical way she addresses her audience.
"If it isn't the hideous old hag I had the distinct pleasure of punching in her wretched face," she whispers with grim satisfaction. "I should have known she was behind whatever elaborate deception has been orchestrated here."
The memory of that satisfying moment of violence brings a brief smile to her lips despite their current precarious circumstances. The punch had been impulsive but deeply satisfying.
A wave of nausea chooses that moment to assert itself, forcing her to pause and breathe deeply until the sensation passes. The combination of chemical fumes, excessive heat, and nervous tension creates a perfect storm of physical discomfort that she struggles to manage discreetly. The timing could hardly be worse.
The old woman's voice carries clearly across the factory floor as she addresses her masked audience, though the German words are too rapid and heavily accented for Ciel to follow. Sieglinde, however, tenses visibly in Sebastian's arms, her expression growing increasingly alarmed as she processes the information being conveyed to the assembled group.
The old woman raises the vial with theatrical flourish, the liquid within catching the harsh factory lighting in a way that makes it appear almost luminescent. Steam continues to billow around the platform as she addresses her masked audience with the fervor of someone delivering a sermon, her voice carrying clearly over the mechanical noise of the surrounding machinery. The glass container seems small and insignificant in her gnarled hands, yet the way she handles it suggests deadly importance.
Sieglinde shifts restlessly in Sebastian's arms, her face growing increasingly agitated as she recognizes whatever the woman displays with such pride. Her breathing becomes shallow and rapid, the kind of distressed pattern that suggests mounting panic.
Without warning, Sieglinde calls out in German, her voice cutting through the industrial cacophony with surprising strength. The words echo across the factory floor, causing every masked head to turn in their direction.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Leah hisses through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible over the mechanical noise but carrying unmistakable irritation. "What possible benefit could come from announcing our location to a room full of hostile strangers? That has to be the most spectacularly stupid decision anyone has made this entire evening."
The masked figures begin moving toward their position, though their approach carries none of the aggressive urgency she might have expected from an attacking force. Instead, they seem genuinely concerned, their body language suggesting worry rather than hostility. Several voices call out what sound like questions about Sieglinde's well-being.
"Someone fetch a suit immediately," one of the masked people calls.
Sebastian moves behind one of the approaching figures, his supernatural speed making the action appear almost casual despite its deadly precision. He strikes with surgical accuracy, splitting the elaborate wolf mask cleanly in half to reveal an ordinary human face beneath. The destroyed headpiece falls away in pieces, exposing not only flesh and bone but also a secondary breathing apparatus hidden within the snout portion of the disguise.
"The werewolves were merely men wearing elaborate costumes," Ciel observes. "And the miasma is nothing more than a chemical weapon manufactured in this very facility. A poisonous gas designed to create the illusion of supernatural curses while serving far more practical purposes."
The revelation strikes Sieglinde with visible force, her face crumpling as the implications sink in with devastating clarity. Everything she has believed about her life is reduced to an elaborate fabrication designed to control and manipulate her. The tears that follow come with the kind of raw anguish that accompanies the destruction of one's understanding of reality.
The woman on the stairs looks at them, showing her features that bear a resemblance to Sieglinde despite obvious disfigurement from what she claims to be chemical burns or a similar industrial accident.
"Good lord, I hope you don't inherit those particular genes," Leah mutters, studying the revealed face with undisguised distaste. "That woman is positively hideous."
When several people nearby shoot her reproachful looks for such callous commentary in the face of Sieglinde's obvious distress, she shrugs with complete indifference to their disapproval. Her assessment stands regardless of the circumstances surrounding the woman's disfigurement, and she sees no reason to pretend otherwise.
The emotional revelation playing out before them—a daughter discovering that her mother has orchestrated years of deception and isolation—should probably command her full attention, but Leah finds her focus beginning to drift. The combination of chemical fumes, excessive heat, and nervous tension creates a perfect storm of physical discomfort that makes sustained concentration difficult to maintain.
Thomas appears at her side, his presence both steadying and mildly irritating. His hand settles on her arm with gentle pressure, the touch providing an anchor point when her attention threatens to scatter entirely.
"Perhaps we should prepare for the possibility of a hasty departure," he murmurs close to her ear, his voice carrying a note of concern she's learned to recognize as genuine worry disguised as professional duty. "The situation appears to be deteriorating rapidly, and remaining stationary may prove inadvisable in the very near future."
Around them, the scene continues to unfold with increasing dramatic intensity as long-held deceptions are revealed. Sieglinde's sobbing provides a heartbreaking soundtrack to the confrontation between mother and daughter.
The sound of approaching footsteps announces the arrival of additional players in this complex drama, though Leah's wandering attention only dimly registers the new complication. Her awareness has become strangely fragmented, important details filtering through the haze of discomfort while less crucial information slides past unnoticed.
Voices rise and fall in rapid German exchanges that blur together into an incomprehensible wash of sound. The industrial noise of the room continues its relentless mechanical rhythm that makes following individual conversations nearly impossible without deliberate effort she finds herself unable to sustain consistently.
When the gunshot explodes through the chamber, the sound hits her unprepared ears with devastating impact. The sharp crack reverberates off the metal surfaces and concrete walls, amplifying into an assault that feels like physical blows against her eardrums. The world immediately becomes muffled and distant, as though someone has stuffed cotton into her ears while simultaneously striking a bell directly against her skull.
Pain lances through her head, making her gasp and instinctively press her hands against her ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound that has already done its damage. The ringing that follows seems to originate from inside her brain rather than her ears, a high-pitched whine that drowns out every other noise in the room and leaves her feeling nauseous and disoriented.
Thomas' arms close around her swiftly, lifting her from her feet before she fully realizes what's happening. The world becomes a blur of motion and sensation as he moves with inhuman speed through the room.
The sensation of rapid movement combined with her compromised hearing creates a nightmarish experience of disconnection from reality. She can see Thomas' mouth moving as he speaks, presumably offering reassurance or instruction, but the words reach her as nothing more than meaningless vibrations against the persistent ringing in her ears. The chemical fumes that earlier merely irritated now seem to burn her throat and lungs with each labored breath.
Through the haze of pain and confusion, she's dimly aware of being carried toward the elevator shaft where Ciel stands with Sieglinde in his own arms. Sebastian and Thomas seem to be coordinating some sort of defensive action, their movements precise as they engage with the masked figures who shoot at them to prevent their escape.
The elevator doors slide closed, sealing them into the confined space while the sounds of conflict continue beyond the brass barriers. Thomas remains behind with Sebastian, their supernatural abilities presumably adequate for handling whatever resistance the people might offer.
Ciel's voice reaches her as though from a great distance, his words distorted by the persistent ringing in her ears but his tone conveying concern and urgency. She can see his lips moving, his expression focused on her face with the kind of concentrated attention that suggests he's trying to assess her condition and determine what assistance might be required.
Her hands flutter anxiously to her ears, pressing against them as though physical pressure might somehow restore what the gunshot has stolen. The gesture accomplishes nothing except to emphasize the strange sensation of her own pulse thundering through her skull, a rhythm she can feel but not hear. Panic begins to build in her chest like a living thing, clawing its way upward toward her throat with increasing desperation.
Ciel's lips move in what she assumes are words of comfort or inquiry, his expression cycling through concern, helplessness, and frustrated determination as he attempts to communicate. The sight of his familiar face contorted with worry only serves to amplify her growing hysteria, making the reality of her condition feel more concrete and terrifying.
The elevator continues its steady ascent, though without auditory cues to mark their progress, time becomes an elastic concept that stretches and contracts unpredictably. Each second feels like an hour while simultaneously rushing past too quickly for her mind to process. The mechanical vibrations that travel through the floor and walls provide the only indication that they're still moving toward whatever destination Ciel has selected.
Sieglinde remains in Ciel's arms, her face streaked with the remnants of tears that have dried into tracks across her cheeks. Her emotional collapse following the revelation of her mother's deception has left her in a state that appears almost catatonic. The sight of someone else's complete breakdown does nothing to calm Leah's own mounting anxiety.
The absence of sound transforms every sensation into something alien and threatening. Her own breathing becomes a source of distress when she realizes she cannot hear the rhythm that has accompanied her through seventeen years of life.
Her hands begin to shake with increasing violence, fine tremors that start in her fingertips and spread up through her arms until her entire upper body quivers. The physical manifestation of her panic only serves to fuel further anxiety, creating a spiral of distress that threatens to overwhelm what little rational thought she can still maintain.
Ciel reaches toward her with obvious intention to provide comfort, but his touch feels foreign and disconnected when divorced from any accompanying sound. His hand on her arm should be soothing, yet without the auditory context of his voice or the ambient sounds that normally accompany human contact, the gesture seems to exist in isolation, failing to provide the reassurance he intends.
The elevator shudders slightly as it approaches what must be their destination, the change in motion detectable through the soles of her feet and the subtle shift in the way her dress moves against her legs. The brass door slides open with what she imagines must be mechanical sound, though she experiences only the visual confirmation of their arrival and the sudden rush of cooler air against her face.
Cool night air rushes into the confined space, carrying with it the scent of pine needles and damp earth that speaks to their emergence into the forest. The temperature difference provides blessed relief from the oppressive heat, though it does nothing to address the more pressing concern of her compromised hearing. The darkness beyond the elevator doors seems absolute after the harsh industrial lighting they've left behind, broken only by scattered patches of starlight filtering through the forest canopy.
Ciel manages to carry Sieglinde from the elevator. The soft earth beneath her feet feels strange after hours spent on stone and metal surfaces, the natural give of soil and fallen leaves providing a welcome change despite the circumstances of their arrival.
Tall trees stretch toward the star-scattered sky, their branches creating intricate patterns of shadow and pale moonlight that dance across the forest floor. Ciel lowers Sieglinde to the ground, arranging her among the soft grass. With Sieglinde settled, his attention returns fully to Leah's distress, his hands moving in gestures she interprets as attempts to calm her panic.
Her continued inability to process sound begins to take on a nightmarish quality that transcends simple inconvenience and ventures into existential terror. The realization that she might never again hear Ciel's voice, never experience the subtle pleasure of Thomas's sarcastic commentary, never enjoy the simple comfort of familiar sounds, crashes over her with devastating force.
The panic attack that follows feels like drowning in dry air, her lungs working frantically while her brain insists that no oxygen is reaching her system. Her heart pounds with such violence that she's certain it must be audible to anyone nearby, though she herself remains trapped in her prison of silence. The world begins to tilt and blur at the edges as hyperventilation robs her of the steady oxygen supply necessary for clear thought.
Ciel pulls a flare from his coat pocket. When he triggers it, the red light explodes across the forest in a display that must be visible for miles in every direction. Whatever plan Ciel has coordinated with the servants apparently requires this dramatic announcement, though the specifics remain unclear to her.
Sieglinde moves slightly at the brilliant light, her face turning toward the grass. The movement brings her face into contact with the cool earth, and she remains in that position. Whether this represents an attempt to hide from reality or simply the physical manifestation of her emotional exhaustion remains unclear.
Ciel moves toward Sieglinde, his posture carrying the kind of controlled tension she's learned to recognize when he's preparing to make difficult decisions. The sight of her husband approaching the girl sends another spike of anxiety through her already overwrought system.
When Ciel draws his pistol, the metallic glint of the weapon catches the moonlight in a way that makes her heart stop entirely. Her breath catches in her throat as she watches him approach Sieglinde with the weapon. Horror floods through her system as she watches him position the pistol against Sieglinde's forehead, the cold metal making contact with skin. The scene unfolds before her like something from her worst nightmares. Her hands fly to her mouth in an involuntary gesture of shock, though no sound emerges to accompany her distress.
The panic that has been building since the gunshot robbed her of hearing now explodes into full-blown hysteria as she witnesses what appears to be her husband threatening to execute a girl. The rational part of her mind insists that there must be some explanation, some context she's missing that would make this scene comprehensible, but the visual evidence seems undeniable.
Sieglinde's mouth moves in what must be words, though whether she's pleading for her life or responding to some question Leah cannot hear remains completely unclear. The girl's expression cycles through fear, desperation, and what might be resignation as she gazes up at Ciel with wide eyes.
The conversation between them continues for what feels like hours, their lips moving in exchanges she cannot follow or interpret. Ciel's face remains impassive, showing none of the warmth she's grown accustomed to seeing in their private moments. Leah's hands shake with such violence that she has to clasp them together to prevent the trembling from becoming visible to the others.
Just when she's certain she's about to witness an act of violence that will haunt her, Ciel withdraws the gun from Sieglinde's forehead, the weapon disappearing back into his coat. His free hand extends toward the girl in an offer of assistance, palm upward in a gesture that speaks to invitation.
The transformation from apparent execution to offered help happens so quickly that she questions whether she interpreted the earlier scene correctly at all. The possibility that she's been witnessing something entirely different from what she assumed adds another layer of confusion to an already incomprehensible situation.
Sieglinde accepts his hand, allowing him to help her rise from the grass with the kind of careful assistance her bound feet require. The girl's movements are unsteady and hesitant, but she manages to achieve something resembling upright posture with his support.
When Ciel's attention finally returns to her, his expression carries the same frustrated helplessness she's grown familiar with over their communication difficulties. His mouth moves in what she assumes are attempts to explain what just transpired, but the words remain beyond her reach. The isolation of her condition feels more complete as she realizes how much crucial information she's missing.
After several unsuccessful attempts at verbal communication, he seems to reach the same conclusion about the futility of trying to explain complex situations to someone who cannot hear his voice. The resignation that crosses his features mirrors her own frustration. Instead of continuing to struggle with words, he simply gestures for her to join them.
She moves to join the small group with unsteady steps, her own balance compromised by the combination of exhaustion, stress, and the persistent nausea that continues to plague her system.
The path ahead stretches into darkness, leading toward whatever destination Ciel has selected. Behind them, the castle and its secrets fade into memory, though the consequences of their discoveries there continue to reverberate in ways that will undoubtedly shape whatever comes next.
"The silence that has claimed her world feels more complete with each step, leaving her to navigate not just the darkened forest path, but the terrifying possibility that she might never find her way back to the world of sound again."
Notes:
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