Chapter Text
“I’ve a half day tomorrow,” Alfie said to John as they both idled by their respective carriages, waiting for their masters and mistresses to finish their Rotten Row promenading.
John glanced at him then looked away.
“I’m not meeting you on your half day.”
“Didn’t ask you to, did I?” Alfie said loftily. “I’ve someone else I want to meet.”
“Who’s that?” John said, pretending to yawn.
“Lad I met last night outside Lady Finsbury’s ball. Whispered sweet nothings to me, kissed me till I couldn’t think. And as for the rest…”
“It is only something I do at balls, to pass the time,” John interrupted, cheeks flaming red.
“Always with me though. At the last five balls,” Alfie said quietly.
“You know what I mean. Just when it’s boring and I have to pass the time,” John repeated.
You’d three fingers inside me last night my lad, thought Alfie, looking John up and down and biting his lip. kissing me deep till I finished in your hand. Sighing my name over and again when I took hold of your prick and calling me sweetheart after.
John’s lips had fallen open and, well. Alfie’s gaze snagged below John’s waist. Footman’s breeches were no good at concealing feelings.
“Aye, well,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll meet this lad again at the Vauxhall pleasure gardens tomorrow afternoon, if he’s on a half-day too. Never know my luck.”
But John’s attention had strayed, and Alfie followed his gaze. Ah, of course. Benedict bloody Bridgerton, swaggering up to the carriage and giving John a little pat on the cheek. How John’s eyes lit up for these scraps of attention! And as if Benedict even appreciated him! John, who drove him around at all hours of the night, taking him to his orgies and assignations, keeping his secrets, fending off jilted lovers. All for the honour of sucking his cock on occasion.
Alfie sighed loudly. John threw him a fierce look and closed the door of the carriage behind Benedict.
“See you at Lord Devonshire’s ball then,” Alfie called to him as the carriage set off. John raised his chin and didn’t look at him.
The sooner Master Benedict got married and left John alone, the better.
xxx
Alfie couldn’t believe when their Sophie confessed she’d met a gentleman at the masquerade. And that it was Benedict Bridgerton himself. Who would have thought that getting one over on Lady Penwood would bring such reward? But Sophie couldn’t be persuaded to act upon it.
“Why don’t you just tell him, love?” Alfie tried for the hundredth time as he helped her sew beads back onto a pair of Rosamund’s shoes. Quite fancied these ones for himself, lovely shade of pink, but didn’t suppose he’d get his feet in em. He looked at his dull black buckled shoes and sighed.
Sophie looked tearful and accidentally pricked her finger with her needle.
“Drop it Alfie,” Irma said, ruffling his hair as she went past.
“Sorry Soph,” he said, and gave her hand a little squeeze. Poor girl had fallen hard for someone she thought she couldn’t have. He knew how that felt.
“No, I’m quite alright,” Sophie said, putting one of her brave smiles on. “I am. I’m sorry Alfie, I know you understand.”
Dear Sophie, he felt that heart-sorry for her. He couldn’t have what he wanted, that’s true, but Sophie could, and she should if the world was set to rights. But her fear of letting herself want it was too strong. That kind of hope could break a person faster than just longing with no hope at all.
When he heard Sophie and Lady Penwood shouting at each other the next day, he knew with dread what was likely to follow. His blood boiled at the injustice. And why cast Sophie out now after keeping her as almost a slave for so long?
“There’s money involved here, Irma, you mark my words,” Alfie said furiously, almost throwing Lady Penwood’s breakfast tray onto the kitchen table. “Something here that smells like three day old fish. It needs looking into.”
He was sick of these toffs treating people the way they did, and it wasn’t just Sophie, who was more of a lady than that Araminta Gunningworth could ever hope to be. There were nobs all over London messing with the affections of their servants, keeping them as mistresses or dismissing them when they’d had their fun.
Perhaps this Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t as bad as all that, if Sophie cared about him the way she did. But if Benedict wanted Sophie, Alfie was determined he’d be giving up John. At least, if he’d anything to do with it.
xxx
Alfie hopped elegantly off the back of the carriage at the Duke of Devonshire’s Mayfair home, and opened the door for Lady Penwood and her daughters. The forecourt was a frenzy of carriages, horses and servants, and of course the guests, all picking their way delicately around the…evidence that horses had been there. Alfie didn’t look forward to the shoe cleaning tomorrow.
Lucky they’d a coachman with them tonight, so he’d have time for some leisure until the Devonshire ball was over. He could see some other servants congregating over near the kitchen garden - turned out one of the kitchen maids was doling out punch.
He didn’t fancy any of that gut-rot, and he didn’t see anyone he knew either. What a bore. Then turning, he saw a Bridgerton carriage draw up and John appear to assist a group of Bridgertons down the steps. Benedict was one, of course.
Alfie held still, watching till the guests entered the house. John turned at last, catching sight of Alfie.
His face lit up warmly, then became more solemn as he saw Alfie’s expression.
“You’re here, are you,” Alfie said stiffly and folded his arms.
“I did - I did hope you’d be here too,” John said with a genuine smile.
“Did you, now.” He wasn’t getting round Alfie that easily.
“Oh Alfie. Can you…” John beckoned Alfie towards the garden. Alfie frowned but unfolded his arms and followed him.
As soon as they were behind the hedge of the knot garden, John swung round to Alfie.
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said last time. Truly. I was in a funny mood.”
“Nasty mood, if you ask me,” said Alfie, examining his fingernails.
“I know. I was sorry for it as soon as I drove off.” He clasped Alfie’s hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “I don’t do this with you because I’m bored, that wasn’t true.”
“Why, then?” asked Alfie, his throat a little tight. “Why do you do it?” Because I’ll do when you can’t have that Bridgerton?
“Just…” John kissed him, feather-light on the mouth. Alfie felt his heart flutter at the tenderness. Oh for goodness’ sake, was this all it took for him to give in again? But he kissed him back anyway.
“I am sorry Alfie,” John said again as they broke apart.
“I know. How would you like to be forgiven?” Alfie said. He tilted his head coquettishly. John’s eyes lingered over his mouth before he cast a look over towards the carriages.
“He’s not staying long,” he said. “I need to stay near the carriage. He wants me to take him to one of his artist soirees afterwards.”
“I can be quick as you like, love,” Alfie said with a little grin. John grinned back.
They couldn’t risk undressing, not if that bloody Bridgerton was liable to appear any moment. Instead Alfie took hold of John’s cock through his breeches squeezing it just how he liked it, while they kissed deeply, panting into each other’s mouths. John murmured Alfie’s name and there was something about the way he said it that sent Alfie to the edge of reason.
“That’s it…Alfie, let me...” John was scrabbling at the fastening to his fall, and then he had hold of Alfie’s cock, kissing his mouth and his throat, calling him sweet names. Alfie held onto John’s broad shoulders, not able to do anything but moan as his climax overtook him. John held him tight as he did, even getting a handkerchief out to save their uniforms.
“Didn’t you…?” Alfie asked after a moment.
John smiled and kissed him. “Oh I did. Shamefully quick, just about as soon as you took hold of me.”
“Thought so but didn’t want to presume,” Alfie said, kissing him back. He sighed. “That was over too soon. I’d suggest a stroll further into the gardens, but Master Benedict has you at his beck and call for the rest of the night, it seems. You might need to save your energy.”
“He doesn’t work me that hard,” John said defensively. “He likes me to take him to the parties. He trusts me. We’re more like…friends.”
Friends! Alfie bit down on a scoff. As if a gentleman would ever be a true friend to someone like them. They made you think they were, of course. They learned all that charm from the cradle. But that all went straight out the window if you had their shaving water at the wrong temperature or you couldn’t find their favourite cufflinks.
“Doesn’t take you in with him to his parties though, does he?” Alfie said. “You wait outside for him.”
John didn’t answer for a minute. “When we’re alone it’s different,” he said eventually.
“Alone where? In his chamber?” Alfie said, knowing fine rightly that Benedict Bridgerton would have taken John nowhere near it. It’d be a knee-trembler against the wall of a tavern at best, with that one.
He knew he was pushing it and John was like to tell him to get lost any moment. But faint heart ne’er won fair footman.
John glanced away. “Not there. Just the carriage.”
“There’s convenient,” Alfie said, sounding exactly like his mother. He decided to shut up. Too late - John had gone quiet.
Well Alfie Butterworth, your gob’s got you in trouble again, and not the good kind.
“Sorry John,” he said. “I just don’t trust them. Any of them. And I like you.”
John gave him a tight smile. “I’d best get back,” he said. He hesitated. “It’s the last ball of the season, so…so we won’t be seeing each other I suppose.”
“Suppose,” said Alfie, trying desperately to sound like he didn’t care one bit. He put his hands on John’s waist and went on tip-toe to give him a little kiss on the cheek. “Cheerio then.”
John stared at him a moment then pulled Alfie tight against him for a kiss. Not one of the frantic kisses they usually shared while tearing at each other’s clothing, but a soft, deep kiss with his hands up under Alfie’s wig and tangled in his hair. Alfie let out a small sound of surprise, his eyes closing.
Then John released him just as suddenly and disappeared into the twilight of the evening.
Bloody hell.
xxx
Only a week later, the servants of the ton were awash with the news that Phillip Cavender had attacked two maids at his country house, and one of them was missing. The prevailing theory was that he’d killed her and thrown her down the well.
“Always knew he’d end up a murderer, “ hissed one of Lady Danbury’s laundry maids. “Probably isn’t even the first time. That well’s probably full to the brim with bodies.”
Silly gossip. It didn’t even occur to Alfie that the missing maid could be Sophie until the Cavenders had sent the small parcel of her belongings to her last known address - Penwood House. Alfie had intercepted the parcel immediately.
There was the glove, the partner of the one Benedict Bridgerton was carrying all around London with him. But without the girl herself, it was useless.
“Where are you, Sophie?” Alfie wondered, worry churning in his stomach. What could have made her run off without any of this? He could not believe she was truly dead, not Sophie. That foul Phillip Cavender was more likely to find himself at the bottom of a well if he’d tangled with her. But where had she gone, poor lass?
He bundled the things back up carefully along with the silver mask he’d saved, and hid them at the back of the scullery. Lady Penwood never went in there.
He hoped to the heavens that he’d get to return them soon.
xxx
The season was over for now, but it didn’t stop everyone wanting to promenade up and down Rotten Row, showing off their autumn fashions. And Rosamund and Posy were no different. Alfie didn’t mind spending half his days there, carrying umbrellas if it was inclement or sitting atop the carriage waiting if it was not. He’d often see John ferrying Bridgertons to and fro, but usually at a distance.
Not today though. Today their carriages were right alongside each other. John stood by his, not saying a word. Just looking all tall and handsome.
“You can greet me, you know,” Alfie called down from the driver seat. “I won’t bite - not here at least.”
John looked up.
“Come up and talk to me, for goodness sake,” Alfie said.
John nodded to the coachman of his own carriage, then climbed up beside Alfie.
“Good day to you,” he said, and smiled. Alfie smiled back, his heart beating hard. John’s gaze drifted to Alfie’s lips, and then quickly away.
“What’s the news at Bridgerton House then,” Alfie said, not that he really cared. All he cared about was John’s solid, warm presence sitting next to him in the autumn sun.
“Nothing much. We’ve two new maids. There’s Hazel, I like her. She’s got psychic powers. And then there’s Sophie, who Master Benedict…”
Alfie would return to the psychic powers another time. “Hang about - Sophie you said?” His heart was thumping with excitement.
“You remember that tale about Phillip Cavender and the maids?” said John. “Well, that was Sophie and Hazel. Sophie has quite the story,” John said and began to tell it. Alfie could not believe what he was hearing. Sophie and Benedict saving each other. Sophie at Bridgerton House and Benedict Bridgerton mooning over her.
“Well,” Alfie breathed. “Who’d have thought it. I’m that pleased she’s alright.”
“You know her then?” John said.
Alfie nodded. “And you say Master Benedict has taken to her? That alright by you?” He nudged John’s leg gently with his own.
John shrugged. “It’s of no consequence. Not any more. You were right, you know.”
“Of course I was. But what about?” Alfie returned.
“Benedict. Everything,” John said. He didn’t sound despondent at least, only a bit sheepish. “Been making a fool of myself, haven’t I? Perhaps I should get a different position away from London, then I won’t have to see him any more and be reminded of my stupidity.”
Over Alfie’s dead body. Time for Mr Bridgerton to find some wedded bliss, then he could bloody well leave London. A plan was quickly forming in his head.
“We all get smitten from time to time,” Alfie said. “You get over it.”
John looked sad suddenly, and nodded.
A flurry of fallen leaves blew in front of the carriage, disturbing the horses. Alfie tightened the reins, and John put a hand over his to help him. He caught Alfie’s gaze then slowly pulled his hand away.
“So, have you…been,” he hesitated and looked down at the reins again. “I mean, any new friends lately? Since we’re not…any more.”
“New friends? Perhaps,” Alfie said carelessly. John looked at him then, those stupid big eyes of his all hurt. Well what did he expect? “New offers anyway.” Not true. “Haven’t decided what to do with them yet.” Another lie.
“Yes. I mean, I see,” John said. “And I’ve met Hazel of course.”
You don’t exactly sound like love’s young dream, my lad, thought Alfie.
John looked as though he was about to say something else, but the silence lengthened. Alfie wanted desperately to lean in and kiss the mouth so close to his and remind John of what it was like between them and that it didn’t need to end.
Back to the matter in hand. Sophie didn’t have her Benedict, and he didn’t have his John. This wasn’t the fairytale he’d hoped for. But just because the wicked Stepmother was winning for now, didn’t mean Soph wouldn’t get her happy ending - not if Alfie had anything to do with it.
“John, listen. I told you that I knew Sophie,” he said. “Well, I know some other things and all. I’ve something secret to tell you about Sophie and Master Benedict, and I need your help,” he said.