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If the Phantomhive earldom were not an essential component of a years-long revenge scheme, Ciel would have forsaken the title long ago—if only to rid himself of the social obligation.
There were nobles that did manage to eschew the Season’s annual migration to London, burrowing themselves in their country manor houses year-round like field mice escaping the cold. Unfortunately, Ciel was not among them. As appealing as being a recluse sounded, it was an oddity that Ciel couldn't afford to add to his already long list, and, as Sebastian liked to remind him, a certain level of socializing was required to run a successful business.
This was all to say that Ciel had moved into the townhouse for the summer, and he hated it.
However, worse than exchanging pleasantries with socialites who barely restrained themselves from asking if he was up past his bedtime was the actual process of sleeping in said bed.
Ciel sighed and threw an arm over his eyes, feeling the weight of his heavy, sweat-soaked limbs seeping into the bare mattress. The covers had been cast aside earlier in a fit of temper and now lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, slowly slipping to the floor. Back at the manor, a window would have been cracked to dispel the stagnant air, but even that small relief was denied to him.
Viscount Henry Falmouth and his wife, Lady Adelaide Falmouth, who owned the house directly across the street from Ciel’s, were throwing a party. They were always throwing a party. In the absence of any worthwhile societal contributions, the Falmouths found purpose in keeping their names affixed to the society pages. Why they didn’t simply throw funds at a foundation that would carve their name into the side of a building was beyond Ciel. Mortar was more permanent than either paper or man’s opinion, but he supposed charity work lacked the flair the Falmouths were accustomed to.
Said flair manifested as a near-nightly retinue of carriages clogging the streets outside the townhouse, bringing with them the anxious whine of overcrowded horses and the ear-peaking conversations of their uncaring owners.
Forced to choose between the noise and the heat, Ciel surrendered to the latter.
The earl yawned, and his jaw clicked. Sleep was edging at his periphery, awareness gently dimming until only the form of his floating thoughts was recognizable, their contents too hazy to be understood. He drifted.
“...-iel.”
Ciel turned his head from the sound, brow furrowing. At some point, his face had unnestled itself from the crook of his elbow to press against the mattress. A whine built in his throat, and he rubbed his damp forehead against the cotton sheets. There was no way it was daybreak already. He was going to send Sebastian away if it was, his morning lessons be damned.
But the noise came again, louder, and more insistent.
“Cieelll.”
Ciel stiffened and peeled an eye open. Soma stood by the bed, his expression uncertain as his hand hovered above Ciel, stalling before it could shake him awake. Ciel squinted, gaze floating over the scene. Soma was beside his bed…Soma was…in his room.
Ciel’s muscles lurched, and he scrambled to his knees, keeping his back to the other boy as he groped for one of the medical eye patches that Sebastian left on his nightstand (Ciel preferred the lighter material in the summer). Panic that his contract sigil had been seen flared and was dashed before it could curdle in his stomach. Ciel knew any sliver of amethyst glow would be easily lost in the swirl of light that bled through his curtains.
This knowledge did not save Ciel from the creeping heat that spread across his cheeks each second his sluggish fingers fought with the patch ties. He cursed softly, and that seemed to be catalyst needed for the cover to settle clumsily into place. Ciel rounded on the prince. “What the hell are you doing in here!?”
Soma looked rumpled. His cotton shirt and pants were creased, and dark strands sprang from the braid trailing down his back—although Ciel noted that the prince's temples remained annoyingly dry. It was the first time he had seen Soma outside of his usual updo, and Ciel wondered if the braid was the origin of his hair's slight wave.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Soma shrugged.
“And so you thought I shouldn’t either.”
The comment was waved away. “You weren’t going to be asleep for long.”
Ciel couldn’t argue that point. There wasn’t a single time in the week since taking up residence in his London home that Ciel had slept through the night. He’d made a point to complain about it over the breakfast table each morning between sips of Earl Grey and muttered wishes for the downfall of the Falmouth's entire family line. “That’s still no excuse to rob me of what little rest I am getting! Not to mention entering my room without permission. Honestly, you sometimes act more like a needy toddler than someone nearing his majority.”
“Cieeel. You’re being so mean to me.” Soma’s pout was barely formed before it slid into a sly smile. “I only wanted to share one of my favorite games with you.”
“Game? What kind of— Wah!”
A strong tug on Ciel's hand pulled him from the bed, dragging him, stumbling, the short distance to the room's bay window, where he was released just as abruptly. Smoothly, Soma settled his knees on the window’s bench seat, patting the overstuffed blue cushions beside him.
“Sit! Sit!” He commanded. Ciel obeyed, too stunned by his sudden relocation to do anything else.
In the scant few seconds it took his senses to pick themselves off the floor and teeter back to him, Soma ripped the curtains open, flooding the room with a sudden onslaught of light that made Ciel’s eye narrow.
The street below was awash with the orange halo of gas lamps. But they seemed as faint as a single candle flame compared to the fierce glow that shone from every window in the Falmouth’s house. It was a living warmth that spilled over the top of the gated walls that surrounded the property, ready to snare passersby into the reverie held within.
From the pair’s second-floor vantage point, Ciel now had a perfect view beyond those walls into the front courtyard.
A cobbled path led to the entrance, dividing the lawn in two. On either side, gray stone benches and lush topiaries were arranged in a faux hedge maze, creating secluded pockets for overheated guests to escape to. And if any of those guests happened to glance up? They’d find Ciel and Soma eavesdropping like children peering into their parents’ party from atop the stairs.
“Someone is going to see us,” Ciel hissed. He grabbed for a fistful of curtain, only for them to be pried away, and righted with an annoyed huff from Soma.
The prince tutted. “You shouldn’t be scared to look out the windows of your own home.”
Ciel’s shoulders crept up to his ears as his face colored. “I’m not scared! It’s just...unseemingly.”
Still, he made no move to intercept the older boy again as Soma popped the window latch and eased it open just enough for a breeze to carry in the first notes of Blue Danube. Ciel sighed in relief, limbs loosening as the sweat cooled. Suddenly, he felt much more amenable. “So, what’s this game you were so eager to show me?”
“Oh, right!” Soma clapped his hands together. “We’re people-watching!”
Eyebrows lifted. “That’s hardly a game.”
“It is the way I play it,” the prince sang, finger tapping against the glass pane. “You see someone, and you tell a little story about what they’re doing. It's easy.” He laughed. “Although sometimes people act silly enough on their own without you having to make up a reason at all.”
Ciel’s eyes slide back to the Falmouth’s courtyard. The fog of sleep was gone, his mind alight with that strange vibrancy that came from minimal rest, as though his body hoped a last shot of adrenaline would be enough to escape whatever force was keeping him from rest.
It was energy that should be used to throw Soma out. But the prince would resist. Loudly. Then Sebastian and Agni would undoubtedly arrive, and Ciel didn’t feel like dealing with their fussing. He sighed wearily. “Alright, then. Why not?”
Soma met the lackluster pronouncement with more enthusiasm than it warranted, though the cheer of satisfaction was notably quieter than usual. It seemed Ciel wasn’t alone in wanting to avoid his butler’s attention.
Minutes passed with nothing save for the faint rattle of carriage wheels and the playing of the Falmouth's hired band to keep them entertained. Ciel drew up his right leg to rest his cheek upon it, and listened as a waltz faded out and another tune immediately took its place. He winced. Truly, the Falmouths had no decency. Only sadists would expect their guests to dance so long without breaks.
“Oh, look!”
Lifting his head, Ciel followed Soma’s finger to find a young woman, not much older than the prince, striding across the lawn. Her face was hidden behind a pastel blue hand fan that matched her evening gown, which was piped in enough white ruffles to resemble a bakery cake.
Soma made a sympathetic noise. “I don’t understand how English women can get around with such large-” His cupped hand made a downward sweeping motion to indicate the dress’s bustle. “Seems difficult.”
Ciel snorted. It was a thought that often crossed his mind, but one he was unwilling to admit, fearing it would incite a lecture from Lizzie or, God forbid, Nina. He’d only gotten a taste of the intricacies of female dress himself and had no interest in revisiting the topic. “If you’re intimidated by a bustle, you'd best pray that the hoop skirt never comes back into fashion.”
“The what?”
Ciel made a bell shape with his hands and smirked at Soma’s horrified expression.
Meanwhile, the subject of their discussion sat herself on one of the private benches, staring vacantly at the false walls of the surrounding shrubbery as her fan fluttered across her cheeks with the flurried agitation of hummingbird wings. The speed increased as the seconds ticked by.
The reason for her anxiety revealed itself in the form of a dark-haired youth staggering down the front steps. He was barely holding himself back from a sprint as he peered into each enclave, quickly moving on when it was found empty. Ciel leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.
“They must be lovers. Star-crossed lovers,” Soma breathed. “From rival families. Oh! Maybe he originally snuck into the party under a false identity as a trick, but once he danced with the lady, he fell in love instantly. Now, he has to find her again so he can confess!”
“That’s just Romeo and Juliet!”
The discovery of his plagiarism was not a deterrent. Instead, Soma nodded sagely. “Art often comes from life.”
Below them, Romeo had floundered his way to his lost love. Juliet's fan fell to the ground instantly, fingers better occupied by clumsily tucking flyways into her blonde coif as she raced into his embrace. He caught her by the waist, whispering something into her ear. Juliet reached up, pulling his face closer to hers and—
Soma slapped his palm over Ciel’s eyes.
The earl yelped. First Sebastian with Bard’s dirty magazine, and now this! “What are you doing? I’ve seen people kiss before!”
Soma batted away an attempt to dislodge his hand. “Not like this.”
Ciel doubted that was true, but arguing would only invite unwanted questions. “Ugh, fine then. Just don’t get into the habit of trying to protect my innocence or whatever it is you think you’re doing. You’re not my nursemaid.”
“Ah, but I am your big brother, so it’s my job to protect you a little. Silly Ciel.”
The words landed heavily in Ciel’s stomach, and he couldn’t muster his usual loud denials at Soma’s self-appointed title. "You’re ridiculous.”
“Sometimes!” Soma agreed easily, lifting his hand away. “Oooh, it seems cousin Tybalt has arrived.”
The sudden light made Ciel grimace, his uncovered eye blinking rapidly as it tried to adjust. The new gentleman scouring the maze had the same fair hair as their Juliet, but any other distinguishing features were lost to distance. “Maybe not. He could be Count Paris.”
“And he’s come to duel for the lady’s affections! How exciting.”
Ciel’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Dueling is illegal in England.”
“Ciieell, you’re being such a spoilsport.” Soma’s cheeks puffed. “They could duel. Love makes people do crazy things.”
“Speaking from experience, are you?”
For the first time in their acquaintance, silence greeted Ciel's provocation. He blinked, wrong-footed. Despite his own betrothal, Ciel’s knowledge of actual courting was limited. He and Lizzie were at an age where they could still interact unchaperoned—although Sebastian’s continual presence at his side may have been the reason his aunt Francis had yet to formally insist on it, and wasn’t that its own discomforting thought? Regardless, Ciel didn’t worry himself over romantic ventures; he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy them anyway.
It was a lifestyle that Ciel often forgot was uncommon, and the result was his astonishment whenever his agemates showed interest, especially those as immature as Soma.
Uncurling himself from his prior position to sit cross-legged, Ciel tilted his head down to try to catch Soma’s gaze, but the prince’s focus remained resolutely ahead. If not for the harsh cut of shadows, Ciel was sure he would see a flush crawling up the other’s neck.
“Are you?” The words came out more stunned than he intended.
“On second thought, I think we’re both wrong! He seems to be a friend: a Benvolio, or Mercutio. Though I’m sure he would prefer to be Benvolio, considering Mercutio doesn't make it to the end. Getting stabbed must be very unpleasant,” Soma paused. “What do you think?”
“Don’t just change the subject!”
But Soma was correct. The blond youth—ugh, Benvolio— and the couple had not clashed upon their meeting. Rather, they began conversing with the ease of long friendship. There was no hint of discomfort in Benvolio’s stance at the intimate way Juliet was tucked against her lover, Romeo’s hand a possessive cradle on her waist.
Ciel yawned, attention shifting.
Despite his dismissal of Soma’s visions of a duel, he’d half-hoped for some form of physical altercation. While he had no designs on ever returning to Weston—the very idea made Ciel’s skin itch— he enjoyed spectating the few scuffles that had broken out between his schoolmates. It was different from watching Sebastian play out violence on his behalf. No, it was the lack of personal stakes in the matter that made it interesting; a product of that same base human intrigue that drove men to the coliseums.
However, Ciel’s half-lidded state of disappointment broke when Benvolio suddenly surged into the couple’s space.
The men were alike in height, almost nose-to-nose, as some silent communication passed between them. Benvolio's eye contact did not break as his hand went to Romeo's arm and slid down its length to rest atop the hand still encircling Juliet's waist. The lady laughed. Breaking the stalemate, she pulled on Benvolio's tie and brought his lips crashing into hers.
Ciel gasped.
Soma yelped.
Then Ciel's vision blackened, and he sighed. “It’s a bit late for that.”
“I don’t care,” Soma expertly dodged Ciel’s thrown-out elbow as he manhandled the earl against his side. “I’m not moving again until they leave!” he announced, patting Ciel’s hair like he was soothing a skittish horse.
“Of all the ridiculous…Get off me!
“Shh! You don’t want to wake Agni or Sebastian, do you?”
The childish urge to snap that Sebastian didn’t even sleep flew to his tongue, and slammed against the barrier of his teeth. Particulars be damned, he still didn’t want to accidentally summon the demon from wherever he was sculking. “Whatever.”
It took Soma another two minutes to deem the area safe for Ciel’s viewing. Once he was released, Ciel scurried to the far side of the bench seat, smoothing down his hair as he shot a moody glare at the prince. Soma smiled apologetically, failing to look sincere.
Never one to linger, Soma’s attention soon returned to the courtyard, and Ciel’s did as well. As annoying as Soma's reaction to the prior fiasco was, Ciel could see the merits of the pastime. People were interesting. Unaware people, even more so.
Warmed up, Soma narrated with a new enthusiasm; tales of love, deception, and revenge that Ciel wasn’t sure better suited a penny dreadful, or a romance serial. The attempt to revisit the prince’s own lost love was swiftly redirected with a shrill laugh, and Ciel decided to abandon the pursuit before he got a headache.
While Ciel had no interest in spinning weaves about the passerby like Soma, mandatory social functions had given him ample practice speaking out of the side of his mouth, and he exercised the skill liberally. It was a little habit that Sebastian did nothing to discourage. The butler was always eager to slip into French so he could volley back his own cutting remark, any prior convictions about Ciel’s gentlemanly conduct forgotten.
The current subject of Soma’s zeal was a young woman bathed in pale pink silk, large champagne-colored ribbons tied at her shoulders and cascading down her arms. It was too far to make out the ensemble’s finer details. Still, afternoons spent comparing swatches with Lizzie whenever his fiancée commissioned a new set of matching outfits made him adept at identifying a rich fabric.
The expense had the desired effect, making the lady almost luminous, backlit by warm window light as she descended the stairs. A smile inched its way to Ciel’s lips. Perhaps this was how Lizzie would look someday.
Drinking in the facsimile of something he would never see, Ciel was startled when a man descended like a shroud at the lady’s side, shattering the illusion. He was old—at least three decades her senior—dressed in a plain black suit whose cut was decidedly out of fashion. Either he was set in his ways, or a penny pitcher. Likely both.
The nature of the pair’s relationship became clear when the gentleman linked their arms together with the petulance of a spoiled child tugging on his mother’s skirts. Ciel wrinkled his nose. In turn, the lady laid a proprietary hand on her husband’s upper arm and drew herself deeper into his hold even as she kept her face turned away. The movement caught the jewels glittering at her throat, refracting their image across his face.
“It seems the lady is retaliating for the robbing of her cradle by robbing his coffers,” Ciel sniped.
Soma’s chattering cut off, absorbing the comment. “Deservedly so!” He barked a laugh. “See, I told you this game was easy. You’re getting the hang of it already, my clever friend.”
Soma ruffled his hair, making Ciel squawk indignantly even as his cheeks warmed at the praise. He prayed the hue was lost among the shadows.
The pair continued until their comments became slurred, fractured by their own yawns. Meanwhile, the party had yet to reach its peak. Gatherings at the Falmouths were usually all-night affairs, and guests rarely departed before dawn was snapping at their heels.
But just as the midnight hour closed, a two-horse carriage arrived at the front gates, stopping with a flick of the driver’s reins. A man popped out of the cab an instant later. The servants manning the entrance recognized him at once and hurriedly opened the gate as the man’s long-legged stride devoured the cobblestone path, his shoulders tense.
Soma squinted as if he could peer into the ballroom through the manor’s walls. “Do you think it’s an emergency?”
Ciel hummed in consideration. “Doubtful. There would be much more commotion if it were something urgent.”
Long minutes passed, and the horses began to grow restless, resettling their weight and tossing their heads for want of something to do. Ciel empathized, resisting the urge to fidget while Soma readjusted one of the bench’s throw pillows for the fourth time. Definitely not an emergency then.
It was a relief when the man, visibly more ruffled than before, finally burst through the front door, dragging who appeared to be his father down the stairs. The older gentleman appeared ignorant of the vice grip on his arm, laughing and throwing comments over his shoulder to an unseen party, the open collar of his dress shirt flapping with the movement.
Sensing the prince’s impending narration, Ciel stopped him with a raised hand. “I know him," he said. “That’s Baron Drummond.”
That was technically an exaggeration. It would be more accurate to say that Ciel knew of the baron from his Aunt Ann’s stories, as the two often ran in the same party circuit. Although reasonably behaved in his daily life, Drummond tended to use the excuse of social gatherings to indulge—a habit that he cultivated young, according to his aunt. Ciel had only met the man once himself, and that was when he'd been undercover in women’s clothing and subsequently kidnapped, so he had not gotten to see the man’s evening descent into drunken idiocy. Alas.
Ciel summed this up with a curt. “He’s a part-time drunkard.”
“Ahh…”
Now that he was out of the direct eyeline of his fellow partygoers, Drummond had forgotten their existence and become compliant, matching his son’s quick stride with the levity of a Sunday stroll. Unfortunately for Drummond, the stumbling and the wild gesticulating of his free arm gave away the ruse. The pinched expression on his son's face was not a strong selling point either.
“He seems to be an old hat at this.”
“I don’t understand why he didn’t just attend with his father to begin with,” Soma said. “Wouldn’t that save them both the embarrassment of fetching him?”
“Easier to control the damage than prevent it, I suppose.” Ciel shrugged. “Especially with someone so unruly.”
As if on cue, the unruliness resurfaced. Drummond stopped right at the gate's threshold, much to his son’s annoyance, who tugged at his arm impatiently while cooing cajoling platitudes. Drummond swayed slightly, absorbing nothing. Secondhand mortification wiggled in Ciel's guts, and he debated holding up a hand to obscure the spectacle, only hindered by the strength of his curiosity.
Soma kept his forehead pressed to the window, free of such qualms.
The son was making little progress. Movements jerky with frustration, he turned his head to shout something to the driver. And that was the only distraction Drummond needed. With an abruptness that made Soma shout in surprise, the baron twisted out of his son’s hold and bolted full tilt towards the carriage.
But Drummond did not flee down the street as Ciel had assumed. His target was much closer. With a fervor that better suited welcoming home soldiers, the baron embraced the closest horse around the neck and nuzzled into its coat. The long-suffering beast didn't even flick an ear in surprise.
"What on earth is he—"
A sloppy kiss landed on the horse’s cheek. And another. And another. And another.
Ciel's mouth dropped. Drummond's gaze tilted up. And their eyes met, the shock of discovery locking them in place as their faces colored in tandem. Ciel waved.
Soma yanked the curtains shut.
Silence lapsed as the two processed the scene, and then—
Ciel snorted, involuntarily and loudly, smothering the noise into his palm. “I can’t believe he-” Ciel cut himself off with a laugh. “And the look on his face!”
Soma did not bother trying to form words; head thrown back, shoulders shaking.
Ciel stuffed a throw pillow in the prince’s face. “Shh!”
“So-Sorry,” Soma giggled through the fabric, taking the cushion from Ciel so he could control his own suffocation. Once he had gained control over himself, he surfaced with a diver's gasp. "Why did you wave at him?!"
"I don't know," Ciel said helplessly. He was still too amused to be properly embarrassed. "It was an automatic reaction!"
He continued. "I've really done the baron a favor. Perhaps he'll be too scared of running into me to darken the Falmouth’s doorstep again. I'm saving the old man's liver."
"You've also spared his son a carriage ride." Soma nodded seriously. "Very altruistic."
"Yes, I thought so." Ciel cleared his throat, choking down his amusement.
Soma grinned shamelessly, saying nothing more as he eased the curtains back open to reveal the empty streets below. Drummond's cab was long gone.