“I’m sorry,” Master Anderson replied, turning in his seat to look at Kurt. A smile of recognition lit up his face; he stood up and neared Kurt, whose cheeks began to feel warm. “You’re the new footman,” the gentleman stated. “The one I caught staring at me yesterday afternoon.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “No, Master Anderson, I never intended-”

“I jest,” the gentleman said, holding up his hand to stop Kurt’s flow of flustered apologies. “I’m sure you were merely wondering who I was, as I was about you.”

“Yes, milord.”

“I should introduce myself then. My name is Blaine Anderson. May I know yours?”

Kurt blinked a few times disbelievingly, unable to comprehend the informality of the man’s greeting. Master Anderson was smiling at him; a real, friendly smile that reached his eyes. He stammered when he finally spoke. “I’m Hummel. My - my name is Kurt Hummel.”

“Hummel,” the man repeated. “I should tell you: I depend on my valet more than I depend on anybody else. I should hardly know how to dress myself appropriately without one.”

Kurt thought he detected a joke in his words. He smiled, nervously, hoping it was the right thing to do. Blaine - Master Anderson - was close enough to Kurt for him to notice that he was a good few inches shorter than himself, though his physique was more than enough to counteract the fact; Kurt couldn’t help but notice the curve in Blaine’s arms that hinted at the muscles beneath. Master Anderson’s arms, Kurt reminded himself. It wouldn’t do him any good to start thinking of the man by his first name, not if he was to spend so much time with him. He knew if he allowed himself to that one day he’d end up slipping and calling him ‘Blaine’ aloud.

Kurt exhaled a breath of air he didn’t realize he’d even been holding on to and he smiled as he picked up the courage to reply, “perhaps, then, it’s fortunate that I’m to be your valet. I’m excellent with clothes, milord.”

Master Anderson seemed to visibly relax as Kurt appeared more at ease, picking out clothes for the gentleman from the closet and bringing them back to him to assist him in dressing.

“My mother asked a favor of you, Hummel,” Master Anderson said as Kurt aided him in pulling his jacket over his shoulders. Kurt raised his eyebrows, but did not speak. “You saw how well I was dressed last night, I expect?”

“Yes, milord,” Kurt replied.

“She has asked me to look twice as well dressed tonight for our guests.”

Kurt smiled. “That won’t be a problem, milord.”

The Viscount Berry and his daughter arrived in much the same fashion as the previous day's guests. They had come by train and Lord Dalton’s own chauffeur, Finn Hudson, retrieved them from the train station. When they arrived it was Kurt’s responsibility to move their luggage - enough for at least a fortnight’s stay - to their rooms.

Miss Berry, Kurt noted, was beautiful. She was accompanied by her lady’s maid, and as she stepped out of the car the maid quickly arranged her dress to make sure it hadn’t crumpled during her journey. The light blue material she wore contrasted with her long, dark brown locks and a smile illuminated her face. Kurt couldn’t help feeling that for all Master Anderson’s objections the night before about finding a wife at such a young age, perhaps the lady would steal his heart after all. Hudson had certainly taken a shine to her.

“She’s beautiful though, isn’t she?” he’d said who knew how many times. “I wonder what she made of my driving.”

“I’m sure she ‘made of your driving’ what any young lady of esteem would ‘make of your driving’: that it’s terrible and that she will never marry a chauffeur as long as she lives,” Puck had responded after Finn’s umpteenth proclamation during lunch, eliciting laughter from a few members of the house staff and a scowl from Finn.

The table had been set for dinner as it had been the day before, though with a little more refinement and flair given the level of their guests' social standing, and the reception room had a fire lit long before anyone would set foot in there. Kurt went to Blaine’s dressing room in the early hours of the evening and picked clothes out for the young man. After spending an entire day torn between thinking of him as ‘Master Anderson’ or as ‘Blaine’, Kurt had begrudgingly allowed himself the use of the man’s Christian name, so long as he never let himself utter it out loud.

“Have you seen Miss Berry yet, Hummel?” Blaine asked as Kurt affixed his bow-tie.

“I have milord.”

“Tell me,” he prompted, “what do you make of her?”

Kurt’s eyes widened, wondering what the right thing to say was in such a situation. He wondered if Blaine was looking for an honest answer, if he wanted to hear that Miss Berry was incredibly handsome, that she looked every bit the perfect match for the young man. He wondered if Blaine wanted to hear an answer sympathetic to his own beliefs that a young man needn’t be looking for a wife so young, that it was wrong for his parents to bring the young lady here in the hope that they would eventually become married.

Kurt settled for a standard, “She’s beautiful, milord.”

Blaine chuckled. “Yes, I rather suspect that she is.” There was an underlying tone in his voice that Kurt couldn’t make out. He chose not to speak as he helped to pull the jacket over Blaine’s shoulders and brush it down until he looked a picture of elegance.

Blaine descended the staircase more slowly than usual, fussing with his cufflinks and regarding his reflection in every mirror he passed. He still reached the dining room all too soon.

“Master Anderson,” Ryerson greeted, leading him into the dining room. The Viscount and Miss Berry had not yet arrived, and the room was occupied only by Blaine’s father and the footmen Evans and Hummel.

In the quiet, Blaine allowed himself the time for his eyes to wander over the fields outside the window, ignoring the sound of fidgeting as his father looked at his watch, huffed a little and looked at it again. Perpetually on time, all the time, every time; Blaine almost found humor in the fact that his father had married a woman who took no such notice of the passing of every hour. Blaine was almost certain that his parent’s marriage was the reason he had no desire to rush into any such ceremony of doom himself.

As if on cue, Ryerson introduced the entrance of Blaine’s mother and, following her, Lord Lima and the lady Blaine had no intention of marrying, Miss Rachel Berry.

She was, as Kurt had assured him, beautiful. Her smile as she entered the room lit up her features, her brown eyes seemed to twinkle in the light of the chandelier. Her posture was infallible: head high, back straight. A picture of confidence, and she was clearly aware of how her corseted dress accentuated her feminine shape. Everything about the young lady - from beauty to fortune, from fortune to title - was precisely what his parents had in mind for Blaine; no less than anything this lady represented would do. And Blaine felt nothing.

The family and their guests seated themselves and the footmen began serving food almost immediately. Blaine was glad for that, at least; it provided less time for the inevitable awkward chit-chat that was bound to follow.

And so it began.

“I trust your journey here today was agreeable, Lord Lima,” was, as usual, the topic of conversation Blaine’s father decided to begin with.

“Quite so, Lord Dalton. I find the train to be such an exquisite advancement in technology, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, indeed,” Mr Anderson replied in a voice only Blaine could decipher as being ironic; it was the same tone in which his father most often spoke to him. Blaine wondered if his father had ever found anything exquisite. “And Miss Berry, you found your journey to be a pleasant one, too, I hope?”

“I thank you. Yes, I did,” she replied, smiling toward Blaine’s father before turning toward Lady Dalton. “And I must express my thanks again for your invitation. Your home is lovely.”

Blaine averted his gaze to the window as he allowed his mother’s gushing to wash over him. Something about Miss Berry being more than welcome for the invitation, that she was delighted to have some female company for a short while and that, yes, the house was lovely, wasn’t it?

At length, Blaine heard the blissful ringing of quiet in his ears, the sound of spoons clinking against dishes taking over for a few moments. The silence wasn’t awkward - everybody around the table was far too well brought up to allow for awkwardness - but there was something lingering in the air, something that was supposed to happen that hadn’t, yet. It took another few, silent moments for the realization to hit Blaine. They were waiting for his contribution to the conversation.

“Lord Lima...” Blaine began. The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief that order had been restored, and the Viscount looked up from his soup in response. “How long do you intend to stay... at Dalton?”

Blaine stomach twisted in knots. That wasn’t the most ideal way to begin a conversation.

“Well... we intend to trespass on your home no longer than we’re welcome,” he replied.

“I only meant-” Blaine stammered. “I only meant that Miss Berry might be... in want of some company. If you’re here for a long while,” he turned to the young lady in question. “I suspect that you don’t have many friends over here?”

“I don’t,” she agreed.

“Well, then I should be glad to keep you entertained. If you’ll allow me to, of course.”

Miss Berry’s smile suggested that she thought Blaine a simpleton, but she nodded politely anyway. “That would be lovely,” she replied, as the plates from their appetizer were taken away by the footmen.

The quiet returned as the main course was served, but the air was no longer uncomfortable now that Blaine had broken his silence. Everybody was free to discuss every boring topic of conversation that crossed their mind to anybody they wanted now that the niceties of society had been observed. It was almost like clockwork. Mundane. Boring. Predictable. Blaine caught sight of Hummel as he was serving and couldn’t help but wonder what he would have to say on any given topic of conversation. If he’d have anything to say at all.

“I was wondering if I might make use of your library while I’m here,” Miss Berry asked, a few topics of conversation later. She raised the question to Lord Dalton, but it was the Lady of the house who replied.

“Certainly,” she said, looking toward Blaine as she continued, “Master Anderson is quite the expert on books. I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around.”

“You’re well read, Master Anderson?” Miss Berry asked, interest piqued.

“One has little else to do with one’s time. Yes,” he replied. “I’m well read.”

“Little else to do? A young man like yourself?” she was making fun of him, he could tell. Her smile was playful, jovial. “There’s a whole society of people to meet and exciting places to visit ‘out there’. Or didn’t you know?”

He returned her smile, laughed politely and responded in a way that he knew his mother would wholeheartedly approve of, “Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me.”

As was customary after such a dinner, the family and their guests retired to the luxury and grandeur of the reception room where the conversation, as well as the flow of alcohol, could be continued. Blaine noted the segregation of the sexes, as he usually did, watching as the group split off into two; the men remarking on politics while the women gossiped. Blaine, feeling uncomfortably like he fit with neither group, deferred his attention to the two men. Nodding and shaking his head in the appropriate places, he sipped from his glass often to avoid having to make any real contribution to the conversation.

“Your father tells us you’re an accomplished singer,” Blaine’s mother noted a little later on in the evening when the talking had quietened down and the group had found itself somehow united as one once again.

“I am,” Miss Berry replied, without false modesty or hesitation. Blaine was almost impressed; ladies were usually a lot less forthcoming than herself, preferring to be complimented and coerced into admitting their talents.

“Master Anderson is fond of music himself,” Lady Dalton mentioned with a smile in the direction of Miss Berry’s father.

“Well then, perhaps you could entertain us,” the Viscount said to his daughter. “If she could have the use of your pianoforte, of course,” he directed to the Andersons.

“Oh that would be lovely,” Lady Dalton replied. She shot a glance in Blaine’s direction, her sharp eyes telling him exactly what he was expected to do.

“You might allow me to accompany you, Miss Berry?” he asked. Her eyes locked with his for a moment too long before he pulled his gaze away. Miss Berry nodded her assent and the two of them made their way over to the piano where Miss Berry sat and thumbed through pages of sheet music until she found one that appealed to her. She showed Blaine the piece to enlighten him of her choice, before her delicate fingers touched down on the first few notes of the song.

It was Miss Berry’s voice that opened the song, filling the room with pitch-perfect soprano notes that blended well with the beautifully played piano. Kurt was pleasantly surprised by her voice; she could sing - very well, in fact. Her steady fingers flowed across the piano keys in an effortless way; she barely glanced at the sheet music that was propped open on the stand before her, playing by ear or by memory in a way that reminded Kurt of his mother’s own impressive musical talent that he’d long since had the opportunity to enjoy.

The look on Blaine’s face seemed to confirm that he, too, was startled by her. His eyes were glued to Miss Berry as she sang, and he almost missed his cue, stuttering a little on his first line as though he were unsure as to whether it was worth his joining in or not. When he settled into the song a few bars later, Kurt had to fight to keep his expression passive and neutral, as was expected of a footman.

Blaine’s voice matched that of the young lady’s in a perfect harmony that was simultaneously soothing and commanding of attention. Miss Berry, similarly to Blaine, seemed surprised by Blaine’s talent, as if she’d anticipated him to be a dreadful accompaniment - or, at best, mediocre. She smiled as they continued, the two of them becoming lost in the song that had the whole room in baffled silence. Eventually, the two singers caught one another’s eyes, and Kurt could feel the tension building in the room, the chemistry between the two of them.

It was ridiculous, he knew. Ridiculous and improper and so out of any realm of possibility that Kurt cursed himself vehemently for even having the thought, but he felt a stab of envy in the pit of his stomach, directed wholly at Miss Berry. Kurt hadn’t sung with anybody since his mother had died; he’d seldom had the opportunity to, but even when he had, he’d never wanted to. But Blaine’s voice, his charisma - even the smile affixed to his face as he performed - all of it made Kurt ache to sing with him.

But of course, it would never, could never, happen. Kurt was a servant. Blaine the son of an Earl. They had their places and that fact would never change. ‘Don’t go getting above yourself’ hadn’t some of Puck’s words been to him just two days ago? That wasn’t even to mention the fact that the very thought of two men was an unspoken abomination amongst society. The idea of it was not so much a recognition that it happened, but rather something pushed so far into the background that it simply didn’t exist in people’s minds: couldn’t be comprehended. It happened, of course it did, but it was something that those involved would gladly take to their grave. Kurt and Blaine singing together? It was an ache in Kurt’s chest that would never be dulled, never be satisfied.

The song ended too soon, with everyone applauding and swooning. Miss Berry’s smile was tremendous, as though her life depended on the approval of her audience and their enthusiasm as they clapped. Blaine smiled courteously in Miss Berry’s direction, acknowledging her performance, before returning to his seat.

The house staff, a large proportion of whom had taken every opportunity they could to spy on the visitors, had little else to talk about as they met for supper before bed. Some of the maids swooned over how beautiful Miss Berry’s dress had been, how well she would look on Master Anderson’s arm. Miss Lopez, the lady’s maid, spent most of her time objecting to the young girls’ excitement, pondering aloud why Lady Dalton’s dresses were never the center of discussion when she spent such a long time helping to compose said outfits. Finn, who Kurt had discovered was somewhat simple and seemed to have no sense of propriety, had declared himself in love so many times that the rest of the staff had taken to simply ignoring him (though Puck had promptly come to Blaine’s defense the moment Finn had begun declaring that Master Anderson didn’t deserve her). It surprised Kurt that the chauffeur continued to work for the family when he said things that would otherwise be so heavily frowned upon, but Sam had explained to him that he was good at his job and always meant well, and so long as he kept himself quiet in front of the family and their guests, he tended to get away with it.

One of the maids had joked to Kurt that he must wish he was of a higher rank so that he, himself, could court the young lady. Kurt had smiled, nodding in a non-committal way, before noting that Master Anderson would be very lucky to wed her. He didn’t add that he rather thought it the other way around; that Miss Berry would be very lucky to marry Blaine, and that Kurt wished he had a high enough rank merely to be able to sing with the man. In the silence of his bedroom, in the closing hours of the evening, Kurt drifted off to sleep to the memory of Blaine singing... and he wished.