“What do you mean? I found Mister Hummel to be a perfectly agreeable sort of person. A bit reserved, perhaps, but there’s nothing wrong with being decently restrained in one’s manner.”

“Oh, agreeable enough, I suppose, although it did seem as though he was trying dearly to restrain his tongue.” Mister Smythe said airily.

“Yes,” Blaine turned to face him, “Something that you certainly did not seem to be doing. You were very ill-behaved toward Mister Hummel, my friend.”

“Ah, but did I speak untruthfully? Do you think it untrue that most of those living here have never met a person from our circle?”
Blaine pursed his lips and quietly took a seat back in the parlour again.
“Either way, it was unkind to speak to him in such a way. Mister Hummel only meant to welcome us.”
Mister Smythe made a thoughtful noise but said nothing, only watching Blaine from the corner of his eye.

“Insufferable man!” Kurt spat as he stormed into his father’s study.

“Who, Mister Anderson?” Burt asked, barely lifting his eyes from the book perched in his hand.

“No, Mister Anderson was pleasant enough-”

“Glad to hear it.” Burt interjected, returning to his book.

“His friend, Mister Smythe, on the other hand!” Kurt continues, “The rudest man I’ve ever met. I wish to know him no better, although I’m afraid I may have to.”

“And why is that?” Burt asked, his voice hinting at amusement.

“Mister Anderson will be holding a party soon and has already personally promised an invitation to you and I, and we both know that it would do your heart no good to be at such a lively event, so there is absolutely no way for me to decline the invitation.”

Kurt finished his story by collapsing into a chair with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed in protest.

“I suppose we all must suffer through lavish parties put on by generous hosts at some point in our lives, eh?” Burt remarked, his eyes, twinkling with laughter.

Kurt shot Burt what would have been a steely look were it aimed at anyone else, saying, “Do not mock me, father. You are lucky you don’t have to go through the pain of meeting Sebastian Smythe.”

“Oh, I should very much enjoy that agony, and would be delighted to meet both the intolerable Mister Smythe, and, more importantly, Mister Anderson. You do not seem quite so opposed to him as you were earlier; tell me about him, then.”

Kurt paused the patterns that his fingers had been tracing on the arm of his chair. He hadn’t actually given much though to Mister Anderson since leaving Havenside, too incensed by Mister Smythe’s behaviour to give consideration to Mister Anderson’s immediate amiability. He’d almost forgotten the brilliance of his smile, the gratitude he’d shown in response to Kurt’s visit, his ebullient and genuine nature. But Kurt had not forgotten his eyes. Even in the midst of all the unpleasantness that was Mister Smythe plaguing his thoughts, Mister Anderson’s eyes had remained stained behind his lids, their vibrancy still burning brightly in his mind.

“He’s a very good-natured fellow.” Kurt said, breaking from his reverie. “Charming, really. Very hospitable. From London, as you know, but seems to be rather fonder of the country than the town and is settling into his new situation nicely.”

“Good.” Burt said, snapping his book shut and rising as a servant appeared at the doorway. “I am very glad to hear it, and shall be happy to have him over.”

“Have him over?” Kurt asked, nearly jumping from his seat, flustered. “Why should you want to have him over?”

“So that I may meet him, of course! You said it yourself: I cannot attend his party myself. Therefore, I must invite him here.”

Kurt nodded silently and followed his father into the dining room.

Kurt was up late that night.
Since his father’s mention of Mister Anderson earlier that evening, he’d scarcely been able to keep his mind off the man. He’d be lying if he said, even to himself, that he hadn’t been affected by Mister Anderson.
But no-
He’d allowed himself too many of those sorts of thoughts while he was in Paris; he was in England now, where such behaviour was punishable by death. Besides, such thoughts are sinful, Kurt reasoned, willing to himself to stop thinking about Mister Anderson’s kindness, his olive skin, and his fine eyes.

Kurt blew out his candle and tossed onto his side, praying for sleep to take him quickly, and for his urges to leave him before morning.

The day of Mister Anderson’s party dawned, and Kurt busied himself with whatever he could; he ate a leisurely breakfast, went for a long ride, came back and bathed, read for two or so hours, and finally, around 4:00, began to prepare for the party.

“Give Mister Anderson and Mister Smythe my deepest regrets for not being able to attend, and my best wishes to them both. Also, be sure to extend my invitation of dinner here at the Lodge!”

Kurt gave his father a word of assent before climbing into the waiting carriage and bidding him farewell.

As he approached Havenside, a weight like lead settled itself in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. Suddenly, the prospect of seeing Mister Smythe did not seem quite as daunting as being in the presence of Mister Anderson again. Despite trying to push the thoughts out his his head and praying long and hard that morning, Kurt could not seem to keep his mind off of the lithe form, the gentle smile, the eyes like-
No.
No, he’d left those thoughts, those feelings, across seas. What he was feeling now was just...residual.

Kurt bit his lip, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath as the coach pulled up to the stairs of Havenside. Kurt stepped onto the gravel, taking in the brightly lit windows, the colourful figures inside, the music seeping out any crack or crevice it could find like liquid.
One deep breath.
One small step.

Blaine peered around the room, a few guests finishing their introductions and welcomes to him before going off to speak with other party-goers. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, startling Blaine from his search.

“Were you looking for me?” Mister Smythe asked with a smirk.

“Ah!” Blaine turned to face the other man, “Yes- Yes, I was. Has everyone arrived?”

“All but the Hu-”

As if by some divine cue, Mister Hummel stepped through the door at that very moment, right into Mister Smythe’s line of vision. His face turned sour as he mumbled, “Speak of the Devil.”

Blaine spun around, his eyes lighting up as he caught Mister Hummel’s gaze, beckoning him over.

“Mister Hummel! How good to see you.” Blaine said genially as Mister Hummel reached them.

“Mister Anderson, Mister Smythe.” Mister Hummel greeted, bowing slightly to both. “Thank you very much for the invitation. It’s a pleasure to see you both again.” A smile touched his lips as his eyes flickered to Blaine’s face.

“I assure you, as always, Mister Hummel, the pleasure is all ours.” Blaine beamed. “But where is Mister Hummel Senior, your father? I had dearly hoped to meet him this evening.”

“Yes, was he feeling too faint of heart to be in such quality company?” Mister Smythe asked, his contempt hardly hidden.

Mister Hummel’s jaw clenched visibly.

“Is, uhm-” Blaine’s eyes darted between the two. “I did hear- Ah, was your father not feeling well enough to join us?”

“No, his constitution is not strong at the moment. Anything to demanding could weaken his heart.” Mister Hummel shot a sharp look at Mister Smythe before turning his gaze firmly back to Blaine. “But he sends me with his greatest apologies and an invitation to join us at Hummel Lodge tomorrow evening for dinner, if that should suit you.” Mister Hummel glanced stiffly at Mister Smythe, “You, too, are invited, Mister Smythe.”

Mister Smythe smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said silkily.

“Tomorrow evening would be delightful, thank you Mister Hummel. And send my regards to your father.” Blaine said, doing his best to express his apologies for his friend’s ill conduct. Mister Hummel bowed his head.
“I will inform him. In fact,” Mister Hummel glanced quickly at Mister Smythe. “Perhaps I ought to be getting beck to him.”

“Please, dear Mister Hummel, you’ve only just arrived!” Blaine exclaimed. “Of course, do as you see fit, but there is still much more of the evening to come, and,” he moved somewhat closer to Mister Hummel, “You are the only familiar face here, besides Sebastian.”

The flicker of something like hope that crossed Mister Hummel’s face did not escape Blaine’s notice.
He smiled, “Well, I suppose my father will be alright for a bit longer without me.”

“Very good!” Blaine said with delight, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

He made his way to the front of the room and clinked a knife against the champagne flute that one of his servants had handed him, calling for silence.
“Good evening! My name is Blaine Anderson, and I would like to personally welcome you all to Havenside.”
Applause and smiles broke out across the room. Blaine modestly motioned for the crowed to quiet.
“Thank you, but what I’d really like to express my gratitude for is coming here tonight and honouring me with all of your acquaintances. You have all been especially kind to me,” his eyes darted to meet Mister Hummel’s brilliant blue-green ones. “And I am already finding myself settling quite happily into the society of Berkwood. And on that note, I would like to invite you all to peruse the feast that has been laid out on the tables as I’ve been speaking. Enjoy, and once again, thank you all!”
A few shouts of “Welcome!” echoed across the room interspersing the applause. Several men came up to shake his hand before wandering over to the buffet.

Blaine found himself once more searching for the gentle face of Mister Hummel, but instead his gaze fell upon Mister Smythe who was pulling the man in question aside from the crowd. The taller man was speaking quietly to Mister Hummel, leaving Blaine deaf to the contents of their conversation, but this did not keep a sick feeling from stirring in his gut as Mister Hummel stiffened at the words. Blaine hastened his stride, hoping to ease some of the tension between the two before anything became...explosive.

“What are you two doing all the way over here? Wouldn’t you like a bit to eat? The cooks here are really very talented.” Blaine said fixing Mister Hummel with an earnest look which he hoped showed, once again, how very sorry he was. “Which reminds me,” he turned to Mister Smythe. “Sebastian, I believe one of our guests wished to speak with you; a Miss Woodrow.”
Mister Smythe stared at Blaine unreadably before bowing curtly and leaving.

“I can’t express how sorry I am for Sebastian’s behaviour. I have no idea what’s putting him up to it; he is usually so polite to others, and you have been nothing but kind and generous.” Blaine said once Mister Smythe left.

“It’s alright.” Mister Hummel took a calming breath. “He is not your responsibility, you should not feel guilt on his behalf. And,” he added with a sly smile, “You should not have lied to him.”

Blaine couldn’t help but duck his head with a sheepish smile. “It was not entirely a lie,” he reasoned. “Miss Woodrow did seem very interested in him.”
Mister Hummel smiled knowingly but said nothing more on the matter. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining you guests, Mister Anderson?” Mister Hummel asked, eyeing the crowed tables at the other side of the room.

“It would seem as though they are entertaining themselves quite well.” Blaine replied, following Mister Hummel’s gaze as a peal of laughter broke out in one of the groups. “Besides, you, too, are one of my guests, and I should very much like to know more about you.” Blaine grinned, settling into a nearby armchair. He watched as Mister Hummel’s eyes lit up and a small, shy smile perched itself on his lips. He sat down on the chair next to Blaine’s, “What would you like to know?”