you must make your heart steel.

“You jest, Mr. Danceny,” she said and laughed, a little hysterically, willing her embarrassment to subside. Squaring her shoulders, she added, “But I will admit I’m in need of rescuing– where are you going?” she asked beseechingly, hoping to hold him there for just a moment longer. 

Beginning his venture ahead, Peter swiveled his head around as she called for further assistance. “I don’t need silly little girls who cannot handle a cow where I am going. Simply walk around or rot there.”

The small upward quirk of the corner of his lips, or the thickly veiled suggestions of enjoying his company became enough to send Duncan’s heart soaring even in his current state of melancholy. It seemed he was a book, not unreadable as he had first suspected, but just written in a language Duncan was just learning to understand.

As usual, Duncan made a point of walking on the other side of Peter from the horse, putting as much distance between himself and the animal as possible. “Well, in that case, I am very grateful for your generosity.” He said shyly, a genuine little smile peeking up from behind his adopted sad demeanour. “Who would I be to disappoint Circe?” Duncan laughed brokenly, already he felt his mood picking up in the presence of the young lord who seemed to defy all rumour.

Duncan shouldn’t have been surprised, really, that Peter commanded respect from those in his employ, but he was impressed if not slightly taken aback by the genuineness of his greeting towards the stable-hand and the obvious feeling of mutual high regard between them – something Duncan rarely found between the upper-class and their servants. Duncan smiled a thank you to the woman, before following Peter toward the looming, beautiful form of Wightwick Manor.

The manor was far from the brightest lit estate. Where others held brightly placed colors and gleaming chandeliers, Peter preferred the deeper of the color spectrum. From maroons, forest-like greens, darklit blues and greyscale, there was no sense of daylight where curtains were drawn shut, thus trapping all shadows within. Yet it held a somnolent elegance in its towering structures. The furnishings were dark oak but sleek at their finish. The only light-- save for low-lit ceiling fixtures and candles-- came from his next action. Peter flashed the young man the rarest of smiles, revealing white teeth accompanied by bright eyes. “That, Mr. Vale, is dolce per la cena.”

She was halfway though the book when she heard a horse approaching and she glanced to see who it was intruding her solitude.

“Splendid weather, is it not?”

He doubted his sister would approve for the simple fact she cared for his wellbeing, and the golden lover boy could very well ruin him. There were plenty of Danceny threats to come.

Peter ducked beneath a branch as he maneuvered Ares around a bend of trees, revealing a meadowed expanse just beyond. “You know very well I care little for this weather,” came his response, “but you, dearest sister, always look splendid.”

i. Duncan is fascinated with Peter in every way and his sketchbook is currently a very clear indicator of that. It has recently become full of sketches made almost subconsciously of the man, along with a few of his fluffy black cat and the two magnificent horses. He has yet to muster up the courage to show them to Peter, but perhaps in time he will be allowed to look upon them for Duncan is rather proud of them, and not for no reason. He has always found it easier to depict things that fixate his mind with their beauty. 

ii. Duncan takes the opportunity to defend Peter as often as it arises, and seeing as the rumors about his nature and temperament seem to run rampant around Dunchester, he is given the opportunity far more often than he would like. He is quick to point out to those who he catches gossiping that the Lord of Wightwick is twice the person they will ever be and launches into a full tirade of scathing remarks to put them in their places.

iii. Duncan and Peter have a shared taste in literature and the younger man has been taking this opportunity for all it’s potential. They have gotten into the habit of swapping books frequently, recommending each other titles that the other might enjoy. Sometimes, in his shyness, Duncan leaves them with Peter’s butler to deliver, other times he hands them over personally with a quick apology for the scrawled pencil notes in Italian at interesting passages and a smile that comes so naturally in his presence. 

She felt like skipping a little, so she did, the soft sounds of her shoes on the dirt the only sounds beside the slight rustle of grasses and idle birds. It seemed an uncommon bit of luck– none of her family had kept her at home, the letter had been written with all the care of a good forger, and the skies were clear and the day crisp. Louisa allowed a smile to take hold of her features, thinking that perhaps she was wrong, she wasn’t the unluckiest little girl in the whole world.

That train of thought lasted her until she saw something blocking her path, staring at her with doleful eyes. Louisa froze, wide-eyed. The cow stared at her. She stared back. Slowly, it raised its shaggy head and moved towards her, sniffing the air apprehensively. She let out a soft scream, one hand raised to her mouth, eyes searching wildly for– she didn’t know what. It seemed she was paralyzed, stuck to the spot trembling, and she could only give a soft groan and curse herself for her hubris. 

A mile down the path proved to provide new plans. He should have expected as much. The scene was so amusing that Peter willed the cow to amble on, press its wet and grass-stained, emerald-tinted nose against its victim. The girl acted as if it were a lioness, and she were a gazelle. The cow couldn’t even manage to trample her at its deathless pace.

“Well, this is a sight. Louisa Hastings, frightened by a...” the beast returned its head to chomp upon grasslands “..ravenous cow.” He sidestepped the cowering girl. “Careful. I hear if you move too quick, they charge.” Peter lied. Oh, how he wished it were true.

Opening his eyes, tear clumped eyelashes pulling apart to reveal perhaps the person that Duncan, in his vanity, most did not want to see him like this. Peter Danceny had not shown him anything but kindness so far, and had barely left the young poet’s thoughts since they had met. Up on that horse of his, he seemed ethereal, like a storybook hero - and Duncan, well, he was leaned against a tree with tear tracks down his cheeks wallowing in his own unfortunate situation. They had been born worlds apart, Duncan knew that, but now, as Peter spoke to him, he felt that gap growing wider than ever. Instead of contempt, Duncan was met with some of the most beautiful words that had ever reached his ears, and then the reminder that he was far from his usually sunny self. Still, a faint flush came to Duncan’s cheeks and a hint of a smile found its way to his lips. “With words like that I am unsure whether I am really the poet between us.” 

“I am not sure you will want to hear them, my lord.” In his state he forgot Peter’s wish for him to address him by his given name but did not have it in him to correct himself whilst attempting to brush the tears from his face in a vain attempt at rescuing his pride. For a long moment, he did not follow. Who was he to burden Peter with his woes? Still, he did not think he could bear being out here alone anymore and the opportunity of the Englishman’s company was too good to pass up. With his hands in the pockets of his coat, Duncan wandered behind Peter quietly, shyly, reservedly - his demeanour infinitely differing from the bright confidence and warmth that he usually exuded. 

“If I wished not to be troubled with it,” he countered with a glance, “I would not have presented the inquiry.” The stable’s masonry slowly crept into view. “I would have left you in the company of that dreadful oak, and not offered you tea.” If a Danceny could smile genuinely, then perhaps that would have befitted the conversation. But this Danceny held wolfish calculation, and any smile became a forced affair. He was comprised of grins and smirks; overflowing with sinister attributes. His trickery, however, did not linger in Duncan’s presence. “I expect Circe wouldn’t mind your company, either.”

And that was as close as Peter would get to referencing that he could care for it, too.