withdiamonds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withdiamonds) wrote2010-02-10 10:45 am
withdiamonds) wrote2010-02-10 10:45 am
Entry tags:
An Eligible Gentleman 2/3
Title: An Eligible Gentleman
Pairing: JA/JP, brief JA/JDM
Word count: 16,000
Rating: PG-13
Part 1
Jared was almost finished with what he hoped was his last job of the afternoon. His stepbrothers had kept him working throughout the day, and when they retired to their chambers to prepare for the Ross ball, Kripke had taken over, ordering Jared to scrub the front steps, to help the housemaids beat the drawing room carpets, and to carry water up to the bedchambers above.
It seemed to Jared that it would never end. It had been this way everyday since the gilt-edged invitation had arrived. He wasn't stupid, he knew they were making sure he had no time to prepare his clothing for the ball.
But he had managed, late at night by the light of the one candle his stepmother allowed him to have in his small attic bedchamber, to put something by. The ceiling was low, there was barely room for him to stretch to his full height, and the small mirror over the battered dresser was cracked and fly-blown, but he could see his reflection well enough.
It was strange, because he really only had one pair of breeches, and they were no longer long enough to cover his knees, but three days ago, an old pair that Jared recognized as belonging to Tom appeared on his bed, along with a pair of white stockings.
For one crazy moment, he thought Tom had put them there, and then he shook his head at how unlikely it would be for Tom to show him any kindness or assist him in any way.
He thought of the housemaids. There was one of them in particular who sometimes looked at him with a flirtatious gleam in her eye and a warm smile on her rosy mouth. But he was sure she wouldn't risk the wrath that would come down on her head should she be caught helping Jared.
He had no idea how the clothing had materialized, until the snowy white cravat and the fashionable, although unfortunately puce-colored, waistcoat with the rather large brass buttons appeared a day later, along with shiny black Hessian boots. There was a suspicious damp spot on the cravat and definite canine teeth marks on one of the boots.
"Thanks, boy," Jared said softly to Harley, stroking between his ears, as he took the dogs outside into the stable yard for their daily exercise.
Sadie woofed at his side and Harley wagged his tail exuberantly.
"You, too, Sadie," Jared laughed, and she woofed again.
Thanks to the dogs, he had a whole ensemble put together, and if the breeches were just a little short, and the boots a little tight, and the waistcoat just a little ugly, what did it matter? He was going to the ball.
He escaped to his bedchamber as soon as Kripke's back was turned. If the silver wasn’t polished to his satisfaction, Jared would deal with that tomorrow.
He had no valet to help him dress, but he hadn't had anyone to help him since he was seven years old. When his father died, his stepmother, Mama Dawn, had moved him out of his nursery, discharged his governess, and relegated Jared to a small bedchamber under the roof.
There he slept alone, curled under a thin coverlet in the winter, forbidden a fire, and there, too, over the years, he sweltered in the summer's heat.
It was a confusing time. Jared was unsure of what had happened to his father, and no one was there to explain. He became accustomed to Lady Padalecki's sharp voice and unkind hands rousing him in the morning, until he quickly learned to wash and dress himself, before creeping down to the kitchen. At least Cook was willing to fuss over a small boy, and to make sure, over the years, that that same boy, growing like a weed, had enough to eat.
Jared also learned to keep himself company, and to smile at the horses and carriages and people he saw on the street beneath his window. He imagined where they might be going, where they had come from, what their lives might be like.
He thought about what it would be like to be free to go down the street whenever he wished to, to talk to other people, to live as other people did. But Lady Padalecki and her sons had made sure, when he was a boy, that he went nowhere and saw no one. And now that he was grown, he had nowhere to go and no one to show him.
He was not unlettered, thanks to one of the many tutors Michael and Tom went through. Mr. Beaver had been a kind man, and in the short time he was a part of the Padalecki household, and he had taught Jared to read and write in small bits of time snatched away from Michael and Tom.
He had been gone the moment Lady Padalecki had discovered Jared sitting in a corner by the kitchen fire, avidly reading. Her anger had been terrible, and she had ripped away the small book Jared held clutched in his hands and thrown it into the fire. She had slapped Jared's face when he protested, and from that time on, he had never allowed her to see him study.
But she could no more take the knowledge he had acquired away from him than she could stop Cook from making sure he had enough to eat, and Jared would forever be grateful to the long-gone tutor.
Lady Padalecki's sons were several years older than Jared, and from the moment his father died, they had been encouraged to treat Jared as little better than a servant. As they treated the servants of the house with execrable rudeness, and occasional cruelness, Jared could not count Michael and Tom as his friends.
He wasn't completely without friends, though. The head of Lady Padalecki's stables allowed him to play with the stable dogs, and from the moment they were acquired, Harley and Sadie were Jared's best, and only, playmates.
Jared had learned his manners from his father, and had also inherited his happy disposition. He made the housemaids laugh, and he wrestled with the stable boys, and if the very proper footmen gave him a wide berth, well, his life was better than it could have been.
And now he quickly scrambled into his clothes, tying his cravat the best he could, and pulling his boots on with only slight effort, more than grateful to Harley and Sadie for his costume.
His face was warm from his struggle with the boots, and he took several deep breaths before walking down the stairs and into the drawing room where his stepmother and stepbrothers were already gathered. He made sure to enter the room with what dignity and composure he could summon.
From the expression of stunned disbelief on Lady Padalecki's countenance, his appearance afforded her no great pleasure. Her face whitened in fury, with two spots of color high on her powdered cheeks, and her hands curled into claws at her side.
"Damn!" Tom said explosively, and Michael turned from the fireplace where he'd been warming his hands to see what had caught his brother's attention.
"Hell's teeth," Michael said. "No, Mother, I make you no apologies for my language," he said to Lady Padalecki, who, really, did not seem as if she could tear her eyes away from Jared long enough to demand one.
Jared stood awkwardly in the doorway, and Lady Padalecki smiled thinly, cold anger in her eyes. "Come in, Jared," she said graciously. "My dears," she purred, turning to her sons. "Here is Jared, ready for the ball. Come, Jared, show us your finery." Her false laugh tinkled musically and she closed her fan with a sharp snap.
Tom stared at Jared, looking rather stupid, his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. It was not a flattering expression, and Jared was tempted to tell him to avoid such a look in the future.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Thomas," he said, "I do believe our brother," his lips twisted disdainfully on the word, "Is wearing your pantaloons. And are those your third best Hessians on his feet?" He raised his quizzing glass to his eye and peered at Jared's boots. "And he was able to shove his boat-like feet into them? They'll be stretched beyond repair, Thomas." He shook his head sadly, but his eyes held a wicked glitter.
Jared began to realize this might not have been the best idea he ever had. Going to the ball, yes, but he should have slipped out the front door and made his own way to Lord Ackles' home, instead of attempting to go with the rest of his family.
Tom was obviously dumbfounded at Michael's words, which increased his resemblance to a fish, but Lady Padalecki was looking quite pleased. Jared's hand made it's way nervously to his cravat and Michael said, "Is that my necktie? And my waistcoat? Have you been stealing from me, Jared," he asked dangerously.
"No," replied Jared, standing his ground. "They are things you no longer use, that had been set aside to give to charity."
"And you are in need of charity, aren't you, Jared, my dear?" Lady Padalecki was looking quite delighted with herself at the opportunity to remind Jared that he was completely dependent on his stepmother's good graces for each and every one of his needs.
Jared flushed and set his jaw, but said nothing. Michael sauntered over to the table, where a bottle of wine and several glasses sat. He poured the wine, gleaming red in the firelight, into four glasses, and held them out, one by one, to his brother and his mother. Turning to Jared, he held the fourth glass out with a slight bow.
"To a delightful night out," he intoned. Tom was looking puzzled at this sign of acquiescence to Jared's presence, but as Jared reached to take the glass, Michael's hand jerked and the dark red wine splashed down the front of Jared's clothing, instantly staining his breeches, his cravat, and his waistcoat.
Tom's laugh boomed. Michael pressed a hand to his chest and said, "Oh, dear. Look what I've done," a malicious gleam in his eye.
Jared gasped in shock. In an instant, all his hopes were crushed, and he saw clearly how foolish he had been. His heart sank. He should have known it was too good to be true, that his chance to leave this house, to go out among people of rank and fortune had never really been a chance, just a cruel tease.
His stepmother and her sons ignored him as if he were no longer there. Jared may as well have been invisible as they gathered up their cloaks and made ready to leave for the ball.
Jared stood in the center of the room, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his eyes closed as he listened to Lady Padalecki, Tom, and Michael depart, their voices raised in excitement for the evening and in the enjoyment of how they had crushed Jared's heart yet again.
Beside, him, Sadie nosed into his hand, and Harley pressed his big head against Jared's leg. The three of them stood there motionless for what seemed to be a very long time.
After some time had passed, Jared shook his head, took a deep breath, and sighed. He looked down at the dogs and smiled sadly. "I guess I'm not going anywhere tonight, am I?"
He really couldn't bring himself to clean up the small bit of wine that hadn't splattered all over his clothing, the clothes he'd put so much hope into, the clothes that would have allowed him to meet Sir Jensen again. As he turned to leave the drawing room, to retreat back to his small bedchamber under the roof, back where he belonged, someone spoke.
"What do you mean, sir, you're not going anywhere tonight? You're not giving up, are you?"
It was a male voice, a little nasal, and sounding somewhat indignant; it was coming from the fireplace. Jared turned to see a rather tall man, with straw-colored hair and bright, though somewhat squinty, blue eyes. He was dressed quite fashionably, in pale yellow breeches and a fine coat of light blue, which sat very well across his shoulders. His cravat was arranged in an extravagant and complicated manner. A mischievous smile graced his lips and he looked at Jared expectantly.
"Excuse me?" Jared said. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure." His good manners showed themselves without thought, and Jared shook his head at himself and hastened to add, "How did you come to be in this house?" in what he hoped was an intimidating manner.
The man tilted his head at Jared, his smile widening. "Why should you wish to know that? I'm already here, aren't I?" He snorted in a most impolite way. "Really, Jared, what does it matter? I'm here to help you." He waved his hand airily in Jared's direction. "Unless you'd prefer to retire for the night?" There was a challenge in his voice, and Jared bristled at the implication that he would give up without a fight.
"No, I don't want to retire for the night. But –" Jared's voice tapered off. He didn't see that he had much of a choice in this situation. "I'm not sure what else is to be done."
The blond man shook his head mournfully. "And they told me you were a man of some spirit." He sighed dramatically. "You must see what's possible, Jared. If you don't see that, I can't help you." The nasal voice sounded a little wistful.
Jared just stared in bewilderment as the stranger flicked a invisible speck of dust off the sleeve of his fine coat, and then winked at Jared.
"Can you see it, Jared? Can you see what's possible?" The blond man squinted at Jared, looking a little unbalanced, and the bright blue jewel that nestled in the center of his neck cloth gleamed in the firelight. It was mesmerizing.
Jared wasn't sure how to answer him, since he was afraid he saw nothing at all, so he chose another tact. "May I know your name?" he asked.
"I am Chad Michael Murray," the man said, making a small bow in Jared's direction. He waited expectantly.
"Jared Padalecki," Jared said, also bowing. Chad frowned, as if he had expected more of a reaction from Jared, or perhaps at least a sign of recognition.
"Yes, I am aware," Chad said finally. "I thought maybe you'd heard of – in some circles - but, no matter." He strode to the table and picked up the wine decanter. Pulling out the stopper, he sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose delicately. "Expensive, but of poor quality nonetheless," he murmured. "You are the reason I'm here," he said, looking at Jared. He raised his wine glass in a toast and drained half of it, shuddering delicately.
"And what am I to do with anything?" Jared inquired. "Why should you wish to help me?"
"What does it matter? My god, man, you are far too taken with whys and wherefores for my taste. You are in danger of boring me." Chad tossed off the rest of his wine and reached again for the decanter.
"My apologies," Jared said stiffly. "I would not bore you for the world."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, for heaven's sake," Chad said. He grinned again. "Do you want to know how I may help you?" Jared wondered why he was the one being made dizzy, when Chad was the one drinking wine as if it were water.
He nodded. "Yes, please, tell me what is possible."
"Anything, if you want it enough," Chad replied. He poured himself more glass of wine. Jared waited, but no further enlightenment seemed to be forthcoming.
Jared frowned. "I have wanted many things very much over many years, and it has made not one whit of difference how badly I wanted them, I have not obtained them," he said, feeling the need to defend himself, for some reason, as if his situation in life was somehow his fault. As if the small boy he'd been hadn't tried hard enough, or believed enough.
"Do you want this?" Chad looked at him curiously. "Enough to believe?"
Jared thought about the years since his father's death. He thought about his stepmother's cruelty and neglect, his stepbrothers' scorn and hostility. He thought about his frustration at watching the world go by under his window, leaving him behind.
He nodded. "I want it. Give me something to believe in."
"You already have something," Chad said. He waited, watching Jared slyly through his eyelashes.
Jared thought about Sir Jensen's kind green eyes. His full lips, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, and his friendly smile and warm voice. His refusal to dismiss anyone, no matter how low their station in life.
"Yes, I do," he said, and he smiled.
Chad studied Jared's face for a moment. Jared held his breath, waiting. It was suddenly very important that Chad offer him something, offer him some hope.
"If you look outside the window, you will notice a carriage. It will take you to the ball, and it will bring you back here. At midnight, it will no longer be available." Chad laughed softly. "At midnight, it will no longer exist."
Jared moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy velvet drapery to stare out into the street. A neat carriage stood waiting, two dashing black horses at the ready. A tall, heavy man stood at their head, reins in his big hands. A smaller, petite man, with ears that stuck out rather remarkably, stood waiting to open the carriage door. Looking closer, Jared realized the smaller man was actually a girl, her hair tucked away under a cap.
"Yes," said Chad, with a delighted grin. "Harley and Sadie await you, also."
Startled, Jared looked quickly around the room, but the dogs were no longer with them. He stared back out the window, and laughed in befuddlement when he recognized the droop of Harley's eyes in the coachman's face.
"You must go," Chad said, pulling out a large gold pocket watch and glancing at it. "You don't precisely have all night for this adventure."
"But," Jared protested. "My clothes. I can't arrive at the Ross's ball looking as if I've already been to a rout."
"By Jove, I almost forgot." Chad opened his elaborately decorated enamel snuffbox and took a pinch of snuff, sniffing it with obvious delight, and then sneezing delicately into a tiny wisp of linen. "Look in the mirror, Jared," he said, and pointed to the mirror that hung over the damask-covered sofa.
Puzzled, Jared turned, staring into the mirror. He was struck momentarily speechless. Dressed in smooth yellow breeches, which fit him perfectly, he looked very tall. They fit him almost too perfectly, and Jared fought back a blush at how revealing of his form they were. His jacket of blue superfine looked as if it had required two men to help him shrug into it. He feet were clad in the most elegant evening shoes Jared had ever seen. All in all, he looked quite the gentleman, and it was something he'd never expected to see when he looked in a mirror.
Turning back to Chad, he bowed low. "Thank you," he said simply.
Chad smiled, his eyes squinting happily. "Go, my Lord," Chad said. "Your carriage awaits."
Jared nodded. He was almost through the drawing room door, when he stopped. "What?" he said, turning to look at Chad. "Did you just call me 'my Lord?' What do you mean by that?"
"What do you think I meant by it? Your father was Lord Padalecki. Who do you imagine inherited the title when he died?" Chad tilted his head enquiringly at Jared, sipping his wine delicately.
"My cousin?" Jared said.
"No, not at all," Chad said.
"But Lady Dawn – my stepmother – she said – " Jared stammered.
"She lied," Chad intoned simply. "She has lied to you many times, about many things, Jared. You would do well to remember that. Now, go."
Jared just stood there with his mouth gaping open. Chad grimaced. "You look like a fish, my Lord," he said. "I suggest you close your mouth and be on your way."
Jared stumbled out of the house, his head spinning, Chad's laughter in his ears. He was Lord Padalecki?
His stepmother had told him, once he was old enough to understand such things, that his father's title and whatever part of his fortune he hadn't left to Dawn had gone to an obscure cousin no one had ever heard of, and wasn't that just such a shame, but Jared was completely dependent on Lady Padalecki's charity now.
It was a charity that she gave grudgingly, meanly, and without kindness or love. Jared's happy nature had annoyed her, and his natural exuberance had been ruthlessly squashed by harsh words and unkind hands.
She and her sons never let Jared forget that he only remained among them on sufferance, and that he deserved little in the way of consideration. He was constantly threatened with being let loose on the streets of London if he did not behave himself and show appropriate gratitude towards the only people who were willing to give him a home, however ungenerously.
He was tolerated, barely so, and while his loving nature could not be held in check, and he could not remain in the doldrums for any length of time, it was a lonely existence for such a boy.
Lord Padalecki? Could this be true? His head spinning, Jared gave himself over to contemplation as his carriage made it's way to Lord and Lady Ross's house.
Jensen looked around the large ballroom and sighed. His parents had spared no expense this evening. There were too many candles to count glowing in their holders and reflected in the mirrors that lined the walls. Beautifully gowned ladies were glittering in their elegant finery and their jewels, twirling around the dance floor with their partners. Enormous flower arrangements covered every surface, pink roses and yellow tulips, white gardenias and blue hyacinths, surrounded by leaves in all shades of green, nestled in tall curved vases of the finest crystal.
The only thing Jensen could imagine that would improve it was a tall, dark man in uniform at his side, dashing and handsome, with warm brown eyes smiling at him.
Jensen blinked the image of Jeff's much-loved face away, impatient with himself. It had been three years, as people had recently taken to reminding him.
The musicians were situated in a small alcove at one end of the ballroom, and the strains of the waltz floated across to Jensen as he stood looking out over the crowd, Christian at his side.
"This is more boring than even I thought possible," Jensen said. He tossed off the last of his wine and set the glass down on the small table beside him.
"Don't say that too loudly, my Lord, your mama approaches," Christian said, with amusement.
"I hate you," Jensen threw at his friend, then turned to address his mother with a smile. "Mama, how are you enjoying your ball?" He bowed low over her hand, and then raised it to his lips, planting a kiss on the soft skin.
Lady Ross looked around her, and then turned a severe eye on her son. "It is your ball, my love, and I would be enjoying it a great deal more if you would occasionally dance with one of the lovely young ladies who are attending it," she said, falsely sweet.
Christian nudged Jensen discreetly with his shoulder and Jensen gritted his teeth and smiled at his mother. "Yes, ma'am, I shall do so on the instant." He cast a hurried eye around the room, until his glance landed on the enchanting and vivacious Miss Danneel Harris. Her shining red hair was done up in a style that allowed several mischievous curls to escape, brushing her shoulders quite charmingly.
She was breathtaking.
Turning to bow to his mother again, he said, "Excuse me, ma'am. I see my possible future bride over there without a dancing partner." His mother frowned at his levity, but did not stop him going.
With Christain at his elbow, Jensen sauntered over to Danneel, who was speaking with an odd-looking fellow with shirt points so high that they almost reached his eyebrows.
"I am loathe to interrupt you, of course, Miss Harris," Jensen said, doing just that, "but would you do me the honor of dancing this next with me?" He paused, cocking his head and listening for a moment. "I fear it is not a waltz this time. What a shame." Christian snorted.
Danneel sparkled up at Jensen. "You just wish for an excuse to put your arm around my waist, my Lord," she said, tapping the arm in question playfully with her fan. The odd-looking fellow seemed somewhat put out by Jensen's sudden appearance at their side. Danneel said, "I am remiss. Viscount Ackles, may I present Misha Collins. He is a friend of my family. And this is Mr. Kane, Sir Jensen's great good friend," she added, gesturing at Christian.
The man at Danneel's side ignored Christian completely and bowed to Jensen, who inclined his head politely. Mr. Collins was tall, dark hair swept up in fashionable curls, and he had the most brilliant blue eyes Jensen had ever seen.
He felt a pull of attraction and he looked at Mr. Collins with interest. Mr. Collins gazed back at him frankly, with no hint of the irritation he had shown only moments earlier at Jensen's interruption of his tete-a-tete with Danneel.
Danneel looked between them, then smiled at Jensen. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would like to dance," she said, twinkling at them.
"Don't be nonsensical, Danneel," Jensen drawled. He smiled his most charming smile. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would prefer to –"
But Jensen never got a chance to elaborate on what Misha Collins might or might not prefer to do. Raucous laughter came from across the ballroom, creating an interruption. Jensen looked over toward the noise, intent on finding the cause.
Michael Rosenbaum seemed to be laughing at his half-brother, Thomas Welling. Jensen frowned. He did not much care for either of the two men, and was not sure why his mother occasionally cultivated the company of their mother.
Christian murmured something rude in his ear about Thomas, and an unwilling laugh escaped him before he sought to turn his attention back to the delightful Mr. Collins.
There was another stir of noise, this time near the entrance to the ballroom, and Jensen could see that a latecomer had arrived. This was unusual, as his mother was a stickler for punctuality, but this ball was different from the usual parties Lady Ross held, and no one was likely to be turned away tonight.
This ball was for Jensen to find someone to spend the rest of his life with, and while he may be fighting against his mother's interference, he couldn't deny that the company she had gathered this evening held all the choices he could have wished for, if he had the heart to make such a choice.
That is to say, he wouldn't have denied it until this very moment. Up until this moment, he would have said all the most beautiful and desirable men and women in society were all here in his family's ballroom. It would not have occurred to him to lament the absence of a man so tall, dark, and handsome that it put every other man in the place to shame.
Here was a man with broad shoulder and slim hips, with silky brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. He gazed frankly around the room, and when his eyes found Jensen, the smile that lit up his face put the many candles to shame with it's brightness. Twin dimples appeared on either side of that amazing smile, which framed straight white teeth, and a pink tongue came out to quickly lick across a bottom lip that Jensen thought he might die for the chance to taste.
Jensen felt something stir deep inside him that he had never expected to feel again.
He broke away from Danneel and Mr. Collins without a word, and walked straight across the room to the unknown latecomer, ignoring Christian's "Jen! Where are you going?"
Jared stopped in the entryway to the grand ballroom, looking on in awe. He had never seen so many glittering candles in his life. Lady Padalecki's parties, the ones he'd been privileged to catch a glimpse of, anyway, were usually paltry affairs, with boring company and badly chosen wine, trifling games of cards and poorly played music.
This, this was amazing, and he hoped he hadn't been standing there like a marble statue for very long. That would not make much of a first impression on anyone who may have been watching, at least not an encouraging one.
Jared surveyed the ballroom, once he was no longer quite as dazzled by the sight of every fashionable person of the ton squeezed into one room, albeit a large one, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking, and flirting. He'd understood that this ball was meant as a way for Sir Jensen to look over all available prospects, matrimonial or not, much like one would expect to look over horses to choose the best one, but Viscount Ackles didn't appear to be much interested in the sad crush of people in the ballroom.
Instead, he was focused on the man beside Sir Jensen. Jared felt a flare of something he thought might be jealousy when the man, who was shorter than the Viscount, with brown hair pulled back into a tie and intense blue eyes, placed his hand on Sir Jensen's arm and they laughed intimately together.
The shorter man gestured at something across the ballroom, and Sir Jensen laughed again. Following the direction of the gesture, Jared spied his stepbrother Tom bowing low to a small, dark-haired young lady, who was shaking her head with a moue of distaste on her lips. Michael stood nearby, watching his brother with an expression of such derision on his face that Jared almost laughed, too. He had seen that expression on occasions too numerous to count, usually, but not always, directed at himself, and it always brought out the worst in Tom when it was aimed at him.
Jared hoped the evening would not end in fisticuffs between his stepbrothers, not because he cared for their embarrassment, but because he did not wish for Sir Jensen's comfort to be disturbed.
Then Sir Jensen turned his head and caught sight of Jared. He stood stock-still while the laughter seemed to die in his throat. He stared across the room, and Jared met his gaze head-on. Jared wondered idly if the rest of the company could see the sparks flying between them as they focused on each other. It was more intense than anything Jared had yet experienced.
Sir Jensen gazed at Jared as if he had never seen anything quite like him before.
They moved together, in unison across the room. The brown-haired man who had been laughing with Sir Jensen watched their progress with interest. When the two men came together, they stopped, each observing the other carefully. With less than two feet of space between them, Sir Jensen bowed.
"Welcome," he said. His green eyes glittered in the candlelight, something in them that made Jared's heart beat faster. He bowed in turn.
"Thank you, my Lord," Jared said. They had exchanged only a few words, but already the tension between them was palpable.
"May I offer you a glass of champagne?" Sir Jensen asked, stopping a passing footman holding a tray of glasses aloft.
"Yes, thank you," Jared said again. Sir Jensen snagged two of the sparkling glasses and handed one to Jared. Jared's fingers burned where they brushed the other man's. He looked to see Sir Jensen watching him with smoldering eyes, and Jared's answering gaze was full of heat.
He had no idea what had come over him, but it didn't seem of much importance. He barely saw anyone else, the ballroom was simply a blur of sound and motion, nothing else. Sir Jensen was as beautiful as Jared had remembered him, and yes, Jared had been right, his eyes were green.
There was no way Jared could have seen, in the dim light of the stable on that long ago day, that Sir Jensen's face was sprinkled with enough freckles to make any young lady reach desperately for the powder. Jared thought it was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.
Sir Jensen turned without a word, and stalked toward a small alcove off the ballroom. Jared followed him, his feet in motion before he was even aware of moving.
There was a heavy curtain across the opening to the alcove, and Sir Jensen pushed it aside with a jerky motion. Jared ducked inside and Sir Jensen turned to face him. They stood there motionless for a moment, and then Sir Jensen shoved Jared into the wall behind him, fastening his lips on Jared's mouth.
Jared felt as if the only way he could get enough breath to survive was if he were to kiss Jensen and never stop.
Finally, Sir Jensen pushed him away, wiping the corner of his mouth delicately with this thumb. Jared swallowed, his eyes never leaving Jensen's face.
Distractedly, Sir Jensen looked around until he spotted the glass of champagne he'd hastily placed on the small inlaid table in the corner of the alcove. He tipped it back and drained it at once, the alcohol adding to the flush on his face.
"I don’t even know your name," he said, unevenly.
Jared's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know how to respond. Was he really Lord Padalecki? He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, not tonight."
Jensen looked as if he were about to argue, so Jared moved forward, taking Jensen's mouth in another bruising kiss. The champagne glass fell from Jensen's hand as his arms went around Jared's neck, tugging him down to allow Jensen to kiss him thoroughly.
"I must be mad," Jensen said, pulling away finally. "I don't know what's come over me tonight." Jared smiled at him. "It is you, I think. You have intoxicated me."
Jared laughed. "You have me confused with the champagne, my Lord," he said.
"No, no, it is you, I am sure of it," Jensen murmured, moving to the small settee next to the little table. He sat, pulling Jared down beside him. "If you will not tell me your name, tell me something else about yourself. Something true."
Jared hesitated. There were many things he could tell Sir Jensen about his life, but none of them were of any particular interest. "I am just a man," he said. "I have done nothing remarkable in my life. I am not remarkable."
"Everyone is remarkable in some way," Jensen protested. "I think you are quite extraordinary. You are tall, and handsome and you have laughing eyes."
"Some would say too tall, I am afraid," Jared said. "And laughing is my favorite of all things to do."
"Then I should like to see you do much of it," Jensen murmured in his ear. "I shall make you laugh at least once a day."
"We have met before," Jared confessed quietly. "You would not remember," he hastened to add, as Jensen seemed about to speak. "But you were kind to me, and you told me that everybody was somebody."
"Surely I would remember meeting you," Jensen said. He frowned. "I insist that you tell me."
"Do you know you look like a little boy when you pout?" Jared asked fondly.
"I do not pout," Jensen said. The corner of his mouth twitched, just a bit. "Although my mother would not agree with me, I think." But he dropped the subject of when they had met before, and Jared was satisfied.
"Do you know that your eyes are sad?" Jared asked. "They are beautiful, but they are sad, even when you are laughing with your friends." He traced one of Jensen's eyebrows with his finger. Jensen's eyes fluttered closed at the touch. He nodded.
"I…lost someone," he said, simply.
"Someone you loved very much," Jared guessed.
"Yes." They sat in silence, and Jared took Jensen's hand in his, rubbing his thumb across Jensen's knuckles.
"I am sorry," Jared said.
Jensen inclined his head. "I am, too. Thank you. He was a soldier."
"Thank you for telling me."
Jensen didn’t seem inclined to speak more on the matter, and Jared did not ask. He felt honored that Jensen trusted him enough to tell him what he did. He swore to himself that he would do whatever was in his power to banish the sadness from Jensen's eyes.
He did not stop to consider how very little power he had. And if he had, it would not have mattered. Nothing seemed impossible tonight.
Jared didn't know how much time passed as they kissed fiercely, then lazily, murmuring to each other, confessing secrets, sharing warm touches in the dark. He pulled back a moment, smiling down at Jensen, who looked up at him with kiss-swollen lips, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip, smiling when he tasted Jared there.
From a distance, Jared heard a clock striking. He ignored it, until Chad's voice came to him, penetrating the fog swirling around in his brain.
At midnight, the carriage will no longer be available. It will no longer exist.
"I must go!" Jared gasped, pulling out of Jensen's grasp. He turned, fear making his limbs sluggish. He fought with the heavy drapery across the opening of the little room he and Jensen were secluded in.
"Wait," Jensen exclaimed, his arms still reaching for Jared. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Jared said. "Please, believe that I am sorry." His heart was breaking.
"Please, at least tell me your name," Jensen called after him.
Shaking his head, Jared succeeded in pushing aside the curtain and ran, stumbling, listening to the chiming of the clock, panic making his breath come quickly. He saw the startled faces of people as he pushed past them, but he paid them no mind as he hurried out of the ballroom.
As he ran to the door, one of his shoes came off his foot, but he had no time to stop. He disregarded it and continued on. His carriage was waiting at the front door, and he leaped in and slammed the door shut behind him.
The carriage lunged forward, the horses plunging in their harness, and Jared leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling sick with despair.
Jensen. He had had to leave Sir Jensen, and it felt as if his heart would never recover.
They barely made it to the house in Grosvenor Street in time. No sooner did Jared climb down from the carriage than it vanished, leaving Sadie and Harley in place of the driver and the footman. Sadie looked up at him with sad eyes, and Harley whined low in his throat.
Jared took one last look at the night sky, stars shining bright above him, before moving around to the back of the house, and in through the kitchen door. It would not do for anyone to see him enter through the front door.
When he reached his bedchamber, he realized his clothing was the same wine-stained coat and pants he had been wearing before Chad showed up. The only thing left of the outfit he'd worn to the ball was the single, elegant shoe he still wore on his left foot.
He took it off, sliding his fingers over the fine leather, then tucked it away at the bottom of the chest where he kept the single toy he remembered his father giving him as a child.
Jared undressed for bed slowly, sadly, trying to keep his mind blank. Once he was beneath the covers, however, he could not stop the thoughts and memories from coming.
He touched his lips, and his fingers found them cold. He longed for the warmth of Jensen's mouth, swore he could still feel the tingle of the heated, champagne kisses they had shared so happily.
Jared closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him. The sense of loss he felt was deep, close to overwhelming. He could almost wish he had never gone to the Ross's ball that evening.
It had been the most wonderful night in all his life, and it had been the most terrible. As his eyes finally drifted shut, he wondered distantly if he'd ever recover.
Part 3
Pairing: JA/JP, brief JA/JDM
Word count: 16,000
Rating: PG-13
Part 1
Jared was almost finished with what he hoped was his last job of the afternoon. His stepbrothers had kept him working throughout the day, and when they retired to their chambers to prepare for the Ross ball, Kripke had taken over, ordering Jared to scrub the front steps, to help the housemaids beat the drawing room carpets, and to carry water up to the bedchambers above.
It seemed to Jared that it would never end. It had been this way everyday since the gilt-edged invitation had arrived. He wasn't stupid, he knew they were making sure he had no time to prepare his clothing for the ball.
But he had managed, late at night by the light of the one candle his stepmother allowed him to have in his small attic bedchamber, to put something by. The ceiling was low, there was barely room for him to stretch to his full height, and the small mirror over the battered dresser was cracked and fly-blown, but he could see his reflection well enough.
It was strange, because he really only had one pair of breeches, and they were no longer long enough to cover his knees, but three days ago, an old pair that Jared recognized as belonging to Tom appeared on his bed, along with a pair of white stockings.
For one crazy moment, he thought Tom had put them there, and then he shook his head at how unlikely it would be for Tom to show him any kindness or assist him in any way.
He thought of the housemaids. There was one of them in particular who sometimes looked at him with a flirtatious gleam in her eye and a warm smile on her rosy mouth. But he was sure she wouldn't risk the wrath that would come down on her head should she be caught helping Jared.
He had no idea how the clothing had materialized, until the snowy white cravat and the fashionable, although unfortunately puce-colored, waistcoat with the rather large brass buttons appeared a day later, along with shiny black Hessian boots. There was a suspicious damp spot on the cravat and definite canine teeth marks on one of the boots.
"Thanks, boy," Jared said softly to Harley, stroking between his ears, as he took the dogs outside into the stable yard for their daily exercise.
Sadie woofed at his side and Harley wagged his tail exuberantly.
"You, too, Sadie," Jared laughed, and she woofed again.
Thanks to the dogs, he had a whole ensemble put together, and if the breeches were just a little short, and the boots a little tight, and the waistcoat just a little ugly, what did it matter? He was going to the ball.
He escaped to his bedchamber as soon as Kripke's back was turned. If the silver wasn’t polished to his satisfaction, Jared would deal with that tomorrow.
He had no valet to help him dress, but he hadn't had anyone to help him since he was seven years old. When his father died, his stepmother, Mama Dawn, had moved him out of his nursery, discharged his governess, and relegated Jared to a small bedchamber under the roof.
There he slept alone, curled under a thin coverlet in the winter, forbidden a fire, and there, too, over the years, he sweltered in the summer's heat.
It was a confusing time. Jared was unsure of what had happened to his father, and no one was there to explain. He became accustomed to Lady Padalecki's sharp voice and unkind hands rousing him in the morning, until he quickly learned to wash and dress himself, before creeping down to the kitchen. At least Cook was willing to fuss over a small boy, and to make sure, over the years, that that same boy, growing like a weed, had enough to eat.
Jared also learned to keep himself company, and to smile at the horses and carriages and people he saw on the street beneath his window. He imagined where they might be going, where they had come from, what their lives might be like.
He thought about what it would be like to be free to go down the street whenever he wished to, to talk to other people, to live as other people did. But Lady Padalecki and her sons had made sure, when he was a boy, that he went nowhere and saw no one. And now that he was grown, he had nowhere to go and no one to show him.
He was not unlettered, thanks to one of the many tutors Michael and Tom went through. Mr. Beaver had been a kind man, and in the short time he was a part of the Padalecki household, and he had taught Jared to read and write in small bits of time snatched away from Michael and Tom.
He had been gone the moment Lady Padalecki had discovered Jared sitting in a corner by the kitchen fire, avidly reading. Her anger had been terrible, and she had ripped away the small book Jared held clutched in his hands and thrown it into the fire. She had slapped Jared's face when he protested, and from that time on, he had never allowed her to see him study.
But she could no more take the knowledge he had acquired away from him than she could stop Cook from making sure he had enough to eat, and Jared would forever be grateful to the long-gone tutor.
Lady Padalecki's sons were several years older than Jared, and from the moment his father died, they had been encouraged to treat Jared as little better than a servant. As they treated the servants of the house with execrable rudeness, and occasional cruelness, Jared could not count Michael and Tom as his friends.
He wasn't completely without friends, though. The head of Lady Padalecki's stables allowed him to play with the stable dogs, and from the moment they were acquired, Harley and Sadie were Jared's best, and only, playmates.
Jared had learned his manners from his father, and had also inherited his happy disposition. He made the housemaids laugh, and he wrestled with the stable boys, and if the very proper footmen gave him a wide berth, well, his life was better than it could have been.
And now he quickly scrambled into his clothes, tying his cravat the best he could, and pulling his boots on with only slight effort, more than grateful to Harley and Sadie for his costume.
His face was warm from his struggle with the boots, and he took several deep breaths before walking down the stairs and into the drawing room where his stepmother and stepbrothers were already gathered. He made sure to enter the room with what dignity and composure he could summon.
From the expression of stunned disbelief on Lady Padalecki's countenance, his appearance afforded her no great pleasure. Her face whitened in fury, with two spots of color high on her powdered cheeks, and her hands curled into claws at her side.
"Damn!" Tom said explosively, and Michael turned from the fireplace where he'd been warming his hands to see what had caught his brother's attention.
"Hell's teeth," Michael said. "No, Mother, I make you no apologies for my language," he said to Lady Padalecki, who, really, did not seem as if she could tear her eyes away from Jared long enough to demand one.
Jared stood awkwardly in the doorway, and Lady Padalecki smiled thinly, cold anger in her eyes. "Come in, Jared," she said graciously. "My dears," she purred, turning to her sons. "Here is Jared, ready for the ball. Come, Jared, show us your finery." Her false laugh tinkled musically and she closed her fan with a sharp snap.
Tom stared at Jared, looking rather stupid, his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. It was not a flattering expression, and Jared was tempted to tell him to avoid such a look in the future.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Thomas," he said, "I do believe our brother," his lips twisted disdainfully on the word, "Is wearing your pantaloons. And are those your third best Hessians on his feet?" He raised his quizzing glass to his eye and peered at Jared's boots. "And he was able to shove his boat-like feet into them? They'll be stretched beyond repair, Thomas." He shook his head sadly, but his eyes held a wicked glitter.
Jared began to realize this might not have been the best idea he ever had. Going to the ball, yes, but he should have slipped out the front door and made his own way to Lord Ackles' home, instead of attempting to go with the rest of his family.
Tom was obviously dumbfounded at Michael's words, which increased his resemblance to a fish, but Lady Padalecki was looking quite pleased. Jared's hand made it's way nervously to his cravat and Michael said, "Is that my necktie? And my waistcoat? Have you been stealing from me, Jared," he asked dangerously.
"No," replied Jared, standing his ground. "They are things you no longer use, that had been set aside to give to charity."
"And you are in need of charity, aren't you, Jared, my dear?" Lady Padalecki was looking quite delighted with herself at the opportunity to remind Jared that he was completely dependent on his stepmother's good graces for each and every one of his needs.
Jared flushed and set his jaw, but said nothing. Michael sauntered over to the table, where a bottle of wine and several glasses sat. He poured the wine, gleaming red in the firelight, into four glasses, and held them out, one by one, to his brother and his mother. Turning to Jared, he held the fourth glass out with a slight bow.
"To a delightful night out," he intoned. Tom was looking puzzled at this sign of acquiescence to Jared's presence, but as Jared reached to take the glass, Michael's hand jerked and the dark red wine splashed down the front of Jared's clothing, instantly staining his breeches, his cravat, and his waistcoat.
Tom's laugh boomed. Michael pressed a hand to his chest and said, "Oh, dear. Look what I've done," a malicious gleam in his eye.
Jared gasped in shock. In an instant, all his hopes were crushed, and he saw clearly how foolish he had been. His heart sank. He should have known it was too good to be true, that his chance to leave this house, to go out among people of rank and fortune had never really been a chance, just a cruel tease.
His stepmother and her sons ignored him as if he were no longer there. Jared may as well have been invisible as they gathered up their cloaks and made ready to leave for the ball.
Jared stood in the center of the room, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his eyes closed as he listened to Lady Padalecki, Tom, and Michael depart, their voices raised in excitement for the evening and in the enjoyment of how they had crushed Jared's heart yet again.
Beside, him, Sadie nosed into his hand, and Harley pressed his big head against Jared's leg. The three of them stood there motionless for what seemed to be a very long time.
After some time had passed, Jared shook his head, took a deep breath, and sighed. He looked down at the dogs and smiled sadly. "I guess I'm not going anywhere tonight, am I?"
He really couldn't bring himself to clean up the small bit of wine that hadn't splattered all over his clothing, the clothes he'd put so much hope into, the clothes that would have allowed him to meet Sir Jensen again. As he turned to leave the drawing room, to retreat back to his small bedchamber under the roof, back where he belonged, someone spoke.
"What do you mean, sir, you're not going anywhere tonight? You're not giving up, are you?"
It was a male voice, a little nasal, and sounding somewhat indignant; it was coming from the fireplace. Jared turned to see a rather tall man, with straw-colored hair and bright, though somewhat squinty, blue eyes. He was dressed quite fashionably, in pale yellow breeches and a fine coat of light blue, which sat very well across his shoulders. His cravat was arranged in an extravagant and complicated manner. A mischievous smile graced his lips and he looked at Jared expectantly.
"Excuse me?" Jared said. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure." His good manners showed themselves without thought, and Jared shook his head at himself and hastened to add, "How did you come to be in this house?" in what he hoped was an intimidating manner.
The man tilted his head at Jared, his smile widening. "Why should you wish to know that? I'm already here, aren't I?" He snorted in a most impolite way. "Really, Jared, what does it matter? I'm here to help you." He waved his hand airily in Jared's direction. "Unless you'd prefer to retire for the night?" There was a challenge in his voice, and Jared bristled at the implication that he would give up without a fight.
"No, I don't want to retire for the night. But –" Jared's voice tapered off. He didn't see that he had much of a choice in this situation. "I'm not sure what else is to be done."
The blond man shook his head mournfully. "And they told me you were a man of some spirit." He sighed dramatically. "You must see what's possible, Jared. If you don't see that, I can't help you." The nasal voice sounded a little wistful.
Jared just stared in bewilderment as the stranger flicked a invisible speck of dust off the sleeve of his fine coat, and then winked at Jared.
"Can you see it, Jared? Can you see what's possible?" The blond man squinted at Jared, looking a little unbalanced, and the bright blue jewel that nestled in the center of his neck cloth gleamed in the firelight. It was mesmerizing.
Jared wasn't sure how to answer him, since he was afraid he saw nothing at all, so he chose another tact. "May I know your name?" he asked.
"I am Chad Michael Murray," the man said, making a small bow in Jared's direction. He waited expectantly.
"Jared Padalecki," Jared said, also bowing. Chad frowned, as if he had expected more of a reaction from Jared, or perhaps at least a sign of recognition.
"Yes, I am aware," Chad said finally. "I thought maybe you'd heard of – in some circles - but, no matter." He strode to the table and picked up the wine decanter. Pulling out the stopper, he sniffed at it and wrinkled his nose delicately. "Expensive, but of poor quality nonetheless," he murmured. "You are the reason I'm here," he said, looking at Jared. He raised his wine glass in a toast and drained half of it, shuddering delicately.
"And what am I to do with anything?" Jared inquired. "Why should you wish to help me?"
"What does it matter? My god, man, you are far too taken with whys and wherefores for my taste. You are in danger of boring me." Chad tossed off the rest of his wine and reached again for the decanter.
"My apologies," Jared said stiffly. "I would not bore you for the world."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, for heaven's sake," Chad said. He grinned again. "Do you want to know how I may help you?" Jared wondered why he was the one being made dizzy, when Chad was the one drinking wine as if it were water.
He nodded. "Yes, please, tell me what is possible."
"Anything, if you want it enough," Chad replied. He poured himself more glass of wine. Jared waited, but no further enlightenment seemed to be forthcoming.
Jared frowned. "I have wanted many things very much over many years, and it has made not one whit of difference how badly I wanted them, I have not obtained them," he said, feeling the need to defend himself, for some reason, as if his situation in life was somehow his fault. As if the small boy he'd been hadn't tried hard enough, or believed enough.
"Do you want this?" Chad looked at him curiously. "Enough to believe?"
Jared thought about the years since his father's death. He thought about his stepmother's cruelty and neglect, his stepbrothers' scorn and hostility. He thought about his frustration at watching the world go by under his window, leaving him behind.
He nodded. "I want it. Give me something to believe in."
"You already have something," Chad said. He waited, watching Jared slyly through his eyelashes.
Jared thought about Sir Jensen's kind green eyes. His full lips, the freckles sprinkled across his nose, and his friendly smile and warm voice. His refusal to dismiss anyone, no matter how low their station in life.
"Yes, I do," he said, and he smiled.
Chad studied Jared's face for a moment. Jared held his breath, waiting. It was suddenly very important that Chad offer him something, offer him some hope.
"If you look outside the window, you will notice a carriage. It will take you to the ball, and it will bring you back here. At midnight, it will no longer be available." Chad laughed softly. "At midnight, it will no longer exist."
Jared moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy velvet drapery to stare out into the street. A neat carriage stood waiting, two dashing black horses at the ready. A tall, heavy man stood at their head, reins in his big hands. A smaller, petite man, with ears that stuck out rather remarkably, stood waiting to open the carriage door. Looking closer, Jared realized the smaller man was actually a girl, her hair tucked away under a cap.
"Yes," said Chad, with a delighted grin. "Harley and Sadie await you, also."
Startled, Jared looked quickly around the room, but the dogs were no longer with them. He stared back out the window, and laughed in befuddlement when he recognized the droop of Harley's eyes in the coachman's face.
"You must go," Chad said, pulling out a large gold pocket watch and glancing at it. "You don't precisely have all night for this adventure."
"But," Jared protested. "My clothes. I can't arrive at the Ross's ball looking as if I've already been to a rout."
"By Jove, I almost forgot." Chad opened his elaborately decorated enamel snuffbox and took a pinch of snuff, sniffing it with obvious delight, and then sneezing delicately into a tiny wisp of linen. "Look in the mirror, Jared," he said, and pointed to the mirror that hung over the damask-covered sofa.
Puzzled, Jared turned, staring into the mirror. He was struck momentarily speechless. Dressed in smooth yellow breeches, which fit him perfectly, he looked very tall. They fit him almost too perfectly, and Jared fought back a blush at how revealing of his form they were. His jacket of blue superfine looked as if it had required two men to help him shrug into it. He feet were clad in the most elegant evening shoes Jared had ever seen. All in all, he looked quite the gentleman, and it was something he'd never expected to see when he looked in a mirror.
Turning back to Chad, he bowed low. "Thank you," he said simply.
Chad smiled, his eyes squinting happily. "Go, my Lord," Chad said. "Your carriage awaits."
Jared nodded. He was almost through the drawing room door, when he stopped. "What?" he said, turning to look at Chad. "Did you just call me 'my Lord?' What do you mean by that?"
"What do you think I meant by it? Your father was Lord Padalecki. Who do you imagine inherited the title when he died?" Chad tilted his head enquiringly at Jared, sipping his wine delicately.
"My cousin?" Jared said.
"No, not at all," Chad said.
"But Lady Dawn – my stepmother – she said – " Jared stammered.
"She lied," Chad intoned simply. "She has lied to you many times, about many things, Jared. You would do well to remember that. Now, go."
Jared just stood there with his mouth gaping open. Chad grimaced. "You look like a fish, my Lord," he said. "I suggest you close your mouth and be on your way."
Jared stumbled out of the house, his head spinning, Chad's laughter in his ears. He was Lord Padalecki?
His stepmother had told him, once he was old enough to understand such things, that his father's title and whatever part of his fortune he hadn't left to Dawn had gone to an obscure cousin no one had ever heard of, and wasn't that just such a shame, but Jared was completely dependent on Lady Padalecki's charity now.
It was a charity that she gave grudgingly, meanly, and without kindness or love. Jared's happy nature had annoyed her, and his natural exuberance had been ruthlessly squashed by harsh words and unkind hands.
She and her sons never let Jared forget that he only remained among them on sufferance, and that he deserved little in the way of consideration. He was constantly threatened with being let loose on the streets of London if he did not behave himself and show appropriate gratitude towards the only people who were willing to give him a home, however ungenerously.
He was tolerated, barely so, and while his loving nature could not be held in check, and he could not remain in the doldrums for any length of time, it was a lonely existence for such a boy.
Lord Padalecki? Could this be true? His head spinning, Jared gave himself over to contemplation as his carriage made it's way to Lord and Lady Ross's house.
Jensen looked around the large ballroom and sighed. His parents had spared no expense this evening. There were too many candles to count glowing in their holders and reflected in the mirrors that lined the walls. Beautifully gowned ladies were glittering in their elegant finery and their jewels, twirling around the dance floor with their partners. Enormous flower arrangements covered every surface, pink roses and yellow tulips, white gardenias and blue hyacinths, surrounded by leaves in all shades of green, nestled in tall curved vases of the finest crystal.
The only thing Jensen could imagine that would improve it was a tall, dark man in uniform at his side, dashing and handsome, with warm brown eyes smiling at him.
Jensen blinked the image of Jeff's much-loved face away, impatient with himself. It had been three years, as people had recently taken to reminding him.
The musicians were situated in a small alcove at one end of the ballroom, and the strains of the waltz floated across to Jensen as he stood looking out over the crowd, Christian at his side.
"This is more boring than even I thought possible," Jensen said. He tossed off the last of his wine and set the glass down on the small table beside him.
"Don't say that too loudly, my Lord, your mama approaches," Christian said, with amusement.
"I hate you," Jensen threw at his friend, then turned to address his mother with a smile. "Mama, how are you enjoying your ball?" He bowed low over her hand, and then raised it to his lips, planting a kiss on the soft skin.
Lady Ross looked around her, and then turned a severe eye on her son. "It is your ball, my love, and I would be enjoying it a great deal more if you would occasionally dance with one of the lovely young ladies who are attending it," she said, falsely sweet.
Christian nudged Jensen discreetly with his shoulder and Jensen gritted his teeth and smiled at his mother. "Yes, ma'am, I shall do so on the instant." He cast a hurried eye around the room, until his glance landed on the enchanting and vivacious Miss Danneel Harris. Her shining red hair was done up in a style that allowed several mischievous curls to escape, brushing her shoulders quite charmingly.
She was breathtaking.
Turning to bow to his mother again, he said, "Excuse me, ma'am. I see my possible future bride over there without a dancing partner." His mother frowned at his levity, but did not stop him going.
With Christain at his elbow, Jensen sauntered over to Danneel, who was speaking with an odd-looking fellow with shirt points so high that they almost reached his eyebrows.
"I am loathe to interrupt you, of course, Miss Harris," Jensen said, doing just that, "but would you do me the honor of dancing this next with me?" He paused, cocking his head and listening for a moment. "I fear it is not a waltz this time. What a shame." Christian snorted.
Danneel sparkled up at Jensen. "You just wish for an excuse to put your arm around my waist, my Lord," she said, tapping the arm in question playfully with her fan. The odd-looking fellow seemed somewhat put out by Jensen's sudden appearance at their side. Danneel said, "I am remiss. Viscount Ackles, may I present Misha Collins. He is a friend of my family. And this is Mr. Kane, Sir Jensen's great good friend," she added, gesturing at Christian.
The man at Danneel's side ignored Christian completely and bowed to Jensen, who inclined his head politely. Mr. Collins was tall, dark hair swept up in fashionable curls, and he had the most brilliant blue eyes Jensen had ever seen.
He felt a pull of attraction and he looked at Mr. Collins with interest. Mr. Collins gazed back at him frankly, with no hint of the irritation he had shown only moments earlier at Jensen's interruption of his tete-a-tete with Danneel.
Danneel looked between them, then smiled at Jensen. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would like to dance," she said, twinkling at them.
"Don't be nonsensical, Danneel," Jensen drawled. He smiled his most charming smile. "Perhaps Mr. Collins would prefer to –"
But Jensen never got a chance to elaborate on what Misha Collins might or might not prefer to do. Raucous laughter came from across the ballroom, creating an interruption. Jensen looked over toward the noise, intent on finding the cause.
Michael Rosenbaum seemed to be laughing at his half-brother, Thomas Welling. Jensen frowned. He did not much care for either of the two men, and was not sure why his mother occasionally cultivated the company of their mother.
Christian murmured something rude in his ear about Thomas, and an unwilling laugh escaped him before he sought to turn his attention back to the delightful Mr. Collins.
There was another stir of noise, this time near the entrance to the ballroom, and Jensen could see that a latecomer had arrived. This was unusual, as his mother was a stickler for punctuality, but this ball was different from the usual parties Lady Ross held, and no one was likely to be turned away tonight.
This ball was for Jensen to find someone to spend the rest of his life with, and while he may be fighting against his mother's interference, he couldn't deny that the company she had gathered this evening held all the choices he could have wished for, if he had the heart to make such a choice.
That is to say, he wouldn't have denied it until this very moment. Up until this moment, he would have said all the most beautiful and desirable men and women in society were all here in his family's ballroom. It would not have occurred to him to lament the absence of a man so tall, dark, and handsome that it put every other man in the place to shame.
Here was a man with broad shoulder and slim hips, with silky brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. He gazed frankly around the room, and when his eyes found Jensen, the smile that lit up his face put the many candles to shame with it's brightness. Twin dimples appeared on either side of that amazing smile, which framed straight white teeth, and a pink tongue came out to quickly lick across a bottom lip that Jensen thought he might die for the chance to taste.
Jensen felt something stir deep inside him that he had never expected to feel again.
He broke away from Danneel and Mr. Collins without a word, and walked straight across the room to the unknown latecomer, ignoring Christian's "Jen! Where are you going?"
Jared stopped in the entryway to the grand ballroom, looking on in awe. He had never seen so many glittering candles in his life. Lady Padalecki's parties, the ones he'd been privileged to catch a glimpse of, anyway, were usually paltry affairs, with boring company and badly chosen wine, trifling games of cards and poorly played music.
This, this was amazing, and he hoped he hadn't been standing there like a marble statue for very long. That would not make much of a first impression on anyone who may have been watching, at least not an encouraging one.
Jared surveyed the ballroom, once he was no longer quite as dazzled by the sight of every fashionable person of the ton squeezed into one room, albeit a large one, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking, and flirting. He'd understood that this ball was meant as a way for Sir Jensen to look over all available prospects, matrimonial or not, much like one would expect to look over horses to choose the best one, but Viscount Ackles didn't appear to be much interested in the sad crush of people in the ballroom.
Instead, he was focused on the man beside Sir Jensen. Jared felt a flare of something he thought might be jealousy when the man, who was shorter than the Viscount, with brown hair pulled back into a tie and intense blue eyes, placed his hand on Sir Jensen's arm and they laughed intimately together.
The shorter man gestured at something across the ballroom, and Sir Jensen laughed again. Following the direction of the gesture, Jared spied his stepbrother Tom bowing low to a small, dark-haired young lady, who was shaking her head with a moue of distaste on her lips. Michael stood nearby, watching his brother with an expression of such derision on his face that Jared almost laughed, too. He had seen that expression on occasions too numerous to count, usually, but not always, directed at himself, and it always brought out the worst in Tom when it was aimed at him.
Jared hoped the evening would not end in fisticuffs between his stepbrothers, not because he cared for their embarrassment, but because he did not wish for Sir Jensen's comfort to be disturbed.
Then Sir Jensen turned his head and caught sight of Jared. He stood stock-still while the laughter seemed to die in his throat. He stared across the room, and Jared met his gaze head-on. Jared wondered idly if the rest of the company could see the sparks flying between them as they focused on each other. It was more intense than anything Jared had yet experienced.
Sir Jensen gazed at Jared as if he had never seen anything quite like him before.
They moved together, in unison across the room. The brown-haired man who had been laughing with Sir Jensen watched their progress with interest. When the two men came together, they stopped, each observing the other carefully. With less than two feet of space between them, Sir Jensen bowed.
"Welcome," he said. His green eyes glittered in the candlelight, something in them that made Jared's heart beat faster. He bowed in turn.
"Thank you, my Lord," Jared said. They had exchanged only a few words, but already the tension between them was palpable.
"May I offer you a glass of champagne?" Sir Jensen asked, stopping a passing footman holding a tray of glasses aloft.
"Yes, thank you," Jared said again. Sir Jensen snagged two of the sparkling glasses and handed one to Jared. Jared's fingers burned where they brushed the other man's. He looked to see Sir Jensen watching him with smoldering eyes, and Jared's answering gaze was full of heat.
He had no idea what had come over him, but it didn't seem of much importance. He barely saw anyone else, the ballroom was simply a blur of sound and motion, nothing else. Sir Jensen was as beautiful as Jared had remembered him, and yes, Jared had been right, his eyes were green.
There was no way Jared could have seen, in the dim light of the stable on that long ago day, that Sir Jensen's face was sprinkled with enough freckles to make any young lady reach desperately for the powder. Jared thought it was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.
Sir Jensen turned without a word, and stalked toward a small alcove off the ballroom. Jared followed him, his feet in motion before he was even aware of moving.
There was a heavy curtain across the opening to the alcove, and Sir Jensen pushed it aside with a jerky motion. Jared ducked inside and Sir Jensen turned to face him. They stood there motionless for a moment, and then Sir Jensen shoved Jared into the wall behind him, fastening his lips on Jared's mouth.
Jared felt as if the only way he could get enough breath to survive was if he were to kiss Jensen and never stop.
Finally, Sir Jensen pushed him away, wiping the corner of his mouth delicately with this thumb. Jared swallowed, his eyes never leaving Jensen's face.
Distractedly, Sir Jensen looked around until he spotted the glass of champagne he'd hastily placed on the small inlaid table in the corner of the alcove. He tipped it back and drained it at once, the alcohol adding to the flush on his face.
"I don’t even know your name," he said, unevenly.
Jared's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know how to respond. Was he really Lord Padalecki? He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, not tonight."
Jensen looked as if he were about to argue, so Jared moved forward, taking Jensen's mouth in another bruising kiss. The champagne glass fell from Jensen's hand as his arms went around Jared's neck, tugging him down to allow Jensen to kiss him thoroughly.
"I must be mad," Jensen said, pulling away finally. "I don't know what's come over me tonight." Jared smiled at him. "It is you, I think. You have intoxicated me."
Jared laughed. "You have me confused with the champagne, my Lord," he said.
"No, no, it is you, I am sure of it," Jensen murmured, moving to the small settee next to the little table. He sat, pulling Jared down beside him. "If you will not tell me your name, tell me something else about yourself. Something true."
Jared hesitated. There were many things he could tell Sir Jensen about his life, but none of them were of any particular interest. "I am just a man," he said. "I have done nothing remarkable in my life. I am not remarkable."
"Everyone is remarkable in some way," Jensen protested. "I think you are quite extraordinary. You are tall, and handsome and you have laughing eyes."
"Some would say too tall, I am afraid," Jared said. "And laughing is my favorite of all things to do."
"Then I should like to see you do much of it," Jensen murmured in his ear. "I shall make you laugh at least once a day."
"We have met before," Jared confessed quietly. "You would not remember," he hastened to add, as Jensen seemed about to speak. "But you were kind to me, and you told me that everybody was somebody."
"Surely I would remember meeting you," Jensen said. He frowned. "I insist that you tell me."
"Do you know you look like a little boy when you pout?" Jared asked fondly.
"I do not pout," Jensen said. The corner of his mouth twitched, just a bit. "Although my mother would not agree with me, I think." But he dropped the subject of when they had met before, and Jared was satisfied.
"Do you know that your eyes are sad?" Jared asked. "They are beautiful, but they are sad, even when you are laughing with your friends." He traced one of Jensen's eyebrows with his finger. Jensen's eyes fluttered closed at the touch. He nodded.
"I…lost someone," he said, simply.
"Someone you loved very much," Jared guessed.
"Yes." They sat in silence, and Jared took Jensen's hand in his, rubbing his thumb across Jensen's knuckles.
"I am sorry," Jared said.
Jensen inclined his head. "I am, too. Thank you. He was a soldier."
"Thank you for telling me."
Jensen didn’t seem inclined to speak more on the matter, and Jared did not ask. He felt honored that Jensen trusted him enough to tell him what he did. He swore to himself that he would do whatever was in his power to banish the sadness from Jensen's eyes.
He did not stop to consider how very little power he had. And if he had, it would not have mattered. Nothing seemed impossible tonight.
Jared didn't know how much time passed as they kissed fiercely, then lazily, murmuring to each other, confessing secrets, sharing warm touches in the dark. He pulled back a moment, smiling down at Jensen, who looked up at him with kiss-swollen lips, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip, smiling when he tasted Jared there.
From a distance, Jared heard a clock striking. He ignored it, until Chad's voice came to him, penetrating the fog swirling around in his brain.
At midnight, the carriage will no longer be available. It will no longer exist.
"I must go!" Jared gasped, pulling out of Jensen's grasp. He turned, fear making his limbs sluggish. He fought with the heavy drapery across the opening of the little room he and Jensen were secluded in.
"Wait," Jensen exclaimed, his arms still reaching for Jared. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Jared said. "Please, believe that I am sorry." His heart was breaking.
"Please, at least tell me your name," Jensen called after him.
Shaking his head, Jared succeeded in pushing aside the curtain and ran, stumbling, listening to the chiming of the clock, panic making his breath come quickly. He saw the startled faces of people as he pushed past them, but he paid them no mind as he hurried out of the ballroom.
As he ran to the door, one of his shoes came off his foot, but he had no time to stop. He disregarded it and continued on. His carriage was waiting at the front door, and he leaped in and slammed the door shut behind him.
The carriage lunged forward, the horses plunging in their harness, and Jared leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling sick with despair.
Jensen. He had had to leave Sir Jensen, and it felt as if his heart would never recover.
They barely made it to the house in Grosvenor Street in time. No sooner did Jared climb down from the carriage than it vanished, leaving Sadie and Harley in place of the driver and the footman. Sadie looked up at him with sad eyes, and Harley whined low in his throat.
Jared took one last look at the night sky, stars shining bright above him, before moving around to the back of the house, and in through the kitchen door. It would not do for anyone to see him enter through the front door.
When he reached his bedchamber, he realized his clothing was the same wine-stained coat and pants he had been wearing before Chad showed up. The only thing left of the outfit he'd worn to the ball was the single, elegant shoe he still wore on his left foot.
He took it off, sliding his fingers over the fine leather, then tucked it away at the bottom of the chest where he kept the single toy he remembered his father giving him as a child.
Jared undressed for bed slowly, sadly, trying to keep his mind blank. Once he was beneath the covers, however, he could not stop the thoughts and memories from coming.
He touched his lips, and his fingers found them cold. He longed for the warmth of Jensen's mouth, swore he could still feel the tingle of the heated, champagne kisses they had shared so happily.
Jared closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him. The sense of loss he felt was deep, close to overwhelming. He could almost wish he had never gone to the Ross's ball that evening.
It had been the most wonderful night in all his life, and it had been the most terrible. As his eyes finally drifted shut, he wondered distantly if he'd ever recover.
Part 3