Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

VOLUME I

Hartfield estate looked the same as ever, classical creamy yellow stone against a pale blue sky. The driveway was uneven under the wheels of the carriage as the house came into view. Low hills rose in the near distance, a flock of sheep grazed by the gardens. 

Two months away in Bath had changed little—Highbury was still quaint, the fields still lush green and perfectly trim, and the school boys still tracked mud up and down the village centre.

Donghyuck could not explain why he expected otherwise, but he did. Perhaps he secretly hoped Doyoung would leave behind newlywed bliss to spend a long-awaited week with his younger brother. Or maybe that Mrs. Gong would have prepared his favorite spicy stew just in time for his arrival. At the very least, he had hoped that the local sheep would have gathered to greet him, patiently waiting for Donghyuck to make up for two months’ worth of scratches under their chins.

But there was little ceremony at all for the return of the second son of the Lee family, back after what felt like ages. Jeno departed for Berry Hill, and then Donghyuck was officially home.

Even his own father was absent from the occasion; Donghyuck walked into the library expecting to see him relaxed in his easy chair—instead, he found a young man sitting politely on the sofa, newspaper in hand, startling at his sudden appearance.

Jaemin’s mouth widened into a striking grin. “Good God, do I see Donghyuck Lee?”

Truly, nothing had changed.

“In my own home? Your eyes deceive you, Mr. Na.”

Jaemin made a show of rubbing his eyes, blinking as if to restore his vision. “Oh, how wonderful! It is you, after all,” he exclaimed, the absolute picture of delight. “You look very lovely this morning. I take the water in Bath has improved your health?”

“I believe it has. It might do you well to pay the Pump Room a visit as well, Na. The country air has frazzled you. You seem to continually mistake our estate for yours,” Donghyuck heaved an affected sigh. “Shall I send for a carriage?”

Jaemin pursed his lips. “Now that’s not any way to treat a guest, Donghyuck, is it?”

“I suppose you mean to say pest?” 

“Ha. Very clever, you are.”

“Hmm. I should think so!”

The knit of Jaemin’s brows told Donghyuck that he was preparing to reproach him, before he even opened his mouth to reply. “You know, Mr. Lee appreciates my knowledge of affairs outside of Highbury.”

Donghyuck stood his ground. “How can he, when you rarely see anything besides the four walls of our home? Forgive me for suspecting you of swaying poor father in the wrong direction.”

Jaemin’s eyes were bright. He clearly loved this back-and-forth; it was a routine natural to them since they were young, bickering in the backwoods behind Hartfield until one or both of them ended up covered in mud and shrubbery.

Donghyuck had sorely missed the thrill while he was in Bath. He had seemingly met the entirety of England there, coming to partake in the water’s mystical healing powers—and yet, there was no one like Jaemin.

No one else could see past Donghyuck’s posturing like Jaemin could, too eager to take offence at his brilliant remarks. No one else could read his indifference as veiled interest. No one else possessed the same ingenuity and handsome spirit. The rest of the gentry were positively dreadful, compared to Mr. Na.

“You must know the value of the papers, Donghyuck. The world out there is changing rapidly, and I only mean to keep your father informed,” Jaemin said. He rustled his copy of the London Chronicle, fresh off the press like he was an old grouch and not a sprightly young gentleman of only five and twenty. Acquiring Donwell Abbey at the age of seventeen will do that to a man, Donghyuck supposed.

Donghyuck gave a sardonic grin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then how lucky he is to have you here most days of the week, feasting on our lamb and lounging on our sofas as if you were one of his own.”

“You get wittier by the day, Duckie,” Jaemin laughed with a shake of his head.

“I know,” he said, smug. He looked around. “Where is father, anyway?”

Jaemin folded the newspaper in his lap. “He has business with Mr. Yoo in town.”

“I did write that I would be arriving early today,” Donghyuck glowered. Mr. Lee was always occupied with something or another these days. Possibly the ennui of a life of leisure was weighing on him; with Doyoung married, Donghyuck occupied by his own indulgences, and their mother long laid to rest, Mr. Lee understandably clutched at anything that might entertain him. “Is no one thrilled to see me?”

“I am!” Jaemin protested. “I came here to greet you, did I not?”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “You are always here.”

“And yet, here is my thrilled smile,” Jaemin twisted the corners of his mouth up. He beckoned Donghyuck over, patting the cushion beside him. “Tell me about your trip at once. How is Jeno?”

Donghyuck obliged, draping an arm over the wooden back of the sofa as he angled his body toward Jaemin. “My cousin is quite well. He danced at nearly every ball. I suppose he is becoming less shy, now that he is eager to marry.”

Jaemin’s mouth fell open. “Jeno? Less shy!”

“It is a miracle,” Donghyuck nodded in assent.

“Has he found someone?”

“There were a good many stunning suitors, but unfortunately not,” Donghyuck clicked his tongue. “He is picky, although I think it necessary to be selective in marriage.” 

“And what of you?” Jaemin asked, expression turning curious. He scooted closer; Donghyuck caught a whiff of an Italian spring morning, a familiar blend of daffodils and orange blossoms. “Did you meet any person of…interest?”

Donghyuck waved him off. “You know very well I have no desire to marry. I am content with my friends, my family, and all of life’s many pleasures.”

Jaemin stifled a laugh. He was trying to vex Donghyuck again now that he was back within his grasp, like a child remembering his favorite toy. Donghyuck was too well-versed in Jaemin’s tendencies to let it phase him. 

“What might those be?”

“My novels. The pianoforte. Singing. I have a newfound interest in travelling; perhaps I will explore beyond England—I have heard Italy is beautiful in autumn. And I’d continue my match-making, of course,” Donghyuck said, matter-of-factly.

“Continue match-making?” Jaemin raised his eyebrows. “Who, then, is the inaugural couple?”

Donghyuck does not hesitate to relate the tale. It was their first ball on their third night in Bath, the social season in full effect. 

There was a beautiful young lady by the name of Miss Anville who had seemingly captured the attention of the entire ballroom. Though none of the gentlemen dared to approach her; thus she sat alone with her chaperone, looking forlornly upon the other girls officially putting themselves on the market.

Observing this, Donghyuck asked to be her first dance. He was pleased to discover how delightful she was, sly remarks and a singularly rustic charm. She was also from Berry Hill, though she and Jeno had not known of each other’s existence, so Donghyuck endeavoured to acquaint them with one another. To no one’s surprise, all of the gentlemen lined up to be her next partner as soon as the quartet put their bows down.

When Donghyuck tried to retire to the game tables, satisfied by his work, he noticed a nobleman staring at Miss Anville with a similar sense of despair. This was Lord Orville, a kind-hearted earl whose father had once known Donghyuck’s own in their youth. Donghyuck knew immediately what he must do—it seemed his ultimate purpose was to be the night’s catalyst—so he ushered Lord Orville over to Miss Anville in time for the final dance, and their romance ensued over the next two months.

“In short, she is to become Lady Orville by August! Quite the success, is it not?” Donghyuck beamed.

Jaemin returned his smile warmly. “Indeed it is. You have made them very happy, I am sure.”

“Better yet, Lord Orville says he will invite me to the ceremony for my involvement. Perhaps I can write to him and inquire if I can bring you along,” Donghyuck said, leaning forward to pluck a stray thread from Jaemin’s blue silk waistcoat. His appearance was otherwise impeccable; Donghyuck could not remember a time when that was not true. “Then we might at last travel together, like we have always discussed.”

His soft brown eyes followed Donghyuck as he settled back into place and twisted the thread around his forefinger. “I would be happy to.”

“I have chatted your ears off, surely. Tell me how you have been, Jaemin.”

Busy, Donghyuck suspected, given that Jaemin had failed to respond to Donghyuck’s last letter sent a fortnight ago from his Bath address. His duties as the Na family’s only son had always surpassed Donghyuck’s, so he did not blame Jaemin for the silence; it was precisely the reason he could not accompany Donghyuck and Jeno on their travels. 

Donghyuck only felt slightly disoriented, not knowing his best friend’s every move. He was used to seeing Jaemin most days of the week, whether at Hartfield or Donwell or the village’s assembly room—they always seemed to make time for each other. Naturally, the adjustment was disagreeable. 

At least Jaemin’s proximity was a benefit of being home. 

He hummed. “I have been traveling a bit myself. I returned from Bristol two nights ago on a visit to—do you recall a Mark Lee?”

Donghyuck tilted his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“He is the son of Mrs. Choi’s brother from his first marriage. A bit of a distant relation, to be sure. He visited once when we were about ten years old. But poor Mark has now been disowned, and Mr. and Mrs. Choi should like to support him. They requested me to visit him and report back on his affairs,” Jaemin explained. “He appears to be an honest man; I expect he will arrive in Highbury by the end of the month, and I intend to help him get settled in the area.”

He could sound so…mature, at times. Donghyuck sank quickly back into the feeling of being a paltry fool in comparison, though Jaemin would never be so cruel as to agree. There were simply lower expectations for Donghyuck, with the Lee legacy already secured by Doyoung, and they both understood this fact. He merely regretted that Jaemin could not always enjoy the same freedoms and amusements.

Donghyuck could not keep the sincerity from his voice. “You are very generous. The village is fortunate to have you.”

Jaemin poked his thigh. “You flatter me.”

“Do not fret, for I am done now.” Donghyuck lifted Jaemin’s finger and set it neatly back in his lap, at which Jaemin cracked another smile. He clasped his hands together. “But how exciting! A fresh face will liven things up, indeed.”

“Are you so bored with me already—”

“My son!”

The elder Mr. Lee appeared in the library a few moments after his voice had echoed down the hall and into the library, Donghyuck and Jaemin rising immediately to greet him. He wrapped Donghyuck in a classic Lee family hug, all-encompassing and warm.

“It is good to have you home again, Donghyuck. I was beginning to grow restless in this estate by myself.”

“I am glad to be home, father.” Donghyuck guided him to his rightful chair by the expansive windows. “But surely, Jaemin kept you company while I was away?”

“That he did. Mr. Na is an excellent match for conversation. I’m afraid I would be an ignorant old bat if not for his efforts.” Jaemin raised his eyebrows as if to say See? Mr. Lee continued, “Did you know, Donghyuckie, that a fellow from Warwickshire is producing a haymaking machine?”

“I did not. That is very…intriguing,” Donghyuck said. 

Jaemin huffed a laugh, and then he and Mr. Lee were swept up in a lively account of a recent Parliamentary session that Donghyuck hardly cared for. It was a common scene, and a welcome one; Donghyuck was content to pluck a novel off of the shelves and curl up on the sofa while his father and his best friend chattered away until they tired themselves. It felt like being home. 

Some time passed before Mr. Lee addressed Donghyuck again, the afternoon sun high in the sky and pouring heavy light into the library. 

“Your love for novels will turn you idle, Donghyuck,” he chided. This felt like being home, too—Mr. Lee never failed to hide his distaste for some of Donghyuck’s more frivolous interests, as he would call them. He often wished that his youngest son would take up hunting, or archery, or something more stately than music and books and writing letters. Donghyuck found it difficult not to feel guilty, sometimes, when Mr. Lee would scold him like this. “You ought to be more like Jaemin.”

He considered how he might respond, something vague and placating that would divert Mr. Lee’s attention away from Donghyuck until he inevitably caught it again with his shortcomings. Normally, he would let it pass, but his cheeks turned hot on account of Jaemin witnessing him being reprimanded; he felt small again.

But Jaemin thought nothing of it. He said, “I fear I am not a good example for Donghyuck, for I love reading as well. I have read that one—” he pointed at the four-volume Radcliffe in Donghyuck’s hands, “—five times now.”

Donghyuck sent him a grateful look. “You forget Jaemin and I are the same age, father. We enjoy many of the same things.”

“Ah, yes. To be so young and free…” Mr. Lee trailed off, fixating on something out of the massive windows and turning pensive. Jaemin and Donghyuck exchanged a private smile. When he came back to himself, he stood with a grunt. “It is about time for lunch, no? Mr. Na, please join us.”

Jaemin followed suit, extending a hand to help Donghyuck up next. “I thank you for the invite, sir, but I think I shall return home. However, I should ask—will you both come to Donwell Abbey for supper tonight, sir? Mother has been quite impatient for Donghyuckie’s return.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Lee feigned surprise, but it was quickly apparent that he needed no convincing at all. “Your chef does make fine dumplings. It reminds me of home.”

Jaemin turned to Donghyuck, but it was already decided. “I’d be delighted to.”

His eyes lit up once more. “You shall have whatever it is you wish, Mr. Lee. Enjoy your lunch. We will meet again soon.” 

Jaemin shook hands with Mr. Lee, then with Donghyuck, like he was parting for good and not merely walking down the street. His fingers were warm where they met Donghyuck’s skin, and the touch seemed to float there for hours after.

Donwell Abbey was sprawling, somehow more expansive than Hartfield. It had become far too large for Mrs. Na, Jaemin, and their intimate staff after Mr. Na’s death, hence why Mrs. Na had become fond of hosting in recent years.

There was always some family from London or Kent or Oxford visiting, and once even a Duke had come to stay at Donwell; it was Mrs. Na’s pride and joy to share her late husband’s home with anyone who might be interested. In truth, it belonged to Jaemin, now, but he happily gave her free rein to do as she pleased, so long as he could keep the accounts in order.

Donghyuck sat in the parlour with Jaemin and Mr. Lee, drinking tea and awaiting Mrs. Na. The room was covered with paintings of the most massive kind, gilded baroque walls and velvet furniture. Mrs. Na’s taste was almost ostentatious compared to her son, whose bedroom looked so simple and practical it may well have belonged to another house entirely.

But Donwell’s beauty never wavered in Donghyuck’s eyes, no matter how many times he had come here over the past twenty-five years. It was, by all accounts, a second home, the people occupying it as close as family.

Mrs. Na walked in with a flourish and three white-and-grey cats in her arms, pale pink evening gown gleaming in the candlelight. She all but squealed as she spotted her guests, releasing Luna and Lucy to clamber all over Mr. Lee while Luke bounded over to Donghyuck in step with Mrs. Na. 

“Oh, my dearest Donghyuck! Have you gotten more handsome?” Mrs. Na said. She clutched Donghyuck’s face in her hands, turning his head as if she was trying to appraise every feature. “And to think you’ve returned to Highbury still a bachelor!”

“I am merely enjoying my freedom while I still am capable, Mrs. Na,” Donghyuck tried to say. It sounded half-muffled with her fingers pressing adoringly into his cheeks. “But I am convinced that you are more radiant than ever, ma’m.”

“I did long for your flattery while you were away,” said Mrs. Na with a charmed sigh. 

Her smile was an exact copy of Jaemin’s—or rather, Jaemin’s was an exact copy of hers—wide, stunning, just a bit toothy, powerful enough to captivate anyone witness to it. She stepped back to greet Mr. Lee, but not without first giving Dongyuck a hug.

Their parents got along splendidly in recent years; it was comforting, Donghyuck supposed, to have someone who had known your partner nearly as well as you had and missed them just as much. He was glad of it.

Something pawed eagerly at his feet in Mrs. Na’s absence. Donghyuck laughed.

“Hello, darling,” he murmured to Luke, running his hands through his fur. Luke squeezed his eyes shut and purred gently, happy to be reunited with his favorite Lee family member after two long months.

Jaemin crouched down beside him. “Is this the homecoming you were hoping for?”

“Precisely,” Donghyuck said. Jaemin watched on as Luke nuzzled into Donghyuck’s palm. “How can a creature be so sweet?”

“He is only sweet to you,” he remarked, voice soft and low in Donghyuck’s ear. “He can be very indifferent when he pleases.”

“I am a difficult person to dislike.”

Jaemin hummed. “That is true.”

Their hands brushed where Jaemin smoothed over Luke’s soft belly, his little finger nearly hooked around Donghyuck’s, lingering there until they were called for supper. Donghyuck mournfully tore himself away from Luke, though he and his sisters were likely to follow the party into the dining room regardless.

“Jaeminnie, lead our guests to their seats, won’t you?” Mrs. Na called.

“He does not have to—” Donghyuck tried.

“Oh, but he does,” Mrs. Na said. Jaemin charged forward without a complaint to the large dining hall. The walls were now a deep Prussian blue, and Mrs. Na had hung several new landscapes of the English countryside above the fireplace. He helped Mr. Lee to his chair and then pulled out Donghyuck’s with a low bow. “I imagine my Jaeminnie missed you very much, Donghyuck.”

“Sorely,” Jaemin confirmed. Even the seating arrangements were familiar; Jaemin beside his mother, Donghyuck across the table next to his father, the chair at the head of the table always left empty, as if Mr. Na had just stepped away for a brief moment. 

“If only you could have seen how despondently he would take to staring out of the window while you were away. I may well have believed he was trying to will his lover home!” Mrs. Na exclaimed, while Mr. Lee laughed as if there was nothing funnier in the world. 

“Mother,” Jaemin warned. His ears had turned bright red. Donghyuck took immense pleasure in the sight. He could already picture how he might wield this information over Jaemin after the meal was over. 

“I missed him too, ma’m. Bath was admittedly dull without his company,” he said, hiding his smile in his glass of Sherry.

“That is unsurprising,” Mrs. Na raised her eyebrows. There was a hint of mischief in the curve of her mouth. “How would you like to live here with us at Donwell?”

“The boys already see each other almost every day. It would not be much of a difference,” Mr. Lee said before Donghyuck could respond. He nodded resolutely, “I shall send for Donghyuck’s things at once.”

“Father!” Donghyuck gasped. “You would get rid of me so easily?”

“Mr. Na will take good care of you. You no longer have any need for me,” Mr. Lee said through a mouthful of dumpling.

The tables had turned—Jaemin was smirking at him now, chewing slowly as he watched for Donghyuck’s reaction. This was hardly the first time in the past decade Mrs. Na had suggested arranging something akin to marriage between her son and Donghyuck, and yet he could still feel a flush creeping up his neck.

“I am sure Jaemin would banish me immediately,” he said, poking at the salmon on his silver-rimmed porcelain plate. 

It was not the most awful thought, spending his days at Donwell, with Hartfield and father just down the road. He did intend to stay in Highbury, even if his return felt unremarkable—it was home, after all. But something about the idea of living with Jaemin made his stomach twist. 

“I would never do such a thing,” Jaemin shook his head and turned his persuasive brown eyes onto Mr. Lee. “Have I not always had Duckie’s best interests in mind, sir?”

“Indeed you have, son,” Mr. Lee said. “I entrust him to your care from this moment on.”

“Lovely,” Jaemin grinned like he had secured the deal of a lifetime, and Donghyuck endeavoured to change the subject before he could be embarrassed any further.

After dinner, they withdrew to the parlour again. Mr. Lee and Mrs. Na swapped Highbury gossip, stories about the days of yore while the Brandy flowed for hours at Mr. Lee’s request. Donghyuck and Jaemin shared the chaise lounge by the fireplace, listening to the conversation intently and exchanging quiet words amongst themselves. Luke had fallen fast asleep in Donghyuck’s lap; the mix of liquor, a full stomach, and being entirely at ease made him equally drowsy.

“Tired?” Jaemin whispered.

“Mm.” Donghyuck looked over at his father, animated as he explained the recent turbulence with the Stationers’ Company to Mrs. Na. “Father will not hasten to leave easily.”

Jaemin’s lips quirked. “You are both always welcome to stay. There are more than enough rooms here.”

“It is an enticing offer, but I think I should like to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Donghyuck said. He looked down at his lap and frowned at the thought of disrupting the cat’s peaceful slumber. “Though perhaps I can convince you to allow me to take Luke back to Hartfield? I will return him unharmed tomorrow, I swear it.”

Jaemin laid his head on his forearm. Long eyelashes fluttered against the swathe of pink dusting his cheekbones. “He is not permitted beyond the grounds of Donwell. I fear he will never return.”

“That is disappointing,” Donghyuck smiled. “Will you rouse father so we may take our leave? He is more inclined to listen to you.”

“Of course.”

It took some time, but thanks to the persuasiveness of Jaemin, Donghyuck eventually ushered Mr. Lee away from the Brandy and out of Donwell Abbey, with Jaemin escorting them home as he was wont to do.

When Mr. Lee stumbled into his bedroom, Donghyuck saw Jaemin out of the doors and into the inky black night.

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“It is always a pleasure,” Jaemin said, genteel as ever. He gazed at Donghyuck for a prolonged moment. “I am glad you are finally home.”

“As am I.” Donghyuck shifted on his feet, adjusting his collar that had begun to stick to his skin, the air warm with early summer. “Enjoy your walk. I shall see you soon?”

“Indeed. Goodnight, Donghyuck.”

“Goodnight, Jaemin.”

Donghyuck watched Jaemin’s tall figure receding into the darkness. He had seemingly grown and changed in just two months, carrying a refined sophistication in the broad line of his shoulders, grace in his careful footsteps. Donghyuck watched in muted wonder until Jaemin could be seen no more.

The next morning, Donghyuck found a stranger sitting in the breakfast room. Neither Mr. Lee nor Mrs. Gong was anywhere in sight. Donghyuck watched curiously as the young man examined each tin of jelly one at a time—blackberry, grape, strawberry, apple, then again in the same order, before finally folding his hands in his lap like he couldn’t make his mind up at all.

“The blackberry jam is quite good,” Donghyuck said. The stranger startled violently, blinking at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Good morning. I don’t believe we have met.”

“Ah, son, you are just in time to meet our guest,” Mr. Lee walked in, holding a newspaper at his side. “This is Mr. Jisung Park.”

“Hello,” Jisung said. He rose to greet Donghyuck with clammy hands. “Just Jisung is fine—Mr. Lee says that you are, um, older than me.”

“Hello Jisung,” Donghyuck smiled, gesturing for him to sit down. “It is nice to meet you. What brings you to Hartfield?”

“Mr. Park is studying law at the Inns of Court, on recess for the summer. He is of uncertain birth, but Mr. Yoo and I think it best if we introduce him to society here,” Mr. Lee explained before Jisung was given a chance to speak for himself. Donghyuck rolled his eyes at his father’s impertinence and sent Jisung an apologetic glance. “I believe you will be instrumental in his education, Donghyuck, and perhaps you both will become very good friends.”

Donghyuck looked at Jisung again. He was handsome, and apparently unaware of it: dark hair a sweep across his forehead, rounded cheeks, sweet eyes, but there was a mousy way to how he fiddled with the buttons on his sleeves and blushed at the mention of his name. Donghyuck had already made up his mind before he could contemplate any further; he saw opportunity in Jisung—to be the catalyst to this naive young man’s entrance into the world, and to perhaps even practice his matchmaking—and, of course, to have another friend.

“I will strive to show you all that I know,” Donghyuck promised. Jisung’s mouth parted in surprise. “Tell me, what is it that you like to do?”

Jisung grew up in Highbury and had attended the local boarding school. He was a skilled dancer, though he had never been to any of Highbury’s balls. He enjoyed reading and particularly favored the works of Henry Fielding. He was only marginally interested in common law, but his benefactor encouraged him to become a barrister in order to secure his position in society. He patiently listened to everything Mr. Lee and Donghyuck said, and with each answer to their questions, revealed his humility and kindness. 

He did indeed like the blackberry jam, his honey cake disappearing in a flash; Donghyuck decided he liked him very much. He passed over his own slice to Jisung and was met with the most gentle smile.

“Would you like to join me for a walk around the grounds?” Donghyuck said, after the table had been cleared.

“That sounds delightful,” Jisung beamed.

They strolled first through the Italian-style gardens: verdant rectangular bushes were trimmed into obelisks at every corner, leading to an ornate fountain lined with pink and purple blossoms that perfumed the air, crisp and pleasing. Past the gates, sheep speckled the lawns like white dots of paint. The sky was vivid blue, the sunlight balmy, the grass dewy under their feet. 

In that moment, Hartfield was heavenly. 

Donghyuck imagined himself as Jisung, experiencing the estate’s beauty for the first time, and felt a mix of pride and newfound gratitude. The bustle of Bath could never outweigh the tranquility of the countryside, Donghyuck was beginning to realize.

“This is magnificent,” Jisung said, tracing a weathered stone flower pot with his fingers. “I cannot imagine growing up in a home like this.”

“I am very grateful,” Donghyuck said, “You are welcome here anytime, of course. Shall we visit the lake?”

The lake was on the far end of the grounds, separating Hartfield from Donwell Abbey. A great weeping willow hung over the sparkling water, its shade a private sanctuary from the rest of the world. Once upon a time, Donghyuck and Jaemin would escape under its branches, fleeing their parents’ nagging or the disappointment of their Latin tutors for one serene moment—the two of them, and no one else.

“If you ever find yourself in need of hiding, come to this very spot,” Donghyuck said, pushing away the willow’s leaves like a curtain to show his new friend. There was space enough for two, and a small sitting stool, stolen from Donwell years ago. “Few people know of its existence. You will be safe here.”

“Do you hide here often, then?” Jisung asked curiously. “Is the society here so unpleasant?”

“No, not often,” Donghyuck laughed. “And the society here is neither unpleasant nor perfect; it is like any other part of England. There are those whose company you will enjoy, and those who you will wish to avoid.”

“Of course,” Jisung agreed as they continued along the lake’s edges. “Perhaps you can inform me who I should avoid.”

“I am inclined to say that it would be best to form your own opinions, as our values are likely to differ,” Donghyuck began nobly, “However, I don’t think it unfair to warn you to steer clear of Mr. Willoughby. He is an utter blockhead, and will not hesitate to provoke you until you make a fool of yourself. I do wish he would dive headfirst into the River Thames.”

Jisung nodded vigorously. “I shall keep that in mind.”

“There is also Madame Duval, who is—crass, if I am being generous. She does not respond well to ‘no,’ so you must keep your conversation bland and show little interest.” Jisung raised his eyebrows, innocent and full of awe. Donghyuck ruefully shook his head. “She would devour you.”

Jisung looked startled at the sincerity in Donghyuck’s voice, and then stumbled over a rock embedded in the earth as it gave way to gravel. “Thank you for your insights. I do not like the sound of being…devoured.”

“Mmm. But truthfully, there are many worthy people in town. For example, the Chois are a wonderful family, and the Nas are close friends of—”

“Donghyuck!” Jaemin called. He was coming down the road from Donwell; there was a cheery air about him, his tailcoat bouncing with every step, deep blue pinstriped fabric tailored to the taper of his slim waist. With the hills sloping in an expanse behind him, Jaemin appeared like the sole subject of a painting.

“Speak of the devil,” Donghyuck waved demurely. 

“This is Mr. Willoughby?” Jisung said with wide eyes. He was as tall as a tree, yet he tried to cower behind Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck burst into giggles. “No, thank heavens, this is my friend. I will introduce you.”

Jaemin finally reached where they stood, on the border between Hartfield and the rest of town. Donghyuck watched in amazement how Jaemin registered Jisung’s presence and became congenial at once, like instinct. 

“Hello! My name is Jaemin Na,” he said, shaking Jisung’s hand. “Who might you be?”

“I am Jisung Park,” he answered timidly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Jaemin smiled. He exuded charm, in his posture and his intent eyes. Donghyuck could sense Jisung turning to pulp beside him. “How do you know my Duckie?”

Donghyuck scowled as Jisung responded, “Mr. Lee has graciously offered to mentor me, as I am quite new to society. He has already offered me priceless advice.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin looked dubious, prepared to tease.

“It is. I will be glad if I can be of any help at all,” Donghyuck sniffed. He turned to Jisung. “You may call me Donghyuck. ‘Mr. Lee’ is my father’s title. Besides, we are nearly the same age.”

“Are you staying in town, Mr. Park?” 

Jisung bowed his head. “Yes. I am home for the summer from London, and Mr. Yoo is my benefactor.”

“Ah, yes! I did hear of his young ward,” Jaemin nodded. “Very well. I live over that way in Donwell Abbey,” he pointed back up the road, the cupola visible from above the hilltops, “Please call upon us if you need anything. Or if you grow weary of Donghyuckie’s company,” Jaemin joked.

Donghyuck narrowed his eyebrows. “Do not listen to him, Jisung. He is a dolt.”

“Oh! Um, I—“ Jisung floundered. “I am sure I could never tire of Mr. L—of Donghyuck. He has been very kind.”

“You will find him delightfully entertaining,” Jaemin said, eyes sparkling. “You must ask him to sing for you, one day. He has the voice of an angel.”

“An angel? How lovely!” Jisung exclaimed. “I will be sure to remember.”

“Were you heading somewhere, Mr. Na?” Donghyuck asked, tapping his foot.

“To Weston House to see the Chois,” Jaemin said. He glanced at his pocketwatch. “I regret to leave you so soon after making your acquaintance, Mr. Park, but I should probably continue on.”

Donghyuck broke into a relieved smile. “You probably should.”

Jaemin pushed his hair out of his eyes with a laugh. “I hope to see you both again soon. Good day!”

Jisung watched him retreat down the road in awe, and Donghyuck wondered if he looked quite the same, bidding Jaemin farewell just the night before.

“You and Mr. Na must be very close,” Jisung commented as they turned back toward the gardens.

“I suppose it is only natural. We have been friends from birth.” 

“He is very handsome,” Jisung blushed. Donghyuck remained silent, and Jisung looked surprised. “You do not think so?”

Jaemin’s face appeared in Donghyuck’s mind, unbidden. He suddenly felt very warm.

“No, not really,” Donghyuck huffed and walked faster. “Come, we must hurry back so we may ride into town with father.”

Later that day, Jisung was back at Mr. Yoo's house with a few new novels Donghyuck was requiring him to read, and Jaemin had walked over to pass the evening hours at Hartfield, as he very often did.

The subject was Jisung; the drinks of choice Earl Grey tea (for Donghyuck and Jaemin) and Port (for Mr. Lee).

“He is sweet-faced, with excellent manners. I expect he will do very well at the next ball. Though we will need to teach him to dance,” Donghyuck said, sprawled across the sofa improperly with no one but his father and his best friend to see.

Mr. Lee let out a satisfied Ahh! with a sip from his crystalline glass. “Mr. Yoo had hoped to see Mr. Park married before finishing his studies.”

“He is still young, no?” Jaemin asks.

“He is three and twenty,” Mr. Lee replied. “Quite young, to be sure, but I see no issue with early marriage if one has found a suitable match.”

“Of course,” Jaemin nodded. Donghyuck held out the dish of sugar cubes for Jaemin to snack on, strange as he was. He squeezed Donghyuck’s fingers before taking the container into his lap. “I sense that he is…impressionable. We ought to treat him delicately,” he said, addressing this mostly to Donghyuck.

“Of course,” Donghyuck echoed, flattening his indignation into something proud. “I shall treat him as my own brother. Mr. Park will be the most sought after bachelor in Highbury—I will see to it myself.”

Jaemin smiled. “That you shall.”

It was Saturday, and the next ball was set for the following Thursday evening; thus, Jisung’s lessons in etiquette began. 

“It is expected for a gentleman to call on his dance partners the morning after the ball. You will inquire after her health, drink tea in the drawing room, and take your leave before twenty-five minutes have passed,” Donghyuck instructed, while Jisung scribbled furiously in a commonplace book. “Your conversation should be polite and plain. Don’t venture into inflammatory subjects such as politics or gossip; these are reserved for intimate friends only.”

Jaemin sat on the edge of Donghyuck’s bed, a novel long discarded in his lap in favor of observing the session and inserting a quip on occasion. “You must be the most dull version of yourself at first. Your personality can be revealed over time, only if they are deserving of it.”

“I will be very dull,” Jisung promised.

“If your partner is a man, the elder will always call upon the younger. However, if one man is ranked above the other, then the higher rank will call on his inferior.”

Jisung’s mouth parted like he hadn’t considered this. “Am I to expect many noblemen at the ball?”

“They have been known to visit from time to time,” Jaemin answered. “Many families here are friendly with the nobility. Do not depend on their presence, though—I don’t believe any are due to visit Highbury any time soon.”

“If there were to be a nobleman present, Jaemin and I would introduce you,” Donghyuck reassured. “You need not worry about making acquaintances. We will take care that you meet everyone of importance.”

Jaemin nodded firmly in agreement, easily roped into Donghyuck’s schemes by virtue of Jisung’s natural sweetness, without any additional persuasion—just as Donghyuck had designed.

“Thank you,” Jisung flushed. “I cannot begin to repay your kindness.”

“And you will not be permitted to,” Donghyuck shook his head. “We should begin our dance lessons now.”

Donghyuck walked Jisung through the various figures commonly seen at Highbury’s balls, though it was difficult to demonstrate the constant switching of partners with just the two of them and Jaemin’s refusal to take part. But it was impressive how quickly Jisung caught on—Donghyuck was convinced he would soon become the envy of the whole town.

He pulled the younger boy toward him and spun as they switched places. “Have you ever been in love, Jisung?”

Jisung ducked his head shyly, stepping forward to take Donghyuck’s hand. “Once, yes, when I was at the boarding school.”

“How sweet!” Dongyuck exclaimed. “What is this person like?”

“We have known each other since we were very young. He takes pleasure in teasing me, but he cares for me as no other can,” Jisung said. This part of the dance was quite awkward; Donghyuck and Jisung rotated on their own in the open space of the bedroom with their imaginary partners. There was a bittersweet hint to the tenderness in Jisung’s eyes, like the sweeping force of his feelings was almost painful to recall. “He is generous…and lovely, and—and it is all in the past.”

“Where is he now?” Donghyuck asked.

His expression twisted. “I believe he is still here, in Highbury, though I am not sure if I could face him now.”

Donghyuck received Jisung with a press of their palms and weaved them through the room. “Perhaps he will be at the ball. Or perhaps, there, you might meet the person who is to be your partner for life!”

“Perhaps,” Jisung smiled. “Have you ever been in love?”

Donghyuck tilted his head in contemplation while they circled each other. He could not say that he had experienced anything half as passionate as what Jisung had just described. He almost wanted to ask how Jisung knew it was love, and not something else entirely. That sort of yearning had never seemed to find Donghyuck in all of his twenty-five years.

“No, I do not think so. I am less interested in romance for myself than for others.”

“That is kind of you,” Jisung said. “And what about you, Jaemin?”

Donghyuck glanced over Jisung’s shoulder curiously as they twirled past the bed where Jaemin sat. Jaemin gazed back at Donghyuck with his usual intensity and said quietly, “Yes.”

“What!” Donghyuck tripped over Jisung’s foot. “With whom? And why was I never aware of it?”

“It is irrelevant,” Jaemin replied, a violent blush blooming from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, “And unrequited.”

“You must tell me at once.”

Jaemin pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I am afraid it is between me and a higher power.”

He scoffed, leaving poor Jisung to stand with his hands hanging at his sides while he probed Jaemin. The dancing could wait; this was the most shocking news Donghyuck had heard in a long while. Nor could he picture who Jaemin might have gone around falling in love with without Donghyuck’s knowledge—it was seemingly impossible, with how much time they spent at each other’s side. 

“You would rank God above your closest friend?” This time, Jisung gave a scandalized gasp. Donghyuck bowed his head, “My apologies.”

“You are in a rank of your own, Donghyuck,” Jaemin attempted to placate, trying not to laugh. “But I will discuss this no further. Your pupil needs attending to.”

“I refuse to take orders from a traitor,” he huffed and grabbed Jisung by the arm, who yelped as Donghyuck tugged him forward and out toward the hallway. “We are taking a walk. Good day, Mr. Na.”

“Donghyuck—!” Jaemin called, but the bedroom door had already swung shut behind them.

Monday afternoon, Jaemin accompanied Jisung and Donghyuck into town. The first order of business was purchasing a subscription for Jisung at Highbury’s circulating library, solidifying his new status, and a convenient excuse for Donghyuck to browse the new selection of romances; the three of them left with a hefty bundle of volumes that Jaemin generously offered to carry.

Next, they drifted in and out of the various clothing shops in search of something nice for Jisung to wear for his debut. Jisung stood still while Donghyuck rifled through hundreds of fabrics for a new waistcoat and held them up to his chest, Jaemin offering assent or disapproval for which styles suited their new friend best. 

“This burgundy makes you look regal!” Donghyuck said.

It was embellished with golden thread, tracing delicate flowers along its edges. Jisung looked down at the material with wonder, with all of the humility of someone who could not picture himself donning it.

“Agreed,” Jaemin said. “We shall order this one at once.”

“Let us select at least two more, and then Mrs. Ashbourne will take your measurements.”

Jisung picked out a soft yellow himself, with Jaemin urging him to try a Tyrian purple. Mrs. Ashbourne made quick work of directing a meek Jisung onto an elevated platform, lifting his arms and turning him at her will.

Donghyuck and Jaemin sat together on a bench, observing and nibbling on chocolate. He was proud of the work he had done thus far; Jisung grew more promising with each day, and Donghyuck was, truly, beginning to see him like a brother. Jaemin’s unquestioning dedication to the project warmed his heart further, though he knew Jaemin easily bent to his ways, even if he was inclined to pretend otherwise.

“What do you make of our Jisung?” Donghyuck turned to Jaemin, only to find him already looking at him.

“Our?” Jaemin smirked. Sunlight leaking in from the shop windows reflected golden specks in his eyes.

“You cannot deny that you have entangled yourself in his improvement.”

“I suppose I cannot,” he said. Before them, Mrs. Ashbourne pinched Jisung’s cheeks, yet another victim of his simple charm. “You are anxious for a compliment, I see.”

Donghyuck shouldered him lightly. “You are meant to supply them without my having to beg.”

“Forgive me. I have forgotten my place,” Jaemin took Donghyuck’s hand and said, in affected earnestness, “You are doing wonderfully. Jisung is much improved, to your merit alone. I am merely a spectator in the grandeur of your scheme.”

Donghyuck found himself staring at where their hands met, the press of Jaemin’s skin insistent against his. He pulled away and wiped his palms on his trousers. “You tease me.”

“No,” Jaemin protested, a flippant smile playing on his lips. “You are the noblest in all of Highbury.”

Donghyuck felt a hot flicker of irritation that he could not control. He was being laughed at. Probably, Jaemin had been laughing at him for some time now; his constant presence over the past week not to help, but to find cheap entertainment in Donghyuck and his new pet. How foolish he must seem in comparison to Jaemin and his real work at the estate. How shameful it must be to have nothing better to do than dress up and dance and leisure all day.

“You think I am wasting my time on silly endeavours,” he huffed. “I know this may not seem as refined as your—your business, with the other gentlemen in town, but I—”

Shock burst across Jaemin’s features; he reached again for Donghyuck’s hand in surprise. “Duckie, I never intended to imply such a thing—” 

Donghyuck snatched his hand back once more. “—I am trying to be of use by moulding Jisung into a—”

“Pardon me,” Jisung coughed. Mrs. Ashbourne stood by him with three sheets of fabric folded over her arm; the other customers watched with a mix of discomfort and intrigue. Donghyuck spotted the Branghton siblings, notorious collectors of gossip, and suppressed a groan. “I believe we can pay now.”

“Of course.” Donghyuck followed Mrs. Ashbourne to the counter, cheeks burning.

The fresh air granted respite from the suffocating shop interior. Donghyuck trailed behind Jisung and Jaemin as they began to make their way to Mr. Yoo’s cottage. They barely made it ten paces from the shop when Jisung suddenly halted in his tracks and nearly fell backwards into Donghyuck.

“Chenle!” Jisung gasped.

Donghyuck peered around his lanky frame to see a man a few inches shorter than Jisung look up from the cobbled path. A multitude of emotions passed over his face as he registered the person standing in front of him.

He looked to be around Jisung’s age, with a feline delicacy to the shape of his eyes. Jisung clung to Jaemin’s forearm as if the sight of this Chenle character threatened his balance; Chenle took stock of it, his expression flattening into something impassive.

They stared at each other at length until Chenle finally responded, “Mr. Park.”

“I—I am so—” Jisung stuttered, attempting to catch his breath. Jaemin patted his back. “Have you been well?”

“I have,” Chenle said coldly. He was beautiful even then, sunlight casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. Donghyuck suspected instantly that this was the former love Jisung had alluded to, though his blatant rudeness was perturbing. “And you?” He glanced between Jaemin and Donghyuck, at Jisung’s side like armed guards. “You seem…well.”

“I am well,” Jisung said. “I am home for the summer at Mr. Yoo’s cottage if you would like to—”

“Pardon me. I must return to the shop now.” Chenle brushed past and turned the corner without another glance.

Jisung went slack like he might truly faint. Donghyuck rushed forward to help Jaemin keep him steady; the worried look they shared seemed to ease the previous friction.

“Let us get you home, Jisungie,” Donghyuck whispered as he stroked a comforting hand down Jisung’s neck. “We shall forget this happened.”

Mr. Yoo answered the door with delight that quickly dissolved into concern. Jaemin and Donghyuck helped Jisung into his bedroom at the back of the cottage, while Mr. Yoo sent for lavender tea to calm his nerves.

“What is the matter, son?” Mr. Yoo asked, pulling the covers over Jisung as he buried his face into a pillow. 

Tears pooled across soft cotton. Jisung rubbed his eyes and did not respond.

“I believe he has had too much excitement for one day,” Donghyuck offered in a quiet voice. Jisung did not correct him—he was right in assuming the chance meeting with Chenle was a secret Jisung did not wish to divulge to his benefactor. “I have put too much pressure on him ahead of the ball. Forgive me, Mr. Yoo.”

“Ah,” Mr. Yoo said, pressing the back of his hand to Jisung’s flushed cheek. “Do not blame yourself, Mr. Lee. It is I who has rushed to enter him into society when he has only just returned home from London.” At that moment, Mr. Yoo’s maid brought in a tray with a teapot and smelling salts. “Thank you, Mrs. Villars.” He turned to Donghyuck and Jaemin. “I shall meet you in the sitting room when Jisung has settled. Mrs. Villars can bring you tea, if you wish.”

They bowed and removed to the sofas. Donghyuck was overcome with worry for Jisung and guilt at his rash behavior in the clothing shop, with Jaemin sitting silently across from him. But Donghyuck chose to delay conversation, inspecting every detail of Mr. Yoo’s cottage as he steeled himself to make amends—Jaemin made no protest in the meantime.

The sitting room doubled as a library, sturdy wooden shelves brimming with titles by Shakespeare, Locke, Hume, and a collection of Fielding which seemed to belong to Jisung. The carpet beneath his feet was woven and worn at the edges, the air thick with the smell of paper and baked bread. Donghyuck thought of the spotless white halls of Branghton Manor, overly manicured at risk of being soulless, or Madame Duval’s mansion, garish in its display of wealth. 

Mr. Yoo’s cottage was not much, in comparison, but it was humble, comforting. It looked like a place where people lived; Donghyuck could imagine Jisung reading by the fireplace, listening eagerly to Mr. Yoo’s lessons, even writing letters to Chenle under the meagre light of the windows.

Mrs. Villars brought them tea. When she stepped away, Donghyuck finally spoke. “I apologize. I was impertinent.”

“It is quite alright,” Jaemin smiled around a sugar cube on his tongue. “I was merely upset that you could believe me to think so lowly of you. You are my dearest friend, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck felt his face growing warm. He stared at the steam curling away from his teacup to avoid Jaemin’s gaze. 

“And you are mine.”

“I know you are helping Jisung out of the goodness of your own heart. To me, that is more noble than rubbing elbows with the other gentlemen and keeping record of Donwell’s expenses—hence why I am always accompanying you,” Jaemin said.

He could not help but soften at the sincerity of Jaemin’s words. Nor could Donghyuck help but make light of the situation, as he was wont to do. “I think you simply cannot bear to part from me.”

Jaemin laughed, and all was righted. “That too.”

“Poor Jisungie,” Donghyuck frowned. “His heart must still be broken.”

He sighed and took a long, contemplative sip. “Time will heal the wounds, I hope, for both of them. It saddens me to see the bleak remains of a once close friendship.”

Donghyuck hummed in agreement. 

Mr. Yoo stepped out of the bedroom then, shutting the door behind him softly and scrubbing at his face in exhaustion. He was only twenty years Donghyuck and Jaemin’s senior—a bit younger than the other gentleman in town, but he had the air of someone much older. He had married young, and his wife died early of an unknown sickness some time ago. Her loss aged him beyond his years, but not in his appearance; he was still every bit as youthful and handsome as Donghyuck had found him when he was fifteen. Now, Mr. Yoo dedicated his time to serving the people of Highbury, taking in Jisung, who had similarly lost his only family when he was but a child. 

It was clear he cared for Jisung almost like a father, or perhaps a true elder brother; Donghyuck was grateful that Jisung had such a kind, model figure in his life.

“How is he, Mr. Yoo?” Donghyuck asked.

Mr. Yoo sat beside Jaemin with a grunt that reminded Donghyuck of his own father. “He is sleeping now, but he will recover well. He has been under a lot of stress, moving here after the boarding school and beginning his studies right away. I know he misses his old friends dearly, but Jisung is not one to complain. He is too good.”

“He is very grateful to you, sir,” Jaemin said. “He will adjust with time, and your unwavering support gives him the ease to do so.”

“I suppose you are right, Mr. Na. I think it best to allow him a few days of rest before the ball.”

“We understand,” Donghyuck nodded. “We shall visit him in the meantime, if you find it suitable, sir.”

“Indeed, it would be much appreciated. I thank you both for looking after Jisung. Perhaps I have been a bit careless, but he has been in good hands.” Mr. Yoo directed his kind eyes at Donghyuck. “He speaks very highly of you in particular, Mr. Lee. He adores you already.”

“Oh!” Donghyuck said. Jaemin glowed, too, as if he had been praised himself. “I adore Jisung as well. He is a lovely creature, truly.”

“Very well. We should probably be on our way,” Jaemin announced. He scooped up the forgotten volumes in one arm and crossed the room to take Donghyuck by the other. “Thank you for hosting us, Mr. Yoo.”

“Please tell Mrs. Villars we thank her again for the tea,” Donghyuck said, allowing Jaemin to lead him to the doorway.

“Of course,” Mr. Yoo said with a bright, handsome smile. “See you boys soon.”

At home, Mrs. Gong greeted Donghyuck and Jaemin with an early supper—Donghyuck’s favorite spicy stew, to ease the day's tension. Mr. Lee was at the teahouse in town with his circle of gentlemen, so it was just the two of them and Mrs. Gong in the dining room, the sun drifting lower to the horizon and washing the house in a subtle blue.

“This is splendid, Mrs. Gong,” Donghyuck said, shoulders slack as he hunched over his bowl, red broth dribbling down his chin. 

“Truly. Thank you, ma’m,” Jaemin echoed from beside him with his perfect posture and demure manners.

“Of course, my dears,” Mrs. Gong smiled down at them sweetly. “It is very nearly your birthday, is it not, Mr. Lee? I shall make more when the day comes.” 

“Ah, yes. I suppose it is in a few weeks. I had almost forgotten.”

“We should have a party!” Jaemin said. “Six and twenty is a rather important age.”

Donghyuck snorted. “Is it?”

“Indeed, it is. My mother will be delighted to host you at Donwell, and whoever else you might wish to attend.”

“I will consider it,” Donghyuck said. “But I don’t require anything lavish. I will be pleased just with our family and yours, so long as Doyoung remembers to come see me. And Jisung, of course.”

“Excellent. Mrs. Gong and I will make the arrangements,” Jaemin nodded, resolved. 

“I look forward to it,” Donghyuck grinned, and clinked his glass against Jaemin’s.

The Highbury assembly room appeared uncommonly grand on the night of Jisung’s debut; plush purple velvet curtains draped along wainscoting and across tables, candlelight poured from delicate glass chandeliers, fracturing into millions of pieces and making the room glimmer, catching on silk as the guests slunk about. The orchestra played a sweet melody from their newly built stage, and as Donghyuck stepped into a stunning ballroom filled with the wealthiest families in town, he felt almost breathless.

It was evident how anxious Jisung was, in how he repeatedly curled and uncurled his fingers and kept his head low to the ground. 

“Take a deep breath, Mr. Park,” Donghyuck said softly before they progressed any farther, tilting Jisung’s chin up toward him. “You will soon be adored by everyone standing in this room with minimal effort on your part. It is easy to adore you. You should focus only on enjoying yourself. We will take care of the rest.”

Jisung blinked as if he was trying to hold back tears, looking between Donghyuck and Jaemin, whose hand rested like an anchor on his shoulder. “Thank you. I know not how to express my gratitude to you both.”

“We are more than aware,” Jaemin smiled. “Come, we must introduce you to the Master of Ceremonies.”

Donghyuck watched as heads lifted to appraise Jisung as they crossed the room. His nerves made him almost boyishly handsome, a tall figure with an unexpected sweetness that seemed to roll off him in waves. He looked positively dashing in the burgundy waistcoat from Mrs. Ashbourne’s shop; it was difficult not to notice such an intriguing stranger. Donghyuck could not help but feel pride, again, on Jisung’s behalf.

The Master of Ceremonies, Mr. Tyson, was stout with a booming voice, grabbing Jisung’s arm and guiding him to a table of women seated by the archway into the refreshment room. 

Donghyuck and Jaemin trailed behind from a few paces away. He sent Jisung a warm, encouraging grin as Mr. Tyson introduced him to Mrs. Stanhope and her niece, Miss Belinda Portman.

“Mrs. Stanhope might be your match, in match-making,” Jaemin said with an excited gleam in his eyes. “I have heard she has successfully paired six of her nieces with gentlemen of all ranks. She is very methodical in her ways.”

Donghyuck laughed. Jisung and Miss Portman had turned the same shade of red as Mr. Tyson and Mrs. Stanhope discussed them as if they were not there at all. “I had not known you were such a gossip.”

“I like to indulge. The world, otherwise, is quite boring.”

“I agree. There is great pleasure in knowing every detail of other people’s affairs—”

“Mr. Lee,” Mr. Tyson interrupted. “There is a young lady who has been desperate to dance with you.”

“Me!” Donghyuck blinked. The couples were beginning to line up, the orchestra tuning their instruments. Jisung stood toward the middle of the set, chatting quietly with Miss Portman. “My apologies, sir, I am not here to dance, but only to chaperone Mr. Park—”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Tyson said gruffly. “You would not slight a lady by ignoring her request, would you?”

“I—um, no. I suppose not,” Donghyuck frowned. He stole a glance at Jaemin. “Forgive me, Minnie. I did not intend to leave you alone.”

“It is no matter,” Jaemin waved him off. “I will find some means to keep myself entertained.”

An old friend was waiting for him a few tables over. She wore a spring green evening dress, perfect curls framing her face, a pretty blush painting her cheeks that heightened at the sight of Donghyuck.

“Minjeongie!” he exclaimed, kissing her hand. “You look radiant tonight.”

“Mr. Lee, how pleased I am to see you,” she smiled, and then delivered a sharp swat to his shoulder. “But why did I have to hear of your return to town from Madame Duval?”

Donghyuck winced with a laugh. “I am deeply sorry, Miss Kim. I have been occupied with my new friend, Mr. Park.”

“Hmm. I suppose I forgive you.” He led her to the end of the set, and the music began without further delay. Minjeong looked over Donghyuck’s shoulder as he pulled her toward him, to where Jisung and Miss Portman hovered near each other awkwardly several couples down the line. “Will you introduce me to Mr. Park? He is very handsome.”

“It would be my honor,” Donghyuck preened. 

The gentleman made a circle around their partners. When he was back in view, she asked, “How was Bath? I am disappointed to have missed out on the season.”

“It was pleasing. Very lively, and I did enjoy being witness to the match-making. It has become quite the, ah—spectacle, these days.”

Minjeong puffed her cheeks in agitation. “I am very sick of being urged to marry, indeed. I have half a mind to escape to Italy and never return.”

“Take me with you?”

“Gladly!”

“What did you do while I was away?” Donghyuck asked, pressing their palms together.

“I spent a lot of time with Mr. Na. Since you were absent from our walks, I made him my partner instead.”

That took Donghyuck by genuine surprise. “Really? He had not told me of them.”

“He is pleasant company,” Minjeong said, lips quirking as if she was recalling a joke they had shared. “My mama is very assured he will ask me to marry soon.” 

It was unfortunate, then, that Donghyuck had to pass Minjeong off to Mr. Branghton, while he received Miss Branghton for sixteen whole bars. He gave her a polite smile, but Minjeong’s words left him with a prickling sense of unease. 

Was Minjeong the person Jaemin loved? Perhaps they had grown inevitably close in the past two months, sharing intimate strolls through Highbury’s parks. The idea almost offended Donghyuck—why would Jaemin hide such an attachment from him?

Minjeong spun back into his grasp with ceremony. “Duckie, why has your expression fallen so? Could it be—” she raised her eyebrows, “You mustn't worry. I could never contrive to take your best friend from you.”

Donghyuck swallowed. “My expression is neutral, I assure you. You and Mr. Na would make a fine couple.”

She patted his cheek gently, quick enough to escape the notice of the rest of the ballroom. “If I was left no choice but to pick from the men in Highbury, you would win with ease, not Jaemin.”

“How very kind of you,” he said, too ready to divert the subject.

A half an hour later, when two sets came to an end, Donghyuck led Minjeong to the refreshments room, where they met Jisung, Miss Portman, and Jaemin, to exchange pleasantries and sip on a cold drink. 

Jisung was flushed from the excitement. He and Miss Portman appeared to get along nicely, though it became apparent there was not likely to be anything more between them. Donghyuck paid close attention to how Minjeong and Jaemin regarded each other, wondering if Jaemin’s eyes were shining a little bit brighter, if he laughed with a little more feeling. 

Soon, Minjeong and Jisung took to the floor again, and Donghyuck took his rightful place beside Jaemin near the card table. But before he could even open his mouth to ask the question sitting eagerly on the tip of his tongue, Mr. Willoughby clapped an overfamiliar hand over Donghyuck’s shoulder.

“Mr. Lee,” he began in his irritating way, “you must put a good word in for me with Miss Kim.”

Donghyuck removed his hand with all of the delicacy he could muster. “If the word is ‘run,’ Mr. Willoughby, then I will gladly oblige.”

Jaemin snorted, and Mr. Willoughby was too appalled to do anything but huff and retreat to the gamblers. “How was your dance with Miss Kim? I did not get the chance to ask.”

“It was lovely,” Donghyuck replied. He hesitated for a moment. “Are you two very close?”

Jaemin tilted his head. “Miss Kim and I? I would not say that we are very close. She is a good friend.”

Donghyuck nodded. “Ah. I was merely curious.”

He surveyed the ballroom. Jisung led Minjeong through a lively country dance, making swirling shapes across the floor. The Chois were here, socializing with the married couples; Donghyuck would need to greet them later. Mr. Tyson had been too busy to attend to Jisung after the initial introduction, but he stood by the orchestra talking with someone who Donghyuck vaguely recognized as Mr. Oh, a physician and baron’s son who had come to Highbury just before he had left for Bath.

Mr. Oh’s features were more appealing than Donghyuck remembered—long nose, deep, brown eyes, a charming grin. 

“What do you know of Mr. Oh? I had forgotten there was nobility in town, after all.” 

Jaemin followed his gaze across the room. “He is well-respected amongst the gentlemen. My mother finds him agreeable, but I know little else.” He moved his chair closer to Donghyuck’s. “Are you interested?”

“Not for myself, no,” Donghyuck shook his head. “I wonder if he might be a good match for Jisungie.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “We may introduce them and see. But is it not too soon after Jisung’s—encounter, with his school friend?”

“That is precisely why we must introduce them,” Donghyuck insisted. He lowered his voice and inclined his head toward Jaemin’s, hair falling into his eyes. “You saw how cold he was to Jisung. He is deserving of someone who can appreciate his worth, not someone who could so cruelly scorn an old friendship.”

“We do not know what passed between them, Duckie,” Jaemin reminded, tucking a strand behind Donghyuck’s ear. 

“I know. But there is no harm in an introduction to someone new; if it is meant to happen, then it will, and if it does not, then Jisung will have another friend his age.”

They were drawing looks from how closely they sat—curious, rather than disdainful. Any longer, and all of society would be too quick to assume that Mr. Lee’s youngest was going to follow in his elder brother’s footsteps and marry a man as well, his best friend from childhood. He thought of Minjeong and moved away.

Donghyuck wasted no time in approaching Mr. Oh. He was pretty up close, with thick eyelashes that fleetingly reminded Donghyuck of Jaemin. He insisted on being addressed as Sion, having never been quite comfortable with the formalities of society, even as the son of a baron. He had all the politeness and manners that would complement Jisung’s well; best of all, he was entirely free for the next dance.

The current set ended, and Jisung and Minjeong made their way over to the three of them. Donghyuck noticed instantly how Jisung straightened at the sight of Sion, wiping his palms on his trousers, and felt that rush of excitement he’d been longing to replicate since Bath.

“Mr. Park, this is Mr. Oh,” he said, “He is a physician here in Highbury, and the son of the Baron of Sotherton.”

“It is lovely to meet you,” Jisung said, outstretching his hand and then letting it fall back to his side. Donghyuck blinked at him meaningfully, and Jisung blurted, “Are you—I mean, would you like to dance? With me?”

Sion laughed and ducked his head shyly. “I would be delighted to.”

“Go on,” Donghyuck gestured toward the other side of the ballroom. “They have just put the desserts out.”

They stalked off together, and Donghyuck clutched his chest in a swoon. “How wonderful it is to witness the first blossoms of love!”

“Love already?” Jaemin laughed, exchanging a glance with Minjeong. “They cannot meet each other’s eyes for more than a moment without blushing furiously.”

“Is that not a sign of interest?” Donghyuck put his hands on his hips. “Minjeong, I beg you to agree with me.”

“You may be right,” Minjeong nodded. “They would be sweet together, I believe. Mr. Park merely needs a good push to open up. Perhaps Mr. Oh will be strong enough to do so.”

“Thank you.” 

“I hope you are not already engaged for the next dance, Mr. Na?” Minjeong asked. 

“Indeed, I am not,” Jaemin began, sending a look to Donghyuck, seeking permission. Donghyuck just nodded, and Jaemin instantly gave Minjeong an easy, disarming smile. “It would only be fair if we both had the pleasure of accompanying you tonight, Miss Kim.”

“Too right,” she laughed, and then Donghyuck was left on his own.

He sat with the Chois as the couples lined up to waltz. Jisung was prepared to lead, holding Sion’s hand in his. His countenance was nothing short of terrified until Sion said something that caused Jisung to drop their hands altogether to muffle a sudden burst of laughter with his palm. Near the head of the set, Jaemin adjusted Minjeong’s gloves for her, like a proper gentleman.

He was undeniably attractive, and Minjeong’s beauty was startling. Together, they were almost too blinding to look at. A match for the ages. 

Donghyuck began to wonder if he was obligated to help them see it to fruition; he wondered why the thought failed to bring him the same rush as before.

But that would have to wait. They were here tonight for Jisung, who looked more at ease with Sion now than he had in the past week and a half. If Jaemin did really love Minjeong—and Donghyuck could be convinced that he did, what with the gentle press of his hand on the small of her back, with how he smiled down at her too sweetly—then he would tell Donghyuck when he was prepared to do so.

The night began to dwindle after the waltz concluded; the balls in London and Bath could last until sunrise, but Highbury’s society much preferred to be in bed by one. The timing was fitting, for Jisung’s energy was completely spent, and so was Donghyuck’s. 

Sion kissed Jisung’s hand and bade him goodnight, eyelashes fluttering in a move that was sure to invade Jisung’s dreams for the next month. He was completely elated, absolutely smitten, rambling about Sion’s travels, Sion’s mutual love of Henry Fielding, Sion’s promise to take Jisung to Sotherton Estate, Sion’s enchanting eyes.

He was going to call on Jisung tomorrow morning, and Mr. Yoo’s (and subsequently, Donghyuck’s) wishes would be a step closer to fulfillment.

The three of them parted amiably with Minjeong, with the promise of a group call to Kim House before Sion was to arrive at the cottage. If Jaemin lingered on his goodbye, Donghyuck tried not to take any notice of it. 

They escorted Jisung back home. At his doorstep, he wrapped Donghyuck and Jaemin in a fierce embrace. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled into Donghyuck’s shoulder. “This was the most magical night of my life. I shall never forget it.”

Donghyuck felt affection swell in his heart. “May we share many more magical nights.”

Jaemin hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “Sleep well, Jisungie.”

A few days passed in relaxation after the events of the ball: Jisung returned Sion’s call, and a proper acquaintance had begun; the visit to Minjeong’s was as pleasant as it was uneventful; and Donghyuck realized how little he had seen of Jaemin without the company of any others in what felt like a very, very long time.

One morning after breakfast, he sent a note to Donwell Abbey requesting Jaemin’s presence in their favorite secret spot. 

Donghyuck lay under the shade of the willow tree, sprawled on his back in the grass, using his tailcoat as a pillow as he continued his re-reading of Udolpho. He had undone the buttons of his waistcoat and a few on his dress shirt to let the cool summer breeze kiss his skin. 

Emily was speaking with Valancourt in the garden at night, another clandestine meeting to hide from the evil Montonis; the words on the page began to blur together as Donghyuck felt the warmth blanket over him, the murmur of the lake and chirping of birds in Hartfield’s treetops drawing his eyes closed.

He had fallen halfway into a lazy doze when he heard the telltale brush of the willow’s leaves.

“Welcome,” Donghyuck mumbled. He received no response, but the scent of florals suddenly overwhelmed his nostrils. He opened his eyes, with difficulty, to Jaemin hovering above him with a wide grin on his face. “Good morning.”

“Morning, darling,” Jaemin said, lying down beside him and holding himself up by his elbow. In this private sanctuary, he was uncaring of the grass and dirt that was sure to stain his clothes. He looked like he belonged there—to the earth beneath his fingers, to the shade of the willow tree, to Hartfield. “Did you call me here in hopes of us sharing a nap?”

“Not exactly. It seemed to me too long since we have been alone like this, so...”

Jaemin’s grin grew wider. “Ah, I see. You do not enjoy sharing me with others.”

He swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead and replied, “I do believe I am entitled to more of your time than the rest of England, under the law.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed. It was decided the moment you were born in the house nearest mine.” Donghyuck followed suit and propped himself up, loosened collar slipping open even wider.

Jaemin’s gaze fell to his chest. His expression contorted. “Your necklace.”

“Hmm?” He glanced down at the wiry golden chain, stark against his tanned skin, a coin pendant engraved with a sun hanging from its center. “This is the one you gifted me last summer. Have you already forgotten?”

“No, I—” Jaemin stammered, “—I did not expect to see you wearing it, that is all.”

Donghyuck furrowed his eyebrows. “I wear it very nearly every day.”

“Really?” Jaemin blinked like he could not temper his surprise. He reached forward as if he wanted to touch, but decided against it.

“You pay such little attention to your ‘dear Duckie,’” Donghyuck mocked.

Jaemin pouted, “Don’t be that way, Duck—I mean Donghyuck. I am just pleased!”

“As am I. Come, lie down.”

Donghyuck bunched his coat such that they could share it as a headrest. Sunlight spilled through green leaves, revealing little pockets of clear sky. Jaemin breathed quietly beside him.

“Has there been anything on your mind, Minnie?”

“I cannot recall anything of note,” Jaemin replied. “Although…mother has forced me to promise that I will not delay marrying any longer. She has given me a year before she will take matters into her own hands.” 

“Oh, that is…quite soon.”

“To be sure. I only hope I will not have to search very far.”

He was alluding to Minjeong, Donghyuck was certain. But it begged the question: why would Jaemin conceal his feelings for her if Mrs. Na was so eager to see him wed? She was the obvious choice; the whole ordeal could be wrapped up in a swift three weeks, if all involved parties were truly committed.

The uncertainty plagued him. He needed to know, but also wished that Jaemin would confide in Donghyuck without restraint, as he always had.

He asked, after a few moments of careful deliberation, “What about Miss Kim?”

Jaemin paused. “I suppose she is an option, though I will admit I had not considered her.”

“And why should you not? She is beautiful, well-liked, and a genuine soul,” Donghyuck argued.

“Do you like Minjeong?” Jaemin asked, turning to face him. His eyes were dark and curious, his nose just a hairbreadth away. “You are an awfully passionate advocate of her charms.”

“She is a good friend,” Donghyuck repeated Jaemin’s words from the night of the ball. He blinked back up at the ceiling of leaves and branches. “I should think it necessary to assess all of your choices in full. Matrimony is no light commitment.”

“You are right. Though sometimes, I don’t feel as if I have true, free rein of choice; if it were so easy, we would not be having this conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asked. He made it sound as though Minjeong was somehow closed off to him—she would return his feelings with conviction, if only Jaemin would tell her. It was all so perplexing.

“It is no matter,” he exhaled. “I should like to hear what has been on your mind, instead.”

Donghyuck sighed. He would have to find some other way to circumvent Jaemin’s elusiveness, some other time. 

“Honestly, there is little else other than Jisung. He has given me purpose.” He felt Jaemin’s hand brush against his own, while the grass tickled his skin, growing drowsier with each second. “If the match with Mr. Oh succeeds, I will be idle once again.”

“You will find another project to take on. And even if you do not, you will have me.” Jaemin’s voice was comforting; Donghyuck was entirely relaxed.

“Mmm, indeed,” he said, eyelids slipping shut. He shifted onto his side and flung an arm across Jaemin’s middle. “I believe we have chatted quite enough. Let us nap before someone comes looking.”

“Alright,” Jaemin said, letting Donghyuck cozy up beside him. “Sleep tight. I will wake you soon.”

A minute or two passed in silence. He sensed Jaemin’s gaze still on him, even without having to look. 

“You cannot simply watch me sleep. You must sleep too.”

Jaemin gave an embarrassed laugh. “I am not tired—“

“I don’t care,” Donghyuck said, blindly reaching up to cover Jaemin’s eyes with his palm. “Close your eyes. Let the summer air clear your mind and lull you into slumber.”

“So demanding,” Jaemin grumbled. Eventually he relaxed, and they dozed off that way, arms tangled together for hours, under the canopy of the willow tree without a care in the world.

On Wednesday, Donghyuck, Jaemin, Jisung, and Sion were set to meet for lunch at the teahouse in town. Sion was a bit late, so they conversed amongst themselves and nibbled on an array of pastries and sandwiches, stacked high on a three-tiered tower. 

“Do you recall when I mentioned Mr. Mark Lee? The nephew of the Chois?” asked Jaemin. Donghyuck nodded, rebuttoning the cuffs of Jisung’s sleeves correctly. He was wearing the butter yellow waistcoat from Mrs. Ashbourne’s shop, looking sweeter than the desserts on their table, nervously ruffling his hair as he anticipated Sion’s arrival. “He is set to come to Highbury sooner than expected. The day after your birthday, I believe.”

“Is your birthday soon, Donghyuck?” Jisung asked.

“It is two weeks from today,” Donghyuck said. “Supposedly, Jaemin is throwing me a party at Donwell Abbey. You are, of course, invited. Though perhaps a more formal invitation will arrive at Mr. Yoo’s cottage soon.” He raised an eyebrow at Jaemin.

“It is in progress,” Jaemin nodded in agreement. “I must find nice red cardstock for the invitations before I can have them printed.”

“Oh! Chenle’s stationer’s shop has all sorts of—” Jisung’s face fell suddenly. He added in a dampened tone, “You might find what you need there. It is only down the block.”

“Thank you for the suggestion,” Jaemin said softly.

“Here comes Mr. Oh!” Donghyuck exclaimed. “His timing could not be better.”

“How do I look?” Jisung asked frantically, hands flying to his hair again.

“Stunning,” Donghyuck reassured. 

“Mr. Park,” Sion said, kissing Jisung’s hand in greeting. It was a cheap way to have Jisung flustered and blushing; Donghyuck could not resist being at least a bit impressed with how well Sion played the game. “Thank you for meeting me here. And thank you, Mr. Lee and Mr. Na, for your attendance. I had hoped to spend more time with the men my age since I arrived in Highbury.”

“We do love to socialize,” Donghyuck exchanged a grin with Jaemin. “Shall I pour you some tea? It is hyson.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Sion said. He turned to Jisung with sparkling eyes. “Tell me how you spent your school days here. Highbury is quite different from Sotherton.”

Donghyuck realized how short his friendship with Jisung had been in the grand scheme of things; there was much left to learn, but he understood better the challenges Jisung had faced growing up as an orphan and the adventures he shared with his best friend (unnamed to Sion, but undoubtedly Chenle) that made him feel like any other child—sneaking away from school to catch a mail coach to London, watching plays at the theatre from the gallery, exploring Highbury Commons and the surrounding villages, reading every book in the school’s tiny library a hundred times over.

“This friend of yours sounds important to you,” Sion said. “I would love to meet him. Does he live nearby?”

Jisung swallowed thickly but maintained his smile. “He moved to London to be with his uncle.”

“Ah. Well, when you and I visit London together, we shall track him down.”

Jaemin raised his eyebrows at Donghyuck, as if Sion’s earnestness was lost on him. Though it was working perfectly on the only person for whom it mattered; Jisung was bashful as the sole object of Sion’s attention, and Jaemin and Donghyuck kept to themselves without complaint.

“When exactly is this visit?” Jaemin chimed in. 

“Whenever Mr. Park should like to go,” Sion replied. “So long as we have Mr. Yoo’s permission, of course.”

“Can Jaemin and Donghyuck come with?” Jisung asked, spreading a generous amount of blackberry jam onto a slice of bread. 

“Of course!”

“It seems we are going to London, then,” Donghyuck said. Only Jaemin seemed to register the wry hint to his words, knocking his knee against Donghyuck’s; both pairs were in a private world of their own until their plates were cleared and their stomachs full.

They took a walk around the town centre, basking in the sunlight and enjoying the fresh air. Jaemin decided to visit the stationer’s shop, since they were already here, but convinced Sion to take Jisung elsewhere to avoid another untimely meeting.

The shop was small, but filled to the brim with handcrafted notebooks and paper of all sizes and colors. There was an entire display dedicated to writing implements: fountain pens and inkwells, quill pens with goose, swan, and turkey feathers, pen knives, brushes and inkstones. 

Jaemin purchased a large stack of reddish pink cardstock from a kind, middle-aged man with angular features not unlike Chenle’s—perhaps the uncle Jisung had mentioned earlier. As they made to leave, the door swung open, and Chenle himself appeared. Donghyuck was grateful that Jisung was far, far away.

There was mutual recognition between the three of them; it saw Jisung’s former life at odds with his newfound one. He heeded them with only a nod and then retreated into the back of the shop.

Donghyuck and Jaemin followed Sion as he escorted Jisung back to Mr. Yoo’s cottage, keeping away as the two emerging lovebirds exchanged parting words.

“I am already dreaming of the next time I might be able to see you,” Sion professed, not as quietly as he might have believed.

“I will be attending Madame Duval’s ball on Sunday,” Jisung said, and then added suggestively, “Perhaps you should secure yourself an invitation.”

Donghyuck stifled a gasp. “He is flirting with Mr. Oh!” he whispered and whacked Jaemin. “I had not thought our Jisung capable of it. I am beyond proud!”

“Ow,” Jaemin mumbled. “Was that really—”

“—Shh! I am trying to listen.”

He caught the tail-end of Sion’s words: “…will do everything in my power to be there with you, although it feels to me that Sunday might well be years away.”

“I do quite enjoy an evening walk. If Donghyuck and Jaemin are already engaged…then perhaps I might be in need of a companion,” Jisung said, with an innocent air.

Sion laughed something breathy but enthralled. “I shall keep that in mind.”

“We are engaged every night until Sunday,” Donghyuck hissed in demand as Sion gave one last kiss to Jisung’s hand. “Or at least until we hear word of one of these walks.”

“Happy to oblige,” Jaemin said. They waved farewell to both of them, and then it was off to Donwell for the remainder of the day.

Jisung and Sion were dancing in the middle of Madame Duval’s ostentatious private ballroom, while Donghyuck sat with Jaemin, Mr. Lee, and Mrs. Na nearby. The number of portraits of Madame Duval and her poodle had multiplied, and Donghyuck did not recognize a single furnishing in her parlour, despite only two months having passed since his last visit. 

“They are taken with each other already,” Mrs. Na said, witnessing Donghyuck’s match at work for the very first time. “You may truly turn out to be Mrs. Stanhope’s rival!”

“I welcome the comparison,” said Donghyuck with pride. “That would make me very successful, indeed.”

“I had a similar thought,” Jaemin remarked. “I do worry if they are moving much too fast, however…I don’t wish to see Jisung hurt.”

“Young love burns bright and fierce,” Mrs. Na replied with a wistful sigh. “Your father and I were quite the same.”

“Was there also an overzealous young gentleman heavily involved in the courting process?” Jaemin asked, directing his smile at Donghyuck. He rolled his eyes.

“In fact there was!” Mrs. Na exclaimed. Donghyuck stuck his tongue out at Jaemin. “My cousin encouraged the match more seriously than anyone. Though in truth, he had hoped to spare me from the vulgar old viscount who wished to make me his young wife.”

“Ah, Lord Delacour!” Mr. Lee snapped. “Hardly anyone is grateful for treacherous country roads, but I do admit I was glad when they took him—straight to eternal damnation, I hope.”

Donghyuck choked on his drink, and Jaemin’s eyes were blown wide, but Mrs. Na roared with laughter until the Chois arrived to entertain their parents elsewhere in the ballroom.

“Will you be dancing this evening, Mr. Na?” Donghyuck asked, watching as Sion and Jisung circled each other with matching smiles.

“No, I don’t intend to.”

“Not even with Miss Kim? If the opportunity presented itself?” Donghyuck asked again, as if he did not care what the answer was.

“Miss Kim again?” Jaemin smirked, seeing right through him. “I respect Minjeong deeply, but I have no interest in courting any young ladies this evening. I am perfectly content with my company at present.” Donghyuck gave the room a cursory glance to see if there was someone he’d missed. “I am speaking of you, Donghyuck,” he laughed.

“Oh,” he flushes. “Of course.”

Sion and Jisung joined them then, so the four made their courtesy rounds through the ballroom, paying their respects to Madame Duval, entertaining the Branghtons, laughing with Minjeong and her elder brother on leave from the navy, avoiding Mr. Willoughby at all costs. 

Upon their return to the table, Mrs. Stanhope was awaiting them, with Miss Portman and a young man Donghyuck did not recognize in tow.

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Stanhope greeted politely, before turning to address Donghyuck. “Mr. Lee, there is someone I would like to introduce to you.” The young man stepped forward—he had curly brown hair and soft green eyes that regarded Donghyuck with interest. “This is my nephew, Mr. Henry Crawford. He has just inherited Everingham Estate in Norfolk, and has been desiring to meet you.”

Donghyuck’s surprise was evident as he shook his hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crawford. You have journeyed quite a long way.”

“Every mile was worth it, for you are just as striking as the rumors say, Mr. Lee,” he said, pressing a fluttering kiss to the back of Donghyuck’s hand. Jisung gasped quietly from beside him, but Donghyuck managed to swallow his own with great effort.

“You flatter me beyond my merit,” he laughed nervously, looking to Jaemin for help, but his best friend’s eyes were glued to the spot where Mr. Crawford’s lips had just been. “How long will you be in town? Please call on us at Hartfield. My father will be glad to host you all.”

“Long enough to begin a proper friendship, I hope,” Mr. Crawford said, almost like a purr. “I cannot wait.”

Mrs. Stanhope beamed with an air of pride that Donghyuck discerned to be a look he’d worn himself more than once in the past few weeks. “Wonderful! We look forward to it!”

She began to walk away, but Mr. Crawford lingered for an additional moment. “If you find yourself unsatisfied with the evening’s festivities, do come looking for me.”

Donghyuck could only nod, turning crimson. 

“Dear God,” he exhaled when all were out of earshot, collapsing into the mahogany chair. “I have never been so embarrassed in my life. I should like to perish right this moment.”

Jisung gingerly took the seat to his right. “He is alarmingly bold,” he said, while Sion nodded in fervent agreement.

Jaemin was silent until Mr. Crawford was at last enveloped by the other groups of gentlemen. A teasing smile suddenly overtook his features, but it did not sit quite right. “You are Mrs. Stanhope’s next victim, I see. Perhaps she will share with you her match-making secrets.”

“I am not sure that I want them,” Donghyuck said, wishing to forget the ordeal altogether. “Besides, not even Mrs. Stanhope could entice me to move away from Highbury. I intend to stay here whenever I do eventually settle down; I am better off marrying someone who already lives in town.”

A small smile bloomed on Jaemin’s face, though Donghyuck was too preoccupied trying to divert the attention away from himself to notice.

The next dance was called. Jisung and Sion returned to the floor, even though it would have been more appropriate to switch partners; no one paid them any mind, too aware of what was blossoming between them to nip it in the bud.

Donghyuck could sense Mr. Crawford’s stare from across the ballroom, penetrating and designing, continuously attempting to catch Donghyuck’s eye. He could not decide if he was flattered or horrified—perhaps a mix of both, but the public nature of the interaction made it too humiliating to entertain in any real way. 

His father was only twenty feet away! Mr. Crawford should have some decency, he thought, or else his flirtations would land him on the headlines of the local papers.

Jaemin had been saying something, but Donghyuck had registered none of it on account of cursing Mr. Crawford in his mind.

“Duckie?” Jaemin waved his hand in front of his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Apologies, I am still—frazzled, from Mr. Crawford. He has been staring at me ever since.” Donghyuck blinked back into focus. “You were saying?”

“It is nothing,” Jaemin glanced over his shoulder, as if to confirm, and turned back with a scowl. He moved his chair closer and obscured Mr. Crawford from view. “Just…keep your attention on me. Forget his presence entirely.”

“How shall I do that?”

He searched Donghyuck’s face. “Pretend as if we are enraptured in conversation with one another.”

“Alright…”

“Show me your necklace,” Jaemin insisted.

Donghyuck extracted it from under three layers of clothing with careful hands and let it fall onto the fabric of his waistcoat, gold complementing deep evergreen. Jaemin placed a steady hand on Donghyuck’s thigh, leaning in close to turn the pendant between his fingers.

“It suits you perfectly,” Jaemin said. He looked up at him through thick eyelashes, something like awe in his intent gaze. “Mr. Crawford might be a fool, but he was right about one thing.”

“Hmm?”

“You are striking,” he murmured, “more than the rumors could possibly express. More than he could ever appreciate.”

Donghyuck felt pinned in place with mere inches between them, the aroma of daffodils and orange blossoms making him dizzy and breathless. To be the sole object of Jaemin’s attention—it seemed to make the rest of the world fall away into oblivion. 

It was electrifying, so much so that Donghyuck had to look away. He noticed, then, that Mr. Crawford had disappeared altogether.

“It worked! Thank you, Minnie,” Donghyuck beamed, finding himself in need of a deep inhale. “You can be quite beguiling when you intend to be.”

“Are you beguiled, then?” Jaemin asked, lips quirking handsomely. His palm remained on Donghyuck’s thigh. He gave no indication of moving away.

“I must admit I am, the slightest bit.” He reached forward, closing the distance again to brush some hair away from Jaemin’s forehead, just as he had done for Donghyuck at the previous ball. “It is your eyes. They are considerably enchanting,” he whispered with a grin.

Jaemin’s ears turned red; Donghyuck was pleased to be able to fluster him in return—it was only fair, and no one proceeded to bother them any further.

When the night came to an end, and everyone was deposited at their homes by safe country roads, Mr. Lee helped Donghyuck out of the carriage and made a curious remark:

“I do believe Mr. Na would be a good match for you, son. Much better than that Crawford fellow—I abhor his type,” he grunted. “But Mr. Na would love you fiercely, I am convinced.”

Donghyuck laughed, but it was strained. “What a silly thing to say, father. Mr. Na sees me only as a friend, and I feel much the same.”

“Very well. Though…if that were to change, he has my complete approbation,” Mr. Lee said and retreated inside.

The crickets sang loudly, the night air thick with humidity. Donghyuck stood there in the darkness, wondering if there was any truth to his father’s words, if that look of reverence Jaemin gave him could ever be rooted in something real.

The thought pressed down on his chest with a weight so overwhelming Donghyuck suspected he might collapse right there on the pavement; thus he resolved to never think of it again so long as he could manage.

The next week was spent performing Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Jisung’s now established routine of sharing meals and reading and riding into town for something or other, except Sion’s heavy presence was new. Though he and Jisung had begun to spend time alone; all Donghyuck could glean from these private meetings were Jisung’s coy smiles and blushes.

One evening at Hartfield, the three of them retired to the parlour with Mr. Lee after dinner. Jisung played one of the few pieces he knew on the pianoforte while Donghyuck sang along. Jaemin and Mr. Lee listened intently from the sofas, drinks in hand. When the performance was over, Jaemin clapped wildly, while Mr. Lee’s eyes turned shimmery. 

“It is like I have been blessed with two sons again,” he said, voice wavering. Jaemin placed a comforting hand on his back, which only made Mr. Lee more emotional as he turned to him. “And our very dearest companion, of course.”

Mr. Lee was not the only one feeling the absence of his eldest. That night, Donghyuck wrote to Doyoung with the latest reports of the unfolding Sion-Jisung romance and the Henry Crawford ambush, with the demand to see Doyoung and his new family at the birthday celebration the following week.

He replied to Jeno, whose last letter relayed his growing friendship with the Dowager Viscountess of Howard Grove, or just Karina—as Jeno called her—who apparently knew Minjeong very well. Jeno also mentioned having been tasked with extending a marriage proposal to Donghyuck from one of his neighbors who had a daughter of age, and Donghyuck took immense pleasure in saying no.

The day before Donghyuck’s birthday, he and Jaemin were in town together on business for Donwell. Donghyuck was standing outside the town hall, leaning against the stone walls and watching the villagers pass by as he waited for Jaemin.

The early days of June brought balmy heat to Highbury. The summer months were when the village was at its most beautiful, the glittering creek, flowers in bloom in the parks, the breeze rejuvenating and clean. Everybody looked livelier on account of the pleasant weather—including Sion, who was leaving the bakery down the street with a man Donghyuck had never seen before.

They ducked into a nook between the bakery and the milliners to exchange what appeared to be a goodbye, but then, when they must have believed no one could see them any longer, Sion cupped the other man’s jaw with his hand and ran his thumb over his cheek tenderly. The man pressed into the touch. Tears flowed freely down his face until Sion pulled him into a hug that was undeniably intimate.

Donghyuck blanched with horror. At that moment, Jaemin appeared next to him.

“You look as if you have seen a gh—” Donghyuck clapped a hand over his mouth and gestured to the scene before them. It did feel like a scene, like Sion and this stranger were performing the final minutes of a Shakespeare tragedy. Their foreheads were pressed together now, lovers preparing to part for the rest of eternity; Sion gazed at the stranger with something like bittersweet awe. “Oh,” Jaemin exhaled.

“That is not a look one gives a merely platonic friend,” Donghyuck whispered, “is it?” 

“I am afraid not,” Jaemin replied gravely.

“Let us return home,” Donghyuck said, turning on his heel abruptly. 

Anger and sorrow tugged equally at his heart. Jisung would be devastated, and Donghyuck felt responsible. For pushing them together, for witnessing the betrayal, for not knowing at all how to proceed.

And for this to come so soon, when the mere sight of Chenle sent Jisung into a state of agitation, just a few weeks ago. Perhaps Jaemin had been right all along—Jisung was clearly still recovering from whatever had passed with his old friend, and Donghyuck had sent him right back to the guillotine, all for his own self-serving amusement.

Is he meant to tell Jisung what he saw? Or is it better to first let Sion explain himself? Maybe there was more to the interaction than what met the eye. Maybe the stranger was not Sion’s illicit lover at all; surely, the son of a baron would be more wise than to risk scandal so publicly.

Whatever the answer might be, Donghyuck could not resolve it alone. He sought comfort in several glasses of Port on the rug of Jaemin’s bedroom after dinner, back pressed to the baseboard of his bed, waistcoat and tailcoat shed to fight off the drunken flush swathing his skin. Jaemin sat beside him, similarly dressed down, similarly intoxicated, Luke and Luna asleep at their feet.

“Do you think father is disappointed in me?” Donghyuck asked, swirling the dark red wine at the bottom of his glass and taking another sip.

Jaemin frowned. He pouted more when he was tipsy, and his lips jutted outward like the thought truly offended him. 

“How can he be? You are the favorite of all of Highbury. Everyone desires you for their daughters and sons and their—nephews,” he huffed in a passion. “You are kind, witty, and generous, and you are skilled with society. Mr. Lee would be remiss to be anything but proud of you.” 

For a moment, Donghyuck was stunned, Jaemin’s words hanging in the air between them. His ruddy cheeks turned darker with every passing second.

“Wow…” Donghyuck was unable to suppress his grin. He let his head fall onto Jaemin’s shoulder, who stiffened at first and then relaxed. “You have a very high opinion of me.”

“I would not say very high…”

“Shut up,” Donghyuck said, and Jaemin’s shoulders shook with a laugh underneath him. “I have yet to forget how you lamented by the window and waited for me to return from Bath.”

“That happened only once!” Jaemin groaned. “Mother loves to exaggerate, you know that well.”

“It is alright. I grew restless in the last fortnight, waiting to receive a letter from you. Jeno believed I had fallen ill.”

“I am sorry,” Jaemin said softly. “There was so much work with the estate—”

“Jaem, please don’t apologize,” Donghyuck said, propping his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. His dark hair had grown longer at the back of his neck; he had probably already scheduled a trim in town. “I do not blame you for being busy. I am always looking for someone else to entertain me…I suppose it is one of my flaws.”

“I rather think you cherish dedicating your time to the people you care for,” Jaemin said, inclining his head toward Donghyuck’s. The wine had turned his mouth pink, sweetness clinging to his breath. “It is an admirable quality to have. I much prefer solitude, unless I am with you.”

“You are always with me.”

“Precisely,” Jaemin smiled.

His words were always so sugary, so easily misconstrued if Donghyuck were someone else. If Doghyuck were someone else, he would have collapsed in a love-struck swoon long ago. Jaemin ought to save such words for someone more dear to his heart—someone like Minjeong, who could receive them and return them tenfold. 

Soon, Donghyuck would no longer be receiving them at all. Jaemin would only have precious time and lovely speeches for his wife, his future children. Donghyuck would have to find someone else to be entertained by entirely.

He sucked in a breath. In his inebriated state, he could scarcely think before he spoke. “Minjeong is lucky to be so loved by you.”

Jaemin startled hard and nearly sprang away, looking at Donghyuck with utter confusion. Luna gave an irritated mew and padded elsewhere. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I—” Donghyuck faltered, glass wobbling in his hands. “I had thought—”

Realization passed over his features. “Is this why you have been so often inquiring of her?”

“Yes,” he said, completely embarrassed now. He had intended to wait until Jaemin felt comfortable enough to confess himself, but Donghyuck’s curiosity selfishly demanded to be satisfied, and now—

“I do not love her,” Jaemin said.

It was Donghyuck’s turn to be shocked. 

“You don’t?”

“No, of course not,” he insisted. “I care for her as a friend and nothing more.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck slumped back. He was suddenly overcome with relief, almost sobering. “I must be a fool. She told me of your walks, and I assumed…” he dissolved into a breathless laugh. “Forgive me.”

Jaemin returned to his place beside him, pulling his knees to his chest. “When you were away, the Dowager Countess of Howard Grove visited Kim House. She and Minjeong grew…intimate. It is not my secret to share, but I believe she is hoping to move to Howard Grove to become Lady Karina’s companion.”

“Oh,” he repeated. That name was familiar; Jeno must have known more than he could have alluded to in his letters. “I had not realized.”

“You could not have known.”

“I am sorry again.” Donghyuck threaded their fingers together in his lap. “I have meddled too much in other people’s lives.”

“You have a fervent way of caring,” Jaemin corrected.

He laughed, turning their interlocked hands to watch how the low candlelight glistened on their skin, glinting off their rings. They fit together nicely.

“My final contrivance will be to have Sion tell Jisung the truth—then I will be done forever,” he said. “And I expect you will keep me in check.”

“Very well,” Jaemin squeezed his hand. “Will you sing for me before we retire to bed?”

“Won’t we wake Mrs. Na?”

“No. She would not be stirred even if a tempest were to form in this very room.”

Donghyuck laughed and stood, taking Jaemin with him.

“Alright. I owe this much to you.”

Doyoung’s return to Highbury the morning of the sixth of June proved a stark contrast to Donghyuck’s. In all fairness, it had been six months far away in Northamptonshire, rather than two in Bath. Still, Mrs. Gong prepared a hearty breakfast, Mr. Lee wore his fanciest dress shoes, and even the sheep had gathered on the lawn to see Doyoung home.

Donghyuck’s birthday was thus spent in utter felicity. The daylight hours were reserved for the Lee family and its newest additions: Taeyong, Doyoung’s husband of one year, and their adopted baby girl, Mirae.

Dinner would be held at Donwell Abbey for the anticipated celebration; Doyoung and Taeyong had gifted Donghyuck new clothes, amongst other things, so he wore a silky golden waistcoat with a crisp new cravat that his brother helped him tie.

“Will there be any suitors at this party of yours?” Doyoung asked, straightening Donghyuck’s collar as they stood before the mirror.

The humidity curled the hair at Donghyuck’s ears and the base of his neck, and a sun-tanned complexion made him more appealing than ever. “No. I believe Jaemin has only invited our family and my friend, Jisung.”

“I am aware that Jisung is attached to someone already,” Doyoung started, while Donghyuck suppressed a wince, “but surely, he will be stunned to see you regardless. And Jaemin, of course. You look very handsome, my dear brother.”

“Thank you,” Donghyuck ducked his head shyly. Matrimony and parenthood had turned a previously teasing Doyoung soft. “But I must entreat you, do not try to find a spouse for me while you are here. I am not interested in the least.”

“Alright, I will respect your wishes,” Doyoung laughed. Wheels churned on pavement from below the window, which could only mean one thing. “Jeno has arrived!”

A frenzied reunion with the Lee brothers’ most favorite and only cousin took place, and then it was time to walk down the road to the party.

Jaemin opened the door, but he appeared to be in some state of nervous agitation. He took one look at Donghyuck and then immediately went still, failing to say anything by way of greeting or felicitation.

The Lees—all six of them, including Mirae—blinked back at him with varying degrees of concern.

“Are you well, son?” Mr. Na broke the silence.

“Ah, I—” Jaemin tore his eyes away from Donghyuck at last, and his lips settled into a lovely smile. “I am perfectly well. The excitement overtook me. Please, come inside.”

Donwell’s parlour was decorated with vases of sweetpeas, cornflowers, and roses, with white silk ribbon draped across every surface. There was a wide assortment of tea cakes, summer fruits, and pastries from the local bakery to tide the guests over until dinner was served. The cats wore miniature cravats of their own, perched on the sofa as if they were posing for a portrait.

Everything was according to Jaemin’s vision. Everything was perfect.

He kept glancing at Donghyuck, as if trying to glean his approval.

“What do you make of it?” Jaemin asked.

“I believe I recall asking you to keep things simple,” Donghyuck said quietly, taking it all in. Jaemin had dragged in the writing desk from the library, with a little sign that read Write kind words for Donghyuckie’s birthday! paired with all the necessary materials for intensive letter writing. 

His heart swelled like it might no longer fit in his ribcage.

Panic infused Jaemin’s voice. “Is it too much? I apologize, I should—“

Donghyuck interrupted him by wrapping him in a hug. “It is perfect. I am too touched for more apt words.” He added, in a whisper, “Thank you, Jaemin.”

Jaemin laughed, relieved. “No need to thank me. This was the most excitement I have had in my lifetime.” He pulled away to level that winsome smile at Donghyuck. “Happy birthday, my sweetest sunshine.”

Donghyuck allowed himself one blush, and then the party began. Mrs. Na was thrilled to see Doyoung and Taeyong again and doted on the baby, while Jeno and Jisung bonded quickly after an awkward encounter with the only remaining honey cake. Doyoung and Donghyuck sang a duet at the pianoforte after fervent requests by the entire party, and Jaemin begged Donghyuck to promise to sing one piece solo after dinner.

Dinner was pork belly and Donghyuck’s favorite spicy stew, which was also perfect—he made sure to hug Mrs. Gong tightly. After dinner drinks included Port, again, among the usual Champagne, Claret, Sherry, Madeira, and tea, for the new parents.

There was a brief moment for gifts. Jeno presented a custom, cloth-bound copy of Caleb Williams with Donghyuck’s name embroidered on it, which he had somehow smuggled to Donwell unnoticed; Jisung had prepared a heartfelt, five-page letter; Mrs. Na gave Donghyuck a beautiful pair of gloves; Luke licked him affectionately; Jaemin promised to give his gift later, in private.

By the time Donghyuck sang, most of them were drunk, but everyone was blissfully happy, knowing the party would continue into the next day with all of the guests spending the night in Donwell Abbey’s vast halls.

They bid each other goodnight and bestowed a final Happy Birthday! wish at two in the morning, and just as Donghyuck decided to collapse into a bed for himself, there was a knock at his door.

It was Jaemin, a candle in one hand and a small box in the other. “May I come in for a brief moment?”

Donghyuck smiled. “Of course.”

He set the candle down on the oak dresser, smooth skin illuminated by flickering light, and thrust the box into Donghyuck’s hand, gesturing for him to open it.

Inside was a silver pocketwatch, engraved with the sun and stars and Donghyuck’s birth date in small print. 

“Oh,” Donghyuck exhaled. He felt breathless again, under Jaemin’s rapt gaze. He was always intent and intense, but those qualities had been magnified since Donghyuck had come home. Or perhaps he was just beginning to notice. “I do not deserve such kindnesses, or—or you.”

“You deserve everything beautiful in this world,” Jaemin said, soft and sugary. “I will not keep you awake any longer. Goodnight, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck touched his hand as he made to leave. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Jaemin.”

The following afternoon, the Lees were all occupied with their own business. For Jeno, that was a prolonged nap after the alcohol had left him with a powerful headache, which left Donghyuck on his own to wander the grounds of Hartfield.

He sat under the willow tree for some time, drafting a letter to Lord Orville requesting his and Jaemin’s attendance at his wedding to Miss Anville at the end of July. He thought intensively about what he might say to Sion when he paid him a morning visit the next day, and then scribbled in his diary about it. Every so often, he would check his pocketwatch even when only a few minutes had passed, just to admire it.

Donghyuck was making his way back home when he noticed Jaemin coming down the road from Donwell. Another man was in brisk step beside him, too far away for Donghyuck to make out.

“Minnie!” he called with a wave.

When the pair made it closer, Donghyuck was shocked to discover that the man accompanying Jaemin was dashing. The light breeze wound through his shaggy, dark hair, and his cheekbones were sharp enough to wound. He was boyishly handsome, and Donghyuck was charmed before he could even learn the young man’s name.

Jaemin’s words sliced through his thoughts. “I am pleased we came across you. This—”

“You must be Mr. Lee,” Donghyuck said eagerly, flashing his prettiest smile and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The other Mr. Lee’s eyes sparkled upon being addressed. “We have been awaiting your arrival most anxiously!”

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. “You have? I don’t—”

“I am also Mr. Lee, but I suppose that could become quite confusing—” Donghyuck blushed as he prevented himself from rambling. “You may call me Donghyuck, if you wish.”

“Donghyuck,” the man repeated. Even his voice was smooth, pleasing. “That is a lovely name. Please, call me Mark.”

“Of course,” he mumbled shyly. He could not register Jaemin’s perturbed expression—he was absorbed in trying to steal glances at Mark while, at once, avoiding his gaze.

“Are you walking on your own, Duckie?” Jaemin interjected, stepping into his line of vision. He reached over to brush a stray leaf from Donghyuck’s hair.

“I am. Doyoung and Taeyong are visiting friends in town, and Jeno is resting.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Would you like to join us?” Mark suddenly offered. Jaemin whipped his head around to gawk at him. “We are returning to Weston House for the evening.”

“Oh, I could not intrude on such short notice!” Donghyuck said. This time, he noticed Jaemin relax his shoulders in relief.

“I am certain you would not be—” Mark started.

“The Chois would love to have you, Donghyuck, but Mark and I have business to discuss. We are hoping to set him up at the parsonage,” Jaemin explained with haste.

“That is quite alright,” Donghyuck said. “A gentleman’s business takes precedence, of course.”

“Indeed,” Mark said ruefully. “Though I must ask: will I get the chance to see you again, Donghyuck?”

“I should think so! My family is quite fond of your aunt and uncle, so it is bound to happen one way or another,” Donghyuck flushed. 

Mark bowed his head. “Then I look forward to it.”

Jaemin cleared his throat, not meeting Donghyuck’s eyes. He began to suspect he had committed a faux pas of some sort. “I will come by Hartfield later tonight, as I promised Jeno.”

“Alright,” Donghyuck nodded slowly. Perhaps the pressure of situating Mark amongst all of Jaemin’s other responsibilities was weighing on him. He surely did not need another interloper when the Chois were relying solely on Jaemin to restore their nephew into society. Donghyuck decided to depart before he could cause any further trouble. “Farewell to you both. It was nice to meet you, Mark.”

“You as well!” Mark grinned.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck,” Jaemin said.

Donghyuck hurried back inside, a conflicting sense of dejection and lightness pulling him in every direction as he worried for Jaemin, but the feeling of Mark’s eyes on him lingered for the rest of the day.