“Doctor Prattel, thank you for joining us!” The Baron exclaimed, raising his brandy snifter into the air and tipping his head towards the third man at their table. The doctor smiled politely and raised his water glass to acknowledge the cheer. Lord Grace did the same with his wine as a gesture of good will towards them both.

Observing the doctor, Lord Grace didn’t think he was young. Neither was he especially advanced in age. He wore a simple wig with few curls, but maintained it well enough. His blue eyes betrayed a soft heart behind them, complementing his modest attire. It might explain why had settled for such a destitute patron as Lord Albert to support him. He was a simple, plain, boring man.

“I must admit, my lord, I was surprised to enjoy the company of two great men today,” Doctor Prattel remarked, inclining his head in the viscount’s direction. The compliment was excessive and pathetic. Lord Grace did not like either of these buffoons, and it was difficult to maintain his mask of civility on their wasted company. A necessary evil, he supposed, gently swirling his wine glass, the contents of which came from a bottle Aldman judiciously served only to him.

One young man and the maid whose face the viscount was becoming all too familiar with tended to their meal. Modest, but well-made fare. Clearly they had a passionate cook. There was leek soup, mutton, roasted hare, and finally apple slices and syllabubs at the very end of the table to be served last. Afterwards, tea would likely be served in the parlor, and Lord Grace didn’t doubt there would be a port to go with it.

The viscount took a long, slow sip from his glass. The smell of the food was appealing, but that was the only thing about it he could appreciate.

“Do forgive me, gentlemen, I may not be able to eat much tonight. I shall enjoy your company, regardless,” Lord Grace apologized. He peered at the mutton, dressed attractively enough on its platter. The effect was mostly lost on them, as dark as the dining room was.

Every single person under this roof was alive and perfectly healthy. Sunlight would not poison them. There was no reason for it to be so dim. So why were they using such miserable little stubs for candles on the dining table? Really! This man was supposed to be a baron? Surely a viscount’s company would at the very least merit using the good candles. Lord Grace had half a mind to feign offense. Sommer Steppe must be in more dire straits than he’d realized. He could see perfectly well in the dark, granted, but the gesture of an extra candle or two was still something he’d have appreciated.

Ever the gentleman and actor, he kept his disgust to himself. A practiced smile. A compliment here and there.

Perhaps Lord Grace’s lack of proper sleep was just putting him in a sour mood. He despised rising before sunset. It was risky. It was uncomfortable. It was also necessary for the time being. Fortunately the day had given his servant enough time to properly prepare a better room for him. There were to be no more silly head games with the baron. He could have his grubby little bed back. His valet was a different story. The viscount needed something fresh to eat.

Even from that distance, he could see faint tinges of yellow and brown at the edges of the baron’s poorly tied neck cloth. Burnt. Fraying. Whoever had replaced that Reeve fellow was a miserable substitute.

Lord Albert rubbed at his chin, looking down at the food with a wide smile, “well, you do not know what you are missing, sir. I assure you at any hour should you find your appetite, my good lady in the kitchen will take care of you. Finest cook in the county. Doted on me as a boy and as you can see,” he gave a prideful pat at his stomach, “she outdid herself.”

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The Doctor removed his spectacles, which were in bad need of replacing, judging by the crooked way they perched on his nose. He gave the viscount a nod, “I can prepare a tonic for you, if there is something you may need, my lord.”

The viscount’s lips twitched in amusement, and he allowed his eyes to stray towards the maid standing beyond the edge of the table waiting to offer any assistance with the meal.

“Fresh country air will suit me. I’ve been in the city too long, so perhaps I just need a day or two to recover. Lord Albert, you truly are blessed to live in such a beautiful place.” He redirected his attention to the baron. The way the maid shifted on her feet uncomfortably at his brief attention did not go unnoticed.

The baron slapped a hand on the table. A joyful, obnoxious gesture to say the least.

“You shall stay here as long as you need, and should that be a fortnight, a season, or even a hundred years - - I promise, you will always be welcome in my home!” His face had a slightly ruddy hue to it now, ears and cheeks three shades darker than the rest of him.

The viscount chuckled, shaking his head. “You may find you regret that offer, should I choose to take you up on it, my friend.”

“Bah!” Lord Albert waved the same hand he’d slapped the table with, drawing a concerned look from Doctor Prattel.

“My lord, perhaps it is best if we all rest a little earlier tonight. I do not wish to spoil the mood, but I am concerned–” The Doctor began.

Lord Albert made a rude noise with his mouth, standing up from the table with a sudden jerk. “--Concerned for what? This good man here,” he pointed at Lord Grace, “is to save us all. He’s got plans for this house, sir, and I’ve half a mind to thrash you if you so much as suggest we end our night before it’s even begun!” His voice got louder and louder as he spoke. Whatever they discussed tonight would only end up as cotton wool in his brain tomorrow if he didn’t pace his drinking a little more.

Doctor Prattel replaced his spectacles, frowning at Lord Albert in kind.

“I can see my presence is no longer needed here, tonight,” the man said, and threw his napkin from the table. “If I may be excused, I hope you both have a good evening.” He stood up, bowed, and quickly left. Left behind, the viscount was astonished to see the fellow appeared to have a backbone. He looked over at the servants, who hid their embarrassment well. Then, he looked back at Lord Albert, who had slumped down in his chair.

“I…” The baron trailed off. He pushed his brandy glass away. “I sometimes forget myself. Forgive me. I have been a–a poor host.” His hands trembled as he grabbed a spoon to eat his soup with.

Lord Grace feigned concern, “you are passionate. That is all. There is no harm in celebrating good fortune.” He took a sip from his glass, the reflection of the made sparkling in its depths a far more fascinating sight than the conversation at hand.

“You will stay?” Lord Albert asked, looking up at him, “I have not lost your friendship?”

The viscount shook his head, “I live in London, sir. Half of parliament is far worse than your enthusiastic joy on a good day.”

With a weak, but satisfied smile, Lord Albert bowed his head, “rest assured, you have my eternal gratitude for your patience. Sometimes I forget myself. The late baroness was far more charming company than myself. All I want in the world is for the home we had together to see a little bit of the–the happiness it once knew. If you continue to indulge my poor moods, I assure you that I will do better.”

He exposed himself entirely with those words. The self-pitying and bald honesty of a broken, drunken man who was too soft for the world and too scared to leave it behind.

Lord Grace placed a hand over his own heart, “I vow that soon that pain you so clearly feel would be as a dream. You have my eternal friendship, Lord Albert.”

“And you have mine,” the baron replied in a smaller, weaker voice. He struggled to hold back tears of self-pity for the remainder of supper.