A Second Bite of the Cherry

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37216390.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Philip Duke of Crowborough, Thomas Barrow/Jimmy
Kent
Characters: Thomas Barrow, Philip Duke of Crowborough, Jimmy Kent
Additional Tags: Second Chances, Masculinity
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-03-16 Words: 14,213 Chapters: 4/4
 A Second Bite of the Cherry
by hapaxlegomena

Summary

Months after Thirsk fair, the Duke of Crowborough returns to Downton.

Months after Thirsk fair, the Duke of Crowborough came to stay.

Carson made the announcement at servants' tea, standing at the head of the table with his
grave face and grave manner that made it sound like he was announcing a death in the Royal
family. Jimmy was used to it by now, but he was still dubiously impressed how Carson
betrayed no trace of excitement for a ducal visit.

"And this time, I'll get to see him!" announced Daisy triumphantly. Ivy looked crestfallen as
she realised she would not be trotted out to line up before the arrival of the Duke's carriage.

"We'll put him in the same room as last time, the Rose room," Mrs Hughes was saying to
Jenny, the maid of all work. Jenny, who was only thirteen and therefore beneath Jimmy's
notice, looked completely overawed by this conversational sally from the housekeeper. Mrs
Hughes, meanwhile, was looking at Mr Carson, despite that they were at opposite ends of the
table.

"He surely can't be hanging out for Lady Mary again," Mrs Bates said to Miss Baxter, not
loud enough to be heard by Carson. "He must know his Lordship won't break the entail..."

"A Duke wanted to marry Lady Mary?" Jimmy, who was sitting opposite her, between Mr
Bates and Alfred, saw his chance to winkle out more information. Mrs Bates wasn't so
closed-mouthed as some of the upper servants. And she wouldn't just tell him not to talk
across the table.

"Only for money, turns out - he turned up at the house not long after that terrible accident at
sea, the Titanic, to pay his compliments to Lady Mary. Nothing was ever said outright. But
once Lord Grantham said he wouldn't consider breaking the entail to allow her to inherit, he
was off the next day. Apparently he's since managed to get himself a rich American wife."
Like Lady Grantham, Mrs Bates didn't say. Mrs Hughes might be sitting at the other end of
the table with the most junior servants, but she had ears like a bat. Or maybe she was just too
sensitive to say it anyway. She was fond of Lady Mary, was Mrs Bates.

Jimmy expected a sarcastic comment in his other ear from Thomas at this point, but it didn't
come. Thomas had been oddly quiet through this whole conversation. Thomas wasn't
normally shy about giving his opinion in the servants' hall, especially if he could make it both
unkind and funny.

Well, Jimmy found him funny, anyway. They had the same sense of humour, did he and Mr
Barrow - Jimmy called him that, even though he thought of him by his Christian name, since
everybody in the servants' hall still called him that when he wasn't in the room. It was
difficult not to just call him Thomas when they were up late playing cards and smoking; but
that would imply a return to an intimacy that Jimmy had rejected and they both now tried not
to mention.
Jimmy cast a glance at Thomas on Bates' other side, and found him looking pensive,
preoccupied.

"Were you at Downton when the Duke last visited?" he asked as Bates ignored them in
favour of gazing affectionately at his wife; though he was sure Thomas had been, for it was
Thomas who'd told him the story of Mr Matthew turning up, and the cousins on the Titanic
before that.

"I was." His tone did not encourage further conversation. Naturally, that only made Jimmy
more curious.

"Thomas had to valet him," Anna put in. "I remember thinking he must have been dreadful,
because Thomas was in a foul mood for days. He made Daisy cry."

Thomas did not elaborate further, not even with a comment on the Duke's personal habits,
which he would normally have loved to pick to shreds. Thomas had a look on him like he
was brooding on old hurts. It was an expression Jimmy had come to recognise well. Jimmy
began to suspect that the Duke had somehow got one over on Thomas.

"He didn't bring his own valet?" he asked Mrs Bates instead of prodding at Thomas. He could
be tactful sometimes. He was practising.

"Said his man had come down sick, I think. But it was such a long time ago now. I wonder
what he's come back for. Lady Mary hasn't mentioned his name."

"He's local, isn't he?" Thomas's fingers twitched like he was wanting a smoke. "Must have
met his Lordship at a shoot and got himself an invitation. Not like he's got anything better to
do."

Which was probably true, but an interesting way of phrasing it, Jimmy thought as Carson
announced the toast to the lord and lady's health and they all stood. He cast Thomas a glance
out of the corner of his eye. Thomas looked as he always did at this point during dinner:
bored.

After that, there was no chance for him to question Thomas further, since he went off with the
other upper servants to Mrs Hughes' sitting room for the sweet. This was a jealously-guarded
privilege for upper servants, one Thomas was satisfied at having won; but he'd confided to
Jimmy that he'd much prefer to sit with him and watch the lower servants let their hair down
a bit and smoke. At least with O'Brien gone, the atmosphere had become less poisonous and
merely alternately strained and dull.

They'd patched up their friendship, but Jimmy was still careful not to push too far or presume
too much, which was a new experience for him. He'd missed Thomas' company in the
aftermath of That Unfortunate Incident, though it had taken him months to realise the source
of his resentment. How dare Thomas complicate their friendship?

But he'd been complicating it all along, with the too-long touches and any excuse to get
Jimmy alone. It was what any man might do to court a girl he fancied, and, looking back and
knowing what Jimmy now knew, he could have said Oh, give over, and the whole thing
would have ended as soon as it began. If he hadn't listened to O'Brien - if Thomas hadn't
listened to O'Brien -

Well, it was all fine now. All sorted. All finished. Except for the times Jimmy caught the edge
of Thomas' gaze and remembered, He's in love with me. It still surprised him. He was aware
of his own good looks to the point of vanity, and always happy to charm and flirt. But
sometimes he got the feeling that Thomas liked him not only for his face, but for his mind,
and he didn't know what to do with that.

"Did any Dukes visit when you were at Lady Anstruther's, Jimmy?" That was Ivy. She was a
welcome distraction, though not as welcome as she probably thought. She did fancy herself a
bit, did Ivy.

"Only one, the Duke of Cumberland. He were ancient. One of the housemaids said..." But the
housemaid's story would have to wait - Mrs Patmore's cry of "Ivy! The plates!" sent her back
to the scullery to wash up after the rest of them. Jimmy was left to entertain himself watching
Alfred lollop between table and scullery while he waited for summons from upstairs to serve.

He saw Thomas later, but barely even had a moment to speak with him. Mrs Patmore was
simultaneously cooking dinner for the family and contemplating the menu she might have to
provide for the Duke, furnished with dusty recollections of what she'd served him on his last
visit. Jimmy was busy with the usual rigmarole of cutlery and crockery and trying to stay out
of Carson's way. Somehow, Jimmy only ever got noticed by Carson for doing bad things.
And usually they weren't even that bad.

"You remind him of me," Thomas had told him, smoke curling from his mouth in dragon-like
fashion. "He were never keen on me, either. Fortunately, there are ways to advance in this
house without Mr Carson's approval."

And Thomas himself was proof of that. The way the other servants told it, Mr Barrow had the
knack of getting himself into trouble, and then getting out of it by the skin of his teeth. If you
were to look at him on duty at dinner, staring impassively ahead as Jimmy and Alfred served
and the talk of the family was all about the impending ducal visit, you wouldn't think he'd
been at risk of being dismissed without a reference a year ago.

By the time Jimmy had finished clearing, ferrying the plates downstairs to the scullery and
then from the scullery to the proper cupboards, Thomas had already given him the slip.
Washing up was a bad time to try to catch someone for a talk anyway, too frenetic and noisy.
He couldn't even flirt a bit with Ivy, just to wind Alfred up, because the girl was up to her
elbows scrubbing like her life depended on it. It brought a pretty pink flush to her face, even
if the hot water did chap her hands something awful. She'd been commiserating about it with
Daisy, on one of the days they were on friendlier terms.

When Thomas returned, he smelled of cigarette smoke. Carson was too preoccupied with
supervising Jimmy and Alfred to notice, for which Mr Barrow ought to count his lucky stars.
He'd probably been out skulking in the yard and brooding. He did sometimes keep a lit
cigarette behind a pillar in the corridor when in serious need of a smoke on duty, and Jimmy
had no idea how Carson hadn't caught him at it yet. Then again, Jimmy had only caught him
out because he watched Mr Barrow so closely.
Well, that was Thomas' look-out. Jimmy didn't think it was good for him, that brooding, but
he'd just get the brush-off if he tried to distract Thomas now. He'd try later, before bed. He
was learning how to handle Thomas.

He could do with a cigarette himself. But they were about to be serving in the drawing room
as the ladies discussed the day in desultory fashion, and Thomas looked like he'd rather still
be out there sulking. Probably best to leave him be. He'd turn up later looking a bit tragic, and
Jimmy might be able to wheedle the truth out of him in between pouring drinks for the ladies
in the drawing room. It would be nice if the family could decide to have a conveniently early
night, but they'd all been going to bed late this week, enjoying the longer summer evenings.

Jimmy now often found himself in the strange position of having to be sensitive to Thomas'
feelings. This wasn't a situation he was used to, since normally the only person whose
feelings he needed to consider was himself, and he often forgot and said or did something
thoughtless. Fortunately, perhaps since Thomas' friends seemed few and far between, he was
forgiving of the ones he did have, and they didn't seriously fall out. Thomas just went all
stand-offish for a bit and pouted - just like a woman, really, though Jimmy knew better than
to say it.

He didn't manage to catch Thomas until much later, after all the family had gone to bed and
the servants were half-dead on their feet. No-one lingered over a cup of tea in the servants'
hall. Jimmy actually had to go to Thomas' room to corner him.

He'd mostly got over the sense of deja-vu he'd inevitably got in the first month after their
making up, of standing in front of that door and willing himself to knock, and of opening it to
find Mr Barrow so nastily cut up. The injuries had seemed worse than when they'd been
fresh.

Thomas was sans livery jacket and shirt, and did not look pleased at being interrupted. Since
they both knew he wouldn't continue undressing in Jimmy's presence (Jimmy carefully chose
not to think about why that was), he turned to the sink and began to wash his face instead.

"Endless bloody cribbage," said Jimmy wearily. "Why can't they at least play something
exciting, like poker?"

That made Thomas smile briefly. Well, smirk. Jimmy suspected that Thomas had in fact
forgotten how to smile properly, since he did it so infrequently.

"So, this Duke," Jimmy began, and was treated to the sight of Thomas' eyes swivelling from
left to right in search of an escape route. "That awful, was he?" he asked, trying for a
chummy, confiding tone.

"You don't know the half of it," said Thomas grimly. He was wringing the towel in his hands.
Now Jimmy was really curious.

"I reckon he got one over on you," he said, and was treated to a startled look. Bingo. "Go on,
what did he do?"
Thomas looked uncomfortable. He even looked, on closer examination, embarrassed - an
emotion with which Jimmy was so unfamiliar on Thomas that it took him a minute to
recognise it.

"Never you mind," he replied curtly. "You should get to bed, it'll only be another late one
tomorrow, and you'll be fit for nothing in the morning."

That only made Jimmy more curious, but he didn't get anything more out of Thomas, who
keep looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, and quickly chased Jimmy out of his room
with the excuse that he wanted to get to bed. Jimmy was sent back to the room he shared with
Alfred, who snored, and he thought about how strange it all was until he fell asleep.

He couldn't get anything more out of Thomas in the days leading up to the Duke's visit,
either. He tried to steer the conversation in that direction a couple of times, but realised in
short order that it wasn't going to get him anything except maybe told to stop mithering. So
he shut up and bided his time. All would be revealed when the Duke showed up, most likely -
Thomas wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. Jimmy flattered himself that he had a bit of
a knack with getting the truth out of him.

They also received the news that Crowborough wasn't going to be their only house-guest:
Lord Lillington was also going to come up from Oxfordshire. There was the whisper that he
was very taken with Lady Edith. Well, Jimmy supposed somebody had to be.

So that would make a jolly little house party, with Lillington making up to Lady Edith and
Lady Mary no doubt reminding Crowborough how he'd scarpered last time and so outed
himself as a fortune-hunter. Might be something interesting for the footmen to listen to.
Though it was August, so his Lordship would probably be blithering about grouse. Being in
service in a great house taught you to be grateful for any hint of interest in upstairs dinner
conversation, which normally varied between dry and non-existent. All the stuff they
gossiped about (out of the hearing of the upper servants, of course) tended to happen
elsewhere. Sometimes Jimmy longed for Lady Mary or Lady Edith to throw a plate or
something.

The day came soon enough - and thank God, because Jimmy had been starting to go spare.
The Crawleys didn't have so many guests these days, didn't entertain as much as they had
before the war (or so Thomas said), so a Duke visiting put everyone in a frenzy.

The Duke was on time, at least. Jimmy was up by the door waiting, which would have been a
boring but easy task if he hadn't had Carson with him to breathe down his neck. The moment
the motorcar was spotted coming up the drive, the bell was rung for the indoor servants to
assemble. Jimmy spared a thought for poor Ivy, stuck in the scullery.

The Duke of Crowborough was an unimposing man of middle height, with a handsome
enough face under a hairline starting to recede. Jimmy estimated him as around Thomas' age.
No, older by a few years. His grey eyes swept the line of assembled servants like he was
being asked to observe his host's carriage-horses. Not that you saw so many of those about,
these days. Jimmy updated his mental comparison to motorcars.
Was it Jimmy's imagination, of did his eyes linger on Thomas for a second, like they'd got
stuck? Jimmy wasn't widely praised for his powers of observation, and laid no claim to great
psychic intuition. But there was something a little off about the whole scenario, a touch of
something he recognised about the Duke, but couldn't express. It made him uneasy.

Crowborough greeted the family and the family greeted him, and all the while Jimmy
watched him carefully. He'd got out of the car alone, and it was the chauffeur who'd opened
the door and was now hovering in front of the passenger side, with no valet in sight.

He knew where this was going before the Duke even opened his mouth.

"My man's gone off to serve in His Majesty's household," he explained. "Which is all very
well for him, but I haven't had the time to engage a new valet. If I might beg your
indulgence...?"

Hadn't had the time? You put an advertisement in the paper or more likely put in a request
with an agency, there'd be half a dozen men in service to snap your hand off, especially with
unemployment rates and the tax on manservants encouraging the less well-off to do without.
And what would the Duke be doing in the meantime, dressing himself? It beggared belief.
No, Jimmy decided, the Duke was asking for his hosts to provide a valet for his own reasons.

The Duke was still looking at Thomas. He probably thought he was being subtle, with
everyone's attention on Lord Grantham and Lady Mary. But Jimmy caught the way his eyes
kept flicking to the right. Thomas was as unreadable as stone.

Jimmy could see what was going to happen before Carson even opened his mouth. Normally
they'd have got a footman to step in, like Jimmy himself - like Thomas had, back in the day -
not the underbutler. But Thomas had been a valet first, and no doubt Carson would say the
Duke needed someone experienced. Someone who could be silent and unctuous and efficient.
And Thomas certainly could do that, far better than Jimmy.

"Since Your Grace had Mr Barrow last time..."

Jimmy found his mouth open like he was about to interrupt. He'd actually taken breath to
speak. But what was he going to do - volunteer himself? To, what, save Thomas from having
to valet a man who was apparently an ogre to his servants? It would be one way to repay
Thomas for stepping in at Thirsk fair.

He didn't say anything. The moment passed, and he felt a fool. It wouldn't be any use
volunteering now, anyway. Everybody would have fallen over with shock at the idea of
Jimmy being willing to take on extra work, and he'd have caught the sharp edge of Carson's
tongue for speaking out of turn.

So Thomas was offered as a valet, like he must have been more than ten years ago. His face
didn't betray any emotion about it at all, though his shoulders were a tense line.

There was no time to ask him about it even when they'd been dismissed from their ridiculous
little parade line. Jimmy and Alfred followed the car to the servants' entrance, unloaded the
luggage, and took it up to the Rose room, where the Duke would be staying. Guests wanted
waiting on, and Jimmy was busy fetching and bowing and serving nearly all the way to
dinner.

He did manage, finally, to catch him when Crowborough and Lillington - he and Alfred had
had to rejoin the ridiculous parade line for Lillington's arrival, though at least he'd brought his
own man, Howells - and the family had been supplied with sufficient tea and refreshments,
and Alfred had been left on pouring duty along with Carson. They'd both like that. Carson
plainly favoured Alfred over Jimmy, for no reason Jimmy could make out.

But Thomas favoured him, and it had worked out so far, because Jimmy had been made first
footman after all. And because Thomas favoured him and helped him, and because they were
mates, Jimmy wanted to know what the matter was with the Duke.

With both Carson and Alfred occupied, the coast was clear for Jimmy to slip into the butler's
pantry and find Thomas, as expected, having a smoke. It didn't look like it was making him
feel any better.

Jimmy wasn't much of a smoker, but he'd been keeping a packet on him in case he needed an
excuse to bother Thomas for a light. He took it out now and drew out a cigarette as he sat
down at the table next to Thomas. Thomas lit it for him without a word.

Jimmy let him smoke half his cigarette before asking again.

"Go on, then. You're itching with it. What happened with the Duke?" He nearly said Don't
tell me you came on to him and he turned you down, because that was an early aspect of their
relationship they both studiously avoided mentioning, and Jimmy was getting better about
thinking before he spoke.

Thomas looked tired. "You don't want to know." But Jimmy was wearing him down, he could
tell.

"I really do, though. Thomas, I'm not going to be shocked."

Maybe it was the unexpected use of his Christian name that did it. Maybe it was the reminder
that Jimmy knew certain things about Thomas and still talked to him. Thomas took another
drag on his cigarette, held it, and exhaled while staring into the middle distance. Then he
said:

"The Duke and I, we were - we had an affair." He put his cigarette back between his lips like
he was stopping himself from saying anything more.

Jimmy goggled at him in amazement.

"You had it off with the Duke?" he demanded incredulously.

"Say it a bit louder, I don't think Carson heard you upstairs," hissed Thomas, looking like he
was prepared to spring across and clamp Jimmy's mouth shut himself.

"Sorry," Jimmy mumbled. He had another drag on his cigarette to give himself time to think.
Christ, now he thought about it, that explained it all. And when the Duke had looked at him
that morning - "Explains why your Duke was giving me the glad-eye when we all turned
out."

"He's not my Duke. But he'll have noticed you alright. He likes handsome footmen. If he says
anything to you, you come to me, d'you understand?" Thomas looked Jimmy in the eye for
the first time since he'd set foot in the pantry.

"Alright." Jimmy's imagination began conjuring up things the Duke might say that would
prompt him to report them to Thomas. "Is he likely to do anything else? Apart from saying
things, I mean."

"He's not backwards about coming forwards, no, but he'll try and sound you out a bit first."
Thomas extinguished the last of his cigarette. "He's a mite more discreet than me, I'll say."

That was about as close as they'd ever got to being explicit about The Unfortunate Incident.

"That's not difficult," retorted Jimmy, as lightly as he could. Thomas hadn't been shy about
ogling Jimmy and making excuses to spend time with him and talk with him and touch him.
The hints he'd dropped - well, calling them hints was being generous. He wasn't even subtle
now that they were supposed to be just friends and he was pretending he didn't fancy Jimmy
any more, when it was obvious to anybody with eyes that he did.

Thomas's eyebrows shot up and he looked very closely at Jimmy for a moment. Then he said,

"I suppose not. Though you're one to talk, all that carrying on and showing off for Ivy."

"I'm not trying to be subtle," Jimmy objected. "I'm trying to show up Alfred. And impress
Ivy."

The conversation digressed onto the topic of their downstairs colleagues, especially how
Jimmy was going to continue showing up Alfred and impressing Ivy, and what on earth
Daisy saw in Alfred ("William wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he he had more
brains than that lunk," Thomas opined. "Better looking, too."). This occupied them until the
drawing room bell went, and Jimmy was off again to attend to the family and their guests.

He took the opportunity to observe the Duke covertly. His earlier impression was unchanged,
but was overlaid with further curiosity, brought about by the knowledge that this was the man
Thomas had been in love with - had had an affair with. Jimmy tried to see the Duke through
Thomas' eyes, just as he sometimes tried to see himself through them.

Well, in Jimmy's opinion, the Duke wasn't as handsome as him, Jimmy. Though he was
handsome - you couldn't imagine Thomas falling in love with a homely man, could you? He
dressed well and he spoke well, and his conversation showed he wasn't a dullard. He didn't
have any obviously offensive personal habits aside from the typical and appropriately
arrogant bearing of a Duke. He must have been a real catch for his American heiress.

But when Jimmy stepped forward to refill the Duke's teacup, the Duke glanced up, caught his
eye, and smiled. Just briefly. Toffs never caught your eye when you were serving them, you
were just living furniture to them.
Jimmy knew that look well. It was the sort of look Lady Anstruther had given him about a
week into his employment with her when he'd been serving her an evening cocktail. And
Jimmy hadn't been entirely green. Things had progressed rapidly from there.

Jimmy hastily averted his gaze, but he had the suspicion he was under appreciative
observation from that quarter. He shifted his weight uneasily, and wished the Duke would go
and ogle the footmen in his own house.

Then it was downstairs again to the kitchen, ferrying the crockery and cutlery up to the
dining table. Jimmy was glad of the reprieve, even though he kept thinking about the Duke.

He wanted to say something to Thomas about it, though he didn't quite know what. But he
was up and down with the plates and there was no chance of catching Thomas' eye before the
dressing gong sounded and Jimmy saw him leave the servants' hall without a word, going to
attend to the Duke.
 Chapter 2

"It's been an awfully long time since I've visited Downton," the Duke began, which Thomas
thought a singularly uninspired remark for an opening gambit. If he were feeling bolder, he
would be glad to reply with a snide retort that the Duke had been too busy snaring himself an
American heiress to bother to keep up with his neighbours. But he was not so bold as he had
been at twenty, and had developed just enough self-awareness to know that he would only
sound bitter. So he said, neutrally,

"More than ten years, Your Grace," and went on fixing the waistcoat. The motions were
overlaid with memories of the last time he'd done this. He'd dressed Philip for dinner just like
this, and they'd barely been able to keep their hands off each other. Or maybe that had only
been Thomas' imagination. It was so long ago that it was difficult for him to trust his own
recollection. Memories could alter over time, until two people had completely different
recollections of the same event.

"And you've done well for yourself in that time, haven't you?" The Duke spoke airily, like
this was only casual conversation. "You've been elevated to the rank of underbutler, I'm told.
I know you were always ambitious." He tried to catch Thomas' eye in the mirror.

Thomas wondered who the Duke had been talking to about him, and what had been said.
He'd probably brought it up in conversation, said, oh, ten years ago when I was last here it
was Thomas the footman...And one of the family would have said oh yes times do change,
it's Barrow the underbutler now. And why shouldn't they? He'd been at Downton for all that
time, after all. And none of the Crawleys had any reason to think anything untoward had
happened between them. At least, he devoutly hoped not.

He leaned in to fix the Duke's collar. Philip put his hand flat on Thomas' side, warm even
through his waistcoat.

"Are you still bruised?"

Thomas jerked back, leaving the collar undone.

"Someone's been talking." How that could ever have come up in conversation...If the Duke
hadn't touched his side so familiarly, he'd probably have thought the question was about his
pride.

"Throwing yourself in harm's way for the sake of a very dishy blond footman does get you
noticed. Grantham seems to think the whole thing's admirable, if not rather sweet. I don't
believe he'd previously suspected a self-sacrificial streak in your nature."

"Shut up." He sounded more tired than angry. He didn't want the Duke talking about Jimmy.
He wished again that the Duke had never taken it into his head to come back to Downton. He
could go back to his very rich wife and his utterly lovable son and daughter, and leave
Thomas alone.
Oh yes, he'd heard about the success Crowborough had had in America. He read the papers,
and the announcements had been made in The Times - ...the engagement of His Grace Philip
Alexander Frederick Villiers, Duke of Crowborough, to Miss Loelia Mavis Eleanor... There
had been a whole article describing their lavish wedding that Thomas had read with
masochistic attention, and barely a year after that, the notice of the birth of twins. Thomas
told himself he'd forgotten their names. They'd be the same age as Master George and Miss
Sybbie, now.

"Though apparently that altruistic impulse doesn't extend to me," said the Duke dryly.
"Would you like to hear more about how disappointed I was to lose you, and how unhappy I
was that we parted in anger? I was, you know. I've often thought about you since."

"I don't believe you." Thought about Thomas while off fortune-hunting in America, then
enjoying family life - not bloody likely. Seen his chance to take up with him as a sort of perk
of his visit, that was more plausible.

"I didn't think you would." The Duke just kept looking at him. "But you're being quite hard
on yourself, as well as me. You're worth thinking about."

Naked flattery. Crowborough had always been good at that. But damned if it didn't work.

"You stole my letters." And burned them. The memory of them all merrily crackling away in
the grate had been so often revisited that it was faded and worn at the edges like an old
photograph. But the emotion it had provoked still rose up.

"Letters that I'd written. I thought it a reasonable precaution." He left and I turned out to be
right hanging unsaid in the air between them.

Thomas wondered if he still expected to be valeted after this conversation. A valet in a bad
mood could cause his employer a great deal of discomfort and embarrassment. He
automatically started plotting ways to discomfit and humiliate the Duke. Anything to do with
his evening wardrobe could be dismissed, since the blame would fall on Thomas, but surely...

"You're thinking of ways to get back at me." Instead of sounding sad or resentful, Philip's
voice was teasing. Thomas looked at him with narrowed eyes, certain he was being played
for a fool. But Philip's expression was a queer fond little smile. "Thomas, I knew exactly
what sort of man I was taking to bed. I happened to find it incredibly attractive. The strait-
laced sanctimonious type doesn't really appeal to me."

"You sweet-talker, you." Thomas said it flatly, too unbalanced to think of a cleverer retort. It
was sad, no doubt, to be so affected by Philip saying these things about him - he preferred to
tell himself that it had been a long time since Philip's opinion had mattered to him in the
slightest. And there wasn't much chance of anyone liking him for his personality, except
maybe Jimmy, who claimed to find his caustic comments entertaining.

He was trying not to think of Jimmy. Trouble was, everything reminded him of Jimmy.
Including having the Duke of Crowborough come on to him.
Philip was still looking at him in that strange fond way. He was making Thomas remember
what he'd found so irresistible about him, which was inconvenient when he was angry with
the Duke and meant to keep being so. Philip could take his reconciliation and cram it up his
arse.

He'd never been so glad to hear the dinner gong go in all his life. He could devise ways out of
this while he was serving. Seeing Philip's smug face at the table would concentrate his mind.

He stepped closer to the Duke again to fix his pocket handkerchief. Philip let him do it,
standing perfectly and obediently still, like he ought to. Then, before Thomas could move
away, Philip caught him by the lapels and kissed him.

It was just a quick little kiss, a glancing brush of lips. Thomas had no time either to lean in or
lean away before the Duke was pulling back.

"I'll see you after dinner," he said, like Thomas wasn't about to be waiting on him. "We'll
spend the evening together."

That was one of Philip's ways that had simultaneously annoyed and pleased Thomas. He was
high-handed and expected everything to go his way. That was one attitude that ascending to
his dukedom at a young age had no doubt encouraged. Whether Thomas found it irritating to
be ordered around or thrilling to be mastered by a lover like this depended on his mood.

As underbutler, Thomas' duties at dinner mainly involved standing in the dining room and
looking blank. Fortunately, he had got very good at this over the years.

The conversation was not so exciting as he and Jimmy had hoped (Alfred was just
concentrating on serving the Duke correctly). Lord Lillington did look at Lady Edith rather a
lot, yes; she carefully didn't look at him in a way that gave away how much she wanted to.
Typical knight-gallant and maiden-loth stuff. It was unclear how much anybody else at the
table noticed, since Crowborough was doing his best to charm Lady Mary, and doing a half-
decent job of it, despite her remarking,

"Do you know, the last time you spoke to me like that - the last time you were here - I
thought you were about to make an offer for me."

"A shame it never came to pass." Crowborough managed to sound genuinely regretful as well
as playful. "But, as I'm sure you realised at the time..."

"We both needed to marry money, so our union was not to be?"

"Mary," murmured Lord Grantham, suppressingly. Per usual, it had no effect.

"Driving me into the arms of an American heiress," confirmed Crowborough. "Which I'm
sure we can all agree was the wiser course of action, for which I cannot be accused of being
ungentlemanly."

Oh, miaow.
"I know several perfect gentlemen with titles and no fortune, who've married American ladies
of no title and large fortune," remarked her Ladyship. "Since each party gets what they want,
I find they make very happy matches."

"They do say that happiness in marriage is found through complementary partnership,"

Equal points awarded there. Lady Mary looked entertained. Thomas wondered if perhaps her
father had hoped the Duke's visit might do that. The household hadn't been quite right since
Lady Sybil and Matthew Crawley died, and if there was one thing you could rely on Philip to
do, it was be provocative and distracting.

Thomas watched him the whole way through, drinking in the familiar profile, smile, voice.
He must have an affair as well as the wife, surely. Philip wasn't the type to deny himself.
Another working man, probably, even a servant for convenience's sake - Philip was the type
of toff who liked a broad accent and not too much education. He'd said he liked that working
men were so much freer and more affectionate.

Well, Thomas had certainly been pretty bloody affectionate with him.

Dinner seemed interminable. Thomas wanted it to be over with faster so he could confront
Philip, and at the same time stretch on forever so he could keep putting off the moment when
he conclusively told Philip to go to hell. He wanted longer to plot how to make it as
satisfying in reality as it was in fantasy.

The gentlemen retired after dinner, the ladies separately, and there was some masculine chat
about investments that Thomas listened to with only half an ear. His attention was taken up
with the physicality of the Duke: how he sat, how he gestured, how he caught Thomas' eye
once and smiled. It was a re-run of ten years ago, and Thomas' feelings hadn't changed as
much as he'd wanted.

He had been free of lingering affection for Philip, for eight years he'd barely thought of him.
He'd been too busy with everything else: first the war, then scrabbling for a life afterwards.
Philip had been an old wound, and there were fresher ones to brood on.

But to see Philip here, to be spoken to in that intimate way and kissed...All the hopes he'd had
for Philip, Edward, Jimmy came to life again, like an electric light being flicked on.

The sex had never really gone away, there was always sex to be found in towns. But the men
were normal, not like him. Sex was all they wanted, and it was convenient and easy with a
man, so they did it. And then they went back to girlfriends and wives and barmaids, because
what they'd done with other men had nothing to do with women and loving at all.

If he hadn't had Philip, that might have been enough for him. You can't miss what you never
had in the first place. If you didn't think men could desire you and love you like they do
women, you wouldn't go looking for it, would you? You'd just suck off and pine for normal
men forever, and not expect reciprocity. Thomas hadn't known there was a word for men like
them until Philip had told him it.
His thoughts chased each other in circles, and he still didn't have a plan worked out by the
time he had to return to the bachelor corridor to undress the Duke. Philip had the knack of
derailing other people's plans. He had the knack of derailing Thomas, simply by being there
and being attractive and reminding him of all the things he'd nearly got. How in love he'd
been. How it had all gone wrong.

Philip was ready for him, his collar already undone. Possibly to express relaxation at the end
of the evening, possibly to make himself look attractively disheveled. He sat down on the bed
and let Thomas take off his shoes

It was very difficult to kneel between the legs of a man of whom you'd had carnal knowledge
and not think about exactly that. The Duke hadn't quite been Thomas' first, though he'd let
Philip proceed under the impression that he might be, but he'd been his first serious affair and
the most sexual. Thomas had sucked him off in exactly this position.

Philip was clearly thinking about it too. Once Thomas had removed the shoes and set them to
one side, he prevented Thomas from taking off the socks too by putting one foot over
Thomas' shoulder and keeping it there. Thomas looked him in the eye to avoid looking at
anything else.

"I think we owe each other some apologies," said Crowborough mildly. "Instead of
flagellating ourselves and each other, shall we make it up more nicely?"

Thomas wanted that very badly, which was making it increasingly difficult to pretend he
didn't. The promise of sex - good sex, because Philip was damned good at it and they'd
certainly got enough practice in - and affection, because Philip had made it plain he'd be all
too pleased to run his fingers through his hair and say sweet things to him, and it had been a
long time since he'd had any of that.

"D'you really think that's wise, your Grace?" he said with as much sarcasm as he could
muster. Philip had never minded being cheeked, oddly.

"I think it's the best idea I've had in ages. Besides, it might distract you from the fact that
you're in love with that nice blond piece. Shame, you're wasting your time there. Oh my, your
ears have gone red."

Thomas gritted his teeth. Crowborough still knew exactly what to say to get under his skin.
He wasn't even doing it to be unkind to Thomas. He just spoke casually, amicably, like he had
when they'd met down in London. Thomas had been so taken with his directness. It still
thrilled him a little.

"I'm wasting my time here," he snapped, rising to his feet. "Was there anything else, Your
Grace?"

"Don't be like that." Philip caught his arm and got up too. "Darling, look at me."

Thomas could scarcely look at anything else. Philip was offering him what he wanted, what
he always wanted, a man's affection.
"Bloody stupid idea," he said under his breath and mostly to himself. Philip would be gone in
a few days, back to his life where everything had turned out right for him. A life that didn't
have room for Thomas in it. Philip was telling him what he wanted to hear to get him into
bed. There was nothing more to it.

"Then let's be bloody stupid together." And Philip put his hand on the back of Thomas' neck,
pulled him down, and kissed him.

Thomas gave in. He'd known the Duke would only have to push so far. Philip still knew just
how to play him. Philip's ardent kiss washed away the unhappiness of being rejected and
undesired, of everything that had happened with Jimmy and how stupid and heartbroken it
had made him feel, of petty humiliations and constant awareness of being different.

They kissed for minutes on end, longer than they'd done in the heat of their affair - always
eager to fall into bed together, to take any snatch of time they could for secret pleasure. They
relearnt each other's mouths. Thomas found he still knew what Philip liked, even all these
years on. It felt just like picking up where they'd left off.

Philip was confident to the point of arrogance, always, and he had this way about him in bed
that was irresistible, because it made Thomas feel wanted. He did it in conversation, too, and
people called it charm. In bed, it was seduction. He didn't act shy, he didn't have to be
coaxed, and he wasn't focussed on his own satisfaction. He stripped and stroked Thomas with
ardour born out of genuine desperate want. God, no wonder Thomas had fallen in love with
him almost immediately.

"We've got lots of time," Philip assured him as they broke the kiss briefly to keep undressing
each other. "Let's make the most of it."

They did.

They both smoked afterwards, passing the cigarette lazily between them. Philip still smoked
the same brand of cigarettes. Thomas was transported back to 1911 and the London season,
and the two of them doing just this.

Christ, it had been ten years. And what did Thomas have to show for it?

"Don't brood, darling - you're spoiling the afterglow." Philip squeezed his arm
companionably. "Just think about how good that was. And how we're going to do it again
several times over the next few days."

"I'm starting to think you've only missed a certain part of me," rejoined Thomas dryly. But
Philip had diverted him to imagining the all the sex in their near future. It made an appealing
prospect. A damn sight more appealing than polishing silver and supervising hallboys, for
certain. More appealing than sitting next to Jimmy (but not too close) and watching him flirt
with Ivy, knowing he couldn't ever feel the same way for Thomas as Thomas did for him.

"Oh, you underestimate yourself." Another squeeze, and Philip put out the last embers of
their shared cigarette and nuzzled into Thomas' neck. "There's a great deal more to it than
that. And there's no-one else I'd rather be stuffed by."
"I've missed your deathlessly romantic declarations." It was hard to get up any real
indignation in this position. Easier to be charmed by Philip all over again.

The Duke would toss him to one side at the end of this visit. And it wasn't as if they'd have
many chances to see each other, what with the Crawleys not bothering with the London
season these days, and Thomas no longer being a valet and thus no longer required to travel.
Thomas didn't see too many invitations to Downton in the Duke's future, either.

But it could be nice, while it lasted. If things turned out decently and the Duke didn't do
anything that would lead to Thomas making a scene (there were many things Philip might
conceivably do that would lead to this outcome), they might even resume their written
correspondence. Say one thing for Philip, he was a damn good letter-writer. And Thomas
needed all the friends in high places he could get.
 Chapter 3

Mr Barrow wasn't in the servants' hall when the Duke called for tea, and he wasn't in the
butler's pantry either. The last Daisy had seen of him, he'd said something about supervising
the hall boys, even though strictly speaking that was Jimmy and Alfred's job, not that either
of them did much of it.

There was no time for Jimmy to fetch him from wherever he'd secreted himself this time. He
took the tray from Daisy, thought that the Duke hadn't specifically asked for Thomas and this
was a footman's job anyway, and prepared to give a vague answer about Thomas'
whereabouts when asked. And he was pretty sure the Duke would ask.

In fact, the Duke did not need to ask. Because when Jimmy pushed open the door to the Rose
room, which was the grandest of the bedrooms and therefore the only one suitable, Thomas
was already there.

Jimmy goggled. They weren't even under the sheets. Thomas was lying on his front with the
Duke next to him, their naked bodies all pressed up against each other. The Duke was
finishing his cigarette and was stroking slow circles on Thomas' bare back, but Thomas didn't
stir at the faint sound of Jimmy's footsteps on the thick rug.

Jimmy felt like an idiot, standing there holding the tea tray. The Duke's eyes flicked from the
sleeping Thomas to him. An aristocratic eyebrow was raised. It was Thomas' mannerism
exactly, the one Jimmy couldn't imitate because when he tried to raise only one eyebrow he
wiggled his ears instead.

Bloody good thing it had been him and not Alfred bringing the tray.

Jimmy did try not to be impertinent to visiting Dukes, as a rule, but given that this one was
lying starkers on the bed with the house's underbutler, he felt able to say in a very low
murmur,

"If you'd asked, your Grace, I'd have brought two cups."

That made Crowborough smile. He must like impertinent footmen. After all, he clearly liked
Thomas.

"We'll share," he said, and his tone made it sound less like he and Thomas would be sharing a
teacup, and more like something else. He was also looking directly at Jimmy in a way
upstairs folk didn't tend to look at servants. Not since Lady Anstruther, who'd looked him up
and down when they'd first taken him on there and said Oh yes, he'll do very nicely.

Jimmy put down the tray at the side of the bed. Thomas' eyes were closed. He was either
asleep or doing a good impression of it. Asleep, Jimmy thought. He'd have had something to
say otherwise about Jimmy coming in, reacted in some way. Horror, probably. For all he
hadn't been able to keep his hands off Jimmy in the first few weeks he'd been at Downton, he
was a very private man, was Mr Barrow. He wouldn't like Jimmy seeing him like this.
The Duke was still stroking Thomas' back possessively, straying further and further down
towards the swell of his arse. The words Tired him out then, did you, rose to Jimmy's lips, but
he swallowed them before he could actually say them to the Duke. He strongly suspected the
Duke would only say Oh yes, and smile at him again.

"Don't go," said Crowborough when Jimmy turned and made to leave. He felt hot all over
with a peculiar mixture of embarrassment and excitement, and he desperately wanted to get
out of the room.

But the Duke had given him a direct order, still in that hushed, warm, insinuating voice. A
voice that was full of possibility. Jimmy had spent twenty years being reminded that curiosity
killed the cat, but it had never curbed his inquisitiveness.

He turned back round reluctantly. He kept trying not to look at them, either of them, but
especially Thomas. He'd seen other young men naked before, when they all stripped off and
bathed in streams together, or sharing a room with the other hallboys, and there was nothing
to it, nobody was shy and it was all perfectly natural. But the obviously post-coital glow
about them - it being Thomas lying there -

"Darling," said the Duke in Thomas' ear. He was cupping Thomas' arse now, and Jimmy
couldn't look away. "Keep your eyes closed," he added as Thomas stirred. "There's something
for you." And that was quite the squeeze he gave the cheek in his hand.

Oh, God, thought Jimmy. Was he going to be expected to stand here and watch the Duke do -
whatever he did do to Thomas?

"David has been wanting a go at you for ages," the Duke was saying. David? That was Lord
Lillington's valet, Mr Howells. And it was true, Jimmy realised, Howells did watch Thomas.
He was subtle about it, but he wasn't just paying all that attention to avoid the sharp side of
Thomas' tongue. "Spread your legs." Crowborough ran his fingers down the cleft of his arse,
and Thomas did as he was told.

This couldn't be going where Jimmy thought it was going. And yet the Duke was motioning
him closer.

"He doesn't bite, you know," Crowborough said, amused. "Well, not in this position."

A little snort from Thomas. Jimmy was looking down at him, all spread out on the bed. He
didn't remember moving, but he was standing over Thomas now. Thomas, his face hidden in
the pillow, sleepy and relaxed.

"Dear me, a valet who doesn't know how to undress," said the Duke, still teasing Jimmy. "Let
me help you."

And Jimmy watched like it was all happening in a dream, all happening to someone else.
Because the Duke's hands reached for Jimmy's flies, and Jimmy let him do it. He let
Crowborough undo the buttons one by one and push aside his underwear and take out the
erection he'd known must be obvious through his uniform.
At the first touch of Crowborough's hand on his cock, Jimmy shivered. He'd never had a man
touch him there - wasn't this what he'd been trying to avoid, from Thomas?

"Oh, you'll like this one," the Duke told Thomas, who let out a little sigh. "He's got a lovely
one, nice and thick." With his other hand, the Duke retrieved something from the bedside
table. Jimmy stared uncomprehendingly at the pot of petroleum jelly.

"It goes like this, darling," said the Duke to Jimmy, dipping his fingers into the pot. "Makes it
much easier, much better. This is your first time with a man, isn't it?"

Jimmy nodded, and felt stupid for nodding. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he
couldn't have spoken anyway, because that would reveal his identity to Thomas. Thomas,
who would surely, if he found out -

Crowborough's jelly-slicked hand wrapped around his aching cock. Jimmy gasped through
his teeth. He saw Thomas wriggle a little on the bed, like hearing Crowborough slick him up
excited him. Jimmy's head spun. Did they do this often? Thomas hadn't made any protest or
even shown any surprise. Maybe this was their little thing, how Crowborough liked to keep
things exciting in the bedroom. Maybe all men of their sort did this, shared round their lovers
like after-dinner mints.

The Duke took his time spreading the jelly over Jimmy's erection. Jimmy locked his knees
and heard his own breath loud in his ears. This was nothing, half a hand job was nothing to
get so excited over. He didn't want the Duke of Crowborough's hand on his cock - he wasn't
like that. There was nothing attractive about this scenario except for the pure, animal sex it
exuded.

Crowborough let go of his cock and pulled Jimmy forward by the hip, urging him up onto the
bed. Jimmy found himself kneeling between Thomas' spread legs. He knew the basic idea of
this, but he'd never - what if he hurt Thomas -

Crowborough took hold of his erection again, now throbbing at full hardness, and guided it to
Thomas' hole. It looked very small. Jimmy swallowed.

And then, slowly, he pushed it in.

His cock was so slippery with jelly that it went in easily, just like penetrating a woman who
was wet for you. Jimmy thrilled at that idea, of Thomas wanting his cock so badly that he'd
got wet like a girl. Thomas' obvious desire for him no longer seemed frightening. In this
position, Jimmy was in control.

Thomas sighed as Jimmy penetrated him for the first time, a luxurious sensual sigh. Jimmy's
skin prickled all over. Thomas' hole was tight around his cock, squeezing fitfully, and it felt
wonderful. He didn't want Thomas the way Thomas wanted him - naked men didn't do it for
him, and men's hands and arses neither - but the power he held over the vulnerable man
beneath him was incredibly arousing.

He got all the way in smoothly, and he watched the muscles in Thomas' pale back flex like he
was dreaming. Then he pulled out halfway and pushed again into that tight heat. That got a
little uh out of Thomas. Yes, Jimmy knew what to do here, what to do with Thomas. He'd
done this before.

He set to working his cock in and out steadily - to fucking Thomas steadily, just like he'd
fucked Lady Anstruther when she'd felt like taking a handsome footman to bed for the night.
There had been a couple of girls before, but she was his first woman, and she'd taught him
how to please her.

Apparently it worked on Thomas as well, because every thrust punched out a low moan,
muffled into the pillows of the Duke's bed. The Duke was still watching them, but it didn't
seem all that important. Jimmy's vision was narrowed to the back of Thomas' sleek black
head and his long pale body flexing as Jimmy fucked him.

"Thomas normally does it the other way round," Crowborough confided in Jimmy's ear, "but
he plays bitch so nicely, don't he?"

Jimmy didn't trust himself to speak. He knew he'd only gasp out a few nonsensical words,
and Thomas might recognise his voice. So he bent over Thomas' long pale back and panted
into his neck. The idea that this was what Thomas wanted to do to him - and Jimmy had
known that, known from the unsubtle glances and Thomas' whole demeanour towards him
that he'd been imagining buggering Jimmy - only excited him further. Jimmy was a man, a
normal man, not the sort who'd ever 'play bitch'. It felt like he was reclaiming that masculine
pride from Thomas, one thrust, one fucked-out moan at a time.

Thomas was working beneath him, squirming against the bed, trying to push back against
Jimmy's thrusts. It would be easier if Thomas were on his hands and knees, but Jimmy liked
him like this, trapped underneath him. He got what Jimmy was willing to give him, and no
more. He thrust harder, chasing the sweet burn of pleasure around the base of his cock, and
Thomas twisted his clawed fingers in the sheets and let out hoarse gasps. His face was turned
a little to the side, enough for Jimmy to see his eyes were tightly closed and his red mouth
was open.

Thomas was as much of a man as Jimmy - more, because he was older and taller and more
experienced in just about everything. So it was obvious that he'd been thinking of Jimmy as
the girl to be chased. And now it felt good to prove that he, Jimmy, was a real man too, a man
who could make women and nancies like Thomas moan with his cock inside them.

His heart was pounding, pounding wildly in his chest. His upper lip curled back from his
teeth as he fought the churning pleasure rising up in his thighs and tingling down his spine.
He didn't want it to end. He'd never get the chance to do this again. Not like this, free from
expectations, free from consequences. Even though there was the risk that Thomas might turn
and open his eyes and see him - that was part of the thrill, that Thomas might realise who was
fucking him, realise it was Jimmy. And what would he do then?

Thomas was moving underneath him, his hips rising from the bed, his face twisted up in the
grip of ecstacy. Jimmy didn't know how it could feel good, but obviously it did. Maybe, if
he'd let Thomas do this to him, if would have felt good too. Thomas was obviously
experienced enough.
No doubt Thomas believed he could make Jimmy feel good; had believed it when he'd been
under the impression Jimmy was like him. He still wanted it, and it was so obvious, Thomas
was doing his best but he couldn't hide how he felt about Jimmy, and Jimmy didn't know
what he was supposed to do about that but pretend it wasn't there and he didn't know or at
least he didn't care.

Jimmy thrust harder into Thomas' welcoming body as his belly clenched and his balls drew
up and his vision went cloudy at the edges. His perception narrowed to his aching erection,
the tight heat surrounding it, and Thomas' panting as he surrendered totally to the pleasure
Jimmy's cock was giving him.

He came off inside Thomas in shuddering, gasping pulses.

He didn't feel worried or sick about what he'd just done. He just felt strange, floaty. Divorced
from his body. He watched his come leaking out of Thomas' hole and thought, did I do that?

Crowborough took over. Jimmy had almost, but not quite, forgotten he was there watching
the two of them. He looked very pleased with himself, did the Duke, as he pulled at Thomas'
shoulder to turn him over.

Jimmy stumbled back on legs that felt like jelly, hurriedly putting his clothing to rights. If
Thomas saw him now - was this the Duke's game, to trick them both?

"I'm going to have you now. But you have to keep your eyes closed, darling." It was only a
murmur in Thomas' ear, but Jimmy could hear it from all the way across the room. "Don't
make me blindfold you. I have an agreement with our nice young man here."

Thomas, eyes obediently closed, smiled. Jimmy stared. The Thomas you got every day would
have told Crowborough where to stick it. Darling? Not on your life. But apparently when you
threw in some sex, he came over all kittenish and trusting and a bit stupid.

Jimmy had a flicker of self-awareness that this might be something they had in common.

He tried to keep his eyes on Thomas' face, making sure his eyes really were closed like
Crowborough had told him. But the rest of him was right there, and it wasn't as if Jimmy
hadn't seen naked men before, but he'd never seen Thomas so undressed, and his curiosity
really was going to be the death of him one day. They said men like Thomas were effeminate,
but there was nothing womanish about him to Jimmy's eyes. Jimmy stared at his heaving
chest and red erection, safe in the knowledge he could look all he liked and Thomas wouldn't
know.

Crowborough knelt between Thomas' legs, interrupting Jimmy's view. Thank God for that,
because Jimmy couldn't look away.

Under Jimmy's watchful and curious eye, the Duke introduced his cock where Jimmy's had
just been, and Thomas let out this long sigh and his arms came up around Crowborough in an
embrace.
Jimmy stared at his view of them from the back, fascinated. It was almost like watching a
man and a woman, except for the hairy legs. The steady rhythm they set up together was
hypnotic and dirty, skin on skin and low panting, unmistakable sounds of sex.

Thomas clutched at the Duke's shoulders, holding on as the man on top of him drove him into
the mattress, his smooth back undulating with every flex of his hips. Now he wasn't muffled
by the pillow, he was loud, moaning with each hard thrust like he couldn't control his voice. It
wasn't a put-on, either. He really was in the grip of unbearable pleasure.

Thomas' nails scratched red lines down Crowborough's back, and Crowborough swore and
fucked him harder - which only made Thomas claw at him again in helpless ecstacy, and their
gasping moans get louder.

Hell, that was what did it. Hot jealousy boiled up in Jimmy's throat. He should have had
Thomas on his back instead of his stomach, and then he'd have Thomas clawing at his back
because he, Jimmy, was making him feel so good. And Thomas might see those red marks on
his back, even though Jimmy never got undressed in front of him any more, and he'd look all
shocked and think Jimmy had got a girl without telling him, and only Jimmy would know
that it had been him to fuck Thomas into sobbing incoherence.

He could have left. Crowborough probably wouldn't even notice, the both of them were
completely absorbed in their sex. He could leave the room and go back down to the servants'
hall where they all had a bit of liberty at this time in the afternoon, and play cards or chat
with whoever was around.

He stayed and watched them instead. What other time in his life would he have the chance to
see two fellows making it? He didn't like it, not really. He just couldn't look away. They were
right there. The Duke had called Jimmy in so he could show him this. Did he know how
Thomas felt about Jimmy? Had he guessed, noticed something? Had they talked about him?
The idea of Thomas telling his side of it to the sympathetic Duke made Jimmy feel hot and
queasy, and he couldn't quite say why.

Jimmy could see how Thomas felt about the Duke, anyway. He'd told Jimmy that
Crowborough had been his first affair and it had all come to a bad end - well, the old
tenderness seemed to have come back pretty swiftly, in Jimmy's view. Or maybe Thomas was
just easy, and if Jimmy hadn't come over scared but shown him a bit of affection and kept
leading him on, he'd have Thomas eating out of his hand.

The two men on the bed were panting and the bed was squeaking as the Duke thrust into
Thomas. He normally does it the other way round. Yes, Thomas would like buggering the
Duke, and Jimmy too if he'd been given the chance. He'd like being in control, being the one
to stroke your hair and say sweet things. He certainly hadn't been shy in coming onto Jimmy.
He'd probably dreamed of showing him what it was all about, of how he could make Jimmy
feel.

He ought to go while they were distracted, but he watched the act all the way to its inevitable
conclusion. He still didn't understand how a man could get his love feeling out of that. But
Thomas liked it as much from the Duke as Lady Anstruther had from Jimmy, or sounded like
it at least.
Jimmy watched the Duke's hips pumping back and forth into Thomas, and Thomas' nails
raking down the Duke's' back; and his face pink and screwed up in pleasure at the Duke's
fucking, and the way his body jerked when the Duke thrust it into him just right. And he
thought: I could do that.

There was nothing special in the sounds the Duke made when he came off, or the way their
bodies shuddered, or how they came gradually to a stop after Crowborough had put a hand
between them and brought Thomas off too and he trembled and gasped for a long minute in
the Duke's grasp. But Jimmy couldn't look away.

Their bodies softened. Thomas' hand turned from a claw to a palm again, and his arm
embraced the Duke over the shoulders he'd scratched red. Crowborough curled over Thomas,
his cock still in Thomas' arse, and they panted into each other's necks. Jimmy found his eyes
stuck on Thomas' flushed, beatific expression.

He fled the room before Crowborough could lure him into anything else dangerous. Thank
God for the soft shoes servants wore to let them pad in and out of rooms unnoticed. He flew
blindly along the corridor and didn't stop until he closed the door to the back stairs behind
him.

He paused to catch his breath. He couldn't go back down to the servants' hall in a state, they'd
all know something had happened, and for the life of him he couldn't think of a good lie. That
was more in Thomas' vein.

Thomas. Hell. He was going to have to face him, probably sooner rather than later. He'd have
to focus on serving at dinner with Thomas in the room, and he knew already that all he'd be
thinking would be how the Duke and he had, you know. And how he'd done it too, with
Thomas. Except Thomas didn't know that, didn't know any of it, and Jimmy prayed he never
would.

The Duke could tell him. But why do it afterwards, after pretending he was Howells? Why
bring in Jimmy to fuck Thomas at all?

They'd be missing him in the servants' hall. Jimmy's thoughts chased one another uselessly
around his head as he made his way down the back stairs, trying to compose his face. Toffs
were a queer bunch, and no mistake.
 Chapter 4

"And there I thought you were joking about wanting to see me with another man."

"I promise you, everything I've said about watching you in bed was in deadly earnest.
Voyeurism is an embarrassing vice of mine." Philip's voice vibrated through his chest, where
Philip had laid his head, leaving most of their shared postcoital cigarette to Thomas.

"Mm, can't say I'm complaining. And that weren't Howells, either."

"What makes you say that? He's a shy one, but I'm sure you've noticed how much attention
he pays you." Philip shifted to settle his leg more comfortably over Thomas'.

Thomas snorted.

"Because I had him two days ago. Quick, mind, just touching each other up. But that wasn't
him. He doesn't fuck like that, I can tell."

"You're a sharp one." Philip squeezed his hip affectionately. "Alright, no, it wasn't Howells.
But my lips are sealed as to his identity. I'm sure you could work it out if you really set your
mind to it. But really, does it matter? We're all allowed our little secrets." He raised his head
to look at Thomas. His face had that expression of pleasant lassitude induced by good sex.
Thomas had once been very familiar with that look.

"S'pose not," said Thomas, who had already privately settled on Lord Lillington himself as
the most likely suspect. Toffs were a right queer bunch, and no mistake. "Honestly, Philip,
what are you going to do if some man you bring in proves a better fuck than you and I run off
with him? Right fool you'll look then."

Philip smiled. They shared a look. The look said You're not just in this for the sex and we
both know it.

Then he said, "Darling, nobody could fuck me better than you do. And if I'm going to be
scrupulously honest, which of course I always am, I think you'd say the same about me."

"You think very highly of yourself," Thomas rejoined, conscious that he was right. Philip
remained the best lay he'd yet known, and he fancied they'd both had a reasonable chance for
comparison in the intervening years.

"Just the voice of experience, dear." Philip put his head back down on Thomas' chest.
"Married life hasn't completely cut off all avenues, you know. Lola went into it with her eyes
pretty open, thank God. But what have you been doing up here? I thought you'd have been
either blackmailing several members of Parliament or bootlegging whisky across America by
now."

"What have I been doing? Mouldering away, feels like." Thomas wrinkled his nose. "God,
that's mawkish. It's not all been doom and gloom. But the point of being a valet is that you
get to travel, meet new people...Not much travelling going on here, and especially not now
I've moved on to better things." He shrugged. "Some men, passing through, like Howells.
Normal men mostly, in Ripon and so on."

"Glad to hear you haven't been completely deprived. But normal men aren't really satisfying,
are they? To men like you and me."

"A bit more satisfying for you - they've got what you want." Thomas pinched Philip's arse for
emphasis. Philip loved being bitch, especially to working men, and he could always find a
man willing to stuff him.

"Well, they're fun to seduce, and some of them are really quite good - I must tell you about
this sailor I had during the war who had the most enormous cock, and he was only about five
feet four - but they just see you like a woman, really. One they're not going to marry." Philip
shifted and sighed. "Honestly, the more of us I talk to, the more I think everybody wants to
settle down. That's what they tell me, you know. They say 'I really want a friend, but
everyone else here is only looking for sex.' I mean all of them." Another sigh. "Honestly, it's
no wonder some of them turn to women."

Thomas finally cracked a smile. He cupped Philip's head in one hand and slotted his fingers
through the soft sleek strands of hair. A sense-memory: his hand in Jimmy's hair like this, as
he tried to convince him...Even here, he wasn't completely free from Jimmy.

"So what are you going to do about that dishy blond?" It was like Philip could read his mind,
sometimes. "He looks very jealous of you."

"Of me? You must be joking. Like you said, that's not going anywhere. He's normal. Only, at
first I thought he was like us. I thought he really was so. O'Brien, Her Ladyship's maid, kept
telling me he were only shy. And she was telling him he shouldn't put me off too much or
make a fuss, because he might lose his job."

"Ooh, nasty. She's not still here, is she?"

"No, ran off to India. And then I - well, it all came out. He were ever so upset." It was funny
how talking about it brought him right back there, even though it had been more than a year
ago. The footmen's room, Jimmy's angry face. He'd been so frightened, so disgusted.

"With you? What on earth did you do?"

"Kissed him," Thomas admitted in a small voice. It had seemed a good idea at the time, or
maybe just an irresistible impulse. It seemed dirty now, improper.

"Oh, God, and he acted like a scandalised maiden who's had her virtue threatened? Please,
spare me. He's looking much less attractive now."

"He was asleep - it must have been a shock." But even as he was saying it, the unvarnished
frankness permeated. It occurred to him properly for the first time that Jimmy had behaved
badly. "He tried to get me sacked without a reference. But O'Brien put him up to it," he
added, not wanting to sound ungenerous to Jimmy, who was really very lovely.
"Excellent, that will be my excuse next time I do something beastly. 'OBrien put me up to it.'
Nobody could argue with that."

Thomas had to crack a smile. He kissed Philip again, and they kissed leisurely for some
minutes. It was almost better than the sex. He stroked the smoth skin of Philip's back, and it
was like nothing had changed in ten years. He was still as stupid and in love as he'd been at
twenty. It felt good to focus all that romantic animus on a man who might reciprocate.

At length, when they were lying peacefully together again, Philip said:

"I don't want to retread old ground, so to speak. But you could come and work for me."

Thomas briefly indulged a daydream of leaving this house with the Duke at the end of his
visit, having changed his temporary valet position for a permanent one.

"It's no longer a question of money," Philip continued. He grew more animated, turning so he
could look Thomas in the face.

"No, you've got your heiress. Pretty quick, too. Couldn't say how Lady Mary thought about
it." Thomas could never resist a chance to stick the knife in.

"Very little, I should imagine," said Philip dryly. "I'm not sure I endeared myself to her at
dinner, nor her lady mother. This may be my last invitation here for a while. Which
concentrates our minds nicely on how we're going to get on from here." He squeezed
Thomas' waist possessively. Thomas had to remind himself he wasn't a stupid twenty year old
footman any more.

"I've already fallen for this one once, Your Grace. Fool me once..."

"You don't have any letters to blackmail me with this time," pointed out Philip. "And, as
we've already established, I already have my heiress and therefore money and two delightful
children. All the necessary conditions, if you like, are fulfilled. I just don't have what every
girl wants - the love of a good man."

"Not sure I can help you there." Thomas arranged them so they were side by side, though it
was flattering that Philip refused to disengage and simply curled around his arm and thigh.
He'd always been clingy like that - Thomas had once said it was like being cuddled by an
octopus. Not that he didn't like it. The memories would be worth storing up for the cold
nights ahead. "What are we talking about, exactly? Valet?" It would be a step down the
hierarchy of the servants' hall, but also outside it, since a valet was directly accountable to his
master.

"If you like - I really don't have a man at the moment. He's got a sister in Royal service, and
you know how they like to keep it in families there. He's off to be dresser to the Prince of
Wales. I've placed the usual ad with the usual agency, but when I knew I was coming here..."
Another affectionate squeeze.

"You thought you'd like a second bite at the cherry," finished Thomas.
"Well, wouldn't you?" Philip pointed out. "Smailes will retire, and not too long in the future,
by my estimate. He wanted to see me properly established, you know, after Father died."
Philip and his father had been close, a relationship that Thomas had not experienced himself
and was always curious about. "I don't have an underbutler at present, and I dare say we
could afford one. Then you'd be ready to step into Smailes' shoes when the time comes. Not, I
hasten to add, that I have ever slept with Smailes, perish the thought."

"Does he know?"

"Know? He's caught me in flagrante twice, back when I had schoolfriends visiting during
those long, lovely holidays. Never said a word, never so much as looked down his nose.
Treats it like I have some peccadillo for exotic cigars, or something, you know, odd but
harmless. He was ever so kind when I managed to get my heart broken by one of those very
schoolmates."

Thomas tried to imagine the whole Jimmy fiasco with a man like Smailes in charge. He tried
to imagine working in a house where he wasn't disliked by the butler as if on instinct, as if
he'd known what Thomas was the moment he'd stepped through the servant's entrance as a
junior footman. The notion of enjoying friendly relations with his colleagues seemed a long
way off.

"Unless you've gone off the idea of sleeping with the man you're working for. Don't shit
where you eat, and all that."

"Exactly the phrase I was thinking of." Thomas liked it when Philip came over a bit vulgar.

It seemed too good to be true. How many times had Thomas got his fingers burnt now? He
was still smarting over Jimmy. The way he'd made a fool of himself, the way he'd got his
heart broken, again, because he hadn't exercised the slightest bit of common sense when
faced with a good-looking man. It was the sort of youthful stupidity you were supposed to
outgrow by twenty, never mind thirty.

"So I shan't be driving away from here with you sitting next to Clemson in the front, I take
it?"

In the front - Thomas seized on that phrase to remind himself of the inevitable problems that
would ensue in keeping up an intimate relationship with Philip as his own servant, in his own
household, under the nose of his own wife. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it while
cuddling Philip, the upsides seemed to considerably outweigh the downsides.

"Call me untrusting if you like." God, it was all so tempting. As escape was right there, a
chance for a fresh start. Or maybe just the same old problems in a different house. "Not sure
it's such a good idea to work for the man I'm having an affair with." He'd gone off toffs a bit,
to tell the truth. Better to have the mutual understanding you got with another working man.
Assuming you could find one interested, that was.

"Mm, I see I'll have to work to change your mind in the two days I have left." Philip
tightened his embrace. "And afterwards. I'll write, and I expect you to write back. I'm sure we
could both do with another interesting correspondent in our lives, don't you agree? And this
time we'll try not to put down anything too potentially compromising. Much as I'd love to
exchange absolutely filthy missives, of course."

Yes, much of their correspondence had teetered well over the edge of decency.

"You're quite jolly about nearly being blackmailed," Thomas remarked. "Don't you think
you're putting an awful lot of trust in me?"

"I'm sure we can keep our future correspondence chaste enough that it wouldn't be worth
your while."

To Thomas' surprise, Philip fell silent for several moments before continuing:

"It's quite stupid of me, I suppose. I do see that. And I could go looking to take up with a man
who really appreciates that he's having it off with a peer of the realm. But the funny thing is,
I've come back to Downton and found that I don't really want that. I want you.

"Thomas, you know I'm a romantic. So are you. It's our terrible weakness. We could be much
more successful manipulative bastards if we weren't always inconveniently falling in love
with unsuitable men. Men who are never going to love us in return. Men who do love us, but
love something or someone else more. Do you know what I mean?"

Thomas nodded. There was a lump in his throat. He knew exactly what Philip meant.

"Well, I'm fed up of coming in second best. Like I told you, I want the love of a good man."

"So long as you don't mean good in the moral sense." Thomas could feel himself growing
warmer towards Philip. Damn it.

"Morals definitely not required," Philip confirmed. "We made a very good pair, you and I.
Until we sort of mutually ruined it. Or Grantham did, by refusing to break the entail. It was
such a good plan. I wish we hadn't parted on such bad terms."

"Trying to blackmail you was stupid anyway," said Thomas, which was as close as he could
get to an apology. "It was a spur of the moment idea, really."

"Yes, and they never turn out quite so well as you'd thought, do they?" Another
companionable squeeze of the arm. "Look, I can hardly force you to run away with me and
be my valet or underbutler or whatever the hell you want. But we must write to each other,
and when Smailes finally looks ready to pass the baton, I'll let you know, and and you'll have
had time to get over that dishy footman and have some assurance of my entirely noble
intentions." Philip rolled over so he could look Thomas in the eye. "And if something else
terrible happens here, and it all looks really hopeless...you will write, won't you?"

"I will," Thomas promised. "I'll write." God, he'd write as many letters as Philip wanted. It
wasn't just the promise of friendship: it was a lifeline. Philip had money, influence, and a
wicked sense of humour. Thomas had enough self-awareness to recognise exactly why he'd
fallen head over heels for the Duke ten years ago, but not the willpower to stop himself from
going all besotted now. It was intoxicating, being wanted.
"Good." Philip settled down again on his chest. Thomas was already thinking ahead to the
remaining two days of the Duke's visit. Two days of sex, knowing glances, stolen kisses.
Another go-round of their romance, and it would be hoped with a more amicable parting.
"I've missed you a great deal, you know," he added unexpectedly. "You probably don't
believe me, but it's true."

Thomas didn't entirely believe him, no. How much could Philip really have thought of him
when he'd obviously found other ways to occupy his time than one failed youthful love
affair?

But the old love, the love he thought he'd got over and buried and could never be troubled by
again, had uncoiled in his heart. It was like thawing after a long winter: the loneliness and
hurt engendered by Jimmy's rejection had frozen him up in protective fear.

"I love you to bits, darling, I really do." Philip's voice was growing fainter and slurred as he
he began to slip into sleep. "I'd forgotten until I came back here. I felt quite stupid. I suppose
I am. Please don't threaten to blackmail me again."

"I wouldn't. And you're not stupid." He couldn't bring himself even to threaten it, not any
more. Not when he'd already had his nature, the nature he shared with Philip, laid out in the
open and spoken about like it was disgusting. He probably wouldn't have done it the first
time round, after realising how he could only compromise himself as well; but now he shrank
from the idea not out of practicality, but as from self-destruction.

"Mm." Philip curled around his side more closely. Thomas looked at him, at the closed eyes
and the fair hair and the way he looked so unguarded and tender.

Maybe Philip really was being truthful. He wasn't that good a liar, or hadn't been when they'd
known each other better. Maybe this really was a second chance.

Even if Philip was trying to butter him up, there was the sad fact that even a man who was
willing to declare his ardent love for nefarious purposes was an improvement on the current
situation, which had no love at all and no prospect of the kind of friendship he was after.

Thomas' thoughts chased themselves in circles, but they were all circling towards a central
point. It wasn't to do with any practical consideration or the possibility of advancement. It
wasn't even that love of any kind is better than none. It was that with his usual stupid hopeful
wanting heart, Thomas had fallen back in love with the Duke almost the moment he'd stepped
out of his car.

He stroked Philip's fine hair. "I'll write," he promised.