Chapter Text
The Phantomhive Manor was a beautiful piece of architecture, perfectly accenting the wealth and affluence of its infamous owner. The flawlessly trimmed gardens, stainless glass windows gleaming in the faint sunlight, marble fountains glittering with fresh water, all of it only adding to the impressive picture of power and fortune. No one first seeing the magnificent building could remain unaffected, especially not knowing who waited inside.
Rufus Godwin gulped nervously.
He didn't want to do this. He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He knew it, his family knew it, even the servants back at the manor knew it. He suspected that there was a betting ring going on among the help, about whether he would survive the ordeal or not, but there was no evidence of the fact and his manservant, Edwin, refused to confirm anything. Unfortunately, judging by the faintly distressed expression on his face, the odds weren't in his favour.
His mother's cold voice cut trough his slightly hysterical musings. "Come, Rufus."
His head snapped in her direction, observing her warily. Despite her demure and unassuming appearance, dressed in a modest dark blue gown and matching coat, with greying brown hair and calm chocolate eyes, she was the true power in the Godwin household ever since his father's death two years ago. She had a sharp mind and sharper tongue, and being on the wrong end of one of her verbal lashings was a fate that even his oldest brother, the new Earl Godwin, avoided, for all the authority that he supposedly had.
He exited the carriage, making an effort to look calm and composed as best as he could, drawing on all of the previous lessons on the etiquette he loathed as a child.
The rustling of the skirts drew his attention to the woman on his left again. She was observing him carefully.
"You will behave politely and respectfully," his mother warned in a tone brooking no argument. "You will make a good impression, maybe even charm the girl a little if you play it right, and you will make sure that the engagement is successful."
Rufus nodded obediently, feeling slightly nauseous at the mention of their reason for being here.
The engagement.
Lady Celia Phantomhive, the current Countess Phantomhive, favourite of the Queen Victoria, infamous for her title as the Queen's Watchdog and her dealings in the Underworld, and, most importantly, heiress of the enormous fortune that came with her numerous titles, was still unattached despite her age of seventeen.
It was understandable not to be married at such a young age, although slightly worrying for an orphaned woman without close relatives who could manage her business, but not to have even an engagement to her name was quite a scandal in the British high society.
Naturally, many vultures came calling.
Suitors from all of the country flocked around the young Countess, hoping to find an inexperienced, easily seduced, naive girl and claim the riches that tempted them to desperate measures. Her apparent beauty hadn't helped, nor did her connections and lack of family, only drawing in the more… deviant of the nobles, enticed by the promises of vulnerable prey.
All of them failed.
Many of them were repelled by her rumoured cold and indifferent attitude, not wishing for a wife that didn't fawn over them. Even more were driven away by her refusal to leave the dealings of her company and her Underworld connected business alone, to give it to the men they saw as the more capable at performing the jobs of that nature, despite the fact that both came with the name of Phantomhive. The rare few that managed to accept all of her quirks and secure an invitation to tea at her Manor always came out as frightened husks, refusing to talk about anything happening in the place. And the deviant ones, the ones hoping to use her for other, more despicable things…
Most were dead. A rare few were in prison.
So the sad fact was that all of her suitors mysteriously stopped their efforts after several encounters with the woman, either willingly or not, and left her with only a few that were willing to risk it. After all, there were many other rich beautiful ladies ready for an engagement and none of them came with the possibility of falling into a paranoia induced insanity.
Unfortunately for Rufus, his mother was willing to risk it. Or rather, his life.
He sometimes wondered if she really loved him. Mothers are supposed to, aren't they?
He sighed heavily, walking by the older woman's side on the gravel path, approaching the doors that seemed more ominous with each step. He watched as Mother took charge, as always, climbing up the set of stairs and knocking heavily on the sturdy wood, the sound echoing trough the impressive structure.
Only a moment later the door was opened, allowing them to see a tall man in a butler uniform, his dark hair strangely cut and his reddish-brown eyes calculating and in the direct contrast with the polite smile on his lips.
The butler bowed courteously. "Lady Godwin, Lord Godwin, welcome to the Phantomhive Manor," he intoned, taking their coats and giving them to the red-haired maid. "Come, the Young Mistress is expecting you."
Rufus glanced at his mother's unimpressed face, following the man trough number of elegantly furnished corridors to the another door. The butler opened them, bowing to someone inside, presumably the young countess.
"Young Mistress, Lady Ophelia Godwin and Lord Rufus Godwin are here," he announced. Rufus idly wondered if the true power in their relationship was obvious even to the outsiders. Judging by his mother's name being announced first and thus placed as one of more importance, it was.
A cold, clear voice rang across the room. "Send them in."
Another bow, followed by the full opening of the door, and they were allowed in richly, but tastefully, decorated drawing room and seated in comfortable chairs, across from their host.
Rufus allowed himself a small, startled intake of breath as he observed his possible bride.
She was as beautiful as rumours said. He had not seen her before, despite the tea invitation which was mostly his mother's work, so he was unsure if multiple accounts of her good looks were true. But now he was convinced. She was truly lovely, with fair skin, dark hair fashionably lifted away from her face with glittering combs and sapphire eyes only more accented by her blue dress of finest materials. The only imperfection was a silken black eye-patch covering her eye – truly, a curious accessory – but he had heard that she had injured an eye in the fire that took her family.
She looked so small and delicate in her enormous armchair, non-threatening as any other lady, that all of his fears seemed to vanish in an instant. Surely such a dainty looking girl couldn't make grown men shiver in fear?! Not all of the rumours can be trusted, after all, and those must be entirely unfounded.
When a round of polite introduction was over, they proceeded to the light conversation common among the nobles over truly delicious tea and pastries. Rufus could truthfully say that he enjoyed the next half an hour, completely forgetting his previous troubles. The lady was courteous if a bit cold, and unquestionably intelligent, able to match Mother blow for blow in their verbal sparring that sometimes went over Rufus' head.
The only downside was the butler.
There was something unsettling about the man. Rufus couldn't pinpoint exactly what, but he knew that he didn't trust him and that he made him uncomfortable. The servant was always looking at him, almost staring, but never breaching the line of politeness. There was a heavy dislike in the gaze, bordering on hatred, that opposed the façade of civility on his face. And he was there the whole time, never moving from his mistress' side if not ordered to, acting more like a bodyguard than a butler.
Rufus averted his gaze.
"Lord Rufus," a calm voice caught his attention. Lady Celia was looking at him, a hint of smugness visible on her otherwise expressionless face. She had clearly came as a victor in the verbal match with his mother, if the older woman's disgruntled features were to be believed. Rufus felt his admiration for the girl rise. Nobody has ever beaten his mother. "Do you play chess?"
The question was so sudden that he was momentarily confused, unable to answer. "Chess? Yes, sometimes. My father was an avid player and he thought me everything he knew. I even managed to beat him a few times, a rare feat, everybody said," he boasted.
The Countess smirked, slightly condescending and edged with cunning. It was gone the next moment, though, in favour of a delighted smile, so he concluded that it was simply a trick of the light. "Wonderful! I haven't had a challenging opponent in a long time."
The subtle threat went over Rufus' head. "I would be delighted to play with you."
A sharp nod was his answer. "Sebastian, bring the board."
"Yes, my lady." The butler bowed gracefully and exited the room with quick, sure steps.
It took only a few minutes for everything to be set up. Lady Celia was watching him, a small smile playing across her lips. His mother was frowning.
The girl inclined her head. "White goes first."
Rufus looked down to the board and realized that, yes, he was white. He was suddenly very flustered. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly... It wouldn't be fair… You should take the white, my lady," he insisted missing the slight twitch of butler's body at the familiar address, although Celia didn't.
She smirked. "I insist."
He fidgeted nervously, crushing an impulse to disobey. It would be impolite. "If you insist," he conceded and moved a pawn.
It took him five minutes to think that the game could be challenging.
It took him seven minutes to start sweating.
It took him twelve minutes to realize that he was way over his head.
It didn't help that trough it all his mother was frowning at him in disappointment, Lady Celia was smirking at him in amusement, a sharp edge of cunning in her eye, barely even glancing at the board and the butler was alternating between looks of quiet pride aimed at the girl and sadistic glee whenever he glanced at Rufus' struggles.
Fortunately, he was saved after fifteen minutes of the game.
Unfortunately, he was saved by the explosion.
He shouted in alarm, diving behind the chair in an instinctive reaction to the danger. He fought to concentrate trough the buzzing in his head, only hearing the loud ringing in his ears and the too loud thudding of his heartbeat. He looked frantically around for his mother, noting with relief that she was in the same position as him. Then he glanced at their host, wanting to make sure that she was safe, only to stare in shock at the girl who was sipping her tea quite calmly considering the situation, framed from the behind by the beautiful window with a full view of the massive dust cloud caused by the explosion. The butler wasn't any better, still standing behind her seat protectively, looking at Rufus in mirth.
He stood up, gaping. "What is going on?!"
He was ignored.
"Sebastian, my parasol," Celia ordered, like it was the most normal request one could make while in the middle of an attack. Another explosion, smaller this time, rocked the ground.
"Yes, my lady," the butler said, producing a black lacy parasol from seemingly nowhere and handing it to the seated noblewoman.
Rufus glanced at his mother, only to be even more shocked. She was gaping too, losing her famous composure. "Parasol?! What are you going to do with a bloody parasol?!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the sound of the continuous explosions from the outside, along with gunfire and loud bangs made by something heavy being thrown at high speeds.
Again, he was ignored.
"Are Mey-Rin, Finny and Bard at their assigned positions?"
"Yes, I made sure of it earlier this afternoon."
"Excellent," the young lady took the last sip of her tea then stood up and faced the only door in the room, gripping her parasol tightly, the butler shifting silently to her side. "If they manage to breach the parameter, leave them to me, Sebastian. In the last few weeks I didn't have as much practice as I would have wanted. Except if I'm in mortal danger, of course. Then you may act."
There was a brief frown of displeasure on the butler's face before it smoothed out again. "Yes, my lady."
His mother listened in the ongoing conversation with steadily more incredulous expression. "Would you kindly explain what is going on?! Why is the Manor under the attack?" the old lady finally snapped. The sound of gunfire in the background, followed by a shrill scream, emphasized her words quite nicely, in Rufus' opinion.
Both the girl and the butler graced them with slightly disbelieving looks.
"You are aware of the work I do for the Queen, are you not?" Lady Celia asked. Both the mother and the son nodded, almost mechanically, jumping at the slightest noises from the outside. Considering most of these noises were the result of a rather violent confrontation, Rufus felt they could be forgiven for their skittishness. "Then you must be aware that I have a lot of enemies," she continued, waiting for another round of nodding. "This happens when those enemies get overconfident and decide to eliminate me by attacking me at my home."
It didn't take long for his mother to connect the dots. "This happened before?!"
"Yes, quite a number of times already. Truthfully, it's getting somewhat boring. It's always a frontal attack with no thought whatsoever towards tactics. Really, no one has any imagination these days."
The guests stared, stunned by the nonchalant attitude.
The butler smirked confidently. "There is no need to worry. Our defences are quite enough to repel most of the attackers. Even if they manage to come to this room, you will have the Young Mistress and myself to defend you."
"And what good are you two going to be without any weapons?" Rufus demanded, more frightened with each passing second. Their hosts' unconcerned behaviour didn't help.
The butler tilted his head like he was hearing something. His smirk widened. "You will see in a few seconds," he declared, turning around to face his employer. "My lady, we have two incoming."
A composed nod and cold, cutting smirk were his only answers.
A moment later the door burst open, allowing them to see a pair of hulking, muscled men, one carrying a still smoking gun with the other brandishing a wicked-looking knife.
Rufus didn't even have a chance to let out a shout of alarm before the young lady charged at the enemies, brandishing only her parasol. To his eternal surprise the tip of the parasol managed to sink deeply into the torso of the first man, catching him unaware. Lady Celia twisted gracefully, ducking under the wild attack by the blade – courtesy of the other man – and slashed her weapon across his throat, killing him instantly.
They slumped to the floor, dead.
She stood calmly amidst the carnage, not paying any attention to the two cooling bodies at her feet. Rufus noticed faintly that the hem of her dress was being soaked in the blood that coated the floor and that her heeled boots were leaving bloody prints as she walked towards her butler.
The black-clad man smiled. She returned it with a cold smirk, handing him her now bloody parasol. Rufus finally realized that the tip was made of sharpened metal, dangerous enough to cut flesh and maybe even bone. "Sebastian, make sure that no stains are left on the fabric. This one is my favourite, after all."
"Yes, my lady," the butler bowed again. There was no mistaking the glimmer of pride in his eyes. "If I may say so, may lady, your form was perfect today. You did a splendid yob."
The countess inclined her head in acknowledgement and then turned towards her guests. "Are you quite all right?"
They nodded dumbly. Lady Celia opened her mouth to continue her line of questioning but was interrupted by the loud banging noise from the entrance and whirled around to face the new danger with a faint frown tugging at her lips. Rufus noticed, relieved, that the three servants from before entered instead of more enemies.
Well, relieved, until he noticed their bloodied and ripped clothes and smell of sooth and gunpowder that followed them.
The tall, blond-haired man smiled around the cigarette in his mouth, cocking a rifle across his shoulder. "We got them all!"
His mother seemed to have enough. She fainted.
…
Sebastian stood behind the Young Mistress as she observed their guests leaving from the grounds of the Manor as fast as they could without looking like they were escaping. Her lips were twisted into a small, wicked smirk, while her eye portrayed the sadistic glee she felt at the sight of frightened nobles.
The demon was so proud of her. She was incredibly ruthless when it came to getting rid of her numerous suitors.
"I must admit that the attack was a nice touch, Young Mistress," he said.
She turned around, levelling him with an amused look. She was perfectly aware that he enjoyed her mental games with her admirers as much as she did, maybe even more. He certainly disliked them more.
"I simply used convenient tools at my disposal. I must thank you for the tip, though. Without it, we wouldn't have been able to crush the Italians," she admitted, inclining his head.
Sebastian bowed, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was merely doing my duty as a butler of Phantomhive household. If it means gathering information about threats to the said household, I'm ready to do it."
She nodded regally, amusement dancing in her eye. "That you did," she said and turned away from him, heading to her study. "You should start dinner preparations now, before Bard tries to cook."
"Yes, my lady," he said, and if there was an undercurrent of possessiveness in his otherwise even tone, neither of them commented on it.