marlowemuses | The One Secret I Never Told You

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The One Secret I Never Told You

Ronan was coming home.

He'd sent ahead, Adam supposed. Letter or telegram. And he'd said... what? Adam had no idea. No one had even bothered to tell him. He'd overheard some of the other servants discussing preparations.

That stung, though it shouldn't. He'd always known that their childhood friendship was temporary. Illusory. He'd been a bauble to Ronan, a friendship that came easily and could be cheaply kept.

And when Ronan had been old enough, he'd left. That made sense, too. His father's death, the upheaval of his life, the culmination of the conflict between Ronan and Declan.

What hurt was that he hadn't needed Adam anymore.

Squeaks and whispers preceded the general bustle of servants toward the main hall. Adam stayed out of the way, stealing toward an upper window to catch a glimpse. He wouldn't be missed among the larger array of servants. He was only an under-footman, after all.

Hidden behind a lace curtain, Adam peeked out to watch as Ronan descended from the coach. He'd grown. Taller than Adam remembered. His charming black curls were gone, shorn to a short bristle. The man he'd become was someone handsome and commanding, drawing attention like a thunderstorm.

Adam's heart thudded, then clenched.

Oh.

He'd hoped, all those years, that ignoring his childhood crush would make it go away. That Ronan's distance would make Adam forget him, so that he could focus once and for all on his career. His career, which was the only thing that mattered. The only thing he had left.

Seeing Ronan brought it all back, with more intensity than ever.

Adam was in love with him. And always had been.

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Ronan rolled his eyes at the mention of Declan. Adam was right, he knew, but he didn't like it. His brother would nose around his business either way, but if he went in the coach, it was less likely that he'd be naggy about it.

Sighing, "Fine, we'll take the coach." Which meant that they were headed toward where the coaches were kept rather than the main road. It was disappointing that they'd have to drag a driver along with them, but it could be worse.

When Adam mentioned his belongings, Ronan turned his eyes on the other man. No, he didn't relish the thought of the maids pawing through his belongings, reporting everything he found to Delcan. And they would.

"I don't trust anyone else," he said flatly. "There are some things I'd rather not have Declan know about."

Adam nodded. "When we get back, then." He'd do it himself. He'd find a way. That and the chapel which needed cleaning. And arranging for Ronan's meals and needs. Without ever leaving his side.

When they reached the stables, Adam gave orders for one of the coaches to be readied for them, knowing enough to request the unmarked coach that didn't require a footman.

He noticed a few curious eyes on his new coat, but didn't expect any comments about it. If he was serving as Ronan's personal valet and companion, he'd be expected to be presentable.

Ronan noticed the looks as well, though he did a very good job of ignoring them. There would be gossip, later, but it would be mild. It wasn't strange for a servant to inherent some clothes; it just happened that this coat looked to be brand new. He stood stoic as he waited for the coach to be brought, no longer exuding the laughter or friendliness he'd done with Adam before. These were all Declan's people.

Some of the maids tried to fuss over Ronan but he swatted them away, diving into the coach once it was brought out, much to their surprise.

"Where is the young master going?" asked one maid, smiling at Adam in a charming way she never had before and batting her eyelashes. "It must be somewhere very important."

"Mr Lynch desires to go out to luncheon," Adam said, giving her a polite smile and then climbing into the carriage opposite Ronan. He kept his eyes lowered, utterly silent and obedient until the carriage moved out into the public streets. Then he glanced up at Ronan, attention lingering for a moment before glancing away again.

Being held by Ronan like that felt... different, now that they were adults. Intimate. Adam didn't want to think about it too much. He knew that his perspective was tainted by how much he wanted. He'd been born a servant and raised like a nobleman. It had given him longing for a life--and a love--he could never have.

Ronan stared out the window of the coach as they set off. He hadn't missed being manhandled. When it was Adam, it was different. Having the maids touch him? That was a different story.

As the coach went, people looked to see who was inside. That was when Ronan stared straight ahead rather than out the window. He hated that, too. People looking at him. Expecting the perfect son of Niall Lynch.

He wanted to ask Adam the things his brother put him through, but it was too personal. While he wanted to know he didn't want to make Adam uncomfortable. There was a distance between them, one from both time and status. Would things have been different if Ronan had stayed?

It was quiet until they arrived in front of the bakery. It smelled delicious, and since it was past morning, the breakfast rush had died down. Stepping out of the coach, Ronan smiled a small, genuine smile.

"This brings back memories. Remember when we got sick from eating too many pastries?"

Adam held the door for him as they got out, eternally conscious of how they would be seen.

Ronan was on his bad side, and his brow flickered briefly with confusion because he didn't hear the whole question and couldn't make sense of it. Something about pastries? He nodded and gave Ronan a smile, then moved ahead to hold the next door for him. The bakery was warm inside, and had done well enough over the years to have expanded into a little cafe, where they served tea, coffee, and their memorable pastries.

Adam's mouth watered with hunger, thinking of coffee and cinnamon rolls, both luxuries that he hadn't had in years.

Ronan's mouth watered too. Jesus, did it bring back memories. Standing with their faces at the counter, eager to taste the freshest pastry. It was nice and quiet because it was between breakfast and lunch; only a few older ladies were picking up a few things. Most of the tables were free.

Stepping up to the counter, he pressed his palms down against it. It felt small. When he was young, it had seemed so huge.

"I'll take a coffee," he ordered, "and a few of those rolls. Chocolate, cinnamon, raspberry, peach... and a few of those, whatever those are." Turning to Adam, he grinned, "What do you want?"

"One of the cinnamon rolls," Adam said, taking care to remain so that he had Ronan on his good side. "And coffee. Thank you."

He kept his eyes averted as they settled into their table, even though at the quiet bakery they had some privacy and the owners remembered him as Ronan's companion. He felt uncertain and embarrassed, being neither Ronan's friend nor his servant.

Grateful for his pastry, Adam nibbled at it, trying to just enjoy this moment while he had it.

Ronan hunkered down with his coffee and huge pile of pastries. Having skipped breakfast and gotten drunk the night before, he was starving, and sweets always helped with a hangover. Biting into one of the rolls with boyish glee, he watched Adam from across the table. Stared. Ronan had always been one for staring and uncomfortable amounts of eyecontact, usually when he wanted something, but there was nothing he wanted from Adam. He only wanted to look. Study. Remember.

Washing down the chocolate croissant with coffee, he leaned back in his chair.

"I like this better," he said, "than being at the estate." Finally looking away, he glanced out the window. "Simple. It feels good." Just having coffee at a bakery. He didn't have his brother's desire to manage a full household of people, to live in the heart of the city, or mingle among the upperclass.

Adam nodded slightly, eating his cinnamon roll with slow, reverent bites in between sips of coffee. The pastry melted on his tongue, the woody spice of cinnamon and the fragrant sweetness of honey. He closed his eyes briefly in bliss. "It's nice. It's easier to pretend that... things haven't changed. I would have liked to stay ten forever."

Licking his fingers clean, Adam kept his eyes on his plate, not daring to study Ronan in return, much though he wanted to. "You're right, your brother does have half the house out spying for him. I never noticed before. He never had any reason to spy on me."

Ronan grunted before he took another sip of coffee.

"Declan's an asshole, but he's not stupid. The best way to know what's really going on around your estate is to have as many eyes out as possible. It makes sense. Annoying as fuck... but he knows what he's doing." Ronan was still convinced he'd have made a terrible head of house. It was why he'd given up any right he had to the main estate without a fight; other than being too distraught over his father's murder to really process what was going on at the time.

Setting the cup down on the table, Ronan stared at rim instead.

"He's gonna have 'em all on me the whole fucking time. I knew that before I came home."

"Until you leave again," Adam said, eyes flicking up briefly. Reminding himself of that fact felt like an icicle to the heart. Ronan was only back briefly. As briefly as possible. And then he would be gone. Adam would have his recommendation, at least, as promised, but he wouldn't have Ronan.

The many fractures in his heart shifted and ached. Adam stirred his coffee, watching a tiny bubble spin on the surface. "And then where?"

"Good question," he said, tracing the rim of his mug with his finger. Where to? There was the option of plunging back into fights and horse races. But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say that to Adam. What else could he even do. Even more, what did he want?

"Maybe I'll become a farmer," he said, "off somewhere peaceful. Raise horses. Have a garden. A cat. A few dogs." He did love animals, and that sort of life suited him much better than city living. It wasn't as though he didn't realize that he could do all of that at the country estate—he might even be inclined to inherit it if Declan wasn't being such a right douche about it. One sure way to make Ronan fight was to try and force him to do something. Declan never seemed to understand that.

"I don't need much. I think something like that... hah. Well, it must sound stupid, huh?" Declan would scoff at him for such a thought. Raising horses? Taking care of the grounds himself? What was he, a savage?

"It sounds lovely," Adam said, deeply saddened that he wouldn't be a part of it. He wasn't invited. He was nothing but Ronan's childhood friend, taken up as his valet in the meantime. Adam's heart felt like it was crumbling.

"In England or abroad?" he asked, continuing to stir his coffee as he neglected both it and his pastry, too fixated on Ronan's answers to think of anything else.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't think it matters that much."

Declan would probably be all too happy to be rid of him—yet would also struggle not having Ronan under his thumb. And Adam... as far as Ronan was concerned, Adam hated him. He had never denied it, so Ronan assumed it to be the true. What else was there? Kavinsky. And Ronan really didn't give a fuck about Kavinsky anymore.

He took an aggressive bite out of his pastry and finished it off, licking his fingers.

"How about you? What're you gonna do once you're free from my brother's house?"

Mourn, Adam thought, once his heart was broken anew and Ronan was gone forever.

"Find employment," he answered, not once looking up. "As a valet or a footman. Ideally, as a tutor, though I'm not certain that anyone would hire me for it."

He wasn't the least bit excited about either option. Resigned, at best.

All this time, he'd existed on the hope of Ronan. The faith that one day Ronan would come home, that things would be like they were before. That he would matter to Ronan, as more than just a pastime.

There was a lot that Ronan could say. Like... how, in this moment, it felt like his heart was beating solely for Adam. How he had always cared for him. That he hated what happened. That he fucked up.

But his throat felt raw. Ronan had never been very good at expressing himself in ways that weren't gnashed teeth and reddened eyes, bloodied knuckles and molten smiles.

So he chewed on another pastry and moodily looked out the window. Adam would move on. Adam would find his own happiness. Away from Declan, his parents, and Ronan fucking Lynch.

"You don't sound excited about getting away from my brother."

"I'm... not excited," Adam agreed. His brow furrowed, and he took a sip of his coffee. It was getting cold. "Impatient to leave that house. My parents. Your brother. As far away as I can manage, and as high up as I can go. But no, I'm not excited. If I'm lucky and diligent, I can have a life as a tutor, teaching the ungrateful sons of noblemen. Or work my way up to be the butler of a great house."

Adam scowled down at the wood of the table. He'd been raised to want more. He'd been raised alongside one of those ungrateful sons of noblemen, and he'd gained the longing for higher education, for reknown, for position, everything that was expected of Ronan and everything that Ronan cast thoughtlessly aside. Throwing away treasures that Adam could never dream to have. I'll count myself lucky, but I'm not excited about my life, Ronan. Would you be?"

"Can't say," he said simply, finally looking back at Adam. "It's not mine."

But he did relish the thought that Adam could go—go anywhere, be anything, without his name weighing on him. Without Declan always breathing over his shoulder. There would always be things fucked up about both of their lives—Ronan understood that, and tried not to compare. They were on two different fields. Worlds. He threw aside his wealth and status because, at the end of the day, those things had never made him happy.

Finding what did was the challenge.

He stood, having finished off his pastries and coffee. "I have a meeting with Declan. We should head back." Rubbing his cheek, he sighed. "It's gonna get nasty. You don't have to come to this one."

"Of course," Adam said, tucking the rest of his pastry into his pocket. He'd eat it later, even if it was stale. "If you want me there and there's any way that my being there will help, then I want to be there."

Returning to the carriage, he held the door open for Ronan and climbed in behind him. He shouldn't have said as much as he had. It wasn't Ronan's concern what would happen to his servant. Ronan was being exceedingly generous already, and Adam was being ungrateful. "How do you intend to spend the rest of your afternoon, sir?"

The coach began moving back to the estate. Ronan stared out the window, watching people again.

"Depends on how shitty it goes with Declan," he said, knowing full well how heavy the bombs he was about to drop on his brother were. Declan had plans. Ronan wasn't an idiot; he had lured him back to the estate for more than just ration a few of their father's personal belongings. He was old enough to marry, old enough to inherit, and had done enough damage to their name as it was.

"I gotta visit Gansey at some point. We wrote some while I was gone, so I know what's going on, more or less, but that guy's always getting into shit. Maybe I'll do that." And by wrote some, he really meant that Gansey wrote him slews of letters while he didn't really respond outside of a letter or two. That was simply how they worked. Not that he clarified that.

"I'm certain Mr. Gansey would like that," Adam said, gazing out the window. He kept his emotions and his expression tightly guarded.

Ronan hadn't specified whether he wanted Adam to accompany him to speak to Declan, so he assumed that he wouldn't. Just as well, he had plenty to do unpacking Ronan's things and taking care of washing and mending as necessary.

Ronan was back, and they weren't even friends anymore. Adam wished he could just hide in bed and sob for a few hours.

Upon their return to the estate, Ronan sighed and scrubbed at his head.

"Come with me," he said, already turning toward where Declan's office was. "Then you can do whatever you'd like with the rest of the day." Adam had offered and he did want Adam there, it made him feel better.

"I just." Turning his eyes back on Adam, "Don't... worry if things get rough. It's just how it works between us." Not when his father was alive. When Niall Lynch was alive, Ronan and Declan had been friends. That stopped two days later when Ronan wrecked one of the most expensive coaches in his distress.

Adam looked straight ahead, refusing again to meet Ronan's eyes. "If I ask you not to fight him, will you try?" he asked, quietly.

Once, long ago, that had been all that it took. Adam had earned his place at Ronan's side throughout their childhood because he could persuade Ronan when no one else could, because Ronan had behaved for him.

But then Ronan had left, and Adam had lost all power over him. Now he was only Ronan's servant.

Ronan's lips thinned.

Not fighting Declan was... difficult. His brother was just as stubborn and angry inside as he was. Yet, Adam asked so quietly, and despite what the other man thought, Ronan was perhaps even weaker to anything he might request now than he was in their childhood.

So after a very long moment of quiet he gave a single sharp nod. If Adam was there, if Adam asked, he wouldn't fight Declan.

Wordlessly, he lead the way to his brother's office. This time Declan wasn't entertaining a female guest because he had been expecting Ronan. The older brother gestured for the younger to sit, and gave Adam a look that quite clearly said: You stand in the corner and make no noise.

After one last inscrutable look at Adam, Ronan sat. Declan sat. They looked at each other for a good while, sizing one another up, before Declan broke out his notebook.

"I'm sure you have your suspicions as to what we need to discuss," he began, flipping through some well inked pages. "First, as promised—dad left you a lot of his jewelry, books, maps, and personal items. They've been packed up for some time now. I'll arrange to have them sent to your... barn." Declan wrinkled his nose and Ronan remained quiet, staring at his brother without blinking. "As you know, the country estate is ready for you to inherit. I'd like you to do that as soon as possible. Someone needs to go manage it and I've got my hands full, here."

"Which leads me to some other points. You're getting old now, Ronan. It's time for you to marry, settle down, and start getting serious. I have a few ladies in mind—you can meet them and pick whichever one you like best, it doesn't really matter. Then, we—"

"I can't," Ronan cut in, sounding tired.

Declan blinked, confused, "Can't what?"

"Get married." Ronan frowned, the lines in his brow particularly pronounced.

Declan stared. "And just why not? That's what we do, Ronan."

Ronan resisted the urge to point out that Declan was still very much not married, even if he was technically courting a woman named Ashley, a well-bred young lady from a very good family. "I can't marry a woman," Ronan said, sitting up, "because I—"

"Don't," said Declan.

"—like men," Ronan finished.

Declan's face reddened in displeasure. "That. Has. Nothing to do with marriage. If you can't help your... indiscretions, certain things can be kept under wraps. But you have to put on a public face. What about children? You have to—"

"I can't," Ronan said again, leaning back in his chair. "I wouldn't be able to. I can't. I'm not a fucking liar, Declan. I'm not gonna live my life like that. I'm not going to join in on whatever schemes you're cooking up, either. I won't be your right hand man. I don't even really want the fucking estate. Maybe I'll take that. The rest? You can shove..." He paused, because Adam had asked him not to fight, "You can forget. I don't know everything I want, but. It's not that. I don't think so."

Declan stood and walked around the desk, slammed his hand on it once he was in front of Ronan, voice rising, "You can and you will. You've already fucked up, Ronan! Just do as I say. If you can do that—you won't have to think about anything. This is what dad would want. Are you just going to continue being a disgrace?"

"Yes," Ronan said, flatly.

Declan struck him across the face with the back of his hand. It made a magnificent noise, because his brother had not restrained himself. Within seconds Ronan's cheek was bright red and he was staring at Declan with barely restrained heat.

"Get the fuck out of my office," Declan said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "and come back when you can be reasonable."

Ronan's fingers curled into his fist. Normally he would strike his brother back—which would escalate it all into an outright boxing match. But instead he knocked his knuckles gently on the arm of the chair and stood, making his way out of the office without a word.

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