Paul rode on quietly and slowed his pace as the stables began to come into view, feeling reluctant to go any further in the knowledge of what was waiting for him if he did. His brother's fiancée, Miss Angela Fishwick, was due to arrive sometime this afternoon and have dinner with them as a way to celebrate the match in private before something a lot more public and festive would be organised to make the official announcement. His father in particular had been most excited about finally meeting the young lady, being overtly pleased with the match and to be able to see his youngest son getting married, unlike their mother - may her soul rest in peace – which Paul had had to hear many more times a day than he could possibly keep count of.

It was not so much the engagement that Paul disliked, but everything that was happening around it. He wanted his brother to find happiness and he was certain Miss Fishwick would be able to give him that as his wife, having met her once before when he had been in London for a week and remembering only good things about her, but it was hard to express that when all the engagement had done for him so far was make it so obviously clear what a disappointment he was to his father. After all, he was the eldest – the heir – if there was anyone who was supposed to get married, it was him, and his father made sure to let him know exactly how he felt about his failure to find himself a proper wife, be it explicitly or implicitly.

Still, Paul was well aware that all he could do to appease his father was to model himself to be the perfect son, to be polite yet firm when needed, well-mannered, well-spoken, calm and composed, punctual to an extent where he was never too late nor too early, and, most importantly, to be obedient, but as with most things, it cost more effort than one might have expected. He wondered how long it would be until she would arrive, needing some time still to gather his thoughts and change into something more suitable, knowing his father would not appreciate him meeting her and her family in his riding clothes. It wasn't the first time this week that he longed for the days when his brother had still been his little brother and he hadn't needed to worry about any of this yet – when life had been simple, or more so at least than now.

Taking a deep breath, he took hold of the reins a little tighter and sped up his pace again, figuring that as long as he behaved as his father wanted him to, there would be no trouble. Miss Fishwick herself was pleasant company, after all, and putting it off would only add to his problems, which is the last thing he wanted. As he reached the stables, he was greeted by one of the stable boys who just came walking out of the building, ready to take his horse from him and bring her inside to look after her. It was the young handsome one, with the muscular arms, the chiselled face and those striking blue eyes, which for the faintest moment reminded him of Mr. Lennon's friend, Mr. Starkey, though he was soon forgotten again as the young lad smiled at him; he had dimples in his cheeks whenever he laughed. Gently, he pulled his horse to a halt just outside the stables where the boy was waiting for him.

"Afternoon, Mr. McCartney. Had a pleasant ride?" the boy said, reaching out to take the horse's reins from him as Paul expertly climbed down his horse, landing firmly with both feet onto the ground.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Ewan. Please, take Mary to her stable for me," he said, his voice coming across colder and more forceful than he had intended it to, the nerves for that coming evening already getting to him. He petted his horse on her neck to thank and praise her, before handing her over to the other man to be taken care of, wishing he had the time to do it himself. It had been a while since he had had the time. "Make sure you treat her well. She has more than deserved it."

"Yes. Naturally, sir. Is erm... is everything alright? You seem tense."

"I am perfectly fine. At least, as far I can be with my brother's fiancée arriving later this afternoon. I am probably going to be late too, if I do not hurry along. My father will have my head," Paul said with an exasperated sigh as he continued to take off his gloves and riding cap, running a hand through his hair to push it back into its proper place. When he turned his head to look at the stable boy, he noticed he was still watching him, studying him with wide eyes as he held the reins loosely in his hand, giving off no impression that he was going to move soon. "Well? Come on, come on! Hurry on and do your job, or else it will be your fault I am late. "

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Mr. Ewan replied hastily, as if suddenly jerking awake, and without any further ado, he led the horse back inside the stables, where he would brush her and clean her hooves before bringing her her evening meal. Paul followed them inside, still carrying his things and being eager to return to the manor to change and perhaps take a bath if possible, only now realising how much he had been sweating.

"I must be honest, sir – if I may be so bold – I had expected you to be back sooner. You have been away for quite a while," Mr. Ewan started again as he tied the horse to her stable and started to take off her saddle and other riding gear before hanging it on one of the nearby racks, so he could put it away properly after he had finished. Paul watched him as he worked, leaning against the rough stone stable walls as he took in the sight, which was simply too attractive not to take advantage of, even during moments as this.

"I got distracted," he answered simply, a tiny smile escaping as he had to think of John, while at the same time cursing himself for having been so awkward during their brief meeting. It was rather odd, as he usually had no trouble holding a conversation. Then again, nothing had gone as it usually did when it came to him; it was a dangerous situation, Paul had to admit.

"Distracted, sir?"

"Yes, distracted, and I am under no obligation to tell you by what, so I will not. It is best for me to not give it too much thought. And don't forget to comb her tail, it's getting rough at certain parts," Paul said and Mr. Ewan nodded to let his master know he had heard his wishes as he continued to brush the horse, occasionally petting her neck to tell her she was doing well.

"If it is not too out of my place to say, sir, you are not too late yet," he said after a while and Paul could not help but chuckle at that.

"What do you mean by that? That I am worrying about nothing?"

"N-no, sir. I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, Mr. Ewan. I-I just... The last couple of days have been rather stressful for me," Paul said with a sigh, causing the young lad to turn around and look at him. As their eyes met, Paul pushed himself off the wall and put his riding gear down before walking over to the other man to grab a brush himself and assist him, allowing their shoulders to brush together as he stood beside him. "I am sorry I was late. I ran into some people while riding and forgot the time. I hope you weren't waiting for me."

"Don't worry about me, sir. It was not important."

"No, it was. I am sorry I can't make more time free for you."

"You do not need to apologise, sir. I understand. You are busy, as am I. I know you have more important things on your mind than pleasing me," the boy said and Paul gently lay his free hand onto his, stopping his hand and keeping the brush still, as he watched for a reaction, smiling as he saw a light flush appear on his cheeks.

"Stanley..." he muttered, but before he could continue, they were interrupted by someone knocking onto the large wooden door, catching them both off guard. Mr. Ewan swiftly pulled his hand away from Paul's and turned around to pretend he was occupied with something else, refusing to look at the other man. Paul sighed and reluctantly turned around to see who had interrupted them, groaning as he saw it was his brother.

"Mike, what are you doing here?" he said, his voice almost a growl.

"I do apologise for interrupting, but father asked me come get you. Miss Fishwick and her brother and father are due to arrive soon and he does not want you to be late. Frankly, I have to agree," Michael said as he stepped into the stables, his hands clasped behind his back. Paul let out a mere hum in response and turned back to his horse to continue brushing her, much to his brother's annoyance. "So, if you would like to come with me, that would be fantastic. It would be rude for us to be late."

"You go on ahead. I will be right there with you."

"Sorry, Paul. Father told me to escort you there."

"Escort me?! I am quite capable of walking on my own, thank you. What does he think I am? A child?"

"Please, just come with me. This is important to me, you understand? If I mess this up..." Mike asked, almost begged, sounding rather pleading and Paul could not say no to that, so he acquiesced with a deep sigh, putting the brush back down and moving to get his gloves, leaving all else for the stable boys to take care off.

"Alright. I'll come with you. Mr. Ewan, you can take it from here, you know what to do. And erm... I will be retiring early this evening. Around ten, I'd say. Just so you know," Paul said, giving the boy in question a firm look as the latter glanced up at him in surprise. As soon as he realised what he was hinting at, the flush returned to his cheeks and he nodded in understanding, before turning back to his work with a nervously muttered "Yes, sir", causing a smug little grin to appear on Paul's face. When he turned back to his brother, he caught him rolling his eyes at him in disapproval, but he pretended not to see, not caring what his brother thought of his choices and decisions on matters that did not concern him – it was still his life.

As the two brothers reached the large manor house after a short walk, both were surprised to see a carriage waiting on the drive way, just below the stairs that led up to the front door, which they realised had to be the Fishwick's carriage. Michael cursed to himself under his breath, before quickening his pace, dragging his brother along with him as he ignored is sputtered protests.

"They must have arrived early," he muttered, his nails digging into his brother's wrist as he pulled him along. Paul remained silent as he followed his brother, swallowing thickly at the knowledge that his father would not be pleased with him being late – certainly not now he had caused his brother to be late as well. Lately, it seemed as if he could do nothing right, as if the universe was working against him in a desperate attempt undermine him one way or another, although Paul could not think of any reason why the universe might have it out for him. They hurried up to the manor and fixed themselves the best they could to make themselves look at least a little presentable, before they had one of the servants open the door for them.

The maids, Paul noticed as he walked into the entrance hall of the manor, had done their best to make the house look its best for their guest, the wooden staircase being almost as shiny as the impeccably white marble flooring, and the light from the glass chandelier glistened like diamonds were it touched the walls. In the middle of the hall, there stood a small group of people, consisting of their head butler, his father and a young lady who Paul assumed had to be Miss Fishwick – she stood with her back towards the door, meaning he could not see her face. The other two men who were with her, Paul supposed, were her brother and father. One of the maids who had been standing by the walls, came rushing over to them to take their coats from them, as well as Paul's gloves, and in doing so alerted their father that they had finally arrived.

"Ah, there are my two sons! I knew they would be here soon. Mr. Fishwick, of course you know my eldest, Paul," Mr. McCartney said as he guided the attention of his guests to the two young men who had just come in through the door. Mr. Fishwick and his own children turned to them and smiled politely as the two sons walked over to the party. Paul offered Mr. Fishwick his hand and greeted him with a polite "how do you do, sir", in a faint attempt to make himself agreeable to him, but sadly Mr. Fishwick seemed to have already made up his mind about the eldest son, looking him up and down with disapproval in his eyes, clearly displeased with his rather dishevelled appearance. Still, he shook his hand and offered him a curt nod.

"Excuse my son's attire. He has a curious fondness for horses and riding, I am afraid. He tends to forget the time when he is out riding. A most pitiful flaw," Mr. McCartney said in an attempt to assuage the situation a bit, and much to both his and his son's surprise, the man lightened up at this new information and regarded Paul with a renewed fondness, the grip on Paul's hand tightening as a smile appeared on the man's face.

"Well, if one must have one flaw, this seems to be the least terrible one, don't you agree, Mr. McCartney? I have a rather great fondness for riding myself, so I have to admit I more than understand this particular problem. One so easily forgets the real world when he's out riding in nature."

"Oh, yes... I suppose you could look at it that way..." Mr. McCartney replied, puzzled by the other man's reaction, not having expected him to react that way, but not wishing to go against him. Paul, however, could not be more relieved.

"I quite agree, Mr. Fishwick. My father and brother, however, do not share my love for riding, so excuse them for not understanding. I will of course change into something more suitable for dinner."

"Of course, my boy. But that does not matter now. Here, let me introduce you. You know my daughter, Angela, and this is my son Daniel. And Michael, how wonderful to see you again. My daughter has not been able to stop talking about you since you proposed. I can see this marriage will bring much joy in both our families. Now, Mr. McCartney, you mentioned something about a tour around the manor before dinner, did you not? Perhaps it would do well to leave the young couple alone for a while and then your son can change before we move on to the dining room for dinner?" Mr. Fishwick senior spoke fast and with much excitement in his voice, leaving little room for anyone to join the conversation. Still, it was not annoying. If anything, the man's obvious excitement brought a smile to Paul's face, and he could even see a small one pull at his father's lips, who seemed unable to disagree with anything the other man said.

He nodded and called for one of the maids to take the guests' trunks up to their rooms and asked her to call on them as soon as dinner was ready to be served, before he escorted two of the Fishwicks up the stairs for the tour, leaving to young lady behind with her fiancé, as had been suggested by her father. To Paul's surprise, however, Miss Fishwick did not turn all her attention onto his brother as he had expected her to do, but instead turned to him and extended her hand for him to kiss. Paul took it and gently pressed his lips to her fingers.

"It is nice to see you again, Mr. McCartney. It has been a while, has it not?" she said, her voice sweet and playful. If Paul had not known any better, he would have said she sounded flirtatious, especially with the way she kept looking at him, her soft brown eyes half-lidded. Her brown curls framed her face beautifully, and Paul could easily understand why his brother had taken an interest in her; not only was she accomplished and from a good family, she was pretty as well.

"It most certainly has been, but you do not look a day older. I can see why my brother is so fond of you. My apologies for my own appearance though, Miss. As I told your father, I had quite forgotten the time."

"Oh that does not matter. You look very handsome even when you are not all dressed up like you normally are," Miss Fishwick replied with a charming smile and Paul replied with one of his own as he thanked her for her kind, but untrue words.

"You flatter me too much, Miss Fishwick. Now, if you two would excuse me, I must go get changed or I will be late again, and a lady such as you should never have to wait for a man twice. I will see you both at dinner," Paul said and with one last polite nod, he turned around and started heading up the stairs to his own rooms, where he was able to quickly wash himself, get changed into one of his more formal suits and do his hair, before he was called down by one of the servants. He followed him down and was just in time to see everyone move into the dining room, before he was suddenly stopped by his brother.

"Thank you, Peterson," he told the servant, who immediately walked off with a small nod, leaving the two brothers alone at the top of the stairs.

"Is there something wrong, brother dear?" Paul asked, confused as to why his brother wanted to talk to him alone. Michael, however, seemed unimpressed by his question.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that there is, and I think you know very well what I am talking about, Paul."

"I am afraid, I-" Paul started in return, but Michael quickly cut him off.

"I know you don't like this engagement of mine, and I understand why, but that does not give you the right to start flirting with my fiancée and endanger our wedding," he told him, and Paul could only stare at him in return, before he started laughing.

"Flirting? Me? With Miss Fishwick? I think you are becoming rather paranoid, my dear brother. I assure you, I am not interested in your fiancée and neither am I interested in endangering your wedding."

"Don't lie to me, Paul. I know how you are when you flirt with women and this was a classic example."

"I was not flirting with her, Michael. I was merely being polite. Women like being complimented on their looks – god knows how much effort they put into it – and I was trying to make her feel welcome and at home, as you do when you are trying to be a good host. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd rather not be late a second time today."

"Either way, I would very much appreciate it if you could tone it down with the pleasantries. She seems taken by you and I would rather not lose her to my very own brother."

"How often must I tell you I am not interested in her, Michael! Even if she had taken a fancy with me, which she hasn't, I would not have her."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. After all, she misses one crucial body part to be of any interest to you, doesn't she? Or maybe, this is your way of convincing father you are not such a lost cause as he might think."

"If that remark was supposed to insult me, you failed. Unlike father and you, I do not mind who I am attracted to. And besides, it is more beneficial for me to keep this engagement intact than to break it up to prove a point to father, I assure you."

"Oh really, and how is my engagement beneficial to you, if I may ask?"

"Well, your happiness for one."

"My happiness?!"

"Yes! Did it never cross your mind that I might care about you? That I actually love you? I would never endanger your happiness in favour of attempting to appease father by wooing a woman who I do not intent to marry. Miss Fishwick is a fine woman, but of no interest for me. You, however, are," Paul said firmly and Michael froze at his words, clearly not having expected that. Paul, having had quite enough of this conversation, pushed past his brother and made his way down the stairs and to the dining room, intending to be on time for once. He had just been about to open the door to the corridor onto which the dining room was situated, when his brother called out for him, making him to turn his head, albeit rather reluctantly.

"I- I am sorry, Paul," Michael called at him, his voice wavering, and Paul sighed as he waved the apology away.

"Forget about it, Mike. And if it will make you feel better about the whole thing, I will lay off the compliments for a while. Now, will you come down here and have dinner with us before it gets cold?" He asked and Mike nodded, before following Paul down the stairs to catch up with him. He muttered a soft thank you, before the two men headed to the dining room, managing it just in time to see the first course being served.

True to his word, Paul kept his distance from Miss Fishwick, taking instead a seat beside her brother and engaging mostly in small-talk with him as they enjoyed their dinner, leaving the seat beside her available for his brother, which in turn pleased Miss Fishwick greatly. They kept to themselves throughout, speaking with each other in hushed voices and occasionally giggling at something the other said as Miss Fishwick kept on touching his arm, shoulder and hands, keeping the touches teasing and barely there, playing her fiancée with expertise as his world narrowed down to her alone. Paul watched them in amusement, and could not help but wonder if perhaps one day he would find someone of his own to do that with, someone who would mean so much to him that he would lose himself completely, as he had seen happening to his brother more than once.

He had always considered himself unfit for such things; girls had rarely captured his attention when he had been young and even with boys it had been clear he could never have that, most of his interests never reaching further than a curiosity or a sexual interest. But seeing his brother like this, it made him wish things could be different.

After dinner, the group moved from the dining room to the drawing room, where they were offered drinks and would entertain themselves with a card game and some light reading before they would retire for the evening. Miss Fishwick excused herself for a moment to freshen up while the men played a game of cards and discussed some of the recent news. They were well into their second game when Miss Fishwick returned and, being the perfect gentleman, Michael immediately offered up his seat for her, proposing she'd take over his hand if she was eager to play. Before she could accept, however, Paul stepped in and offered up his own seat, saying it would be most interesting to see the two love birds play each other.

"Oh, no. Please, don't give up your seat on my account. I can wait till the next game. You men finish this one," Miss Fishwick objected, but Paul would not have any of it and insisted she'd take his seat anyway, saying he'd much rather play some piano for them all. After all, one cannot have fun without some light music playing in the background. Once Miss Fishwick finally gave in, after being reassured he really did not want to play anymore, Paul took a seat behind the grand piano in the corner of the room and started to play, occasionally singing along when he could remember the lyrics to the music until his father told him to allow Miss Fishwick a chance to play. He agreed to sing a duet with her first, before he beckoned his brother over to do the same, and got up to allow the young lady to take a seat behind the piano. Her brother offered Paul a seat to join another game, but Paul refused his offer, instead taking a book of a shelf and laying down on one of the sofas to read by a candle, while listening to Miss Fishwick playing at the piano. The book was rather boring, all the good ones being in the library, but he did not mind too terribly and made do with what he had, thinking it would be rude to leave them in favour of a good book.

Once Miss Fishwick had finished playing and the last game of cards had been played, Paul put his book away and glanced at the clock to note that it was soon approaching ten, much to his relief. He had had quite enough of the company he was in.

"How about we play another game? A final one before we call it a night. Angela, my dear, what do you think of a game of Taboo? You were always so good at that. She has the vocabulary of thesaurus, Mr. McCartney," Mr. Fishwick said to Michael. Miss Fishwick herself smiled at the praise and took a seat next to Paul, who lifted his feet off the sofa to give her more room, and sighed as she feigned reluctance.

"If we must. Mr. McCartney, if I remember well you are not so bad at the game yourself," she said as she glanced at Paul, who laughed in return, shaking his head, as he got up from the couch.

"I am afraid you are mistaken, Miss Fishwick. You beat me last time."

"I did, didn't I? Well, what do you say? Play again and see who can win this time?"

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I must decline. My brother, however, is rather good at the game as well. I am sure he can challenge you. Now, if you would excuse me, I think I will retire for the evening."

"Retire? Already?" Mr. McCartney butted in from across the room.

"Yes, father. I am rather tired."

"Oh well, I suppose we will see you at breakfast again then, won't we?" Mr. McCartney asked and Paul nodded "yes" in response, before wishing all a goodnight and with that he walked out of the room and made his way up the stairs to his room, where he lit a couple of candles before sitting down behind his desk and retrieving a blank sheet of paper and a pencil to draw while he waited.

Not long after, he could hear other people retire for the evening and about half an hour later, there was a tentative knock on his door. Smiling to himself, Paul put his drawing he had made of John away and softly pushed his chair back before tiptoeing over to the door and slowly pulling it open, careful not to make a noise and accidentally alert someone.

"Mr. Ewan? Is that you?" he whispered.

"Yes, sir. It is me. Let me in."

"Did anyone see you?"

"No, sir. I came via the back stairs," Mr. Ewan muttered and before he had even finished his sentence, Paul pulled his door the rest of the way open and dragged the young man into his room. He quickly shut the door behind him and pushed the younger man up against it before attacking his mouth with his own, kissing him firmly, desperately on the lips, his teeth nibbling at them as his hands found the boys waist. He held him there tightly and he pushed is body flush against his, causing the other man to groan into his mouth.

"You have to keep quiet, Stan. Can you do that for me?" Paul asked, briefly pulling away to look the boy directly in the eye, taking in the sight of him as the warm light that came from the candles lit up his face. The boy swallowed thickly before he nodded, saying he understood.

"Good. Now, let's see how long you can remain quiet," Paul whispered in reply, making sure to lock his door before kissing him again. His fingers dug into the boy's hips hard enough to leave marks as he pulled him closer and started guiding him to the bed, throwing him down on top of it before climbing into his lap and positioning himself right over the man's crotch to grind down against him as he pulled him up for another hungry kiss, causing Mr. Ewan to quietly moan again despite his earlier promise. As long as he wasn't too loud, though, Paul hardly minded.

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone!