Chapter Text
Mr Barrow lets them in through the Servant’s Entrance, into the darkened hallway and it feels like they both breathe out to be safely back at Downton again.
‘I should just...check.’
Mr Barrow squeezes past him down the corridor towards the Butler’s Pantry and Richard follows. Although there will be no one down here to hear them they move slowly, alert in the cool blue darkness and even with Mr Barrow by his side Richard is wary about being down here, awake in the early hours in a house he’s only a guest in.
‘You can go to bed,’ says Mr Barrow flicking on the light and going around to the other side of his desk.
‘I’ll wait for you,’ Richard leans in the doorway to watch as Mr Barrow goes through the papers with a frown on his face, shifting the mess that’s accumulated from Mr Wilson and Mr Carson until he finds his post.
‘Shoe’s on the other foot, now,’ Mr Barrow says but he’s smiling lightly, looking at Richard in a way that might be described as coy.
‘Well, quite. But I’m afraid punctuality has never been my strong suit.’
‘And how does His Majesty feel about that?’
Mr Barrow drops his hip to perch on the edge of the desk, definitely flirting now as he wields the letter opener.
‘I have my methods.’
Richard steps forward into the room. He’s wanted to get closer all evening and he thought he’d missed his chance but they seem to be on the same page now, trading teasing barbs they don’t really mean and Mr Barrow is smiling again, not anxious as he rightly was earlier.
‘Maybe you should apply them more conscientiously.’
‘Or you’ll find someone else to go dancing with?’
Mr Barrow’s face falls and Richard knows immediately that he’s said the wrong thing.
‘I’m sorry, I should have…’ Mr Barrow begins but it shouldn’t be for him to apologise. It was Richard’s fault, he was late and Mr Barrow was alone, why shouldn’t he take up another offer, and because of that he ended up in danger.
‘No, I’m sorry, Mr Barrow, I shouldn’t have kept you waiting…’
‘Thomas. My Christian name is Thomas,’ he says, Thomas says and it’s an olive branch that Richard is glad for.
‘Mine’s Richard.’
‘I know,’ Thomas touches a hand to the breast pocket of his jacket, where he must have slipped Richard’s card, it’s an unconscious movement but telling and Richard can’t help but smile.
‘But most people call me Dick,’ he continues on a laugh, ‘well, my friends. And my mother.’
Thomas has come round to Richard’s side of the desk now standing close enough that Richard can really study him; the planes of his cheekbones, the blue of his eyes, he’s so handsome when he smiles.
‘Would you dance with me, Dick?’
There’s no music playing but it’s so natural for them to step closer together in the small room and Thomas puts his arms around Richard, holding him close and leading them in a slow waltz. It’s mostly just revolving on the spot but Thomas is warm and he smells clean and cold like the outside.
‘I don’t do this often enough,’ says Richard.
‘What?’ Thomas’s breath is warm against Richard’s cheek, one hand at his hip, the other looped under his arm to his shoulder.
‘Dance,’ with men I've just met, with men I hardly know.
‘I’d hardly call this dancing, not really.’
Even like this Thomas moves like he knows what he’s doing and Richard longs for more space, music, an audience - if that were a simple thing to hope for.
‘Oh, Yeah? Would you care to show me?’
‘Perhaps another time. For now, I think it’s high time we went to bed.’
Richard almost steps back in surprise, confused as to why Thomas wants to cut the night short, but Thomas keeps hold of him and the quirk of his eyebrow is hard to misinterpret although his cheeks are pink like he can't believe his own boldness.
‘Lead the way, Mr Barrow.’