White Collar Fic - Orchstration - Second Movement (Allegro)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Orchestration – Second Movement (Allegro)
Author: elrhiarhodan
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta: sinfulslasher
Word Count: ~3600 (Work in Progress)
Summary: A White Collar A/U set in 18th Century Vienna. Neal is a composer struggling with the orchestration of his greatest work, and one of the most scandalous ever written. Peter Burke, a wealthy English nobleman, has come to him with an intriguing offer – to fund the production of that opera. But Neal is wary and becomes even warier when he's summoned to the Burkes' quarters by Lady Elizabeth Burke.

Earlier chapters: Orchestration – Prelude (Andante) | Orchestration – First Movement (Adagio).

Author’s Note: Written for my dearest friend, theatregirl7299, on the occasion of her birthday. She has been waiting so patiently for me to continue this work-in-progress and eventually, I just may finish it. Eventually.

I hope you have had a wonderfully special birthday, my friend.

Additional author's notes at the end.

Artwork by kanarek13




______________________



Vienna, 1784

Second Movement (Allegro)

Neal handed the card he'd received to the footman who guarded the door to the Burkes' quarters and waited while the man went to find out if he'd be admitted. As both nobility and members of the English ambassador's train, Master Peter and Lady Elizabeth had been granted a suite of rooms that were far grander than Neal's meagre rooms at the Schönbrunn Palace. He paced a short length of the marble floor and wondered why he'd been summoned by Lady Elizabeth Burke. Her husband had all but barged into his chambers the other day, making an outrageous offer to produce his yet-unfinished and highly controversial opera, La Rivalité des Cygnes. Master Burke had admitted he'd had the manuscript stolen and then returned to his chambers, but Neal couldn't understand why.

Neal existed mostly on the sufferance and meagre generosity of his patron, Prince Esterhazy, which was barely enough to keep him fed, dressed and shod. The small stipend that his mother's brother, the Prince-Bishop of Passau, granted him – the blot on the family escutcheon – wasn't even worth mentioning. It paid for a bottle or two of wine each month and his servant's salary. Mozkóvitz, who did not believe in suffering in silence, never stopped complaining: about both the quality of the wine and the quantity of the salary.

The door to the Burkes' quarters opened and Neal was greeted by a tall and soberly dressed creature. Neal could tell, at a glance, that this person was one of the Burkes' upper servants, just from the quality of his clothes. His clothing was more finely made than Neal's, albeit in black, as befitting a servant.

The man, at least three score years old, cast his eyes over Neal and Neal could see that he was found wanting. Regardless, the servant bade him to enter. Neal was surprised as he led him past the formal receiving rooms, past a well-equipped music room where Neal caught a glimpse of a fortepiano, a harp, and a small harpsichord that made him green with envy, and past what looked like Master Burke's study.

The servant knocked on a closed door and a bright feminine voice responded, "Enter." The man opened the door and tilted his head. "Milady has bade you to enter."

Neal froze. Beyond the portal, Neal could see all sorts of delicate furnishings suitable for a lady's bedchamber. "Excuse me?"

The servant shook his head and gave him an annoyed look.

"Reese, is that Master Caffrey?"

"It is, milady."

"Tell him to come in."

Reese – the servant – grumbled back. "I did. He seems most reluctant."

Neal ground his teeth together. Of course I'm reluctant, you ass. I'm not Casanova to enter the bedchambers of a woman to whom I've never been formally introduced.

There was a rustle of cloth – it sounded like silk – and the patter of slippers crossing the woodwork. Suddenly, Neal was greeted by Lady Elizabeth Burke, her masses of unpowdered hair curling down her shoulders, her magnificent breasts barely covered by a sheer robe de chamber.

"Ah, Master Caffrey – don't be shy." She held out a hand to him, and with a gentle and inexorable tug, pulled him into her bedroom. She called out over his shoulder, "Thank you, Reese. That will be all."

"Very good, Madame." The servant gave a bow and closed the doors behind him.

There was another servant in the room and Lady Burke dismissed her, too. She then turned to Neal with a smile that reminded him of one of the pet cats his mother used to keep around her – a wee, crafty beast no bigger than his two cupped hands, but with claws and teeth that could shred you to pieces.

Hoping to disguise his discomfort; Neal gave her a sweeping bow, his right leg extended and his head practically touching the floor – one probably more suited to a grand duchess than the wife of a second son of a foreign and minor earl.

Lady Burke smiled at the inappropriate extravagance of his obeisance. "Oh, do get up, Master Caffrey. This isn't the Emperor's court."

Neal rose and was grateful he didn't fall over from all the blood rushing out of his head. He found his tongue. "No, it's your bedchamber – a place far more dangerous. At least for me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." Lady Elizabeth sat down on a delicate settee and patted the velvet cushion. "Come, sit next to me."

Neal took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to offend the woman. Not only was she beautiful, but she commanded a small, but potent force within the Emperor's court. "Does your husband know you invited me here?"

"Of course he does."

"Into your bedchamber?" Neal fought hard not to look over at the large bed in the center of the room.

Elizabeth didn't answer, but continued to gaze at him with a cat-like intensity, and Neal's tension increased a thousand-fold.

"If you please, milady, I think I will wait for you in the music salon." Neal stepped back, hoping to escape with his dignity intact. But that was not fated to be. The door behind him opened and he bumped into someone. Lady Elizabeth's husband and his current nightmare, Master Peter Burke.

"Where are you running off to, Caffrey?" Burke whispered into his ear and wrapped a large, heavy arm around his waist before he tripped and fell on his ass.

Fuck.

"Caffrey?" Burke was still holding him and the sound of his name, rumbled in that soft, low tone, was sending all sorts of bizarre signals to his brain. And his groin.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to be in here." He struggled against Burke's hold, but the man – damn him – wouldn't let go.

"Why? Didn't my wife invite you for a visit?"

Neal's mouth dried up. He tried to speak but couldn't.

"Well?"

"Oh, Peter – stop terrifying the poor man."

"I don't know if I'm the one terrifying him, El."

Neal kept his eyes on the floor and counted the pattern in the parquet. It helped him ignore the heat from Master Burke's body, the wicked strength in his arm, and the near-nakedness of Lady Elizabeth.

She sighed, a tone of resignation rather than aggravation. "Take him into the music room, hon. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

Burke squeezed his waist before letting go. "Come on, you heard my wife."

Neal nodded, kept his eyes to the floor and followed Peter out of his wife's bedchambers. He couldn't help but wonder, though, what was more dangerous – being alone with Lady Elizabeth Burke or being alone with her husband.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter maneuvered himself so he was walking next to Neal and he guided him towards the music salon, his hand hovering just above the other man's buttocks. It was a pity that delectable part of Caffrey's anatomy was hidden underneath his frock coat and vest.

Caffrey was nervous and that amused him. He supposed he wasn't being terribly fair – first stealing his manuscript, then barging into his rooms with a rather incredible offer, and now this – having Elizabeth set up a meeting in her chambers.

Maybe if Caffrey hadn't spent the better part of the last fortnight avoiding him at public functions, he wouldn't have had to go to such lengths to get him alone. But on the other hand, he had enjoyed the chase, watching Neal do his best to evade him without being obvious about it. It brought out some very feral instincts in him; he felt like a wolf stalking his prey.

"Relax, Neal. No one's going to hurt you."

"Then why do I feel like I'm being hunted?"

Peter had to give him credit, but in a private tally. Baiting Neal was too much fun. "I don't know. Why do you?"

"You've been stalking me. First you come to my rooms and then whenever I turn around, you're there, watching me."

"Mmm, maybe. You're certainly pleasant to look at." Peter sat down at the bench in front of the fortepiano and started playing one of Neal's early compositions for his patron, a concerto of great depth and complexity.

And it seemed to annoy the composer immensely. Neal commanded, "Stop playing that."

"Why? It's a beautiful piece, one of my favorites." Peter continued to play.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am. I'm always serious when it comes to music." Peter continued playing, changing the key, the tempo, shifting the harmonic line until the music was all but unrecognizable.

"Master Burke – "

"Peter. I told you to call me Peter." He ended the piece with a flourish and turned to face Neal, who was still standing there, his fists clenched, white-faced in anger. "And I also told you to relax." He got up from the bench and went to a small ornate cabinet that held a variety of spirits. "Madeira or something stronger?"

"Madeira's fine."

He handed Neal a small glass and poured a draught of French brandy for himself.

"What do you want from me?" Neal stuck out his chin like a pugilist.

"I already told you, I'm interested in producing your opera."

"And get us both set to prison? Or worse?"

"It would be a private production."

"There's nothing private in the Emperor's court. Someone will know. The chambermaid you hired to steal my libretto. The artists, the musicians, everyone involved with the damned performance – they'll know and they'll tell." Neal ran a hand through his hair. Like Peter, he had eschewed both wig and powder for anything but the most formal occasions, and his shoulder-length hair was gathered into a loose queue at the nape of his neck and held in place by a pale blue ribbon that matched both his eyes and his frock coat.

Peter tried to pay attention to Neal's rant but was distracted by the locks pulled free of the satin ribbon. He wondered if Neal's hair was as soft and as fragrant as his wife's. His spies reported that Neal bathed at least twice a week.

Neal was pacing to wear a hole in the rug.

"Calm down, calm down."

That only seemed to agitate Neal more. "How can I calm down? You want to produce my opera, which will create a scandal the likes of which Vienna's never seen. Your wife greets me in her bedchamber wearing little more than her stays. You're stalking me! How can I calm down?"

Peter sighed. "If you want, we can forget about your opera."

That stopped Neal in his tracks.

But Peter continued. "It's brilliant and beautiful and while it's very controversial, it would be a crime for it to remain hidden."

"I never should have written it." Neal flopped inelegantly onto the bench that Peter had vacated. "Maybe I should burn the manuscript."

"NO!" The very idea of Neal destroying that work angered Peter. "You will do no such thing. I forbid it."

"Forbid it? How can you?" Neal's outrage measured his own.

"Watch." Peter went to the door and the waiting footman summon Reese. When he arrived, Peter gave him instructions to invade Neal's quarters, retrieve the manuscript and bring it back. If Neal's servant resisted, Reese was to deal with the man as he saw fit, short of leaving a body to feed to the Danube.

He kept his voice low and when Reese left, Peter shut and locked the door behind him, pocketing the key. Only Elizabeth could get in, now. No one else had a key.

Neal stood up, vibrating with anger. "What have you done?"

"Rescued something wonderful." Peter sighed. This was not how he'd wanted the afternoon to go. "I'm sorry, Neal – but I can't let you destroy your manuscript."

"Why? Why is it so important to you?"

"Because the story is beautiful, unique. It touches something in me. As does its creator." Peter hoped Neal understood what he was saying.

"It terrifies me, Peter." There was so much raw honesty in Neal's voice. "I can't stop thinking about it, and I can't work on anything else. But every time I sit down to orchestrate it, I can't find the notes. All I hear are the words of some judge condemning me to prison or death for my perversions. I'm at the point where I feel like I'll never compose another piece of music again."

Peter went to Neal and rested his hands on the other man's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I've forced my way into your life without consideration for your own desires."

"When you offered to produce the opera, it was a dream come true and my worst nightmare."

Peter drew Neal into his arms, clasping him gently, like he would a terrified wild creature – one that might injure himself to death trying to escape. "I'm sorry." Peter kept repeating the apology and stroking Neal's back until he stopped shaking.

Neal did something completely unexpected and thoroughly delightful. He rested his head against Peter's shoulder and sighed. "I don't know what's going to happen to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Esterhazy's getting fed up. I've written nothing – at least nothing that can be publicly performed – for more than half a year. He had asked me for a new concerto and a suite of dances for his masque last month. I delivered nothing. Not a single measure of music. The prince was most displeased."

Peter asked, "Is he making any noise about withdrawing his patronage?" He'd been keeping his ear to the ground about anything having to do with Neal and had heard nothing about this.

"No, he hasn't said anything yet, but the last allowance he provided was but a third of the usual amount he gives me."

Neal stepped out of his arms; his face was pale but composed.

"Maybe it's time you found a new patron?"

"You, Master Burke?"

"No – that would be an insult to the Prince, and I can't afford to jeopardize that relationship."

"Then who?"

At that moment, the sound of a key turning in the lock broke the building tension. Peter turned towards the door with a smile. El's timing was impeccable.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal didn't know what had come over him, to rest his head on Peter Burke's shoulder. Like a child, like a lover. As much as the man infuriated him, Neal knew that he could trust him.

And his apology was so sweet and sincere. He truly seemed to care about him and about his music.

But there was something going on. Burke wanted something from him and Neal had a good idea what it was. It was kind of difficult to disregard the hot, heavy mass between the man's legs as he held him. The heat and bulge were evident even through his frock coat.

Neal wasn't sure if he should be offended like some virginal maid, ignore it, or perhaps encourage it. He'd gone a long time without any sort of physical affection. The boy-houses in the seedier parts of Vienna held no attraction for him. He had visited a few and left unsatisfied each time. The most he felt was pity, not desire, for those lost young and not-so-young men who offered their bodies for coin, and he'd never returned. It was easier to go without or use his hand than risk exposure or worse, the pox.

But this was so different. Resting, for just a few moments, in Peter's arms, was going to give him something to dream about for a long, long time. He could construct whole symphonies around the heat and mass and presence of the man. And knowing that he felt desire for him was exhilarating.

Neal reluctantly stepped away from Peter and was chilled. His questions about Prince Esterhazy's patronage didn't help. Neal hated even thinking about his failure to provide the commissioned music and he knew that if he didn't do something soon, he'd be out on the street.

There was a moment, though, when he thought that Peter might step in and rescue him from disgrace and oblivion. Except he wasn't and he'd be right not to. Esterhazy was powerful and if Peter stepped in – even after the Prince cut him loose – there might be unfortunate consequences for the English delegation.

"Then who?" He hated the plaintive note in his voice.

Peter smiled and turned towards the door as his wife entered. Neal was mortified – what could Lady Burke be thinking that he was behind a locked door with her husband.

But she didn't seem to find anything usual. Fully dressed in a robe à l'anglaise, her hair left unpowered, she sailed into the room with a smile. "Peter, have you told Neal about our idea?"

What idea? Neal's embarrassment turned to curiosity.

"I haven't gotten the chance, hon. Neal and I were having a discussion about the potential pitfalls in producing his opera."

Lady Elizabeth nodded. "I see." She turned to him. "You're in a bind, I understand."

"Yes." It seemed best to keep his answers simple.

"You understand why Peter can't declare his patronage."

"Of course. It would be an insult to the Prince."

"It would, or so he says. I'm not so sure of that – politics are just too much for my poor woman's head."

At that, Peter coughed, drawing Neal's attention to him. He coughed again and now Neal could see that he was trying to disguise a laugh. He didn't understand what was so amusing, until he looked back at Lady Elizabeth. Oh, oh. Of course politics were not too much for her, she was the consummate political wife and hostess. But he still didn't follow where she was leading. "Milady?"

She walked over to him and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, leading them over to a cushioned settee. They sat and Elizabeth held his gaze for a long, drawn out moment. "Peter can't be your patron, but perhaps the two of us can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

Neal swallowed and hoped that this was not going to be a repeat of the disastrous encounter in her bedchamber. "I'm not sure I understand what you expect of me." He glanced at her magnificent breasts, modestly covered by a lace fichu, and then he looked over at Peter, who was wearing a mildly troublesome smile.

Lady Elizabeth rested a small hand on his, and gave what seemed like a comforting squeeze. "Peter and I have discussed this and we were hoping that you'd be interested in becoming my cicesbeo."

Neal blinked and digested her words. Cicisbeatura was a common enough practice amongst the nobility of France and the Italian city-states, and even London. It was rare, but not unheard of, here in Vienna.

She continued. "Peter would publically acknowledge your position in my life, and as is custom, the two of you would be the best of friends. You would have the freedom of our chambers and our purse."

"What about …"

"Sex?" Peter finally chimed in.

Neal felt his cheeks flaming and he whispered, "Yes."

"My wife is precious to me – everything about her is precious, including her happiness. If the two of you wish to …"

Neal's head began to spin as Peter left the last bit unsaid.

"Oh, stop teasing the boy, Peter." She squeezed her hand again. "I believe that your interests are not engaged by this member of the Burke household." Lady Elizabeth cast a sly grin over to her husband.

"That doesn't bother you?"

She answered him frankly. "Peter is my husband and his happiness is precious to me. If he takes joy in your company, in your body, that makes me happy. I am not so petty or short-sighted to feel threatened by you, provided that you do nothing to harm my husband. If you do, you won't live long enough to regret it."

Lady Elizabeth uttered that last sentence in such a pleasant tone that it took several moments for Neal to appreciate the weight of her words. He stammered out, "Milady, I would do nothing to harm you or Master Burke."

"As long as we have that understanding, you have my blessing."

Neal nodded and then realized what he'd just implicitly agreed to. "I, I – I'm …"

"Are you having second thoughts, Caffrey?"

Neal closed his mouth with a snap. Peter's voice rumbled through him, and not for the first time was he reminded of one of the Emperor's hungry lions.

"Well?"

"No, but …"

"But what?"

Neal had a thousand questions but he couldn't give voice to a single one of them. "Nothing. No, nothing."

"Good." Lady Elizabeth rose and Neal followed suit. "There is a musicale hosted by the Duchess of Galántha tonight. You will accompany me?"

Neal bowed, this time to the correct depth. "Of course, my lady."

"Good." Lady Elizabeth swept out of the room and Neal had to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into.

FIN, OR RATHER, TO BE CONTINUED

Additional Author's Notes: A "cicesbeo" was the professed gallant and lover of a married woman, who attended her at public entertainments, to church and other occasions and had privileged access to his mistress. The practice was common in eighteenth century, and was the subject of Lord Byron's poem, Beppo. The relationship was not necessarily sexual and there was a noted preference for cicesbei who were gay. There are also records of the arrangement between wife, cicisbeo, and husband to be a cover for the same-sex relationship between the two men.