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elrhiarhodanTitle: Orchestration - Prelude (Andante)
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elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Mention of Neal Caffrey, Alex Hunter, Peter/Elizabeth
Word Count: ~1400
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit: None
Summary: The prequel to Orchestration - First Movement (Adagio), an A/U set in Vienna, Austria, in the lat 18th century, around the time of Mozart. Neal is an impoverished and struggling composer who has written a rather scandalous libretto, La Rivalité des Cygnes, an opera that can never be publicly produced. Peter Burke, a wealthy second son of an English noble, and his wife, the Lady Elizabeth, may have an offer for him.
Author’s Note: Written for my dear friend,theatregirl7299, who has been waiting so patiently for me to continue this work-in-progress. She prompted me for it on my recent Timestamp Meme
__________________
Vienna, 1781
Prelude (Andante)
Peter Burke, second son of the Earl of Brooklynd, liked for people to think he was a man of simple tastes, simple thoughts. He didn’t behave like a fool or an unmannered, uncouth goat, especially not in the glittering arena that was the Viennese royal court. Nor did he dress like a peacock or did he seek to ingratiate himself within the salons that set the tone for the rest aristocracy that fawned on the Imperial word. He had money, and vast amounts of it, but that was not information he shared with anyone except his lady wife.
When he had first arrived, he'd pretended a bit of ignorance at some of the more sophisticated humor, he'd played dumb when the self-styled intellectuals tried to engage him in discussions about math and science, hoping to show him up as an English buffoon. He didn’t mind, he’d studied both Newton and Leibniz, he’d read Plato in Greek and Cicero in Latin. His education was likely more complete than anyone here. It suited him to be underestimated.
Peter liked to watch, to listen, to gather information. He kept his own counsel and he was well rewarded for it.
His lady wife, Elizabeth, was - at least to the public’s eye - his opposite. El was as bright as a peacock, sharp and witty and entertaining. Peter knew that the court looked at her and wondered at her marriage to such a dull stick.
“What do you have there?” El leaned over his shoulder, her magnificent breasts distracting him. He could just turn his head, bury his face between them and die a happy man. But he didn’t. Instead, he handed her a page from the unbound manuscript he was reading.
“La Rivalité des Cygnes? Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it’s very interesting. Read it.”
“Hmm, by Neal Caffrey?”
Peter confirmed with a smile, “Yes, my dear.”
“You’re obsessed with that young man.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not in the least.” Elizabeth pressed a kiss against his cheek, took a few of the sheets that Peter had finished, and perched on the slipper chair across from Peter, her full panniers made it difficult to sit comfortably. She started reading, “Ohhh, this is very interesting.”
Peter thought the blush that the manuscript brought to her cheeks was very enticing. He all but growled, “Yes it is, isn’t it.”
Elizabeth finished reading, and fanned herself with the pages. “He can never have this performed.”
“Not in public, of course.”
“What are you thinking?” His wife gave him an arch look.
“How would you feel about becoming his patroness?”
“Me?”
“You’re the one that the court looks to. Me, I’m a non-entity.”
“Well, I really wouldn’t say that, hon. You merely keep a low profile.”
“I’m thinking about a little misdirection. He’d be your protege.”
“I thought he was already Esterhazy’s.”
“Yes, the Prince does pay him a small stipend, and in exchange, he provides a few small and insignificant pieces of occasional music. He’ll never rise to his potential if he continues on this path. Caffrey’s all but dooming himself to obscurity. He’ll end up as another Antonio Salieri.”
“And if he stages this, he’ll doom himself to prison, or worse.”
“Hmmm, true enough.” Peter gave her the rest of the manuscript.
Elizabeth finished reading it. She was clearly impressed, but also troubled. “And yet you want me to take him on. Aren’t you worried?”
“About what?”
“What people will say, will think?”
“Have I ever?”
Elizabeth’s lips curled into a smile, her dimples showing. “No, hon, not in the least.”
“Are you worried about your reputation?” Peter gave his wife a serious look. “I wouldn’t what you to do anything that would make you unhappy or uncomfortable.”
“I know that.” She got up and brushed out her skirts. “I think you should do this. But maybe I could make Neal my cicisbeo, instead of my musical prodigy. It wouldn’t do to offend Esterhazy, and this way Neal would have a more, shall we say, respectable reason to be in our chambers.
Peter gave his wife a tight smile, understanding just what she wasn’t saying. “Has any told you just how wonderful you are, of late?”
El replied with pert humor, “I think you told me this morning, when I was riding your cock. Does that count?”
This time, Peter’s smile was broad, his shout of laughter full-hearted. “Yes, my dear, I think that counts.”
She gathered up the manuscript pages and handed them back to Peter. “These need to be returned to Master Caffrey’s chambers.”
Peter took them back. “Of course. They’ll go back the way they came.”
“Hunter, the chambermaid?”
Peter nodded.
“Do me a favor, keep it in your trousers with that one. I don’t trust her.”
Peter pretended to be outraged at his wife’s suggestion. “As if I’d stoop to dally with a chambermaid. Besides, you are the only woman for me.” He snagged her hand and pressed a gallant kiss to the back of it, before turning it over and giving her something warmer, more intense, just above the pulse point.
“As long as you remember that, sirrah!” Her insult was lighthearted, mocking, but Peter could feel her blood race under his lips. He let her go reluctantly. El flounced away in a cloud of silk and perfume. Peter got up and pulled the bell that would summon Hughes, his secretary, his most trusted confident - after his wife.
The old man rightfully should have retired to a small cottage on the estate he’d watched over for the better part of two decades, but when Peter first went to university, then London, Hughes asked the Earl if he could continue to serve the “young master”. Peter was grateful, Hughes had kept a watchful eye over him, keeping him from making several disastrous mistakes over the years.
And as many times as he’d offer to provide a pension for him, Hughes insisted on remaining at his post. He kept telling Peter that he enjoyed the challenge, it kept him young and alive.
Peter wasn’t so sure about the young part. Hughes was moving slower these days - the damp Viennese winter wasn’t helping his old bones.
He finally arrived and Peter wanted to apologize for disturbing him. He knew that his old friend wouldn’t appreciate or welcome the apology, so instead, Peter handed him the purloined manuscript. “See that Hunter gets this back to Caffrey’s chambers without anyone being the wiser. I want to talk with Caffrey tonight.”
Of course Hughes knew what was going on inside his head, he always did. “Your father won’t been too happy about this latest development, Master Peter.”
“My father cares about nothing more than his horses, his hounds, and the breeding capacity of my brother’s wife. It’s a good thing she’s already popped out three strapping sons to carry the line.”
Hughes gave him a pointed look. “And disease could take them all in a week.”
Peter ignored the old man. They’d had this conversation before. “Take care of the manuscript and make certain that Hunter’s compensated for her efforts.”
“She’s a sly one. I don’t trust her.”
“Neither do I, neither does my lady wife. But’s she’s useful for now.”
“Hmm, if she can’t keep a still tongue in her mouth, there’s always the Danube.”
Peter didn’t pretend to be shocked. Hughes had taken care of things for him before.
TO BE CONTINUED
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Mention of Neal Caffrey, Alex Hunter, Peter/Elizabeth
Word Count: ~1400
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Beta Credit: None
Summary: The prequel to Orchestration - First Movement (Adagio), an A/U set in Vienna, Austria, in the lat 18th century, around the time of Mozart. Neal is an impoverished and struggling composer who has written a rather scandalous libretto, La Rivalité des Cygnes, an opera that can never be publicly produced. Peter Burke, a wealthy second son of an English noble, and his wife, the Lady Elizabeth, may have an offer for him.
Author’s Note: Written for my dear friend,
theatregirl7299, who has been waiting so patiently for me to continue this work-in-progress. She prompted me for it on my recent Timestamp MemeVienna, 1781
Peter Burke, second son of the Earl of Brooklynd, liked for people to think he was a man of simple tastes, simple thoughts. He didn’t behave like a fool or an unmannered, uncouth goat, especially not in the glittering arena that was the Viennese royal court. Nor did he dress like a peacock or did he seek to ingratiate himself within the salons that set the tone for the rest aristocracy that fawned on the Imperial word. He had money, and vast amounts of it, but that was not information he shared with anyone except his lady wife.
When he had first arrived, he'd pretended a bit of ignorance at some of the more sophisticated humor, he'd played dumb when the self-styled intellectuals tried to engage him in discussions about math and science, hoping to show him up as an English buffoon. He didn’t mind, he’d studied both Newton and Leibniz, he’d read Plato in Greek and Cicero in Latin. His education was likely more complete than anyone here. It suited him to be underestimated.
Peter liked to watch, to listen, to gather information. He kept his own counsel and he was well rewarded for it.
His lady wife, Elizabeth, was - at least to the public’s eye - his opposite. El was as bright as a peacock, sharp and witty and entertaining. Peter knew that the court looked at her and wondered at her marriage to such a dull stick.
“What do you have there?” El leaned over his shoulder, her magnificent breasts distracting him. He could just turn his head, bury his face between them and die a happy man. But he didn’t. Instead, he handed her a page from the unbound manuscript he was reading.
“La Rivalité des Cygnes? Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it’s very interesting. Read it.”
“Hmm, by Neal Caffrey?”
Peter confirmed with a smile, “Yes, my dear.”
“You’re obsessed with that young man.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not in the least.” Elizabeth pressed a kiss against his cheek, took a few of the sheets that Peter had finished, and perched on the slipper chair across from Peter, her full panniers made it difficult to sit comfortably. She started reading, “Ohhh, this is very interesting.”
Peter thought the blush that the manuscript brought to her cheeks was very enticing. He all but growled, “Yes it is, isn’t it.”
Elizabeth finished reading, and fanned herself with the pages. “He can never have this performed.”
“Not in public, of course.”
“What are you thinking?” His wife gave him an arch look.
“How would you feel about becoming his patroness?”
“Me?”
“You’re the one that the court looks to. Me, I’m a non-entity.”
“Well, I really wouldn’t say that, hon. You merely keep a low profile.”
“I’m thinking about a little misdirection. He’d be your protege.”
“I thought he was already Esterhazy’s.”
“Yes, the Prince does pay him a small stipend, and in exchange, he provides a few small and insignificant pieces of occasional music. He’ll never rise to his potential if he continues on this path. Caffrey’s all but dooming himself to obscurity. He’ll end up as another Antonio Salieri.”
“And if he stages this, he’ll doom himself to prison, or worse.”
“Hmmm, true enough.” Peter gave her the rest of the manuscript.
Elizabeth finished reading it. She was clearly impressed, but also troubled. “And yet you want me to take him on. Aren’t you worried?”
“About what?”
“What people will say, will think?”
“Have I ever?”
Elizabeth’s lips curled into a smile, her dimples showing. “No, hon, not in the least.”
“Are you worried about your reputation?” Peter gave his wife a serious look. “I wouldn’t what you to do anything that would make you unhappy or uncomfortable.”
“I know that.” She got up and brushed out her skirts. “I think you should do this. But maybe I could make Neal my cicisbeo, instead of my musical prodigy. It wouldn’t do to offend Esterhazy, and this way Neal would have a more, shall we say, respectable reason to be in our chambers.
Peter gave his wife a tight smile, understanding just what she wasn’t saying. “Has any told you just how wonderful you are, of late?”
El replied with pert humor, “I think you told me this morning, when I was riding your cock. Does that count?”
This time, Peter’s smile was broad, his shout of laughter full-hearted. “Yes, my dear, I think that counts.”
She gathered up the manuscript pages and handed them back to Peter. “These need to be returned to Master Caffrey’s chambers.”
Peter took them back. “Of course. They’ll go back the way they came.”
“Hunter, the chambermaid?”
Peter nodded.
“Do me a favor, keep it in your trousers with that one. I don’t trust her.”
Peter pretended to be outraged at his wife’s suggestion. “As if I’d stoop to dally with a chambermaid. Besides, you are the only woman for me.” He snagged her hand and pressed a gallant kiss to the back of it, before turning it over and giving her something warmer, more intense, just above the pulse point.
“As long as you remember that, sirrah!” Her insult was lighthearted, mocking, but Peter could feel her blood race under his lips. He let her go reluctantly. El flounced away in a cloud of silk and perfume. Peter got up and pulled the bell that would summon Hughes, his secretary, his most trusted confident - after his wife.
The old man rightfully should have retired to a small cottage on the estate he’d watched over for the better part of two decades, but when Peter first went to university, then London, Hughes asked the Earl if he could continue to serve the “young master”. Peter was grateful, Hughes had kept a watchful eye over him, keeping him from making several disastrous mistakes over the years.
And as many times as he’d offer to provide a pension for him, Hughes insisted on remaining at his post. He kept telling Peter that he enjoyed the challenge, it kept him young and alive.
Peter wasn’t so sure about the young part. Hughes was moving slower these days - the damp Viennese winter wasn’t helping his old bones.
He finally arrived and Peter wanted to apologize for disturbing him. He knew that his old friend wouldn’t appreciate or welcome the apology, so instead, Peter handed him the purloined manuscript. “See that Hunter gets this back to Caffrey’s chambers without anyone being the wiser. I want to talk with Caffrey tonight.”
Of course Hughes knew what was going on inside his head, he always did. “Your father won’t been too happy about this latest development, Master Peter.”
“My father cares about nothing more than his horses, his hounds, and the breeding capacity of my brother’s wife. It’s a good thing she’s already popped out three strapping sons to carry the line.”
Hughes gave him a pointed look. “And disease could take them all in a week.”
Peter ignored the old man. They’d had this conversation before. “Take care of the manuscript and make certain that Hunter’s compensated for her efforts.”
“She’s a sly one. I don’t trust her.”
“Neither do I, neither does my lady wife. But’s she’s useful for now.”
“Hmm, if she can’t keep a still tongue in her mouth, there’s always the Danube.”
Peter didn’t pretend to be shocked. Hughes had taken care of things for him before.
