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Cyril's hair was mussed and sweat shone on his brow from the humid summer night, but he felt pleasantly tired, and a smile curved the corners of his mouth. He'd need to clean himself up before morning of the dust and horsehair and sweat, or the maids might wonder about him, kind, cooing souls that they were. It wasn't as if they could not keep a secret, for they not-so-secretly liked Cyril much more than Gerard Pearcival, the one responsible for their everyday chores. Cyril had an air of self-suficiency about him that the maids found charming, even a bit more than charming, on a few occasions...
Cyril finally caught his breath and pushed off the door, running a hand through his dark hair as he slowly made his way to his bedroom to retrieve a change of clothes. He had closed that back door, he remembered to himself. Though, that door had always been a tricky one...
[6]