A/N: You might turn on me after this...

(The painting is Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time)

Harry asked Charles to put his bouquet in water. The soft white petals reminded him of Bertie. The vase of flowers was a tiny oasis, pure and true, among the bedchamber's otherwise oppressive artifice.

Even though he'd already suffered one astonishing failure at the racetrack, Harry was less nervous about sporting events than he was social events. He'd ridden horseback before, he'd never once danced.

While he waited for Charles to iron his cravat, he practiced his dance steps and greetings in the mirror, bowing and extending his hand: "may I have this dance?" He cleared his throat, "may I have this dance?" No, he thought to himself. "Good evening. You're looking fetching tonight. May I have this dance?"

Charles smiled, eyes crinkling with the pride of an older sibling. "They won't be able to resist you, your grace."

Harry examined his slim limbs and the baby fat that rounded cheeks. "I'm the youngest bachelor here. The women call me, little sparrow," he sighed.

"Who doesn't love sparrows? They're charming creatures."

Charles brought him his cravat. It was green.

"I can't wear this," he said, shaking his head. "I'm still in mourning."

Charles ignored his protests. "It belonged to your father. He had the tailor create a dye to match rolling green hills of Somerset. He would have wanted you to wear it today. In honor of Somerset. In honor of him."

"It's poor etiquette."

Charles shook his shoulders. "You are more Victorian than Queen Victoria herself! Wear the cravat. It brings out your eyes."

♞

Navigating Warwick House was like making his way through Dante's Inferno. If Harry's bedchamber was purgatory, the ballroom was the last circle of hell. The walls were punctuated by nude sculptures and violent, sexually charged allegorical paintings. He had no place to rest his eyes that wasn't filled with debauchery and sin.

Men were conversing on one side of the ballroom and women on the other. Harry pulled out his lucky coin and recited the greeting he had been practicing all afternoon. "May I have this dance, may I have this dance, may I have this dance..."

The music started but nobody moved.

That is until Louis entered the room. Harry almost didn't recognize him. He wasn't in his signature red but a brilliant blue tailcoat.

Without hesitation he crossed the floor and extended his hand to the most beautiful woman in the room. He didn't even ask her to dance, he simply nodded and she obliged.

Then the other men traversed the ballroom floor.

Frederick, in breeches trimmed with ribbon, chatted up a coterie of debutantes, and tried to decide between them.

Like a hunter, Roy picked a girl who was separated from her pack of friends.

Harry froze. He knew he had to go over there but his legs wouldn't budge. All of these bodies in an enclosed space, touching and breathing on one another, only made him think of one thing: disease.

Lady Finnes was sitting on the settee enjoying the music when she spotted him. "Little sparrow!" she called.

He walked over and bowed at the waist with his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Lady Finnes."

"Why aren't you dancing? You have many admirers." She motioned to a group of young women huddled together, staring at him anxiously. Their silk taffeta gowns, each a different color and pattern, made them look like a basket of Easter eggs.

"I'm working up the courage," he whispered.

"I would dance with you myself, but sadly my husband's here."

Harry laughed.

Louis waltzed by them, his partner whispering in his ear. His reply landed on her long, swanlike neck.

Lady Finnes shook her head. "In my day, one didn't dance the waltz in genteel society. We danced the quadrille. Look at that closed embrace! Lady Calder has no shame."

Harry sighed. "Still, I wish I was as skilled as our host."

"Louis? He's had a lot of practice."

"He goes to many dances?"

Lady Finnes covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. "No dear."

Harry didn't follow.

She pointed to the Bronzino beside him: Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time.

"He has many lovers."

Lovers.

Louis had lovers.

As in, he'd made love.

To more than one person.

Harry wasn't near a mirror but he was certain his face was scarlet, redder than the red walls around them.

He watched Louis glide his partner across the ballroom with a sure grip on her waist. Perhaps it was all the obscene artwork around him, but Harry was now picturing Louis in those allegorical paintings, Lady Calder beneath him, unraveling with pleasure like Venus.

He tugged at his collar. The room had become unbearably hot. He felt even more nervous about asking someone to dance. Every time he quelled his anxiety and tried to approach a woman, she was already taken.

His hesitation cost him three dances. Now everyone was dancing but him.

He stood with his back against the wall and watched the other guests enjoy themselves. It was ironic. He'd spent his entire life alone in Somerset, but here, among all these people he felt just as lonely. Somerset wasn't a place in the countryside he realized, it was a place in his mind and there was no escape.

The song ended and the musicians took a short break.

When no one was watching, Harry crept over to the piano and struck the ivory keys. Everyone else was distracted by lively conversation so he sat down and began to play.

Music had always been a dependable friend. It wasn't a puzzle to him the way people were. He shut his eyes as he played and let the sound reverberate through his fingertips.

The beautiful thing about the piano was that it was actually two instruments in one. It was a string instrument because the sound came from the strings inside the piano, but it was also a percussion instrument because those strings only made sound when they were struck by the hammers attached to the keys. It was the happy marriage of two opposing ideas.

When he opened his eyes a small crowd had gathered around him. Frederick, his three debutantes, Oscar, even Roy. They clapped.

"The Surgeon has many talents! Play us another," Frederick crooned.

The ladies began shouting out requests, and excitedly he played each and every one, which drew an even larger crowd.

"Marvelous!"

"He can play any song, any song at all!"

Some of the guests tried to stump Harry, but they were no match for him and his long memory, which retained every piece of music in his father's extensive library.

"Incredible!"

"Bravo!"

"Play us some Balfe! Le Puits d'amour!"

"No, Barnett! Play something from Fair Rosamond!"

Then someone in the back said in a quiet voice, "Bach, Agnus Dei."

Harry smiled to himself. "Ah, from the Mass in B minor. You're in luck. That's my very best arrangement!"

"I know. You played it for me at Somerset."

The voice belonged to Louis.

He pushed through the crowd and sat beside Harry on the piano bench. He smelled like perfume and wine.

"Well, go on."

Harry could feel Louis hot breath on his cheek. He wondered if this was how Lady Calder felt when they were dancing. His hands trembled as they hovered over the keys.

He thought back to that day when he played for Louis in his family's drawing room. Louis hadn't even looked in Harry's direction, much less commented on his playing. But he was listening. He remembered.

Harry began to play the somber arrangement, the rich melody swelling beneath his fingers. The piano was a Steinway and held the notes almost as long as the cello. Everyone was watching his hands, except Louis. Louis was watching him.

His heart beat faster and faster.

When he finished, the ballroom broke into applause.

Harry turned to face Louis, hoping for a friendly smile or a nod of approval.

He was gone.

The doors to the ballroom opened. A guest had arrived. A man who wasn't at the race a day earlier.

Louis greeted him with acid politeness. "Cousin. You decided to join us after all."

The man was tall with dark hair and a trimmed moustache. His clothing was plain, the muted colors of London's sky at dusk, compared to the sapphire blue donned by Louis. The man couldn't have been more than thirty but his face was lined with the wisdom of someone much older.

"Frederick, the Viscount Greindl; Roy, Earl of Pembroke," he said by way of introduction, "you remember my cousin, Sir Clarence Blackwood. He's a chancery lawyer in London."

There were murmurs among the guests. It was almost unheard of for a nobleman to work.

"I apologize for my lateness. I've been busy with a new case."

Theodore rushed in to take his hat and cane. Sir Clarence reluctantly allowed Louis' valet to attend him.

"My cousin settles squabbles over wills and estates."

"Should I spend my time on dancing and sport instead?" he retorted.

Louis lip curled. "Tell us about your latest case."

"It's between the son and an uncle over the family fortune. I'm defending the uncle. It's interesting."

"Really?" Frederick said, unconvinced.

"The son killed his father."

"Then what is he doing in chancery court?" Louis asked impatiently.

"You know as well as I do, cousin, that the gentry have a way of escaping justice in this country."

Harry had never heard a man speak ill of his own class before.

"If we're not careful this country will go the way of France. How long before the poor rise up? The unelected House of Lords refuse to pass reform; only nobility are able to become MP's. We're standing on a volcano. Revolution is coming."

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose like he had heard this speech a million times before. "Then what are you doing at the lowly chancery court? Why don't you become a member of parliament where you can wield real power and affect change?"

"Because, to affect change, one must become the change." Then he cleared his throat and began to recite a quote: " 'There were two classes of charitable people: one, the people who did a little and made a great deal of noise—"

Harry finished the quote, " '—the other, the people who did a great deal and made no noise at all.' "

Sir Clarence smiled. "You've read Bleak House?"

"It's my favorite novel! I adore Dickens."

Louis looked at Harry then at Sir Clarence with annoyance. They waited for him to introduce them but he fell into a stubborn silence and refused.

Sir Clarence extended his hand. "Sir Clarence Blackwood."

"Harry III, Duke of Somerset. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

The violinist tapped the music stand with his bow and the quartet resumed playing.

Louis grabbed Lady Calder by the hand and practically catapulted her into a Viennese waltz. She threw her head back with delight.

Sir Clarence leaned against the wall next to Harry, ignoring the ladies nearby.

He didn't dance. He didn't drink. Harry had never met anyone like him before, a nobleman who was completely uninterested in the pleasures of society and devoted entirely to justice.

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked Harry.

"My family, they were scrupulous about disease. I have an aversion to germs... I apologize. I must sound mad."

"Not at all. The body is a reflection of the soul. You are pure through and through." Then he gestured toward Louis. "Unlike my cousin over there."

Louis was dancing with another woman now, a voluptuous blonde whose bosom was spilling out of her bodice.

Harry felt his face get hot again thinking of what Lady Finnes said about Louis' many lovers.

Sir Clarence and Harry sat and chatted for the rest of the evening about books, politics and Harry's coin collection, which Sir Clarence was keen to see—even the bronze coins from the Roman Empire, 240-410 AD, that were not so rare. No one had ever asked to see his coins before.

Sir Clarence had also met Harry's father briefly when he was alive, and was familiar with his charity. "He built schools, hospitals and churches across the West Midlands. I admire his work tremendously."

Harry stroked his green cravat with pride.

As the evening drew to a close—and Louis had danced with every woman in the room at least a dozen times—Harry and Sir Clarence decided to retire for the night.

Just like Harry had failed to race at the race, he had failed to dance at the dance. However, the evening did not feel like a failure because he had made his very first friend.

In the foyer, Sir Clarence stopped suddenly and pointed out Louis' burned family portrait. "My dear aunt and uncle. They were taken from us too soon."

"Yes, what a tragic accident."

"Oh, it was no accident."

Harry was confused but Sir Clarence said nothing more.

Together they ascended the grand staircase. Harry heard soft laughter and voices at the top of the steps.

It was Louis' voice, in the corridor, outside his bedchamber.

He wasn't alone.

Sir Clarence pressed a finger to his lips and they peeked around the corner.

Louis was there but it wasn't Lady Calder who was with him, nor the voluptuous blonde.

It was Frederick. And Roy.

Their bodies were entwined, Frederick untying Louis' cravat as Louis undid Frederick's breeches, Roy sliding his arms around Louis' waist and kissing his neck from behind while Frederick kissed him hungrily on the mouth. The three of them tumbled into Louis' bedchamber and locked the door behind them.

Harry was white as a sheet.

Sir Clarence turned to him. "You didn't know? My cousin is depraved."

A/N: The next chapter will be in Louis' POV, and yes it's the continuation of this scene, and yes I'm taking you inside Louis' bedchamber with Frederick and Roy. It may or may not be what you expect. (Don't kill me!)

Here's a clip of someone playing Bach's Agnus Dei (Lamb of God) on the piano. I've been searching for a piece of music to be L&H's theme for this fic and this piece really stood out to me because it's sensual but with a sense of foreboding.    

https://youtu.be/ozD4N4HgAqE