"The babe is at peace within the womb, the corpse is at rest within the tomb. We begin in what we end."

― Percy Bysshe Shelley

❦ FOUR YEARS LATER ❦

The Duke of Somerset sat by the fire waiting for the post to arrive.

He stirred a spoonful of sugar into a blue china teacup and watched as flames licked the blackened wood that lay in the hearth. 

He heard the door open. The Duchess entered the drawing room with six dogs nipping at her heels. 

"Beth, has the post arrived yet?"

The Duchess handed her cloak to Harry's valet. "Charles, can you please explain to my husband that the post arrives at precisely half past nine every morning."

Draping the cloak over his forearm, Charles chuckled, "You know as well as I do that his grace has no concept of time when it comes to sending and receiving correspondence. No sooner does he put ink to paper than he begins awaiting a response!"

Harry hated it when his wife and valet joined forces to tease him. He sank in his leather wingchair and gloomily dipped a biscuit into his tea.

Beth relented and handed him the bundle of letters tied with a string she had hidden in her velvet purse. He sat up in the chair and took them from her, furiously flipping through the stack.

"Heavens above! At least read who they're from!"

He didn't need to. He was only interested in one letter. When it wasn't in the stack he frowned.

She patted his hand. "Perhaps it will arrive tomorrow."

"Yes, perhaps."

Beth rose and left to meet Harry's mother in the parlour room for their afternoon cribbage game.

The Dowager Duchess felt displaced ever since Harry married. She had no friends and without an estate to run, and a son to fret over, no purpose. Beth was determined to forge a bond with the widow. Progress was slow but steady. Before Beth's arrival, the Dowager Duchess would not even pet a dog but now she spent her days surrounded by Beth's corgis, sneaking them tarts beneath the breakfast table.

It was then, over the crackle of the fire, that Harry heard a low growl.

"Winston!"

The aging corgi was gnawing on a red envelope beneath the settee. Harry got down on his hands and knees and rescued the paper from the beast's teeth. It was torn slightly but still intact. He cracked the wax seal and opened the letter. It was an invitation.

Dearest One,

The pleasure of your company is requested at the Bilsdale Fox Hunt on the sixteenth day of September, hosted by me, club president, at Warwick House in Yorkshire.

Join us for a fortnight of dinner, dancing and games, culminating in what is sure to be the liveliest hunt of the season.

Ever your affectionate companion,

Louis

Harry held the invitation against his chest and sighed before rushing upstairs to his bedchamber to add it to his collection alongside dozens of envelopes exactly like it.

♘

The carriage was packed for their journey to Yorkshire.

In an emerald green tailcoat, Harry stood by the chapel on his family's small private plot where his father was buried. There rested a man who did so much good in the world and so much evil. He recited the Prayer For the Dead and clipped a spray of roses that grew by the headstone's weeping angel.

The puppies that were born to Myrtle in the spring were nearly grown now and rolling around in the grass. Like Harry, Beth was an accomplished hobbyist. Though the Duke had never cared much for breeding, Beth taught him the pleasures of mating and rearing animals and Harry soon found himself looking forward to the birth of each litter as much as she did, so much so that he was inspired to try his own hand at breeding...

Three crates accompanied the carriages in their party.

Beth's bonnet was nearly taken by the wind. She held onto it as Harry gripped her small elbow and helped her into the carriage.

At that moment, his mother ran out from the house. The folds of her black dress flapped in the wind like the flag of a fallen nation. She was still wearing his father's lock of hair in a broach over her heart. It pained him to see it but it would pain her more to know the truth. As cold as she was, he could not bear to hurt her.

"Goodbye, mother," he said, tipping his hat cordially.

She threw her arms around his neck. He was so surprised it took him a moment to realize what was happening. She was embracing him. His mother was embracing him.

"I will miss you," she said.

There was no warning about disease, no protestations about the dangers of travel. Perhaps her warnings had never been warnings at all but declarations of love that she did not know how to express otherwise.

"I'll miss you too, mummy," he said, embracing her in return.

Inside the carriage, Winston was sitting in his seat. 

Beth looked up from her book. "What? He wanted to join us."

♘

As they drew close to the manor, Harry reached for the roses he'd clipped and instructed the coachman to stop at the Anglican Church in a nearby village. He stepped out of the carriage and walked onto the church grounds alone.

He stopped here every year to visit the cemetery.

The Warwick family mausoleum was a marble pillared structure as ostentatious as Warwick itself. Harry descended the stone steps.

The place was quiet and unchanged. Harry moved silently among the dead as not to disturb their slumber.

He loosened the roses in his arms and rested one on the tomb of Louis' mother, one on the tomb of his father, then Edward and George, placing a final rose on the tomb of Louis' favourite brother, James.

"Sleep well."

♘

While the Duke and Duchess of Somerset spent their evenings quietly reading novels, the Duke and Duchess of Warwick spent their evenings throwing the legendary parties that inspired the writers who wrote them.

It was still daylight and Harry could hear piano, laughter and glasses clinking as the carriage rolled up to the manor.

Teddy was outside tapping his foot beneath the grimace of a mossy gargoyle.

Harry stepped out of the carriage and gestured to Louis' valet with his walking stick. "Ah, Teddy, good of you to greet us!"

"Nothing good about it," he huffed, eyes glued to his pocket watch. "There was an accident in the kitchen and I'm two men short."

"Oh dear, what time is dinner?"

"LATE."

He toddled inside, carrying two heavy suitcases. Charles, and Beth's lady's maid handled the smaller pieces.

The Duke, Duchess and Winston followed, leaving the groom to board the horses. Once inside, they were greeted by a flushed Eleanor, holding a billiards cue in one hand and a drink in the other. Though she'd clearly had one sherry too many, the Duchess of Warwick handily won a match with Lord Beardsley.

"Elizabeth!" She took in Beth's high pearl-buttoned neckline and tsked. "Oh, this won't do, this won't do at all." She whisked her friend upstairs to find a dress that would accentuate her bosom.

Harry peered into the smoke-filled games room in search of Louis. The club was especially raucous that night. There were many new members and many non-members who found a way to wrangle an invite. Harry hardly recognized a soul.

Then out from a cloud of smoke appeared Frederick and Roy, arguing at the top of their lungs.

"It's worrisome enough that you can't hold your tongue, must you taunt her too!"

Roy was married in the summer to a young woman who did not understand his nature and was haunted everywhere she went by whispers of her husband's love affair with the Viscount. Frederick was so jealous when the two married he did everything in his power to torment the girl. That included wearing the same color at social functions to outshine her. On this night they both wore violet. The moment she saw Frederick she burst into tears.

"I can't help that it looks better on me than it does her! This is most unfair."

"You did this on purpose to vex her!"

Frederick spotted Harry and kissed him on both cheeks. "Thank God you're here. Defend me. I'm being punished for being beautiful."

Harry hated to mediate their quarrels. Roy was right, of course, but Frederick could not be reasoned with.

"It's not your fault, Frederick. You are a vision in every color you wear."

"Beauty is a curse," he sighed, linking an arm through Harry's. "You're so lucky you're plain."

Harry pursed his lips at the barb. He knew Frederick well enough to know that he was at his most prickly when hurt, and seeing Roy with Mary hurt him more than anything.

Before Roy returned to the games room, he pointed at Frederick and warned, "Behave yourself."

The Viscount lifted his chin in defiance. "Never."

Even Roy couldn't help but hide a smile.

Harry wandered through the manor's smoky rooms in search of Louis.

In the drawing room, he shouldered his way through the throng of club members and guests, who were drinking, dancing and playing a myriad of games. Louis' appetite for entertainment was insatiable. Every year there was more wine, more gambling, more music. 

Harry excused the pianist, who played a lively number from Gilbert and Sullivan, and sat down at the piano himself. His hands hovered above the keys for a moment. He played Bach.

The piece was somber and slow but his siren song drew Louis out of the sea of guests like a sailor, shipwrecked.

Much like the first time Harry saw Louis at Warwick, his cravat was undone, and he had the sheen of brandy on his lips.

He sat down beside Harry on the piano bench. "I didn't see you arrive."

"You've been preoccupied."

Louis loved to be scolded. "Where are my manners? Shall we go upstairs so you may have me all to yourself?"

Harry smiled. "It's nearly dinner."

He shrugged. "I'll ask Teddy to postpone it."

"Don't you dare!"

Louis' hand rested beside Harry's on the piano bench, unable to touch while in full view of the club.

"Come," Harry said. "Let's go for a walk."

It was warm enough to be outside without their cloaks. Nature was sentimental. The scent of summer hung in the moist air and the ivy that climbed the manor walls. They walked over the knolls, boots sinking into the fresh cut grass. Once out of view, Louis held his hand. The gesture still made Harry blush, even after four years together.

Harry led him to the stables. Just beside the weathered enclosure was a wooden cross that marked the spot where Albertine was buried. Harry had one rose left in his breast pocket and placed it on the base of the modest grave beneath the carving of her name.

At the stable door, Harry unhooked the heavy iron latch and they entered. Twilight streamed in from the small grimy windows. They had precious few moments before nightfall.

Louis pinned Harry against a wooden beam and kissed him. Harry hadn't been kissed in months, not since their trip to Rome in the spring when he snuck Louis into Vatican City. They sang hymns in the basilica and made love beneath the frescos.

His breeches tightened at the memory, betraying his desire.

"Ah, so you want me to mount you here, in the stable," Louis murmured in his ear. "Rustic."

Harry pushed him playfully and laughed. "That's not why I brought you here."

Unconvinced, Louis held his hips and nuzzled the nape of his neck as they walked down the stable past each stall. Louis had many horses. He rode all of them but did not have an affinity for any one in particular. Yorkshire's finest thoroughbreds in chestnut, buckskin, bay and cremello, and not one pleased him.

Down at the end of the stable, they found Beth's gelding asleep on a bed of straw, and beside him, Achilles. Harry cooed at the stallion and he struck the ground with his hoof, harassed. Putting his pride aside, he eventually approached the stall door and allowed himself to be petted. Harry kissed his muzzle.

Louis smiled. He was happy for them and their bond, but it was clear in his glassy eyes that he missed Albertine and the bond they shared. Louis never pitied himself. He always put on a brave face even though he had lost so much in his young life.

"Come," Harry said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

In the stall beside Achilles, in the very back corner, stood a shy colt, small for his breed but expressive and handsome.

Louis' lips parted.

"Achilles sired a foal the summer before last. I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise. A gift."

"He's... for me?" The Duke who possessed every thoroughbred a country gentleman could dream of was suddenly speechless.

The colt emerged from shadows and blinked sweetly at him. Like Achilles, he was black as midnight—only, he had white mark between his eyes, as though he'd been kissed by an angel.

"He's timid but grows more confident by the day."

Louis ran a hand gently along his flank and the creature settled at once.

"I've named him Justinian."

"Grand!"

"I knew you'd like it."

Harry hadn't seen Louis this tender for an animal since Albertine. It moved him.

He opened Achilles' stall door. "Shall we go for a ride?" Harry reached for the saddle on the rusty hook. 

Louis opened Justinian's stall and eagerly did the same.

They mounted their horses on the grassy knoll and gazed at the manor in the distance. Candlelit revelries glowed from within the windows' Gothic arches.

"What about dinner?" Louis asked.

"Tomorrow we dine with the living." Harry snapped Achilles' reins. "Tonight, my love, we ride for the dead."

Louis galloped after him into the forest, Justinian's coat shining in the moonlight. "For the dead."

A/N: And the end circles back to the beginning...

Louis has a new horse! Long live Justinian! Though, they will never forget Bertie. Always in our hearts Albertine. 

Poor Frederick is an interminable bachelor.

Do you think he'll ever marry or will he torment Roy's wife forever?

Next up: a bonus chapter about the first time Roy and Frederick met. Not-so-spoiler: Frederick is a brat.

Thank you to @lachrimose2 for creating the vector art above! 

Read my new story here >>>> THE DEATH OF ANTINOUS <<<<