A Tender Kiss Could End A War 🕰️(MxM ›1840s)

||Twenty||-› Reacquainted

❝What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often?❞

—

❝Love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain❞

•Robert Creeley.

How long can it take one to deny their heart, before it is indisputable ...?

Back Hall ꨄ︎

“You are only jealous of my expertness in the board game blessed to us by the people of Asia,” Reuben chuckled as he moved his bishop diagonally, taking out Oliver's knight.

Reuben had settled at the back hall after the calamitous affair of breakfast. He did not feel the need to be anywhere he could easily be found, in case a need for him arose, because he knew there wouldn't be a need for him. At least not until his father passed or was prepared to step down for him to be the heir. All that was required of him was to stay out of his father's sight, while tutors flowed in and out, to teach him all that will be required of him in due time.

“That I am,” Oliver agreed, letting out his own little laugh.

Oliver had been more than bewildered when Reuben asked him to join him at the backhall for fresh air and a friendly game of chess since their last game had been years ago. A valet was not permitted to have such simple pleasures with their masters, but Duchess Augusta allowed it, for she knew that Oliver was more to her son than just his valet, that he was a companion to him as well.

“I still cannot believe we are here, like this, just like old times.”

The sunlight peacefully slipped over everything, blossoms tremulous by the wind that blew them. Grasshoppers chirruped as the smell of white lilies pervading their nostrils.

“I would rather not have us dwell on what we haven't been doing, but that we enjoy while we are,” Reuben told with an unreadable expression. He was flung across the chaise lounge like one without a care in the world, though that was far from the truth. It was rather that for this afternoon, he quite did not.

“That is agreeable, young master.”

“A-ha! Checkmate!” Reuben exclaimed, lips quirking into a prideful half smile.

“Very good, Sir!” Oliver applauded, languorously leaning against the wicker armchair he was seated on.

“I hope my victory wasn't acquired by you pitying me,” Reuben suddenly inquired in suspicion.

“Only your skills are what bring you your reward, master,” Oliver quickly assured.

Reuben had accidentally knocked down the chess pieces on a few occasions, but all in all, he was still a very brilliant player. Oliver by no means had cheated on his behalf.

Also, Oliver had only agreed to play with Reuben, if he promised to compromise by wearing the medicated spectacle he had left neglected in his chiffonier for months now. Reuben of course had heavily protested to that, calling every spectacle brought to him useless since his sight had no major improvement after he wore them. However, Oliver told him it was better than nothing.

“I am happy to see you like this,” Oliver confessed after a while, putting the chessboard on the table beside them, as to place a laden tea tray before them instead.

He had missed seeing this colourful wit the young master possessed. His wit had been so brutally marred that it overwhelmed Oliver with joy to see him like this.