Duke of Camellias

THIRTY-ONE

Blair looked over at him, again and again, eyes searching, only he did not know what he was searching for.

The clock ticked and the room was deadly still.

"Who—who are you?"

Emmanuel—no, the man who was not Emmanuel—gave a small, crooked smile. There was a pain in his expression, a strangeness in the way his eyes crinkled, and suddenly Blair was aware of how old, how tired the man looked. How desperate he looked.

"Imagine what their reputation would be if they allowed the very son that ruined Cynthia, Gregory, and Jeremy, and killed his father, be the next Duke."

Blair looked at him, without moving.

"You're—"

"Yes." He looked down. "I'm Charles."

"You're—you're the real son of the Duke and Duchess."

"No, I am Charles Jesse Waterhouse, now Emmanuel, Duke of Thornton. I am Emmanuel's older adopted brother. I was his replacement, his half-brother, the one who went to France."

"Then you didn't ruin your siblings!" Blair was guilty, but he felt relieved. "You were never assaulted, nor did you ever—"

"No, that was true."

Blair paused, unable to process it.

"I was his replacement, and yet he died, therefore I was heir. Do you want to know why I go by Emmanuel?"

Blair didn't reply. But it didn't matter, because Charles continued.

"You see, the story I've been telling you is slightly wrong. I am Charles, the bastard son of the Duke and Duchess of Thornton, but was the older one. I was not 'The Ripper'. Growing up, Emmanuel, my younger brother, was named 'The Ripper'.

"He was the one locked up, and I was the one assaulted by the duchess. He was popular in his academy, and I was the one bullied in mine. That part was not a lie. Yes, I was nicknamed 'Charlotte the Harlot'. That was my real name."

"That's not your name." Blair felt sick. He had never felt so strange, so painful, so much like he wanted to run away, and yet he couldn't. "Stop it."

"I will not. You will listen to my story, whether or not you will write it. You promised, didn't you, that you wouldn't leave me?" He laughed, closing his eyes. "What a lie. I know you will, like everyone else. I don't believe you, and I never will, for you are just like everyone else. I see it in your eyes. That fear, that disgust."

"I'm not scared, nor am I disgusted. You never chose any of that."

"I have always given people what they desired. I've always done want people wanted, to avoid being locked up, to avoid the pain. I was not strong, like Emmanuel."

"That's not your choice. You were forced, you were—"

"No!"

Emmanuel opened his eyes again, and they were blazing. His lips were turned down, and his hair fell about like a mane.

He had never seen Emmanuel so angry.

"I'm an accursed child! Emmanuel was the strong one. I could only ever use my body. I could only ever run away from the pain, from everything!

"I slept with the headmaster, and Emmanuel was the one who protected me. Yet in the end when the news of what happened traveled he was kept out of jail, but not so he could live! He was thrown into an asylum so he was hidden from the public, and I could take on his name! It was so the family name wouldn't be stained! You see, in the end, a heir who attacked the headmaster was still better than a sodomite!"