Duke of Camellias

TWENTY-FIVE

As surprising as it was, Emmanuel allowed Laurence to have dinner with them instead of the servants, almost as though he were a guest, too.

Emmanuel and Blair watched as the tall man wolfed down his dinner, and then suddenly stopped, realizing they were staring at him.

"Oh, pardon my manners," he said and laughed. "I haven't eaten for days, for I got lost coming here. I couldn't afford a brougham, and I've never been to Rue Point, you see."

"I see," Emmanuel said, and continued staring. Blair felt a bit of pity for the man, and nodded in understanding before going back to his meal. It was silent, besides the sound of the men's chewing and occasional clink of silverware.

The next day was the same. Blair ate his breakfast, but the man had two fillings, which was surprising, because although he was tall, he wasn't fat, in fact, he was well-built like an athlete.

"This manor is gorgeous," he said between bites. "The flowers really are as nice as the legend says, and although it is in the countryside, it's quiet enormous for a single man living alone."

"Yes," Emmanuel said and continued reading his newspaper.

"Mister Millais, you must be enjoying this! I know I am. When I get back, I'll tell Morris all about it."

"I'd prefer if you don't," Blair said, feeling uncomfortable.

"If that's what you wish. Anyways, the food is good too. I've always thought the English couldn't cook, but it's better than I thought."

"Are you Irish, Mister O'Sullivan?" Blair asked. He nodded.

"Proud Irish and admirer of Oscar Wilde and William Butler Yeats."

Blair perked up. "I—I love their works! I read Vera, Salome, and The Duchess of Padua many times! Wilde's writing is always so satirical and even the tragedies don't bore me. I've heard he's writing a novel, is that true? As for Yeats, I've read most of his poems. The Second Coming is my favorite."

"My," said the journalist, fork stopped for the first time. He grinned, a boyish and happy smile. "I've never seen such a enthusiast Englishman!"

Even Emmanuel turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

Blair was embarrassed at his sudden excitement, and gave a small chuckle.

"I love reading, you see."

"I can tell," Emmanuel said. "I remember seeing a poetry book on your desk last time."

"Yes, I read it, but I don't write poetry," Blair said.

"Why not?" Laurence asked. "I have read your work, too, and they always make me laugh. The foolish nobles don't even understand you're making a mockery of them!" He paused, then turned to Emmanuel, who pretended to be busy drinking his tea. Laurence gave Blair a smile.

"Anyways, I agree. Write some poems, I think you can do it," Emmanuel said.

"Maybe, someday," Blair said. "Will we draw today?"

"Draw?" Laurence's eyes grew wide and he looked back and forth between the two. Blair suddenly realized how strange it was for him to draw, when he should be writing.

"We're having a break, you see," he sputtered. "Because of the holidays. A lot of the help are still home, and things are a mess."

Emmanuel gave a nod in agreement, and Laurence laughed.

"I see!"

"Anyways, do you not have anywhere to be, Mister O'Sullivan? Wouldn't your family miss you?"