Duke of Camellias

TWENTY-SEVEN

The next day snow began to fall, again, and Laurence's departure was delayed once more. Emmanuel stared outside the window, seemingly forlorn, and Blair watched him. Laurence had been late waking up, and the two still hadn't started their breakfast. Instead, the food was covered with a silver dome.

When Laurence finally went down, he was in high spirits.

"Look outside, my dear friends! Snow! It's snowing again!" Blair sent him a glare, hoping he'd silence down, but the man was oblivious to it and laughed, happily.

"If you don't mind, Blair and your lordship, I propose that we go outside!"

"Are you mad?" Emmanuel growled. "The snow must be a quarter of your height itself!"

"Oh, if you can't take England's snow you'd never survive in Switzerland, much less Russia!"

"And I will never go there," Emmanuel replied chillily, and then drank his steaming tea.

"But England never has this much snow!" Laurence continued. "I've never seen this much snow gathered, even when I was a child it only ever reached a few inches."

"Like I said—" Emmanuel turned around, but then saw Blair also looking outside the window. He followed his gaze, outside where the snow was being blown by he wind and floated about the air before landing like the tiptoe of a child.

He turned back to Blair, who stiffened, then politely laughed it off. "I was only thinking they looked awfully soft. Like flutters of a butterfly's wing."

"What a wonderful comparison, as expected of a writer!" Laurence grinned, and then was suddenly over by the window. "Look, your lordship! Look at how magnificent it is!"

"You use the word magnificent too much," Emmanuel muttered. Then he folded his newspaper neatly and placed it down on the table, next to his cup. "Well, finish eating first, then we can ready ourselves to go outside."

Blair and Laurence both gaped at him.

"You, too?" Laurence asked. Emmanuel nodded, and then reached over to uncover a plate and began to fork over sausages. Then Laurence flashed Blair a proud smile, and Blair couldn't help but smile back.

After the three men finished their meal, they each went upstairs to change, with Flemings helping Emmanuel.

"You hate snow," Flemings said, a corner of his mouth lifting. "What has gotten into you?"

"You're not wrong, I do hate the cold, and snow, but," Emmanuel lifted his arms, and Flemings put a coat over him, "it might be my last winter."

Flemings paused at what he said, unable to put the cloak on him, but Emmanuel didn't waste any time. He slipped the wool cloak back over his shoulders, and tied the string himself into a perfect bow, then left the room. Flemings caught himself, and then trailed behind his master, eyes unable to meet his back.

Once the three men were all prepared, they said their farewells to Flemings and opened the door, the snow falling into the carpet of the front hall. Ethan and the two maids had ran up to see what the fuss was about and gasped at the amount of snowfall.

Undeterred by it, Laurence hooted and then jumped out, sinking down and then lifting his long legs to step out.

"It's cold! Heavens, I haven't seen this much snow in years!"

"You said that already, we understand."

Blair hesitated, but Emmanuel stepped out, following Laurence's footsteps, and then turned to Blair, holding out a brown leather-gloved hand.

"Careful, the snow is deep."

Blair made sure Laurence was still scooping up snow and running around like a child. Then he smiled at Emmanuel and nodded, taking his hand. He led Blair out slowly, like he was a lady, and then squeezed his hand.