Duke of Camellias

TWENTY-EIGHT

Two days later Blair caught a cold, later, and despite the blizzard ending, Laurence stayed for another day to look over Blair.

While the Duke went back to painting, Laurence sat by Blair's bedside, and read to him stories and such, but Blair was obviously upset at him, facing the window and not bothering to reply. After a while the two men sat there in silence.

Blair pulled the shawl tighter around him, his toes feeling cold, and then leaned his head against the window.

"Don't do that, you'll get a chill." Laurence didn't bother to raise his head, still reading his book.

"Why don't you just leave already?" Blair muttered.

"That's rude, Blair." Laurence closed the book, and finally turned up to face him again. "Are you are still upset at what I said two days ago?" Blair gritted his teeth.

"Of course I am. You disrespected my friend."

"And that friend of yours didn't even bother to see you while you were sick," Laurence growled. Blair froze.

"He's busy. He has been amusing us, you, especially, for weeks. He needs his own time."

"Own time?" Laurence guffawed. "What is he? A princess?"

"He needs privacy! He has a lot of unfinished paintings he hasn't been able to work on!"

"Like the manuscript you two haven't been working for at all." He raised an eyebrow. "Holding hands and celebrating Christmas, what are you two, family?"

Blair flared up, narrowing his eyes. "Are the two of us not allowed to do anything besides work?"

"Here you sleep having everything. Him, you, day after day, eating and admiring the camellias. You're only staying for your love of the Duke."

Blair snapped his head up, eyes flaming up.

"What do you know of him! It was painful to recall his memories! He has never been happy his whole life, and his beloved brother has died! Is he not allowed even the slightest bit of rest? Plagued with rumors that aren't true and swarmed with journalists, can he not—not live in peace?"

"The rumors aren't completely baseless."

"Stop it!" Blair whisked his head around, hair falling into his brow. He couldn't take it anymore, Christopher and his sister, Morris and the rumors, Flemings who was insisting on a different story—everything. "Emmanuel is not what you think he is. I know him best, for I know his life. You're all no different from hyenas, swarming flies!"

"Stop defending him, for Lord's sake, he never came to visit you when you were sick!"

"Yes, and what of it? You don't know anything about Emmanuel, and he has his own reasons."

Blair faced him and his eyes were red, like his nose. He sniffled, feeling embarrassing at being in such a sorry state, and because he was angry at his new friend, too. He had been getting along with Laurence, and had thought they were similar, both being poor, loving literature, writers, and now this happened.

"Why do you even bother? Because of Morris? Just tell him you tried, and leave already!"

"I am leaving tomorrow," Laurence answered.

"Well, leave my room! Now!" Blair couldn't help it, and cried. "None of you understand Emmanuel. His friend betrayed him, and for years he was thought of as a sodomite and rapist, and he was always alone. He never had a chance to prove himself, a chance to explain himself. No one believed him."

"I don't dislike the Duke," Laurence finally spoke.

"You don't believe in him." Blair shook his head, tears landing on the covers. "You're just like everyone else. Leave."