Duke of Camellias

FORTY

Two months had passed, and July arrived, in all its golden glory, and new camellias had bloomed, surrounding the house, this time, not in red, nor pink, but white.

Blair watched in awe as he reached the house, again. He had left some months ago to go to Morris. He had finally decided to talk to him formally about writing a novel, and Morris supported him. However, when he said he would be working in Rue Point, once more, Morris had fell silent. He could see the worry on his face, but he didn't try and discourage him.

Later, after that, he went to Laurence and gave him his regards. Laurence promised he'd go and bother him and the Duke again, but maybe this time with a warning beforehand. Blair could tell he was trying to make him feel better, and only laughed. They were all wary, as they knew Blair could not stand staying away from the Duke anymore, especially after the incident last time.

Ethan and the maids frolicked about, and Alicia picked off fallen petals and scattered it onto the two, giggling.

"It's a wedding!" she cried.

"Oh, Alicia!" Josephine said, sighing. Ethan's ears were bright pink, and Douglas sat by the stairs and watched them. He had became the valet now, and Flemings was solely head butler, and returned home monthly. He talked of retiring, but not quite yet.

Blair walking through the gate, and then faced the bushes that formed a path to the front door. He stopped by the flowers, and raising a hand, gingerly stroked them. They felt dewy, and like a silk tie. And somehow, they felt sad.

"Blair!" Ethan stretched out his neck once he saw him. "Blair, you've returned!"

He turned to the three further in, in the garden. They were all dressed for spring, and rosy-cheeked, laughing.

"Ethan. And Alicia, Josephine." He smiled. "Good morning. I didn't know the Duke had planted white camellias, too."

"Oh, his lordship had the gardener plant the bushes some weeks ago," Alicia said. "Maybe to surprise you!"

"I helped, too," Ethan said. "Now the garden is more clustered than ever—but the Duke doesn't seem to mind."

"Of course not," Josephine said. "In fact, the house looks merrier than ever!"

Blair smiled, and returned to looking at the flowers. They looked so much like white roses, and once, some time ago, he might've ached at the sight but now he felt strangely tranquil. He leaned close, and they brushed the tip of his nose. They didn't feel all that sad. Yes, they felt like snow—that suited them more.

"Mister Blair," Douglas called, "his lordship should be waiting for you. He was quite impatient yesterday—we thought you'd return yesterday, and got his hopes up." Blair chuckled.

"Don't worry, I'm back now."

Douglas opened the door, and Blair went in.

The front hall was as always, dim, and empty. Flemings appeared, and smiled his nostalgic smile.

"Good morning, Blair. Master Emmanuel is in his painting room," he said. They still referred to him as Emmanuel, and they didn't ask why only Blair called him Charles, but they knew, somewhere, there had been a change in the Duke.

Blair handed him his hat.

"Thank you, Flemings."

"Not at all." Then he paused. "Welcome home, Blair."

"Yes, I'm home."

He started up the staircase, carpeted blue, and ran his hand over the lacquered wood bannister. He had memorized every part of the house, and it was home to him. More than his old flat, nor his old town. Rue Point was his home. The house of camellias was his home.