{NOVEL PREVIOUSLY NAMED: "PALE EYES"}
𑁍Julius Cadwell is a pauper from an impoverished village, Porlock of Somerset in England. Julius journeys to Wellington to work as a footman for the Duke of Wellington, Somerset.
♕︎Reuben Griffith is the only s...
❝Alas! Love, what is this thou wouldst with me? What honour shalt thou have to quench my breath, Or what shall my heartbroken profit thee? O Love, O great god Love, what have I done❞
•Algernon Charles Swinburne.
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Death is dreadful. Travelling is a difficult task. Love is blind and also foolish...
England, 28th October 1842. ☘︎ LATER THAT DAY☘︎
Reuben's Bedchamber ꨄ︎
Oliver assisted Reuben with taking his bath. The young lord would not seize crying after his chaperone's dispatcher. Oliver had a lot of questions he wanted to ask, needed to. When had Reuben fallen in love with his chaperone?! The thought to him was immensely distasteful. He would have Reuben visit the priest as soon as the right time occurred.
"That will be all, Oliver, you may leave," Reuben muttered once Oliver was done assisting him with his bath and had clothed him into a simple billowy white shirt paired with one of his more loose breeches.
"Are you certain you do not need me to carry out any other duties for you?"
"Yes, Oliver, I do not need anything at the moment," Reuben assured, offering Oliver a faint smile which only made the older man worry.
Reuben looked pitiful sitting at the edge of his bed with his hands folded in his lap. Underneath his eyes remained pink and puffed from his earlier crying. It made Oliver's heartache. "Perhaps I could read you something by Nathaniel Hawthorne or Charles Dickens?"
"That won't be necessary, you can come over to read to me later. At present, I only wish to be alone."
Oliver briefly hesitated. "As you wish, young master."
"Oh, Oliver, do beckon me any footman you find on the way, will you?" Reuben inquired before Oliver could exit.
Swivelling around, Oliver stared at Reuben with curious concern. "Is there anything you wish to be done? I don't mind doing it."
"Oliver, please just find me a footman," Reuben listlessly requested. "Actually, beckon Bartholomew over, Elizabeth told me he was quite a reliable lad. And, Oliver, do not come over to my bedchamber until 10:00 pm, I'd like to rest."
Oliver's lips moved to question or protest his concern but decided against it after a couple seconds of awkward irresolution. "Of course, young lord."
A couple of minutes after Oliver had left, a young footman who was older than Reuben but not yet aged thirty, walked into Reuben's bedchamber after a knock and granted permission for entrance.
