The Beauty of Coincidence | manxman | (Historical Fiction)

XIV - Understanding, or Lack Thereof

Victor stood nude before the lengthy mirror in his bedroom. It was a full meter taller than his own height, and the eyes of the man who stared back at him looked more like dreary lakes than the skies they were often compared to. All his life, he'd heard the whispers of the people around him. Whether it be those attached to the nobility by wealth and status, or common folks who were able enough to catch a glimpse of him, always, Victor had heard of how beautiful of a man others thought him to be. His shoulders were slight, collar sharp as it protruded finely, his legs were pleasantly long, waistline trim, hands soft, fingertips manicured. His face was what obviously garnered the most attention. His features closely resembled what most would consider a woman to look like. He was more than conventionally attractive.

Victor Ramsey was all the representations of beauty that could be made: handsome, engaging, seductive, alluring, tempting even. With a jawline softly rounded at the cut, the fullness of his rosy lips, the slight perch of his slender nose, and the ever so fetching sharpness to his eyes and plucked arch of his brow, some considered Victor Ramsey to be more than simply beautiful. He had to have truly been a blessing handcrafted from the heavens, had to be an angel who'd somehow lost their way from the world above. What an ego everyone who'd ever complimented him had given the young lord.

Yet, how could someone like Victor Ramsey sulk before a mirror about how unsightly he must be? The sting of rejection grew hot beneath his skin. With the weeks having gone by since the last he'd seen Reynold Deighton, the silence and distance of the other man had cemented the idea that the other man had seen something he hadn't liked about the lord. Was it his face, the mild discoloration of the scars his body had obtained from his accident? Perhaps it was his voice. Victor remembered what it was like to be told to quiet himself. His step-mother had done it often, his cousins, uncles, aunts.

Or...

Victor let his eyes travel down from his own gaze to his chest, abdomen, waist, his groin, legs and hands. Or, perhaps Reynold Deighton had collected what he'd wanted from the lord and vanished with the sexual favors he'd gotten, satisfied with taking the virginity of a man who'd been all too ready, all too willing to lie beneath him. Almost, Victor thought he wouldn't blame Reynold for doing such; waltzing into his life just to fuck him as passionately as he had only to leave him in this dejected and hollow state. Having whored out his body to the first man who'd shown him even the smallest bit of attention, he should have been able to see it coming from a country away. Who wouldn't want to fuck me? Victor let the question pass his mind, touching a hand across his chest, and when his touch grazed his pink nipples, he stepped forward and grabbed the edge of the mirror before letting it crash to the floor.

The strident sound of the glass shattering could surely be heard throughout the entire manor, and not thirty seconds later did Gabriel and Todd rush into the room, Todd immediately going for the angrily dazed man now surrounded by bits and pieces of reflective shards.

"My lord!" he called out, not afraid to step on the glass given he was wearing shoes. "You are not hurt, are you? Come," he took Victor's hand, steadily guiding him through a path on the shining floor that made way for his footsteps. "My lord, I beg you to speak to me. You have been silent for days now. What has upset you so incessantly?"

Gabriel went to Victor's wardrobe and pulled out a white nightgown, fixing it over the naked lord's head and then properly placed his blond locks out around his shoulders. The thin material barely offered any warmth and was mildly transparent, allowing anyone to still see his figure just about perfectly beneath. "Now, my lord," Gabriel said, loosely tying the string at the front of the gown, "What would your father think if he were to see you this way? You are not a child anymore, there are other means to release frustrations than to break your belongings. That mirror was imported all the way from Paris, and here you've shattered it out of ridiculous anger."