Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER XXVII

"I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..."

― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Louis received dozens of flower arrangements: roses, tulips, carnations, daisies, China asters, lilies, cockscomb, peonies, bleeding hearts, freesias and dahlias, in an assortment of vases, baskets and urns. These were hothouse flowers, as carefully cultivated and pruned as the nobles who sent them.

Curiously, Louis never read the cards that accompanied these arrangements. In fact, he threw the cards away the moment Teddy set the flowers down in front of him.

"Don't you want to know who they're from?" Harry asked.

"No need!" he said briskly, tossing another card to the ground for Teddy to pick up. "Once you've read one, you've read them all, haven't you?"

Harry was skeptical.

He stood and looked out the window. William would be brought to the manor later that evening. He was found south of York in the civil parish of Thorpe Willoughby. It was a day away by carriage. The footman was discovered unconscious with rope around his neck beneath the bough of a tree that had snapped. A sheep farmer found the boy and nursed him back to health.

Louis had yet to decide what to do with him. If William stood accused of attempted murder he would be hanged. If Louis chose not to press charges, he could not be certain that William wouldn't harm him or someone he loved.

The doorbell chimed all morning. As the Bilsdale club left, well-wishers arrived. Harry could not picture Warwick without a parade of visitors. Louis had many friends and acquaintances. It made Harry painfully aware that he would be returning to Somerset where he had no one but his mother and the tainted memory of his father.

He was about to greet Louis' visitors on the Duke's behalf in the parlor room when he found Lady Silcox standing beside her luggage.

"I thought you left for Essex days ago."

She fiddled with her bonnet. "I wanted to say goodbye to you before my departure."

"I'm sorry." He chastised himself. "I've been preoccupied with the Duke."

They stared at each other awkwardly. She was a fine young woman and a good friend to him and he wished he could explain his circumstances but he could not.

Instead, she broke the silence.

"Harry, have I ever told you about my corgis?" She listed them on her gloved fingers. "There's Delphine, Hubert, Myrtle, Otto and my most beloved corgi, Winston. Winston was born to two champions and my father was sure he would go on to sire dozens of little champions himself. Only, when it came time for him to mate, he could not... perform. He preferred the affections of Hubert to those of Myrtle."

"Beth—" Harry tried to interrupt.

"My father wanted to shoot Winston, since he was not suitable for breeding, but I protected him and to this day he remains my cherished friend and confidant."

"Beth what are you—"

"You're like Winston, aren't you?"

Harry's stomach twisted. His first impulse was to deny it but he couldn't lie to her. "Please don't tell anyone."

She took his hand. "I can protect you, the way Eleanor is protecting the Duke."

"Beth, I can't ask that of you. Don't you want to marry for love?"