Chapter Text
Mr Xavier took little precaution when he sought employment, scarcely more than to look into some distance, and even then not too much of a distance, so that he could always find an acceptable reason for pursuing this particular opportunity without garnering the accusations of having ran. Erik was painfully aware of that, now that the situation had been explained and he found himself free to speculate. Could he, in good conscience, propose to Mr Xavier? As far as his own intentions were concerned, absolutely, but there was a small seed of doubt in his mind. The thought of proposing had not risen in his mind until he was made aware of Mr Xavier’s circumstance, in which case it would have been dishonest to offer him marriage.
What if he was rejected? There was hardly a hope there, after all. Mr Xavier was already engaged. Regardless of personal inclinations, to accept would be unthinkable on his part.
Erik entertained himself with such thoughts for a better part of a month, during which Anya made a staggering leap forward in French, and had shown an uncanny ability to identify plants by their smallest parts, as part of Mr Xavier’s botany regime. Erik approved of it, distantly, too preoccupied by his dilemmas to pay attention to anything past the superficial. In truth, he was equally distracted by the way the cold blue of the sky made Mr Xavier’s eyes shine brighter, how easily he hefted Anya onto a horse and the grace with which he mounted his own.
Such imbalance in the world cannot possibly last forever, and Erik should have been prepared for its end. He wasn’t. Worse than that – that afternoon he and Mr Xavier took Anya on a long ride to the lake, amusing themselves with a small fire, kindled on the icy shore, over which they heated chocolate, only returning when their throats began to ache with the effort of speaking in the cold. Erik had Anya ride with him on the way back, close enough to be wrapped in his coat as well, for warmth, and Mr Xavier rode at his side, close enough to maintain a pleasant conversation, which left Erik aching for the intimacy of his library and the crackling fire. He could imagine with ease what it would be like to have Mr Xavier sharing the low couch, the comfort of feeling his cheek against his shoulder, and the vision left him breathless.
Mr Xavier, he discovered in that moment, to his utmost surprise, numbered among the things in his life he couldn't bear to lose and still remain content.
The revelation rendered him speechless, so they rode back to Thornfield in silence, only to find an unfamiliar carriage standing at its door. Erik saw Mr Xavier grow pale, though no word left his mouth, not even when they were greeted at the door by Azazel.
"Mr Lehnsherr, Messrs Marko are awaiting in the drawing room. They wish to see Mr Xavier immediately."
"Take care of the horses," Erik told Mr Xavier. "I will see to the guests. Then…"
"Thank you, Mr Lehnsherr," Mr Xavier said, smiling faintly, "but it will not be necessary." He handed the reins of both the horses to Azazel with an apologetic smile, and ascended the stairs, shrugging off the coat as he went.
"Father?" Anya enquired, grasping for Erik’s hand.
"I need you to go to your room, darling," Erik said. "No, never mind. I’ll see you to your room, where you will stay until summoned."
Anya, bless her heart, opened her mouth to complain, but in the end didn’t. She let Erik carry her up the stairs and leave her on her bed without a word, though she couldn’t have missed the raised voices coming from the sitting room, where Erik directed his steps immediately afterwards.
"Your behaviour is disgraceful," the elder of the visitors was spitting out, directing his ire at Mr Xavier, who stood with his back to the window, with his head bowed and his hands folded behind his back. "I expect you will cease this nonsense immediately."
"It wasn’t even a full year since my mother’s passing," he said in response, "and you dare to harass me?"
"Oh, like it matters," said the other man, whom Erik presumed to be Mr Cain Marko. "You hardly ever saw her!"
"She was still my mother," Mr Xavier said icily. "I will not make a mockery of her death, and I won’t let you do it either."
"She was my wife!" the elder Mr Marko said. "And it was her wish to see you wedded as soon as possible."
"It was her wish, most of all, to never be seen as anything but appropriate and dignified." Charles folded his hands across his chest in a transparent attempt to keep them from shaking. He still hadn’t looked at Cain Marko, from what Erik could see. "You can’t possibly insist otherwise, unless you’ve been too busy spending her money to get to know her."
"How dare you!" Cain Marko leapt to his feet and grabbed Mr Xavier by the throat. "You insolent little brat," he ground out, about a second before Erik sent a candleholder to wrap around his neck and drag him back several paces.
"The better question here," Erik said, "would be why you find it permissible to storm into my house and assault my employee."
"He is my fiancé, I have the right—" Cain Marko said, drawing breath with difficulty through the tightening loop around his throat. The attack had knocked aside the metallic band wrapped around the back of his head, and attached loosely to his ears, so that his hair was in disarray and the band was in danger of falling.
"You have no rights in my house. Either you will depart peacefully, or I will have you thrown out." Erik rarely found the opportunity to sneer, though he felt this was a natural inclination of his, for his regard to people he met, but both these men inspired nothing but scorn, even if they were affiliated with Mr Xavier.
Meanwhile, Mr Xavier, the root and cause of the excitement, was staring at his fallen fiancé with a curious expression in his blue eyes.
"Don’t think for a moment the matter is over," the elder Mr Marko said to him. "You will be wed, I promise you, before springtime." He turned to Erik, next. "Regardless of his obligations to you, this is a family matter, and I am his stepfather. He will obey me."
Erik bit his tongue, for at least the bare bones were true – Mr Xavier was obliged to kowtow to his stepfather, and there was nothing Erik could do. He listened, quite powerless, as Mr Marko loudly made his wishes known and Mr Xavier listened with his head bowed. He was to return to Westchester within the week, after which the wedding preparations would begin and, shortly after the anniversary of Lady Sharon’s death, which fell a month from now, he would be wed to Cain Marko.
Mr Xavier said very little as his stepfather and fiancé departed. Instead he stared after them with a faraway expression in his eyes, closed-off and solemn.
"Mr Xavier," Erik began, throwing propriety to the wind, "I understand it’s customary to offer congratulations, but I’m afraid condolences would be in order."
"Thank you," the man said, looking up at Erik as though he was expecting a particular set of words. "I appreciate the strength of your feelings."
"If I may offer any assistance…"
"I doubt there is much you could do," Mr Xavier said smiling with only the corners of his mouth. "I doubt there is a solicitor in the world who could rival the Lady Frost, and she’s been the one to chart the nuptial agreement."
"Mr Xavier…"
"I would like to say my goodbyes, if that’s all right with you. I have enjoyed my stay at Thornfield. I hate to leave."
Erik echoed the sentiment to its roots. Nonetheless, Mr Xavier left Thornfield early the next morning, leaving behind a heartfelt letter expressing his goodbyes and his sincere admiration for the estate and its master. "There is no place on Earth," he wrote, "in which I have felt more welcome than at your home, Mr Lehnsherr. I thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart."
There was a second letter, addressed to Anya, which she greeted with equally measured joy (this being the first item of correspondence addressed to her personally) and despair, upon being informed that Mr Xavier will not be returning to their home again.
"But why?" she asked over and over again, seemingly indifferent to the fact that Erik couldn’t bear to revisit the matter in his own mind. "Father… Why?"
"Mr Xavier is getting married, darling," he said patiently, though the mere thought caused his teeth to ache. "He will have many new duties to attend to, with his own home and his own husband."
"Well, why can’t he marry you? Then you could take care of the house and Mr Xavier could continue to teach me." Anya sat on the footrest by the chair, so that she could rest her auburn head against his knee. "You could get married, and we would be very happy."
"Yes, darling," Erik told her in a voice too soft to waver, stroking her hair. "We would be."
A month had passed without a word of news. Erik considered it a blessing and sought no information himself, regardless of Moira's urging. What was it that Shakespeare wrote, "if he be married…?" Hardly advice he would ever presume to follow, and in truth he'd always considered Julius a childish buffoon and Romola a mindless nitwit with a fiery temper, to match her gift, but he knew he wouldn’t take it well. He devoted himself instead to managing his estate and finding a suitable tutor for Anya, who'd coped thus far with the books and lessons Mr Xavier left behind, with some input from Moira, but who was nearing the end of what she could reasonably procure for herself. Erik, therefore, spent considerable amounts of time brushing up on his Latin, so he could at least offer guidance, until a replacement tutor was found.
He was deeply engrossed in letters and composing a request for recommendations, when his attention was commanded with a respectful, "Mr Lehnsherr."
Erik looked up from his papers, finding Azazel at the door. "Yes?"
"Mr Xavier is here to see you."
Erik sat up straight. "Excuse me?"
"Mr Xavier—"
"Never mind, I heard you quite clearly – show him in at once."
Azazel disappeared and moments later the footsteps outside his door alerted Erik to the presence of a visitor. He smoothed the hair on his head and cast a furtive glance into the mirror, to make sure his appearance wasn’t too despondent. Luckily, there was nothing that couldn’t be attributed to an afternoon at home, when one wasn’t expecting any guests, especially such guests.
Mr Xavier, in comparison, looked to be expertly put together. The cravat around his neck was knotted to perfection, the sleek jacket accentuated his figure and his eyes were bright as they ever were.
"Mr Xavier," Erik said, rising from his seat and dismissing Azazel simultaneously. "Welcome back. To Thornfield, I mean. How was your journey?"
"Speedy." Mr Xavier sat down, folding into the chair with an air of someone who’d been on the road for a long time and found the seats in the coach lacking. "I apologise, I tried to make the most of the time, but sleep eluded me."
"May I offer you some refreshment? Tea or whiskey, perhaps, unless you’re hungry – the supper will be served in an hour, but I’m sure something could be arranged."
"Thank you, I’m not hungry. I’d have a whiskey, if you would be so kind."
It wasn’t often that Erik found himself short of words, with his thoughts in such turmoil he was unable to form even the most simple of sentences that wasn’t trained into him as the future heir to the Lehnsherr fortune – those he could call to serve at will, all hours of night and day, in any state. In this particular case, the sight of Mr Xavier’s youthful face and the sleepless nights, whiled away with a bottle at hand, took their toll. In these circumstances he could be excused when the turmoil yielded a single sentence Erik uttered before he could think about it: "Are you married, Mr Xavier?" Erik, who’d been in the process of turning with the two tumblers in his hands, froze, horrified at the faux pas he’d just committed, and found himself face to face with Mr Xavier’s gentle amusement.
"Not yet," he said softly, lending the words no weight, no extra meaning. "I hope to be wed soon, as much as any man can hope for matrimony."
Erik nodded, gazing instead into the amber shadows cast by his whiskey. The memory of Moira’s late night visit was strong even now, urging him in no uncertain terms to cease the charade and propose, to seize this one last chance to spare Mr Xavier from a loveless marriage, or worse, and himself from a life free of Mr Xavier. The wedding preparations would be advanced, Erik thought. Even if the affair was kept private, the wedding of an heir to a great fortune was no small matter, and the society would insist on witnessing the happy occasion.
"Mr Lehnsherr."
Erik raised his head and found himself transfixed by Mr Xavier, who was gazing into his eyes with the utmost serenity and confidence Erik found himself lacking in that very moment. Furthermore, there was no despondency there, but something warm and bright, something which made him breathless.
"I wish for you to propose marriage to me, immediately," Mr Xavier said.
"Pardon?"
"Mr Lehnsherr, I’ll be frank with you: should we announce our engagement, no doubt we will find ourselves at the very centre of a scandal. My escape from Westchester in the past year, my mother’s death; everything would contribute to us being cast out of society for as long as people manage to ignore the money between us, which I suspect wouldn't be long at all. But I tell you now, if we were both impoverished, none of it would matter to me. If I could be assured I had your heart I would be content to be a pariah.
"You’ve had my sincere admiration from the moment I first laid eyes on you, and my heart has not changed since then. You were kind to me, when most people would find me suspect, and you leapt to my defence when you found out I might require defending. Allow me to say now that I have grown to love you, like I expected to love no one in my life, and I come here today in the hopes that my affections are reciprocal.
"If that’s the case, which, forgive me for making the assumption I must make, by virtue of being a mind-reader, then I must ask that you propose to me at your leisure, although tonight would suit me best of all."
How does one respond to such insolence, Erik wondered, made numb by first the overt sentiment, the warmth of which swept through his mind as Mr Xavier spoke, second by the implication and the hope it contained. Such hope, such promise! Even without the faint reverberations of Mr Xavier’s thoughts Erik found himself burning up with the notion of having him by his side, always, of raising Anya together and, in time, maybe other children as well. He didn’t quite realise until this moment, although of course the sentiment was plain, how much he desired that future for himself, how dearly he yearned for it. This and this alone pushed him out of his chair and to one knee before Mr Xavier, whose hand, despite his icy composure, trembled when Erik took it.
"Mr Xavier, I can sincerely promise never to embarrass myself with poetry in your honour, for which you will thank me, I’m sure. Will you marry me, nonetheless?"
The response, delayed by a heartbeat or two, was a fragile acquiescence, which Mr Xavier then repeated in a stronger voice, letting his forehead rest against Erik’s.
"Why?" Erik asked at long last, secure to ask the questions which robbed him of sleep now that Mr Xavier’s hand was in his, metaphorically as well physically. "Why have you not said a word before—Mr Xavier, you are engaged!"
"Yes," Mr Xavier said with a moist little laugh. "I was, for fourteen years, and now I’m engaged again, to you. It was a strange and frightening month for me, you understand, as a young man free from all obligations."
"How, then?"
"Cain Marko is not gifted," Mr Xavier said quietly. "I swore that it would remain a secret; I should care naught for their fate, yet I find it hard to condemn my own family to infamy, despite the lack of blood between us. I trust you to never breathe a word of this, to anyone living."
"Why should you be concerned," Erik said hotly, though a part of him thought of Magda, and the scandalous union he would have been a part of, but for her flight. "They sought to ruin your life. They should be made to pay."
"I care nothing for them. I owe them little and I don’t care enough to see them suffer. I’m free, that’s all that matters."
"They deceived everyone." Erik raised himself from his knees, and, in the absence of witnesses, pulled Mr Xavier onto the couch, where they could sit side by side. "But how can this be, I saw Mr Marko lift you with one hand."
"Then surely you must imagine my own surprise, when I always assumed his strength was a gift, though not in the sense which makes one gifted. I have told you once that I know the gifted from the humans on sight, but it is not entirely accurate. I sense the presence of minds before I see them, and that is enough for me to know whether an individual is gifted or human. From the moment I met Cain his presence was somewhat obscured in my mind, as though I couldn’t perceive him correctly. I chalked it up to his gift, you see, as it’s not infrequent that a mental gift counteracts the gifts of others, similarly inclined." Mr Xavier pressed a soft kiss to Erik’s temple. "Yet I felt uneasy, as though something was wrong. Then, when they came for me here, you knocked Cain aside and dislodged the band he always wore about his head, a band I only now realise I have never seen him without."
"Are you implying a metal band can create gifts?" Erik asked, scandalised to the utmost degree.
"Not at all! The opposite: the band, or rather the metal it is made of, interferes with the gifts of the mind, like mine. This is how Cain was able to fool me for so long, until you dislodged it whilst protecting my honour. Upon returning to Westchester I demanded for him to take it off, and then my step-father could no longer hide the truth in his own mind. Any engagement between us was immediately forgotten, when he faced the threat of having his charade exposed."
"What will happen to them?" Erik clutched Mr Xavier’s hand, finally secure to ask the question.
"Dissolving an engagement is bound to cause a scandal, regardless of reasons. I sought to minimise the repercussions. I secured a small property for them in the north, where they will be comfortable. My family was rather secretive; I have no doubt that many people, like you once, were under the impression I had no gifts myself, and so I have hopes that the knowledge of Cain's status has not reached far."
"You paid them off, you mean."
"Kurt Marko was married to my mother; the engagement was made in my name by her personally. I had transgressed enough by dissolving it, when my only objection was that I found my prospective husband an unbearable imbecile. Nonetheless, it falls to me to keep Kurt Marko and his son respectable."
"They don’t deserve respectability."
"Don’t they?" Mr Xavier turned his head so that their eyes met. "Any scandal involving my stepfather and stepbrother will reflect poorly on me, and now you. Does that not make you uneasy?"
"No," Erik said, in all honesty.
"Oh, my dear Mr Lensherr," Mr Xavier said playfully, pressing another gentle kiss to Erik’s cheek. "What am I going to do with you?"
Their wedding was a quiet affair, hastened indecently by the looming threat of the Markos deciding the scandal, misalliance and social rejection would be a small price to pay for the ownership of Westchester, which was still within their reach – the connexion between the Markos and Mr Xavier was such that they had the right to demand that familial ties be strengthened, regardless of the propriety of match. To Erik’s lasting disappointment, he was given no chance to continue what he started with throttling Mr Marko in the sitting room of his own house, simply because, as far as he was informed, both gentlemen took the generous offer Mr Xavier presented them with and had retired to the north, where they led a comfortable, quiet life. He couldn’t say he approved of their conduct (and this was Mr Xavier’s sentiment, not his own, which was far less suited for polite company), but once he was invited to visit Westchester he was forced to admit he saw the reason for the deception.
"Thornfield seems like a humble abode of simple country folk, next to your home," he told his new husband, as they walked through the sumptuous park which surrounded the property. "If I stood to be the master of Westchester, I might have fewer scruples about lying about my own gifts."
"You speak as though this was the centre of the city," Mr Xavier said wryly, nodding at a rabbit, which watched them from a nearby cove, so perfectly unalarmed Erik could suppose it hadn’t had cause to fear hunters. "And of course you are now master of Westchester."
"Am I?" Erik asked in return, with no less wry amusement. "It’s hard to find myself master of anything, when I do nothing but dance as my husband commands."
"Which husband would that be?" Mr Xavier asked playfully, drawing him close by the lapel of his jacket and the cadence of his thoughts simultaneously. Erik, in turn, felt the warm ring around Mr Xavier’s finger, where it rested on his chest. Gold had always felt peculiar to his senses, and this particular gold was the strangest, and most welcome, one of all, particularly at the proximity. "I have yet to persuade you to a dance." This was an unfortunate truth – their wedding, although by all accounts a joyous occasion, was spoiled by Anya suddenly taking ill with fever, which didn’t relent for three whole days, and when it finally did, the girl was left ailing. Erik had arranged for an extended stay in Bath immediately, where he and Mr Xavier would accompany her, as they were due a honeymoon and neither of the estates required urgent supervision. In fact, Mr Xavier made up his mind to let Westchester and left the matter to his solicitor, claiming, rather unfairly, that he felt Thornfield would ever be more of a home to him than Westchester ever was, and any heirlooms he couldn’t bear to part with could be moved. This was the primary reason for their short stay at the mansion in which Mr Xavier grew up. Erik, despite the obligatory awe at the structure and wealth, found himself unimpressed. It was a cold house, one that even a flock of merry children wouldn’t be able to brighten, and Mr Xavier was an only child, one blessed with the power to read minds.
"I was lonely," Mr Xavier said quietly. Erik knew his mental touch well enough by now to realise he’d heard the thought and was responding to it. "I read countless books to make up for it, but the silence was deafening at times. We had few servants, so for the most part I was alone." He leaned his head against Erik’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist.
"Thornfield isn’t that much smaller," Erik said, feeding the exaggeration with the ancestral pride in his home. "There may be days when you see no one but me and Anya."
"That, Mr Lehnsherr," Mr Xavier said, pressing himself quite close, far closer than propriety allowed, stealing Erik’s breath entirely, "would be no hardship whatsoever."
THE END.