Chapter Text
1846 - London, England
Slowly, reluctantly, Edward Drummond opened his eyes.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it was only now he’d woken up that he realised just how much his shoulder was throbbing with a dull yet searing pain. He tried to stretch his arm properly, wondering if that might help, but his limbs felt strangely heavy and ungainly.
What happened to me? Edward asked himself, bewildered. Where am I?
He blinked a few times; the world around him still seemed rather fuzzy and unclear, as though it was still working out how to form itself into solid shapes. He glanced around, trying to find some clues in the unfamiliar room. It was cold, white, impersonal; sterile, somehow. Edward was just beginning to wonder if he was alone when he heard a sharp intake of breath.
Turning his head towards the sound, his eyes fell on a very familiar and extraordinarily beautiful blond man. Everything else seemed to immediately fade away as a sense of warmth and calm washed over him. Lord Alfred Paget was sitting by his bedside.
“Alfred?” he croaked out, realising as he tried to speak just how dry his throat was.
“Edward?” Alfred whispered fearfully, as though scared he was only imagining this.
Edward blinked rapidly a few more times, the room - and more importantly, Alfred - finally beginning to come into clearer focus.
He looked at Alfred more closely, frowning a little. Alfred looked pale and a little sick, his cheekbones standing out more clearly than usual, as though he hadn’t been eating properly. There were dark shadows under his eyes, too, suggesting to Edward that he’d been missing sleep as well. His lower lip was trembling. He appeared to be on the brink of tears.
“Are you alright, Alfred?” he asked quietly.
Alfred stared at him, blue eyes wide with shock.
“Am I alright?” he repeated incredulously, with a hollow laugh. “I’ve been sitting here next to your hospital bed for nearly two days now, praying that the doctors were right and you were going to wake up at any moment! I thought...I thought…” he took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. “I’ve been going out of my mind, Edward…”
Still struggling to process everything, Edward suddenly realised something.
“You called me Edward,” he murmured.
To a bystander, it might have seemed like the most inconsequential thing Alfred had said, but, to him, it meant the world.
Alfred flushed a little.
“Sorry, I...Drummond. I had a shock, but I didn’t mean to…”
“No, I like it,” Edward clarified, with a small smile. “Please keep calling me Edward.”
Alfred huffed out a small laugh, giving him a relieved grin.
“Alright, then, I will...Edward.”
Edward grinned back at him, hesitating a little before speaking again. He was still feeling rather dazed and disoriented.
“So...what happened to me? Why am I here?”
The smile immediately fell away from Alfred’s face, tight lines of worry creeping over his brow again.
“There was a madman, Edward. Lurking in wait, right outside Parliament. He had a gun. Apparently he was aiming for Sir Robert, but you - brave, wonderful man that you are - you literally jumped in front of a bullet . You saved Sir Robert’s life . You really don’t remember?”
Edward pressed his eyes shut tight, trying to think past the throbbing in his head.
It had all seemed to happen so fast that he hadn’t had time to make much sense of it.
A babble of excited voices outside the House, his own excitement about their success and the prospect of meeting up with Alfred turning suddenly into a prickling feeling of unease at the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched. A sudden sharp, harsh voice rising above the noise of the crowd, turning to find himself gazing down the barrel of a gun. Jumping forward without a thought, on sheer instinct, then a sharp and searing pain and everything fading…
He blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back into the present, this moment here with Alfred.
“It’s starting to come back to me,” he murmured.
Alfred drew in a long, shaky breath, his lip trembling again, hands clenched into fists on the arms of his chair .
“I know he wasn’t actually aiming for you, and I realise it’s not my place,” he began, and Edward was a little startled at the edge of quiet anger and menace in his voice. “But when I think about that man shooting at you, hurting you - I could kill him myself. I really could.”
Edward stared at him dazedly, trying to piece it all together as more painful memories came flooding back to him.
“But I thought...I thought you were trying to tell me that you did not care for me after all?” he asked tentatively. “When we went to dinner at Ciros. You told me that there was nothing between us but...an indiscretion.”
Alfred’s whole face twisted suddenly in pain and guilt, making Edward immediately long to reach out to him, to stroke his cheek and tell him that it was alright, that he was already forgiven.
“Edward, I’m so sorry for saying such a thing,” he whispered miserably. “You don’t know how much I’ve tortured myself ever since. That’s why I wrote to you, asking you - begging you, really - to meet me at Ciros again. I was hoping I might be able to make amends somehow. I thought at first, when you didn’t turn up, that I had destroyed my last chance with you, that everything was lost - and then when I discovered what had happened to you at the House…”
He drew in another shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment, as though he was silently thanking God for allowing Edward to avoid the fate that could have so easily been his.
“The thing is, Edward,” Alfred continued, opening his eyes again. “What I said to you that night in Ciros - about the ‘indiscretion’ - it was a lie. And I will regret hurting you like that for the rest of my days.”
Edward stared at him, feeling relief seeping through him. But he didn’t understand.
“But why?” he asked quietly. “Why did you lie to me, Alfred?”
Alfred hesitated for a moment, looking as though he was tempted to change the subject, to make Edward laugh, to cover up his own vulnerabilities. But, locking eyes with Edward, he sighed.
“Well, I wanted to protect you,” he said tentatively. “I mean, you told me you wanted to break off your engagement, but I’m just not sure you’ve fully considered all the ramifications of that, all the damage it might do to your reputation and your career.” Edward opened his mouth to speak, desperate to reassure him, but Alfred held up a hand to signal that he had more to say.
He took another deep breath, as though building up his courage to confess something.
“And to tell you the truth...I was scared, Edward.”
“Scared?” Edward echoed, frowning in confusion.
Alfred sighed.
“I have had men promise me the world before, swear that nothing and nobody was more important to them than I was.”
“...Oh,” Edward said quietly, reeling a little.
He had never really thought to ask Alfred about his history with other men - which was rather stupid of him, he realised now, with a sharp twinge of insecurity. Of course there had been other men before him who had fallen head over heels for Alfred - who wouldn’t?
“But those men...once they had made me their promises...they pulled away from me, shut me out, the moment they thought I had become inconvenient, or a liability.”
Alfred swallowed, looking as though he was struggling to keep his voice even and his expression neutral. “Whether that was because they wanted to progress with their careers, or because they decided marrying and having children was the most important thing -”
“Alfred…” Edward murmured, reaching out tentatively.
“So when you told me you’d decided to break off your engagement,” Alfred continued, trying to speak calmly despite the tremble in his voice, “I was terrified to get my hopes up. I didn’t think I could let you make those promises, because - ” his voice was becoming choked with tears, but he forced himself to keep speaking - “because what if I accepted you, only for you to turn around a few weeks, or a few months later, and tell me that I was not worth the hassle after all?”
“ Alfred ,” Edward said, more insistently this time. “Look at me. Please.”
Alfred hesitated, taking another deep breath to calm himself, before obediently locking eyes with Edward. Cautiously, gently, Edward took his hand, lacing their fingers together.
“I’m sorry that men have treated you that way in the past, and I understand that you’re scared. But there’s one very important thing that you’re overlooking in all this.”
“And what’s that?” Alfred asked.
“The fact that I’m in love with you,” Edward answered simply, and Alfred’s breath hitched in his throat. “Truly, Alfred. I love you, more than I can ever say. And now that I have you in my life...I don’t think I could bear to be without you.”
Alfred stared at him, an awed smile spreading slowly over his face like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to contain his tears, though a few slipped down his cheeks anyway.
“I love you too, you brave, beautiful, ridiculous man,” he whispered, and Edward breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling his heart melt in his chest.
Still beaming so widely that it seemed as though his cheeks must be aching, Alfred leaned in, kissing Edward softly and sweetly.
Grinning giddily, Edward couldn’t help but sigh happily against his mouth. The sense of relief was overwhelming, the familiar taste of Alfred’s lips intoxicating.
Breathing in the scent of the man he loved, he could almost pretend that the two of them were back on the banks of that river in Blair Atholl where they had had their first kiss, the balmy midsummer breeze gently ruffling their hair, dragonflies humming lazily around them as the red and gold sunset glinted on the surface of the lake….Far away from any worries, finally feeling like he had come home ….
After what could have been moments, or hours, or possibly several sunlit days, the two of them broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads resting against each other. His eyes still closed, Alfred raised his head a little and nuzzled his nose against Edward’s gently, making Edward smile softly as he recalled Alfred doing exactly the same thing in Scotland.
He swallowed a little as he opened his eyes, trying to bring himself back to earth.
“I meant what I said at Ciros, Alfred,” he whispered. “I will find a way to break off this foolish engagement. I promise .”
Alfred bit his lip, his dazed smile disappearing, replaced by an uneasy, anxious expression.
“Edward, it’s only a few weeks until your wedding!” he reminded him. “It’s already been announced in all the papers, the invitations have been sent out! How are you planning to break it off without crossing your father-in-law-to-be, without hurting your fiance - who will probably be arriving any minute to check on you, by the way, as she has been doing every day since you’ve been here?” Edward shifted awkwardly at that, his face suffused with guilt. “Do you even have a plan?” Alfred asked.
“Well...no,” Edward admitted reluctantly. “Not yet. But I will think of something, and then we can be together, Alfred. I promise.”
He could tell, from the twist of Alfred’s mouth, that he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe him - no matter how much he wanted to.
One Week Later
“Edward,” Alfred breathed, feeling a swell of relief and excitement at the sight of him, sitting half-reclined on his sofa reading the latest edition of The Times .
“Alfred!” Edward exclaimed, looking up from his newspaper and positively beaming at him.
He made a move as though to get up off the sofa, clearly intent on giving Alfred a very enthusiastic welcome, but Alfred shot him a quick warning look, reminding him that they needed to wait until the butler, Gerson, had bowed out of the living room again, having just shown Alfred in. Luckily, Edward seemed to get the message, waiting obediently on the sofa while they listened to Gerson’s footsteps receding down the corridor.
Once confident that the butler was out of earshot, Alfred finally allowed himself to relax, letting out a sigh as some of the tension left his shoulders and he made his way over to the man he loved.
“Hello, you,” he said, grinning as he leaned down to press a kiss against Edward’s soft lips. Strange how he could count the number of times he had kissed Edward on one hand, and yet he already associated it with coming home.
“So the rumours are true, then? The Westminster Hero has indeed come home safe and sound?”
Edward groaned a little.
“ Don’t call me that,” he chided, swatting Alfred gently with his newspaper. “It’s bad enough that the papers are doing it.”
“Oh, are they?” Alfred asked in a tone of mock innocence. “And here was me thinking I had coined it.”
He grinned at Edward’s affectionately exasperated huff.
“Given you wrote to let me know you were coming to visit - not to mention, you were with me when the doctor told me I could leave hospital - something tells me you already knew I was home,” Edward said, shaking his head a little, though the sarcasm in his voice was rather ruined by his soft smile.
“Alright, you caught me,” Alfred admitted, grinning back at him. “But it’s lovely to see you looking so much better already.”
“It’s just my shoulder, Alfred. I’ll live.”
“Well, you had me worried enough when you were unconscious in hospital, God knows!” Alfred pointed out. Edward winced, looking slightly guilty, as though it was his fault he’d made him worried, and Alfred immediately felt his heart melt.
“How are you feeling, anyway, my darling?” he asked, reaching out to cup Edward’s cheek in his hand gently. Edward leaned forward into the touch, blushing a little at the endearment, and Alfred couldn’t help but grin, still marvelling at the fact that this beautiful man was not only allowing his touches, he was welcoming them.
“You mean physically, or…?” Edward questioned.
“Well, let’s start with the physical, yes,” Alfred answered, with a teasing lilt to his voice, unable to stop himself from placing his other hand lightly on Edward’s chiselled chest. “But not too physical, I assume?”
Edward flushed scarlet.
“No - at least, not yet,” he answered reluctantly. “Believe me, Alfred, I wish we could -”
“Not half as much as I wish it, I bet,” Alfred replied, pointedly undressing him with a look that swept over his body from head to toe, and Edward blushed an even more boiling shade of scarlet, before determinedly continuing
“ - but the doctor said I needed to rest for a bit and avoid too much...um...exertion,” he explained, now blushing more furiously than ever. “Of course, the wound could have been much worse than it was” - Alfred flinched at the thought, and Edward immediately covered his hand with his own reassuringly - “but still, I probably shouldn’t push my luck until it’s properly healed. They’ve stitched me up and I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I can’t deny it still stings quite a bit.”
“I’m sorry,” Alfred murmured. He knew that Edward tended to downplay his own discomfort because he didn’t want to worry anyone else, so he was likely in much more pain at the moment than he was admitting to.
“So how are you feeling otherwise?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
“In love,” Edward replied without a moment’s hesitation, smiling at him softly, and now it was Alfred’s turn to blush scarlet.
“I love you too,” he replied, feeling ridiculously flustered, “but that’s not really what I was getting at, Edward. I meant how are you feeling about....about your wedding? Have you made any progress?”
The giddy smile vanished entirely from Edward’s face at that, the light in his eyes dimming and a worried frown creasing his brow as his whole posture seemed to sink in gloom. Alfred almost wished he could just kiss the smile back onto Edward’s lips, tell him not to worry about it, to forget he’d said anything at all.
But...well, they had to talk about this, didn’t they? They could hardly just hope that Edward’s engagement would conveniently go away by itself.
“I’ve been trying, Alfred,” Edward said earnestly. “I have, I swear!”
“I’m guessing there’s no good news yet, then?”
Edward sighed, disentangling his hand from Alfred’s and rubbing it wearily across his forehead.
“I even asked Lothian to come and speak to me here today,” he muttered.
“Your fiance’s father?” Alfred asked awkwardly. He’d never met the Marquess himself, thankfully, but he’d heard some things from his own father, none of them particularly flattering.
Edward nodded unhappily.
“The problem is that I’ve already asked to postpone this wedding...more than once,” he admitted awkwardly.
“Really?” Alfred asked, somewhat surprised by this.
“Yes, really. As soon as I met you, I was trying to put it off, even when I didn’t quite understand why. I kept making excuses to myself - and to Florence, and to her father - trying to justify the reasons for the delay; I needed more time to prepare, Sir Robert was keeping me too busy, et cetera. But now I’ve realised that I just need to bite the bullet” - “Poor choice of words, Edward,” Alfred muttered - “and call the wedding off entirely,” Edward continued, as though he hadn’t heard. “Of course it will be better for us, but I think it would be better for Florence as well, in the long run. It might mean she could find somebody worthy of her love. But...I didn’t quite manage to get those words out when I was speaking to Lothian today. I think my previous requests to postpone have already worn his patience thin - what little patience he ever had for me, anyway. He’s never particularly liked me; he thinks I’m just an upstart with a very convenient fortune. As far as he’s concerned, I should be thanking my lucky stars that he’s allowed the match in the first place, when his family is so far above mine. He’s already suspicious of me. He didn’t let me get the words out today, but...I think he got the gist. And the answer seems to be ‘over his dead body.’”
“Well, that could be arranged,” Alfred muttered. “I’m joking...sort of,” he said hastily, at Edward’s look.
“Well, I’m not,” Edward replied, with another weary sigh. “I shouldn’t have left it so late to call off this wedding. I kept trying to convince myself that I could move on from you, that I didn’t need you in my life. I realise now that was a fool’s errand, but...it seems that calling off the wedding at this stage is essentially going to be a declaration of war on Lothian. If I do it, he’ll try everything in his power to destroy me - as publicly and humiliatingly as he can.”
“I see,” Alfred said quietly, feeling his stomach sink.
Well, what did he expect, he chastised himself angrily? He shouldn’t have got his hopes up in the first place! He could have told Edward all of this, he’d even tried to warn him that night in Ciros before he’d stormed off, but Edward had just seen so damned passionate and determined! Of course, that was what Alfred loved most about him, but still…
“So, you’re not going to call off the wedding anymore?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral.
“What?! No, of course I’m still going to call it off, Alfred!” Edward exclaimed, looking disappointed at his lack of faith. This time, he reached out to cradle Alfred’s face in his warm hands. “I made you a promise, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“A promise is a promise,” Edward said firmly. “I told you I would find a way to get out of this wedding, and I will. It just...might be a bit more difficult than I first anticipated, that’s all.”
A small crinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he thought, chewing on his lip slightly. Usually, Alfred would have been tempted to lean forward and kiss that crinkle away until Edward was smiling again, but at the moment he was rather distracted by the heavy weight of worry that seemed to have lodged itself in his chest.
“But...you’ve just been shot, Edward,” he reminded him. “Surely, that’s a good excuse to delay your wedding if ever there was one?”
“Delay, maybe, but not cancel,” Edward responded with a wry grimace. “And as we were just discussing, I was very lucky and it’s a wound that is healing relatively quickly. I mean, I suppose I could try to exaggerate it, but...I’m not sure that Lothian would be convinced. I’ll talk to my doctor, though, see if I can persuade him to write me a medical certificate granting me another postponement,” he added hastily, catching sight of the stricken expression on Alfred’s face.
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” Alfred replied, forcing himself to smile encouragingly at Edward.
He noticed that they seemed to be focusing on postponement again, rather than calling off the wedding entirely. One step at a time, he supposed...still, he couldn’t help the creeping doubts murmuring in the back of his mind.
“It’s not just me I’m worried about, obviously,” Edward continued. “In fact, what Lothian may or may not do to me is the least of my concerns. I still need to figure out a way to break off this engagement without hurting Florence. I mean,” he amended, his face suddenly twisting with guilt, “I’m sure I’ve already hurt her quite enough as it is, my repeated requests to postpone the wedding can hardly have been very flattering. But even so -”
“Wait, you’ve been worrying about how she might feel?” Alfred asked incredulously, before he could stop himself. Edward looked rather taken aback by his surprise.
“Well, yes, Alfred - she’s rather deeply involved in this dilemma as well, wouldn’t you say?” Alfred grimaced by way of acknowledging his point. “And of course I care how Florence feels,” Edward went on, “we’ve been friends since childhood , Alfred. When my little sister Rosalie died, I was in a very dark place. Florence was the only one I had.”
Edward’s lower lip trembled a little as he recalled that time in his childhood, as it had done when he had first explained about it to Alfred. Instinctively, Alfred reached out to stroke his cheek, trying to bring him some comfort. Edward smiled gratefully at him, taking a deep breath to gather himself before continuing.
“I told you in Scotland that I care for Florence deeply, remember? I meant what I said.”
Alfred tried his best to look understanding, but he couldn’t help but wince a little at the very thought of Edward being so close to her . His heart clenched painfully at the idea of Florence being able to share Edward’s bed and Edward’s life, having the freedom to publicly declare her adoration, when he would never be afforded that luxury.
Edward squeezed his hand gently and Alfred squeezed back, trying to bring himself back to the present moment.
“And then, of course - most importantly - I have to think about you ,” Edward murmured.
“Me?” Alfred echoed, a little taken aback. “What do you mean? I’m not going to kick up any more fuss about you calling off this wedding, I can promise you that! After everything that’s happened since that night at Ciros, I’ve finally realised that I’m not selfless enough to let you go. You’re too important to me. I’m sorry to tell you this, Drummond, but the only way you’re going to get rid of me now is if you tell me that you don’t want me anymore.”
“That’s about as likely as Lothian declaring his love for me,” Edward replied with a grin. “ Less likely, even.”
Alfred couldn’t help but flush a little at that, and Edward reached out to stroke his cheek again before continuing.
“But that’s not what I meant. As I said, Lothian is getting increasingly suspicious of my motives for trying to postpone, I can tell. He probably thinks it’s got something to do with another woman or something” - Edward scoffs a little at the notion - “but nevertheless, I’m sure he’ll start poking around for some blackmail material, some leverage over me, soon enough. That is, assuming he hasn’t already started doing that, which is quite likely. I don’t think he’s found anything yet, and I don’t know who he might have been speaking to, but...if anything were to lead him back to you…”
“Don’t worry about me, Edward, I can take care of myself,” Alfred interjected automatically.
“I’m not saying you can’t,” Edward countered, with a small frown. “But the fact of the matter is, I will not risk your reputation, or more importantly, your safety. Not for the world.”
Alfred couldn’t help a soft smile spreading across his face. What had he ever done to deserve this man?
“So, I will find a way to call off this wedding,” Edward vowed, “but however I go about it, I can’t have Lothian - or anyone who might contact him - tracing the reason back to you. That’s the most important thing.”
Alfred felt a swell of adoration in his chest at these words - but even so, he couldn’t seem to silence the doubt clawing at the back of his mind. There was just so much here that could go wrong…
“I think I’m going to go to Plas Newydd,” he said suddenly.
Edward looked at him, stunned.
“Plas Newydd? Your family’s estate?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Alfred confirmed, trying to use a light and joking tone to put Edward at ease, despite the fact that he felt very far from at ease himself.
“But...but why?”
“Well,” he replied slowly, trying to give himself time to justify his sudden, self-preserving impulse, “you said Lothian’s getting suspicious. I’m sure he hasn’t uncovered any connection between us yet - at least, nothing to convince him that we’re anything more than close friends - but still, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra cautious at this point, would it? It might be beneficial for me to get a bit of extra distance from London. It’s a delicate situation for us at the moment, my darling. We don’t want Lothian drawing any more connections, do we? You said so yourself.”
“That’s true…” Edward said uncertainly, his brow crinkled in a frown again.
“And it might be useful for me to get some advice from my parents, as well,” Alfred continued. “I mean, if anyone would have some suggestions about getting out of an unwanted marriage, they would, right?”
“I suppose…” Edward answered, although he still didn’t look entirely convinced. “But...but how long would you go to Plas Newydd for? I’d miss you so, Alfred!”
Alfred felt an uncomfortable squirm of guilt at the disappointed, hurt expression on Edward’s face. He didn’t know how to tell him the real reason for his sudden urge to run to Plas Newydd.
There were just so many obstacles in their way at this point, so many things that were likely to go wrong, it seemed all but impossible. Edward himself was gradually realising just how difficult it was going to be - what were the odds that he would actually stay by Alfred’s side through everything? Not to mention the idea that Lothian might manage to find blackmail material that would put Edward in danger of getting hurt, which made Alfred’s blood run cold.
Alfred had had more than enough experience with heartbreak and broken promises already. He wished he could look at this situation with the same sense of hope that Edward seemed to cling on to - but then, he didn’t think he was being overly cynical. One of them had to be realistic.
Could Alfred really stand to stick around in London, waiting hopefully for Edward to throw off the Marquess and his engagement, only to realise that he’d been right all along to warn Edward against trying, for Edward to turn around and admit to him that it was impossible? Yes, of course there was still the slightest, infinitesimal chance that Edward would succeed, despite all the odds stacked against them - in which case, he would come back to London to be with the man he loved, or perhaps Edward could come to him at Plas Newydd instead.
But he couldn’t afford to get his hopes up at this point. At least this way, if Edward’s wedding happened in a few weeks as it was supposed to - Alfred felt as though his heart was being torn out of his chest at the very thought - he would be tucked away safely at his family’s house in Wales, avoiding the obligation to attend and break his own heart even more.
He wasn’t running away, Alfred argued with himself. He was just being realistic. Taking sensible precautions.
The fantasy of Edward breaking off his engagement now, at the last minute, throwing off the burden of Lothian and Florence so that he and Alfred could stay together forever, was exhilarating, intoxicating. But at the end of the day, that was most likely all it would ever be - a fantasy.
Alfred took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the present moment, focusing on the worried expression in Edward’s wide, dark eyes.
“I’d miss you too, Edward,” he whispered, trying not to think about just how true that was. “But it’s just an extra precaution. You know that, don’t you?”
Edward nodded slowly, reluctantly.
“Will you write to me while you’re away, though?” he asked, and despite himself Alfred felt his heart swell in his chest at the anxious, earnest expression on Edward’s face.
“Of course I’ll write to you, you silly, wonderful man,” he whispered back, relishing in Edward’s familiar, boyish smile, the one that always reminded him of the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
“Good,” Edward murmured. “And...I can write to you, too?”
For a moment, he looked so hopeful, so nervous, that Alfred’s heart almost broke.
“Of course you can,” he huffed, trying to hide his emotions with a reassuring grin, and Edward’s face relaxed again.
“Right then,” Alfred murmured, taking a deep breath. “I should probably get going. Start packing, getting my things organised.”
“What - today?” Edward asked, looking startled again.
“No time like the present, right?” Alfred quipped.
He didn’t know how to admit the truth to Edward - that if he didn’t go now, he was scared his resolution would fail and he’d never leave at all. Already, he had no idea how he was going to summon the strength to disentangle himself from Edward’s arms.
“I suppose…” Edward said reluctantly.
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” Alfred murmured, squeezing his shoulder gently.
He had no idea if that was true or not, of course. But he was desperate to make Edward smile again...and it worked.
“I love you,” Edward breathed.
“I love you too,” Alfred murmured in response, his breath hitching in his throat.
Edward leaned forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss, and Alfred kissed him back hungrily, desperately, sinking into the familiar taste of Edward’s lips, the taste of home , trying not to think of how long it might be before he could do this again.
Eventually, they broke apart, panting slightly.
“See you soon?” Edward whispered, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his forehead against Alfred’s.
He blinked desperately, hoping Edward couldn’t sense anything amiss, couldn’t feel Alfred’s tears on his own face.
“See you soon,” he murmured.
2022 - Blair Atholl, Scotland
A taxi pulls slowly to a stop on the long gravel driveway. A moment later, the passenger door opens and a tall young blonde woman steps out tentatively, lifting a small suitcase.
“Thank you very much,” she says to the driver with a small smile, awkwardly tucking her long hair back behind her ear.
“No worries, lass,” the driver replies in a thick Scottish accent. “You take care, now.”
“I will,” she answers quietly, tightening her grip on the wheeled suitcase slightly and hoisting her backpack so that it’s sitting more securely on her shoulders. “Thanks again.”
The driver chuckles and gives her a final, cheery wave. She waves politely back as he puts the taxi in gear again, standing there listening to the sound of the wheels crunching over gravel as he drives back down the long drive, towards the main road.
She waits until the sound has disappeared into the distance. Once she’s alone, the young woman, Clara Paget, gives a small sigh of relief, the slight tension in her shoulders relaxing as she turns to look up at the huge old manor house in front of her.
She’d Googled pictures before she arrived, of course, but even so, now that she’s standing here in front of Blair Manor, she can’t help but be struck by both the beauty and the mystery of the old house.
Ivy and jewel-toned red leaves twist around the neo-gothic facade, the air is thick with the scent of the white roses in the flowerbeds, and Clara can hear nothing but fluting birdsong as the sun begins to set, leaving a slight chill in the air that makes her draw her cardigan more tightly around her, grinning to herself a little as she gazes at the house. Standing here in this peaceful oasis, in front of this beautiful yet melancholy old manor, Clara could almost believe that she’s left the modern world behind her.
At this moment, Clara Paget can hardly believe her luck.
As if it wasn’t enough that she’d finally , after what felt like forever, broken her streak of bad luck at auditions and been cast in this new Victorian period drama, which, having read through the entire script on the way to Blair Atholl, already feels like it will be a perfect fit for her. As if it wasn’t enough that her agent’s call had been perfectly timed to distract her right after a truly messy and uncomfortable break-up.
On top of all that, she still can’t believe that she’s been given permission to explore an empty Blair Manor by herself, two weeks before filming starts.
Clara’s agent had warned her that the house wouldn’t be open to the public at this time of year, that it was still a private residence and they’d be unlikely to let her in while they were getting it ready for the cast and crew. But Clara had taken a gamble and called the family who owned the manor and, having explained that she wanted to do her research as an incoming cast member, she’d miraculously been allowed a private overnight stay. She still can’t quite believe her audacity had paid off so well.
Taking a deep breath and still grinning a little giddily, Clara squares her shoulders and pulls her suitcase up to the imposingly grand front entrance, knocking tentatively. It sounds louder than she had expected in these quiet grounds.
Clara shifts from foot to foot as she waits, hoping a little anxiously that she hasn’t somehow managed to get the time and date of her appointment wrong. Luckily, the huge wooden door creaks open a few moments later, revealing a stocky middle-aged black woman wearing a red jumper and jeans, large hoop earrings and a headscarf looped around her perfectly coiffed bun. The woman looks at her inquisitively.
“May I help you?”
“Hi,” Clara replies, compensating for her awkwardness with an overly bright voice as she holds out her hand. “My name is Clara Paget, I’m part of the cast that’s about to start filming here? I had an appointment to come and see the manor a little bit early?”
“Ah yes, of course!” the woman responds, her politely curious expression immediately replaced with a much warmer smile as she shakes Clara’s hand enthusiastically. “Just the lady I’ve been expecting, then. I’m Hannah Grose, I’m the housekeeper here at Blair - lovely to meet you!”
“Same to you,” Clara answers, feeling a little relieved as she smiles back.
“Come in, dear, come in, you’ll catch your death out there!” Hannah tuts. Clara grins a little as Hannah holds the door open for her, reminding her rather strongly of her own mother.
“Anyway, welcome to Blair Manor,” Hannah says warmly as she closes the door behind her. “Here, dear, let me take your cardigan and hang it up for you.”
“Thank you,” Clara murmurs absentmindedly, looking around her.
Though the lighting from the chandelier and lamps is quite dim, Clara can still make out the wide expanse of the foyer leading to a dark corridor that stretches off bleakly into the distance, an antique burgundy rug and an oak table with a glass vase of white roses perched on top of it, all of which look like they cost more than she earns in a year. Two grand wooden staircases trail off above her on each side.
Gazing up to the balustrade and the upstairs corridor, where the lighting appears to be even dimmer than it is down here in the foyer, Clara spots two oil paintings, two separate painted figures gazing back down at her from the top of each staircase.
“Yes, it’s a very beautiful house, isn’t it?” Hannah says conversationally, clearly following Clara’s gaze.
She jumps a little, having almost forgotten Hannah’s presence.
Blair Manor is certainly beautiful - and yet, there’s something strange and overwhelming about it as well, something she hadn’t really felt until the door closed behind her. The atmosphere feels somehow...heavy. Mournful, almost. She feels some unknown weight in the air, pressing down on her. It gives her a sense of unease, like being watched.
“It is beautiful, yes,” she says belatedly, realising that Hannah is still smiling expectantly as she waits for an answer. Clara doesn’t really know how to put the sense of melancholy into words; luckily, though, Hannah doesn’t ask her to elaborate.
“Come - Clara, isn’t it?” she asks.
“That’s right,” Clara nods.
“Come upstairs with me, Clara, dear, I’ll show you around properly,” Hannah says with another warm smile.
The upstairs corridors are just as beautiful as the entrance foyer, dimly lit, lined with various oil paintings, every one of which looks like it probably costs more than what Clara could earn in a lifetime. But despite the grandness of the place, Clara can’t seem to shake off the same strange melancholy she had felt downstairs. It doesn’t even feel like her sadness; it’s almost like she’s intruding on somebody else’s heartbreak.
Not that that really makes any sense. She wonders if it’s just the atmospheric old house playing tricks on her imagination, and shakes herself a little, trying to bring her attention back to what Hannah is telling her as they move around the beautiful old rooms.
“Sorry, when did you say it was built?” she asks.
“Around 1795, I believe,” Hannah responds. “Blair Manor was a state-of-the-art house at the time it was built, the original lord who built it spared no expense to impress his aristocratic friends. Perhaps it was lucky that he didn’t live long enough to see his son sinking into debt through his gambling and drinking - in 1846, he was forced to sell the manor that his father had poured so much time and money into.”
“Did he sell it to another lord?” Clara asks.
“No, he didn’t sell to another aristocrat at all - I believe many aristocrats were in a similar situation of debt at that time, there were only a handful that would have been able to afford the house,” Hannah answers. “The man who bought Blair Manor in 1846, Mr Edward Drummond, didn’t have a title at all, in fact, though he came from an extremely wealthy banking family and he’d had a successful political career in London. He had very recently married at the time he purchased Blair Manor. It’s rather a strange story, actually…”
Clara opens her mouth to ask what it is that makes the story so ‘strange’, but she never manages to get the question out.
As they turn the corner into the next corridor, an unfamiliar woman emerges, seemingly from out of nowhere, walking straight into her.
“Jesus, fuck, sorry!” the woman yelps, wide-eyed as Clara lets out an involuntary shriek of surprise.
“ Language , Rosalie!” Hannah chides a little breathlessly, looking almost as shocked as Clara feels.
“Sorry, I just...shit, Hannah, she almost gave me a heart attack!” the woman called Rosalie responds, rubbing a hand over her chest and taking a deep breath.
“You almost gave me a heart attack!” Clara protests.
Her heart gives another irregular thump in her chest as she properly takes in the young woman standing in front of her.
She’s rather petite, with dark eyes and wildly curly brown hair. Standing there in blue overalls, with a burgundy head scarf wrapped around her wild curls, a pen tucked absentmindedly behind her left ear and her cheeks flushed a little pink - seemingly from embarrassment at the collision - she looks far prettier than Clara is prepared to cope with right now, considering that until two minutes ago she’d been sure that she and Hannah were the only people at Blair Manor.
“Well, it’s my house!” Rosalie says defensively.
“Wait - what?” Clara asks, taken aback by this. “You live here?”
She frowns confusedly at Hannah - surely this would have been pertinent information?
Rosalie shifts from foot to foot awkwardly, flushing a deeper shade of pink.
“I mean...it’s my family’s house, anyway,” she mutters. “I don’t technically live here - I’ve been living in Edinburgh, I’m at uni there. Haven’t been here for quite a while, actually. But I still have a key. Obviously.”
“What are you doing here, Rosalie?” Hannah scolds her familiarly. “Don’t you think you should have warned me that you were coming, at least? You’ve frightened this poor girl half to death, I don’t doubt - not to mention me! I don’t suppose you care?”
“I’m sorry, Hannah, I didn’t even know you were in at the moment!” Rosalie replies. “I thought the house was closed to the public right now, I thought it would be empty - that’s why I thought it would be a good idea to come here and get some writing done.”
“You write?” Clara asks, intrigued. Rosalie turns to look at her, and now it’s her turn to flush slightly.
“Yeah,” Rosalie answers, looking at her curiously. “I write scripts. Or I try to, at least.”
“Oh. I act,” Clara responds awkwardly. “That’s actually why I’m here - I’m in the cast? For the period drama that’s about to start shooting here? Your family was kind enough to let me come up and explore for a bit before shooting starts, even though the house isn’t technically open to the public right now - though I guess they must have forgotten to mention that to you, given how much I scared you just now. Something’s definitely been lost in communication somewhere, right?” She realises that she’s definitely rambling, and stops abruptly. “I’m Clara Paget, by the way,” she adds, cursing herself for sounding like a complete idiot.
“Rosalie Drummond,” Rosalie replies, holding out her hand, and Clara is relieved to see that she’s grinning a little now, having gotten over her initial shock a bit. “Nice to meet you, Clara.”
“You too,” Clara answers, trying to smile back - but she can’t help feeling more than a little mortified. “Look, um...I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in on you like this. I just wanted to have a look around the house before the rest of the cast and crew arrive, but if I’d known you were trying to get some peace and quiet here, I never would have…” She winces a little, realising she’s started rambling again. “I’ll go get my stuff, find somewhere to stay in the village, get out of your hair. Sorry, again.”
“Hey, wait!” Rosalie calls after her, and Clara turns back, having already started hurrying towards the staircase. “Don’t be silly, there’s absolutely no need to apologise. It’s my fault, if anything, I should have double checked before just assuming my family’s old manor house was free and treating it like my spare room.” Rosalie pauses for a moment, considering her with a small smile. “How about you give me five minutes to get myself sorted out, and then we go and get some dinner in the village, together? It’s on me. Least I can do after I scared the shit out of you like that.”
Clara huffs out a laugh, despite herself.
“You really don’t have to do that -”
“I know I don’t, but I want to,” Rosalie answers with another grin. “I’m intrigued about the acting, I want to hear more about this period drama. Plus, it’s probably good for me to speak to another real live human being for a few hours, rather than just being cooped up in my room here muttering my own lines aloud as I write them. Might keep me from going crazy. Although, having just said that to someone I only just met, I realise now that that ship might have already sailed.”
Clara laughs again. Rosalie grins wider, her dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and dammit , Clara feels her heart hiccup in her chest.
“Well...go on, then,” she gives in.
“Great!” Rosalie exclaims, her face lighting up. “Five minutes?”
“Five minutes,” Clara agrees.
“So how long have you been an actress?” Rosalie asks, taking another sip of her beer and looking over at the blonde woman sitting across from her.
Now she’s getting over the initial shock of bumping into a random person she’d never seen before in her family’s old house - and it had been a pretty big shock - she’d beginning to realise just how ridiculously pretty Clara Paget actually is.
Tall and willowy, with long blonde hair that catches the firelight next to them whenever she shifts her head, almond-shaped blue eyes, cheekbones to die for and a slow grin that seems to come across as mysterious and sultry even when she doesn’t intend it to, Clara radiates an aura of effortless glamour, like a classic 1950s movie star - so Rosalie supposes it makes a lot of sense that she’s an actress.
On first glance, Clara looks like she would be one of those women who are incredibly self-assured because of their own beauty - perhaps too self-assured - but, now that Rosalie is speaking to her, it’s obvious that she’s actually very down-to-earth and unassuming despite her looks, to the point of even being a touch awkward. Although perhaps the awkwardness is just left over from their collision earlier, Rosalie muses, cringing slightly. Not the most traditional way to meet someone for the first time....
They’ve settled into a cosy firelit alcove in the corner, away from the main hustle and bustle of the local village pub. It’s easier to talk quietly over here, but Rosalie can feel her heart doing a strange little flip in her chest. She’s not quite sure if it’s the cosy privacy of the seating arrangement, or the fact that she’s already slightly tipsy - she hasn’t eaten all that much today - but this dinner is beginning to feel a little more like a date than she had intended when she’d suggested it. Or at least, she hadn’t consciously intended it that way. But no, she shouldn’t be thinking along those lines, Rosalie chides herself immediately. What would be the point of getting her hopes up like that?
“I’ve actually only been acting professionally for about three years,” Clara says, pulling Rosalie out of her reverie by answering her earlier question. Rosalie tries to pull herself back to the present.
“This - the show that’s about to start filming at Blair Manor - is actually the first thing I’ve been cast in for ages ,” Clara continues. “My agent likes to send me up for period drama parts. The last one I did was a bit more of an indie one, it was about pirates. That was pretty awesome, actually, I got to play Anne Bonny, have you heard of - ”
“Wait a minute,” Rosalie interrupts, sitting up straighter and staring at her, suddenly realising why Clara has looked slightly familiar the whole time. “Did you have red hair for that show?”
“Yeah, I did!” Clara answers, grinning a little in surprise. “I really enjoyed being a redhead, actually, but my agent wanted me to go back to my natural blonde afterwards. How did you know? Did you see it?”
“I loved that show!” Rosalie exclaims. “It was so well-written! And the acting was amazing, of course,” she adds hastily. “I loved Anne Bonny! I thought I’d seen you somewhere before!”
“Thank you,” Clara responds, blushing a little, and Rosalie feels her heart do another funny little flip. “That was a really fun job, actually, we got to go to South Africa for filming.”
“So, do you get to do a lot of travelling for your acting jobs, then?” Rosalie asks.
“Well...sometimes, when I get the jobs,” Clara answers, sounding a little awkward again. “Like I said, this one coming up is the first acting job I’ve booked in a while. I’m living in London to be close to the auditions, but I support myself with substitute teaching between jobs. I mean, my parents could probably help me out if I asked, they’ve got an estate in Anglesey - but I don’t really want to be relying on them, you know?”
“Yeah, I know how you feel,” Rosalie responds. “I mean, my family owns Blair Manor, obviously, but I’d still rather make my own way in Edinburgh than fall back on my parents. I’m still at uni, so I do a few odd jobs to make ends meet - waitressing, temping, even some gardening sometimes.”
“Though I suppose it’s still a perk having access to a free manor in the Scottish Highlands when you need a quiet place to write?” Clara teases, and Rosalie blushes.
“Well...okay, you’ve got me there,” she admits with a sheepish grin, and Clara throws her head back a little as she laughs. Rosalie tries not to dwell too much on how sexy she looks when she does that.
“So, why script-writing, in particular?” Clara asks, shaking her long blonde hair back and looking at Rosalie over the top of her pint glass.
It doesn’t seem like small talk; Clara is studying her curiously, as though she really does want to know. Rosalie feels herself flushing again.
“I just think there are so many stories that need telling, you know?” she answers slowly, fidgeting with her glass a little to give herself time to think. “Diverse stories, exciting stories. And there just seems to me to be something a little bit magical about writing something and then getting to watch people breathe life into the words and story that you’ve created.”
“That does sound pretty amazing,” Clara agrees. “I mean, I just play the parts I’m given, but I’m always in awe of the people who write the stories for me.” She pauses, studying Rosalie thoughtfully again as she takes another sip. “Did you say before that you hadn’t actually been to Blair in a while?”
Rosalie shakes her head.
“I haven’t, no - it’s been a few years, actually.”
“So what made you decide to come here now? If you don’t mind my asking?”
She hesitates awkwardly, wondering how best to explain.
“Well, to be honest, it was partially because I was quite keen to get a bit of space from Edinburgh and my now-ex-girlfriend there,” she admits.
“Ah,” Clara answers quietly. Is Rosalie imagining the slight pink tinge rising to her cheeks?
“But it’s not just that,” she adds hastily. “I’ve been trying to write a ghost story, and I hadn’t been to visit Blair Manor in years , but I still vividly remember all the summers I used to spend here when I was a kid. It was always so mysterious and beautiful and atmospheric and...almost melancholy, you know what I mean?”
“I do, actually,” Clara says quietly, taking her by surprise a little. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Well, anyway,” Rosalie continues, taking a moment to gather her thoughts again, a little dazed by Clara’s bright blue eyes gazing at her so intently. “I needed somewhere free of distractions to write, somewhere that might help me with inspiration for this ghost story. And then I remembered that I had a key for Blair Manor...and it just seemed like the perfect place to go and write for a bit, you know? Though of course,” she adds with a sheepish grin, “probably would have been better if I’d double-checked about visitors, wouldn’t it?”
Clara blushes a little, ducking her head slightly with a small grin that makes Rosalie’s heart hiccup again.
“I’m sorry, by the way,” she says awkwardly. Rosalie tilts her head, puzzled. “For distracting you from your writing, I mean,” Clara clarifies.
“Oh. You really don’t need to apologise for that, you know,” Rosalie responds, grinning at Clara and hoping her blush isn’t too obvious. “Some distractions are interesting enough to be worth it.”
Clara grins back at her.
1846 - London, England
“Oh, come now, Lothian, surely my son doesn’t need to worry about signing that until after the wedding?” Charles Drummond protested indignantly.
“I’m sorry, Drummond,” the Marquess of Lothian responded, with a humourless smile that made it perfectly clear that he was not sorry at all, “but I would rather like to have it in writing that this sum will be coming through to me as soon as the two of them are married. And your son will be marrying my daughter, whether he wants to or not.”
A tense and uncomfortable pause.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charles asked.
“Well, God knows the boy’s tried to put the wedding off enough times already, for reasons best known to himself,” Lothian answered, glaring at Edward, his voice dangerously quiet. “But he certainly won’t be wriggling out of it. Mark my words, Drummond, I will not allow either you or your insolent son to make a fool of me. Not now, not ever.”
The room went completely silent. Edward tried his best not to squirm, feeling his father, Lothian and - worst of all - Florence - all staring at him. He looked down at his lap, unable to stand the hurt on Florence’s face.
Edward wanted so desperately to be alone with Florence so that he could just speak to her properly, explain as kindly as possible that he could not marry her and that, no matter how much it might seem like it, he was not trying to hurt her - he was trying to save them both from being unhappy in the long run.
But there were two obstacles standing in the way of that honest conversation at the moment; firstly, he was still struggling to think of how to explain his change of mind in a way that would neither hurt her or put his Alfred in harm’s way. He cursed himself for taking so long to reach the decision that he couldn’t marry her - it would seem all the more brutal now that their wedding date was a mere two weeks away.
The other problem was that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to get more than two minutes of privacy with Florence, because he could not shake off their chaperones. Being chaperoned by both of their fathers at once was enough to make him wonder if he was being punished by some unknown higher power.
God, if only Alfred was here to help him - Alfred would have known what to say, surely, he always did! Or even if he didn’t, his presence alone always brought Edward comfort, always made him feel so much braver.
He supposed Alfred had been right - as he usually was - that leaving London and going to his family’s home at Plas Newydd was the best idea, the safest option right now. Better to stay as far away from Lothian and his suspicions as possible, at least until Edward had somehow found a way to break off this wretched engagement.
But still, Edward missed him more than he would have thought possible. Alfred had only been gone for two weeks, yet already it seemed like months since Edward had held him in his arms, tasted his lips. Worse, there was a tiny, insecure part of him that couldn’t help but wonder if Alfred had lost his faith, if he was trying to run away from him.
The only thing keeping Edward sane in the absence of the man he loved was the fact that Alfred had kept his promise to write him letters. Beautiful letters that proclaimed how much Alfred was missing him, that reassured Edward of his love, that tried to bring him comfort, even though Edward knew Alfred was plagued by doubts himself.
Edward treasured these letters hugely, rereading them over and over until he knew them by heart. He secreted these letters inside his diary, under his pillow, even in his coat pocket, so that he could gently stroke his thumb over the pages wherever he went, feeling a flare of warmth and courage in his chest as he thought of Alfred.
He wished to God that he had one of Alfred’s letters on him right now.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lothian, my son is an honourable gentleman,” Charles pronounced staunchly, pulling Edward back to the present with an unpleasant bump. “He was just shot, it’s no wonder he suggested a postponement. But he certainly has no intention of trying to ‘wriggle out’ of this wedding - do you, Edward?”
Charles turned to look at him expectantly. Florence stared at him, with an expression that Edward couldn’t quite read. He thought vaguely how strange this must all feel for her, being treated as though she was invisible even while their fathers discussed her wedding.
“Well, I…” Edward stumbled, looking pleadingly at Florence, silently praying for her to understand.
Say it, say it now...This is your chance…
“I should damned well hope not,” Lothian growled, before Edward could get any words out. He slammed a piece of parchment down on the table in front of him, making both Edward and Florence jump a little. “As your father is so keen to tell me how honourable you are, I’m sure you should have no trouble signing this for me, Drummond. Just so I know the money will be coming to me on the date I require it.”
Edward hesitated, his blood pounding in his ears. Then, reluctantly, without meeting Lothian’s eyes, he took the pen that was being proffered to him, writing his signature on the dotted line.
It’s alright , he reassured himself, it’s just an agreement to give him money. It doesn’t bind me to the marriage.
But he still couldn’t escape the uneasy feeling of guilt twisting in his stomach.
“Good,” Lothian said smugly, breaking the horrible, billowing silence. “Well, now that’s settled, I think I need a smoke.”
“Would you like company?” Charles asked coolly. Lothian snorted.
“Not likely. I shall be back in a few minutes, to collect my daughter.”
Florence’s fist clenched on the table in front of her.
Honestly, did they take him for a fool? Lothian thought to himself, absentmindedly taking his coat from the rack by the door as he headed out onto the street.
The sheer audacity of that insolent Drummond boy, constantly jumping at the smallest excuse to try and postpone the wedding, implying that he would like to back out of the marriage altogether! Who did he think he was, trying to worm his way out of this match? It didn’t make any sense, Drummond should be thanking him on bended knee for allowing him to marry into a family that was so far above him! If it were not for that very convenient fortune of his…
He frowned, fumbling in the coat pocket for his cheroot, then checking the other pocket. He could have sworn he’d left it in this coat....
Lothian’s searching fingers brushed against something that felt like parchment. Confused, he pulled out something that looked like a folded letter. He didn’t remember leaving a letter in his coat. He unfolded it curiously.
My Edward , it began. Foolish of him - in his temper he had evidently taken the Drummond boy’s coat instead of his own.
Wait - my Edward? A love letter? He was hardly in the mood to read the besotted ramblings of his daughter, he thought, scanning the letter idly.
He froze, turning pale as he registered the signature at the bottom. This letter wasn’t from Florence. It was from Lord Alfred Paget.
He went back to the beginning of the letter to read it properly, his hands trembling with shock and rage.