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“Already bored of the party, Stede?” Edward asked, sidling up to his friend who was leaning against the wall of the former parlor, sipping whisky from his glass and watching a group play whist.
“Hardly,” he answered, shifting his gaze to Edward’s face. “Not anymore, at least.”
“I know you’re not much of a gambling man, but you won’t play a round?”
“Not with those nobs,” muttered Stede, pointing an ever-so-subtle gesture to the group of men sitting around the card table in the corner. “All they want to do is complain about their wives’ cooking and their sons’ in law weak handshakes.”
Ed grinned. “You’d play with me, though, wouldn’t you?”
Stede bit down a smile. “Heavens no. You’re the worst cheat I’ve ever met. You come prepared with cards up your sleeve.”
“Maybe I’m just better at the game than you.”
Stede shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Maybe you’re a prince and I’m a pauper. Any more fantasies?”
Edward laughed, clapping Stede on the shoulder. “You’re a funny man, Stede Bonnet.” He held firm to his friend’s shoulder and rotated him to look toward the adjacent room. “What about a dance? Surely, you won’t turn down a reel?”
Stede watched the circle dance for a second, following the joined hands and long coattails. Ed could almost swear his eyes avoided the empire-waist gowns and the elbow-length gloves. “I’ve danced with enough women these past few years to be sick of music altogether.”
“Well, you’ve got Mary now; you won’t ever have to dance with a woman again. Not to court one, anyway.”
“You say that as if I courted her at all.”
Ed shrugged but decided to move away from the subject. He didn’t like talking about Stede’s wife. He didn’t like thinking about Stede in a chapel. He didn’t like imagining their marital bed. It made him itchy. It made him sweat. He pulled at the collar of his tunic and the cravat at his neck. “What say you to a bit of fresh air?”
Stede furrowed his brows. “It’s not proper to leave a party––”
“It’s not proper to brood on the edge of the room, either, yet here we are.”
“We musn’t leave when the ball is in full swing.”
“Seeing as you’re the host, I believe you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
Stede hushed him, before muttering, “My father is the host, not me. Which means I’m held to the standards of a gentleman far more than anyone else here.”
“Come on. Just to the garden. We won’t go far.”
Stede glared, and Ed gave his winning smile. The one that Stede always, always gave into.
“Alright,” Stede huffed indignantly. “But only for a few minutes.”
Ed pumped his fist, then glanced around the room to see if anyone had seen the gesture. When he decided no one had, he took Stede’s arm and pulled him along, towards the foyer and the door that would lead them to the garden beyond.
“It’s a good thing the colonel doesn’t care what his men get up to at these things,” Stede said as he closed the heavy door behind him.
“Are you kidding me?” Ed began unbuttoning the suffocating uniform jacket he had to wear to formal events. “The man’s too busy getting pissed. He’ll probably stumble into a brothel on our way out of town and break his marriage bonds. He doesn’t care what I do.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Oh, cheer up,” Ed said, joining Stede as he floated over to the hydrangea bush. “Soon, you’ll be your own man with your own house and you won’t have to answer to that ponce anymore.”
“Not true. I'll be answering to my father 'till the day he dies.”
“That’s the opposite of cheering up, Stede. You’re not a very good listener.”
“Oh, hush.”
They walked down the path edged by hydrangea bushes and manicured hedges. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the inky black sky and almost drowning out the stars. But Ed could still see them. He could always see them. He’d always be looking.
Beside him, Stede was looking at the sky, too, lips slightly agape as he took in the scene. The moonlight lit up the soft angles of his face, his cheekbones, and danced in his brown eyes. Ed loved those eyes. Ed loved the way those eyes looked at him. Like he was something worth looking at.
Stede must’ve felt Ed’s attention on him because he shifted to glance at Ed and smiled slightly. “What? What are you looking at?”
Ed’s cheeks warmed, and he turned away much too suddenly. “Nothing. Must’ve got lost in thought.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Ed lied. “Not sure.”
Stede laughed. “Let me know if it comes to you.”
They walked in silence for a moment and Ed adjusted the cravat that Stede had given him a while back, loosening it ever so slightly. It was starting to smell like Ed, rather than Stede. He’d considered investing in some lavender soap or a pomander to restore the smell, but he never had. It wouldn’t be the real thing. He wanted the real thing. He only wanted lavender soap if it had touched Stede’s fingers first; only wanted a pomander between his drawer of linens if Stede had picked the orange himself.
He wondered, not for the first time, if Stede ever thought to do something similar. To preserve a handkerchief because Edward’s hands brushed it or to clip a strand of Edward’s black hair to keep with his things.
“Why is it you wanted me to play cards or dance?” Stede asked, breaking the silence that stretched between them like an ocean, like an anchor. He began pulling one of his gloves off, finger by finger, then started onto the other one.
Ed pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you?”
“I wanted you to have fun at your own party. You deserve to have a little fun every now and then.”
“I always have fun with you, Edward,” Stede said. But he didn’t smile or laugh. He didn’t finish the sentence with a comment about rum or wrestling, like Edward’s military friends would. He left it there.
“Maybe I wanted to dance. But you’re tired of dancing. And I understand that.”
Stede bit his lip and searched Ed’s face. It must’ve been plain as day in his eyes or in his blush, the one no one ever saw but Stede. Still, even as Ed laid it all bare without trying, Stede said, “I’m not tired of it. Not with the right partner.”
Ed’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure if Stede was saying what he thought he was saying. He didn’t dare hope.
“Would you like to dance, Ed?” Stede asked, extending a bare hand.
Ed looked around. They were deep into the garden now, past the ornate flower beds and clipped hedges. They had walked back past the mighty willow tree, and they were shielded from the sight of the house’s windows. No one could see them here. No one but the flowers and the fireflies and the moon.
“We don’t have music.”
Stede shrugged. “Never cared for it, remember?”
Ed swallowed hard and silently pleaded to Stede to not be messing with him. Stede must’ve known by then the hold he had over Edward’s heart. He must’ve known he could break it with the slightest squeeze.
But Ed had never known Stede to be cruel.
He took Stede’s hand, letting his fingers fall to brush Stede’s fingertips in the lightest brush of contact.
They broke apart too soon to stand cross from one another, Stede meeting Ed’s gaze as they minded their manners and bowed in unison. Ed couldn’t help stealing a glance at Stede’s blond curls as he tucked his chin into his chest, as befitted his gentlemanly upbringing.
When they rose, they joined hands without speaking, somehow agreeing on a dance without deliberating. Stede pulled Ed in to meet in the middle, their hands locked between them, squeezing ever so slightly to bring him towards him a second time after they parted.
Stede, who had naturally assumed the position of the lead, guided Ed’s hand over his head to turn him around, where he landed in Stede’s former place. Once more they did this routine: pulled in together like a tide, arms meeting between their chests as they stood close enough to share breath, only for a second. Twice they pulled each other in, then turned to resume their places.
In a proper dance hall, with a proper set of dancers, they would trade off, and pull in other partners, but it was just the two of them. So Ed rested his gloved hand atop Stede’s bare one, and they danced a circle around each other, never straying too far, their arms always bent at the elbow to keep each other close. Ed could feel the warmth of Stede’s skin even through the fabric of his gloves, and it did nothing to stop the chill that ran up Ed’s spine.
The next step would have them separate again, but they didn't bother, instead skipping to the part where they draw each other in, arms wrapping around each other but not connecting. Faces inches away but not meeting. Once, twice, then they would turn from each other, hands connected behind their back. Their hands were not meant to touch, here. Yet they did.
Stede’s eyes met his as they turned together, and Edward thought he could hear the music after all, in the bubbling of the fountain and the chirping of the crickets and in the song of Stede’s quiet smile. Above, the willow tree swayed with the summer evening breeze. He could listen to this music forever and never ask for a new songbook.
Stede and Ed dropped hands to stand across from each other again, but only long enough to join hands again and pull each other to the middle, Ed’s fingertips in Stede’s palms, and Stede would pull him in, then let him fall back, again and again, and Ed knew there was another step for them to do, but Stede was not initiating it.
With each step in, they took an extra second sharing breaths before returning to their places. Their dance became slower and slower, until they stood still, face to face.
Stede was staring at Edward’s hands now, blinking at the raw silk that wove between Ed’s knuckles and fingers. Tentatively, he raised his gaze to Edward’s face to ask, “May I?”
Ed didn’t know what he was asking, but he nodded; it did not matter what the question was. The answer would always be yes.
So Stede began pulling Edward’s glove off his left hand, finger by finger, painstakingly slow. It felt like it took hours for Stede to remove the fabric from one hand and move to the next, but Ed knew he would stand here for days, for months, for years, waiting for Stede to touch his skin. He’d never complain about how long it took.
One corner of Stede’s lip turned up, and he raised one of Ed’s hands to his lips, leaving the lightest of kisses to Edward’s fingers as he bowed like the gentleman he was. Ed momentarily forgot how to breathe, and oxygen did not return to his lungs any more readily when Stede stared at Ed’s face, almost at Ed’s lips, and said, “You make a lovely dance partner.”
Ed couldn’t hold it back anymore.
He rested his free hand on Stede’s cheek and pulled him forward, pulled him like a dance to meet face to face. This time, though, Ed kissed him.
The world around him dimmed to nothing; the crickets ended their chirping, and the fountain ceased its bubbling. Even the wind quieted in the willow tree. The only sound in his head was his breath and the song of Stede’s smile, the song he could listen to forever.
Stede’s lips were soft and warm and tasted like whisky, and they moved against Ed’s tentatively, like he didn’t know what to do, but he knew he wanted to do it.
But then Stede pulled away, eyes wide and almost scared. His voice shook as he said, “Edward. You’re drunk.”
Ed flinched back, but he knew that the look on Stede’s face was not that of mockery or anger or disgust. It was fear. So he shook his head. “I haven’t had a drop.”
Stede raised his brows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You haven’t?”
“I haven’t.”
“Edward…” he began, but Ed wanted him to believe him. So he took his other hand from Stede’s and gripped his friend’s face, pulling him into another kiss. This time, Stede was a little more prepared, and rested his fingers on Ed’s waist, his thumb running a lazy circle over Ed’s jacket as he kissed Edward back .
It was Ed’s first kiss, and he knew it was Stede’s, and Stede’s clumsy movements made Ed smile into his mouth, happy to be graceless and inelegant with Stede. He’d rather be graceless with Stede than deft with anyone else.
Ed was the first to pull away this time, but he didn’t go far, electing to rest his forehead against Stede’s. He didn’t want to ever look away from Stede’s brown irises, which were now being swallowed up by black pupils; he didn’t want to ever be far enough away from him to lose sight of the gold flecks or chocolate ring.
“Edward,” Stede breathed.
“We could get away,” Ed said, mustering all his bravery and pushing forward with the hope that Stede wouldn’t say no. “Start over.”
Stede furrowed his brows. “Where would we go?”
“It doesn’t matter. Somewhere far away from here.”
Stede looked somewhere behind Ed like he was trying to see through the willow and the garden to his life beyond. “What about Mary? What will my father say?”
Ed slid his hands down to Stede’s shoulders, then ran them down to rest on his biceps. “Mary will be fine. And who cares what your father says? He wouldn’t have any power over you anymore.”
“What about the colonel say? You’ll be treated as a deserter.”
“I’ve never liked this country that much.”
Stede considered this. “Never seeing my father again would be nice.”
Ed nodded, squeezing Stede’s arm encouragingly.
“Who am I kidding? Mary would probably be glad to hear I ran off.”
“You two aren’t very compatible anyway,” Ed agreed.
“Maybe we could go to the country. Or we could cross the border.”
“We can go as far as a carriage can take us.”
Stede was smiling now. “We could make up new names. New identities.”
“New lives.”
“But…” Stede wrapped his arm around Ed’s waist, settling his hand on the small of Ed’s back in a way that did not make Ed’s stomach flip over and definitely did not make him go a little cross-eyed. “How will we do it? How can we get away?”
“Leave that to me.”
“Edward… Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“You’d be risking everything. You may never be able to return.”
“You’re risking more, aren’t you? And what’s a country anyway? I’ll make a new home.”
Stede didn’t look quite convinced. There was a doubt in his eyes that looked like guilt, not fear for himself.
“I can’t live life through letters from you, imagining you in this big house, all alone. I can’t do it. It would kill me.”
Stede looked down at Edward’s waist where he still held on. Quietly, he said, “I cannot live on with Mary. I will always wish she were you.”
Ed couldn’t help the smile that crept to his face. “It’s settled, then.”
Stede and Ed walked back to the party, but from there, they went their separate ways. For now.
Ed told Colonel Hornigold that he wasn’t feeling well and that he was heading back to the barracks, while Stede sought out Mary and led her to his father’s study. A year ago, he and Mary would not be allowed together without a chaperone, but liberties could be afforded to them now that they were married. He had to have this conversation alone.
She did not tear up when he told her he wanted to leave. Rather, she raised her eyebrows and almost grinned when he suggested faking his death. He’d forge a letter saying he’d been lost at sea, or killed by stray musket fire, or run over by a carriage. She would summon tears at a funeral, and she would receive the money from his inheritance. After all, they didn’t yet have children to worry about. She could be married to someone she truly loved, and build a life she wanted, just as he’d build one for himself. With Edward.
It turned out to be a rather short, easy conversation. One of the first he had ever had with his wife, and likely the last. The last conversation he’d ever have with her at all.
Stede had never been a brave man, but he’d always wanted to be one. This was the most insane, most irrational thing he’d ever done, but he wasn’t scared. He was excited. He was glad he’d have someone to be brave with. Someone to be brave for.
Before the party ended, he was handed an envelope from a horse-bound messenger. “Told to give this to you right away, Mr. Bonnet.”
The letter was more of a note, with only three lines.
S, Meet me by the tavern on Whipporwil at midnight. Bring everything you need. –E
Stede had never packed a bag faster.
It was not difficult for Edward to secure a stagecoach, and it was even easier for him to pack his belongings. He didn’t have many to begin with; he packed a bag with an extra pair of socks, breeches, a tunic, and the simple red silk his mother had given him. He left his uniform folded neatly on his bed, save for his current basic apparel and the black cravat.
He had never had much to his name, and now he’d have even less.
But he’d have Stede. That’s what mattered. The rest could come later.
Edward sat in the back of the carriage, nervously tapping his feet on the floor of the cabin and pulling back the curtain every few minutes. The tavern on Whipporwil was not the safest or most comforting location, but it was dark, and nobody would notice or care when two men disappeared into the night. Far more shameful acts occurred in these streets than what Ed and Stede were to do.
Ed checked his pocketwatch; it was five past midnight. He began to worry that Stede had been mugged on the way, or his father had caught him; or, worse, that Stede had decided to turn back. He had a comfortable life; why would he want to give that up for a soldier with no prospects?
But then, Ed pulled back the purple curtain one more time, and a head of familiar blond curls was walking towards him. He held himself high, and he was smiling that close-lipped, soft smile that Ed loved.
Ed opened the carriage door for him as the carriage driver deposited Stede’s bag on the back of the coach. “So sorry,” Stede said, looking up at Ed. “Almost forgot something.”
He raised a brow. “What was it?”
Stede looked away. “Oh. Er. A box of letters. From you.”
Ed didn’t bother trying to disguise the grin that spread over his face. “Get in here.”
Stede took the hand that Ed extended and slid into the seat beside Edward, knee bumping against Ed’s. His heart did an embarrassing flip in his chest, half at the contact, half at the fact that Stede chose to sit beside him, rather than across.
“Are you sure about this?” Ed asked. Please don’t say no. Please don’t say no. Please stay with me .
Stede nodded and reached a hand over to grasp Ed’s before tapping the roof of the cabin to set the carriage moving.
Ed didn’t hesitate to pull Stede in for a kiss; not their first, but certainly not their last.