There were only a few other ways Marcel could have gotten out of the room. So Gilbert headed straight across the sitting room, opening the door at the far end. This door led into a small library, and Marcel turned away from one bookcases he'd been studying as Gilbert entered and closed the door behind him.
"Gilbert." Marcel smiled. "I was just about to come and find you. Sorry I didn't greet you earlier, I was detained almost as soon as I walked in."
He did not have a hard time believing that; Marcel had always been popular at court. "It's all right," Gilbert said, leaning against the door. "You're here now."
Marcel moved to stand beside him, and Gilbert saw the arm he had this evening was silver metal with delicate cutout patterns all the way up it so that the entire thing looked like silver lace. The fingers looked like they could be manipulated too, and his cane matched, as always. "We should talk about how we are going to make the announcement," Marcel said, voice low and deep. They were very close. Marcel had a sprig of mistletoe pinned to his lapel, and there was another above the doorframe.
"You wore them," Gilbert said, surprised, and reached up with his free hand and touched one of the silver earrings Marcel was wearing. The little bee swung, its tiny legs and wings working.
"I'm sorry," Marcel said, voice low, and Gilbert looked up, startled, to ask why.
Then Marcel's metal arm was loosely looped around Gilbert's waist, pulling him in close, and Marcel's lips were gently covering his own. For a split second, Gilbert didn't respond, and then he was kissing back without thinking. Marcel let out a breath as if he'd been holding it, and he kissed Gilbert with passion this time, as if Gilbert's mouth on his was the only thing keeping him alive.
Marcel's mouth tasted like spiced wine, his body was pressed against Gilbert's, slotting them together. His lips were soft, and Gilbert surprised himself by pushing his tongue into Marcel's mouth, one hand gripping tight to the front of Marcel's jacket.
Marcel broke the kiss, stumbling a few paces back. He looked disheveled, lips a little swollen from their kisses, jacket crushed where Gilbert had gripped it.
Gilbert just felt stunned. Marcel had kissed him. He'd kissed Marcel back and he'd...
"I'm sorry, I... I just can't..." Marcel bolted for the door, and Gilbert stepped back instinctively, trying to get out of the way. Marcel fumbled with the nob, wrenched the door open, and almost overbalanced himself in his haste.
Then he was gone out of the study, and Gilbert was left standing staring after him.
"Wait!" Gilbert's wits finally caught up with him, and he threw himself at the door, through the sitting room, and out into the great hall where the dancing continued, once again trying to catch up with Marcel.
Of course, by the time he made it to the great hall, Marcel was nowhere to be seen.
He pushed forward through the crowd and press of bodies, trying to spot Marcel as he did. A flash of silver over to Gilbert's left made him spin around, but it was just one of the streamers. Gilbert stood still and breathed, trying to focus and calm himself. Why had Marcel kissed him? Was he drunk? No, it was too early in the evening, and if it had been a drunken impulse, then why rush off? Right before the kiss Marcel had said he was sorry …
Standing in the middle of the throng of partygoers, Gilbert thought of the feeling of Marcel's lips against his, Marcel's arms around him. He thought of the way Marcel would look at him when they were alone together, sitting and talking in his rooms, having a glass of brandy or wine just enough for Gilbert to feel warm, relaxed, and comfortable. There was always such affection in Marcel's eyes in those moments, such caring and tenderness shot through with a little bit of fire … Oh God. He was such an idiot.
Another flash of silver caught the light, and Gilbert pivoted around. To the right of the great hall were two glass doors leading out onto a stone patio and the gardens beyond. There was someone out on the patio, and Gilbert a tiny flair of light as a match was struck.
Pushing through the crowd, Gilbert slipped through the doors and out onto the patio.
Marcel was there, leaning against a low stone railing for support, looking out towards the gardens. He held a lit cigarette with a hand that visibly shook. It was strange, because as far as Gilbert knew Marcel hadn't smoked since they were teenagers. Gilbert wondered where he'd even gotten it.
"I'm sorry," Marcel said again, not quite looking at him. "I'm so sorry; I shouldn't have kissed you like that, without your permission. It will never happen again."
"How long?" It wasn't the question he'd thought he'd start with, but he needed to start somewhere. "How long have you thought of me like that?" He couldn't make himself say love, because even now he could not truly believe that Marcel could love him as more than a friend and a brother.
Marcel laughed without much humor. "Forever. At least since we were children." He took a draw on the cigarette and blew smoke into the frigid air. "I've always loved you."
"But…" Gilbert's thoughts stumbled over this, trying to make sense of it. He should have known, should have seen this coming, but Marcel was—well, Marcel. It seemed so impossible that Marcel could want him, love him in that way. Gilbert was ugly and unremarkable, how could Marcel have such feelings for him? Besides Marcel was Gilbert's best friend, someone who was always there, like his sisters and brothers, and he had never thought past that. He was an idiot, he should have seen it, should have known, but he hadn't seen it. Gilbert had not even bothered to look. "But what about Julian?"
Marcel made a frustrated noise. "I like Julian, but I'm not in love with him, nor is he with me. We are friends, we sometimes share some bed play, and for a while it was convenient for the both of us to pretend there was something more to it than that. It cut down on the number of nobles drunkenly propositioning us at parties if we pretended we were exclusive to each other. We never have been, though. Julian's not comfortable with monogamy, and I've been pining for you since I was sixteen." He took another long drag from the cigarette.
"I'm sorry," Gilbert said. "But I never …"
"I know." Marcel waved his hand, but there was real pain behind those two words and Gilbert could not help but flinch a little. "And I swear to you," Marcel went on, "if you still want to go through with this marriage, nothing needs to change. I would never push you into anything you didn't want." He winced. "Not anymore—"
"I wasn't unwilling," Gilbert cut in and then blushed. "I mean, I've never thought of you like that, but just the same I didn't mind the kiss."
Marcel stared at him for a long moment, and then he let out a breath before moving a few steps closer. "Do you still want this marriage?" he asked. "I'm not asking you to love me the way I love you or even to sleep with me. Just for a merger of our households and names. That's all, Berti, truly. If you don't want to go through with it, I'll understand, or if you need more time, we can postpone the announcement."
"Maybe we should." Gilbert didn't know what to think. The kiss had been nice, but when he tried to think of doing more than just kissing with Marcel, his mind boggled. In theory, he knew Marcel was considered very desirable, had lovers and numerous admirers. He'd just never looked at Marcel and thought of them together in that way. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Marcel, I need time."
"All right." Marcel swallowed hard, but then dropped his cigarette, crushing it out in the light dusting of snow and reached for his cane. "I'll go find your father. Tell him not to make the announcement tonight."
"I should do it," Gilbert said as Marcel passed by him on his way back into the ballroom.
"No." Marcel shook his head. "No, you don't have to. I'll do it."
"I'll come with you." Gilbert followed Marcel back inside the palace.
His father was actually not hard to spot, with all of his private bodyguards trying to blend in with the partygoers in their nice clothes and failing at it.
"Majesty." Marcel bowed when they were close enough. Henri-André smiled and waved them closer.
"An
d how are both of you this good evening? Enjoying the party, I should hope?"
"I am." Marcel gave a small, polite smile. "But I'm afraid I must beg a favor. Would it be possible for us to postpone this evening's announcement?"
Henri-André smile dropped. "But why? The papers have already been signed."
"We know." Marcel and Gilbert exchanged glances, and Marcel bowed his head again. "We aren't asking to break things off. We are simply asking for time."
His father did not look pleased and inhaled as if he were about to go off on one of his lectures. "I need time," Gilbert said before Henri-André could start.
"Gilbert." Henri-André pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding a wineglass. "We have spoken of this before."
"But—" Gilbert started, and Henri-André held up his hand.
"No. The papers are signed, I will announce this engagement, and you two will be married. If you hated it, Gilbert, then you are not required to live together, speak to each other, or have any dealings aside from the minimum required for business arrangements. I am sorry if you are not happy. I truly am, I wanted you to be, but you will marry. That is your duty to the crown, and you will marry who I say. That is your duty to your emperor. You are my youngest son, but you are still a prince, and at the end of the day being happy is not your right, it is a luxury. One that I may or may not choose to bestow. Understood?"
Gilbert stared numbly at the floor, aware that all of the lords and ladies closest to them had turned to stare. His father's guards were purposefully not looking at him at all. With his luck, his siblings were probably watching as well. They had all accepted their marriages with grace befitting their station. He gritted his teeth and bowed low. "Yes, Your Majesty, I understand."
"Good." Henri-André turned away. "I will make the announcement at midnight. Be ready, both of you, to present yourselves properly to the court."
"I'm sorry," Marcel said in a low voice as Henri-André and his party of guards and courtiers moved off.
"No." Gilbert turned away as well, trying to find a small sitting room or antechamber where he could have some quiet. "My father's right. I've been ridiculous and childish about this entire thing. I should have been pleased, since the beginning, to be married to someone I know, someone I like and trust."
He found himself moving back across the sitting room towards the study where they'd kissed. He hesitated but then pulled the door open and slipped in, Marcel right behind him.
"I need something a lot stronger than wine," Marcel said. Gilbert found the bottle of scotch on a side table by the desk and brought it and two tumblers over to the settee where Marcel had settled himself. He sat beside Marcel and poured several fingers into both tumblers. Usually he didn't drink anything this strong, but he picked up one of the tumblers anyway and downed a swallow.
"Easy." Marcel reached for his own. "Your father will not be pleased if you're falling down drunk for the announcement."
"Something happened while you were gone," Gilbert said. "I had an affair with a man, a soldier, named Tristan." He looked over at Marcel, who was watching him, his expression far too calm but with an edge of anger and something else he couldn't place. What he was going to say next was not news to Marcel. "You already know."
"I do." Marcel took a sip of his own scotch. "Gregory told me."
"Of course." Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair where it was escaping its ribbon. "I'm sure everyone is talking about it. I thought I loved him—I did love him—and I thought he loved me. And I was happy." He stared down at the glass in his hands. "A few months later, I walked in on him having sex with Lord Fabien, of all people." He laughed without humor. "Anyway, I confronted him. We had a fight, or at least I fought, and he laughed at me and told me to my face that he'd been sleeping with dozens of people while we'd been together. We'd never discussed that at all, you see. If we had, if we'd agreed to sleep with other people I would have understood, but we never had, and I thought …" He took another sip of scotch.
"He told me I disgusted him. That he would never choose to sleep with someone as ugly as me. He said the only way he could tolerate it was by sleeping with better looking men on the side, handsome men with sculpted bodies. Not like mine. He told me he only wanted me for my position and title. And I told him he wasn't well placed enough to ever have either, and now he definitely never would. And he …" He tailed off, realizing he'd been bending slowly forward as he talked curling in on himself. "Then he punched me, walked out, and I never saw him again."
"He hit you?" Marcel was sitting straight now. "Does Charlotte know he hit you?"
Gilbert shook his head. "Of course I didn't tell her all of it; just that he'd cheated on me and said he only wanted me for my position. I wanted her to send him away, not kill him."
"And you don't want this marriage?" Marcel still looked angry, but Gilbert knew it wasn't at him.
He twisted his fingers together. "I don't love you the way you love me." It hurt to say, which was unexpected. "But I can't be part of a marriage just for my title where my husband sleeps with other people." Gilbert was shaking now, and Marcel looped his good arm around Gilbert's shoulders and pulled him close.
"I know you're not him," Gilbert said, voice muffled against Marcel's shoulder. "I know you're nothing like him, and I know I have no right to ask you to give up happiness with others for me, but I can't … not right now."
Marcel hugged him tight. "I want to promise you that I'll be faithful and do everything to make you happy in this marriage," he said. "But I'm not going to do that. I can't and won't promise you forever when you can't promise that back to me. I'm not willing to close myself off like that. But," Marcel pulled back and looked down at Gilbert. "I can promise to take it slow, for the engagement and first few months of the marriage to be about us, and then we can talk about seeing other people. All right?"
Gilbert nodded. It was a generous offer, more than he deserved, and it made the knot in his stomach loosen and begin to unravel although the fear was far from gone. "All right."
Marcel hugged him one last time and then pulled away, standing. "It almost time for the announcement."
Gilbert stood too, with a bit of sway.
"Careful," Marcel said with a grin. "Here." He bent his silver arm at the elbow and held it out to Gilbert. "Take this and lean on me."
Gilbert took the offered arm and leaned against Marcel's side a little. He tried not to lean too much, though; he wasn't that drunk, and Marcel probably couldn't take both their weight at the same time.
The two of them made their way arm-in-arm back out into the ballroom and towards where Henri-André stood with his escort.
"Ah, there you are," he said as they approached. "Good to see you've kissed and made up." His voice was dry, and Gilbert squinted at him while Marcel threw him a sharper look than he probably should have.
"Everyone, may I have your attention?" Henri-André raised his voice to a bellow, and the hall went silent, like a ripple spreading out from where they stood. "It makes me enormously happy to announce today, among such a gathering of friends, the engagement of my beloved youngest son, Gilbert André XVI Lord de Blois, to Lord Marcel de la Mont de Anges, the Marquis de Montespan."
Everyone was looking at them now. Gilbert felt Marcel's arm go around his waist. Marcel was solid and warm at his back, his presence both comforting and supportive.
"A toast," Henri-André said. "To the happy couple."
*~*~*
The suit lying on his bed was gorgeous, white and gold of the royal family, embroidered with the little purple star-shaped flowers of his own bloodline. Gilbert smoothed his hands across the fine silk. Their wedding was planned to be simple. They would be married in the royal chapel with only those related to him and Marcel in attendance. It would be the smallest, least elaborate of all the royal weddings of his generation. He was the youngest son, though, so Gilbert had never expected the days of royal balls and parties that had been thrown when Philippe had been married
.
Silk whispered under his palm. His tailor had outdone herself—generally Gilbert didn't much care for clothing this ornate, but even he could see it was a beautiful suit. Marcel would approve. Gilbert let his hand fall as guilt churned in his gut. Marcel. They hadn't spoken more than a few words since the Christmas ball.
Pressing his lips into a frown, Gilbert turned and headed out of the bedroom and to the sanctuary of his study. He did not know what to do about Marcel. It made him feel helpless and incredibly stupid just thinking about it. All these years, and he hadn't realized that Marcel felt the way he did.
He poured himself a glass of brandy even though he usually didn't indulge when he was alone and took a long swallow before settling behind his desk. His gaze was drawn to the king beetle in its case. Marcel had gotten that for him, years ago for no other reason than he had known Gilbert would love it. He was such an idiot, why hadn't he been able to see it? Setting his glass aside Gilbert pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until he could see bursts light in the darkness behind his eyelids. He should have known that Marcel felt the way he did, just like he should have known that Tristan's feelings weren't genuine. What did it say about him that he was such a poor judge of character, especially when it came to those closest to him?
Not only was he an idiot, but he was a selfish idiot. The guilt was back in full force now, and Gilbert reached for his glass of brandy. He must have been out of his mind to ask Marcel what he had at the Christmas ball. How could he think to demand fidelity when they both knew he did not love Marcel the way Marcel loved him? How could he prey upon Marcel's feeling like that?
He needed to talk to Marcel and apologize, but the more time passed, the harder that became.
Well, good. Gilbert grimaced at himself and took another swallow of brandy. Now he could add coward to his list of faults as well.
A selfish, cowardly idiot who couldn't tell when his own lover was using him to socially better himself or that his best friend had been in love with him for years. He should stick with entomology, which at least he was semi-competent at.
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