Duke of Camellias

FOUR

The Duke sat down and wondered what exactly had overtaken him yesterday.

Seeing the miserable boy cry made him feel pity, of course, as he understood how it felt to have a loved one die, but he had never been so kind to a man before. Not without any ulterior motives, of course, and with a boy as poor and connectionless as Blair, there was nothing to gain.

So why?

After breakfast, they went into the drawing room again. Emmanuel prepared a new set of papers, thick and creamy white, of high quality, along with a fountain pen and an ink stand. Even the fountain pen was of dark marbled stone and bound by silver.

Blair watched with curiosity and then rolled it over in his hand slowly, feeling how heavy it was. His contorted face stared back in the reflection.

"Try writing something."

Blair dipped it in the dark void of ink and then tested out the pen to his satisfaction, writing 'Blair' and 'Eleanora' in cursive several times. His writing was not especially pretty, if not even crooked, and they didn't flow into one another smoothly.

Suddenly self-conscious, thinking it showed his lack of formal education, he peered up at Emmanuel slightly shamed. The other man only peered down detachedly. Blair was about to change the subject when he suddenly spoke.

"Write my name, too," said Emmanuel.

Blair wrote Emmanuel, Duke of Camellias, then drew a small rose-like flower, and then looked up at the duke to see whether or not it met his expectations. He gave a small nod and then patted Blair's head.

"Now let's move on to our main purpose." Blair frowned, but didn't say anything.

"My brother, Charles, loved art and taught me everything about it. Together we painted and drew each other until we memorized the very features of each other. My days at the Thornton manor were made better thanks to him. He never made me feel out of place, and when I was with him the staff were afraid to talk behind my back, and his siblings wouldn't approach us. He was my protector, my guardian angel."

Blair was surprised to see the love in his eyes as he spoke. He never imagined Emmanuel to be so thankful to someone to the point of actually calling them an angel.

"But while Charles was a nice brother, he wasn't a good son. As I mentioned before, he was unlikeable and didn't like people. This didn't sit well with the previous duke.

"Before long, my father spoke of bringing me into the family, which didn't sit well with both my mother and the duchess.

"My mother was a wonderful woman, and I liked being with her as much as she did with me. We weren't well-off, but she brought me books to educate myself, and taught me when she had time so I wouldn't be an embarrassment to the duke. Who would've known that would backfire, and he would want me as a son.

"My mother was young, she couldn't have been more than twenty something at the time, and she was beautiful, with long fair hair I always brushed at night, and a small, moon-like face. Her eyes, too, were dark like a doe's. Wherever we went men whistled at her, but she always walked with her head held high and held my hand tightly. She told me wondrous stories every night. I love her, and even Charles loved her, for she always slipped us chocolate, and even Charles loved her more than his own mother, the duchess.

"The duchess was young too, maybe thirty, but she was wretched. She had a wretched life, for she married the Duke without a say when she was seventeen, and she had to bear him children after children, and still he was never pleased and toyed with the maids one after one. The man was a terror, and therefore his wife turned to one, too.