The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

eight

Louis opens the door to the Master's room, and peaks in to his mother reading as a maid fluffed the pillows at her swollen feet. She looks over the rim of her glasses, the slight frown on her face growing into a smile when she sees her eldest. Louis bows to greet her, and she pats the bed to welcome him to sit.

"I see you aren't as tired this morning." Louis mumbles, and notices the essence at her bedside. It smelled of lavender, known to be calming for pregnant women and to help aid healthy pregnancy.

"I'm exhausted." She corrects. "I just want to enjoy the peace before their screams fill the house."

She rubs her bump, and closes her book. A woman of high class, a step above Louis' father actually, Mrs. Tomlinson received an equal education to men. She knows literature, finances, and politics well. She sets the book on the night stand, and folds her glasses on top of the cover.

"Your father will be returning next week." She informs Louis of the well-known fact. "I hope you've done your studying. I hear a lot of creaking in the night."

The maid curtsies before taking her leave. Mrs. Tomlinson watches as Louis clears his throat, and looks away from her. Louis' mind wanders to last night: the still air, moon light, cool grass, soft blanket, shallow breaths, and warm skin rubbing and joining together as he and Harry enjoyed themselves. His lower back aches, as do his legs and behind, but he hopes to do more soon.

"If your father saw this," he looks at his mother's knowing expression, "you would not be standing."

"I promise my studies have not suffered, mother." Louis sits slightly straighter, and Mrs. Tomlinson hums with pursed lips. She takes a deep breath, and relaxes into her pillows. With her eyes closed, she takes Louis' hand and lays it under hers on her stomach. Her body is hot, hands clammy, and Louis notices her flushed cheeks.

"You've faced so much to be his spitting image. In many ways, you've succeeded." Her thumb rubs his knuckles. "You can't follow your whims now. You're too old for fancies."

"I know, mother." She opens one eye, and motions to an envelope on the dresser across the room. Louis stands to get it, and notices that the seal is already broken. He lifts the flap of the envelope, and removes the small parchment paper. In elegant cursive sits an invitation for a marriage. Louis' heart stops as he reads the proposal from a man close his father, two steps higher in class and on his way to being a part of the courts, informs that his youngest daughter is two years younger than Louis and in need of a husband. "What is this?"

"The information of your future wife." His mother gives him a helpless yet resolute look. "Your father gave me no say, Louis. I deeply apologize, but he knows what's good for this family."

Louis swallows hard, and clenches the paper tightly. With his teeth grinding, he takes a deep breath to calm down. Good for the family, but no one sees what's good for him.

"Mother," he says as calmly as possible, "I'm not ready for marriage. I haven't finished my studies, and—"

"Now is a great time for courting." His mother gives him a stern look, and lifts a hand to point at him. "Your father worked hard to set this up. I suggest you follow along like you always do, and remain quiet unless spoken to. She is a fine, young woman who hasn't been touched yet. The perfect match."

"Mother—"

"Louis, I mean what I'm telling you. Don't cause so much fuss. You're young with little experience, I understand, but this is a part of your job as the future of this household. I won't allow you to undermine your father's work." Louis sighs, and puts the paper back down. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." He bows, and leaves her room. With a shaken breath, he returns to his room and loosens his collar in aggravation. He sits at the foot of his bed, and puts his head in his hands with a deep sigh. "Just when I started feeling happy..."

"Young Master, it's time for dinner." Louis waves a dismissive hand at his butler, and readjusts his collar so he's presentable. He leaves his room with a heavy heart, and even heavier thoughts, but the smell of baked meat and bread temporarily save him from his suffering. He finds Zayn, and the girls already seated and waiting on his entry. He takes his seat by the head of the table, where his father would be seated, and thanks his butler as a napkin is placed in his lap.

Food is placed on their plates, and Louis raises a hand to signal that he has his serving. He does the same when the wine and water comes around. He favors a night of forgetting so he nudges the water back slightly, and the tip of his finger lightly taps the base of the wine glass. His sisters, too young to drink, don't mind his tempted thoughts. Zayn side-eyes him, though, and clears his throat as he begins to eat.

"How is Mrs. Tomlinson?" He asks, and Louis moves his hand from the glass.

"Mother is healthy. She's using her time to read." He answers, and the girls chatter amongst themselves. He hears Daisy giggle, and looks at them. "What's funny?"

"We were talking about the sculptor." Lottie explains. "He's extremely handsome."

A knot forms in Louis' stomach, and he grips the fork a little tighter. "You shouldn't be letting your mind wander. You're a lady."

"There's no harm in admiring." Lottie sips her water. "If he came from a proper background, I may have been set up with him."

"Lottie." Zayn mumbles in a warning tone. She looks at him, but Phoebe speaks before she can.

"You're lucky to be his friend, Lou." She says. "He seems extremely nice."

"Yes, well—" He clears his throat, and takes a large gulp of his wine. "Don't let father hear you talk like this. You'll cause trouble."

Dinner passes without incident, rather boring as always, but Louis is drunk. Zayn helps him to his room, and lets his butler undress him. Louis sighs as he lays on the bed, and covers his face as he cries.

"Am I allowed to ask?" Zayn clasps his hands in front of him.

Louis takes a few deep breaths. "I cannot believe father did this without me knowing. What do I even do? I don't want to marry a woman I hardly know."

"You will get to know her." Zayn watches Louis roll onto his stomach as the butler grabs his night gown. Louis raises his hand, and waves it. "I heard nothing but great things about her, Louis. I really think she'll suit you."

"You knew?" He lefts his head, and the tears stop in favor of Louis' face turning red in anger. Zayn stays quiet. "You knew about this, and told me nothing?"

He stands, bare naked as the butler attempts to dress him. Zayn keeps his eyes on the wall out of respect. "Louis, I know you don't feel like your father's son but you are the next heir. You must act like it, and that means courting."

"How long has this been in discussion? How long have you known?" He steps towards the pianist.

"You have to think about the family."

"I want to think about myself!" Louis hisses as he jumps slightly in a fit of frustration. He takes a deep breath, and turns away from Zayn only to turn back quickly and point an accusing finger. "I have been miserable for years, Mr. Malik. I have been living such a dull life, and finally— I have finally found some sort of color—"

"In Mr. Styles?" Louis clenches his jaw, and drops his hand. Zayn takes the night gown from the butler, and motions for him to leave. When the door is shut, and they're left alone, Zayn approaches Louis. "You will not last long showing your affair so openly."

His voice is quiet, but stern. "The staff will know, the family will know, and so will your father. If you can't act like a righteous man, the kind Mr. Tomlinson is raising you to be, then you aren't only risking your life but Mr. Styles' as well."

Louis takes the night gown, and puts it on without a word. Zayn undresses the bed, and tucks Louis in. Neither speak for a few minutes. "Many men have extramarital affairs. What makes or breaks them is not the sin, but the exposure of it. If you wish to have your lover, you'll have to make due with a wife."