Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER VI

A/N: You might turn on me after this...

(The painting is Bronzino's Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time)

Harry asked Charles to put his bouquet in water. The soft white petals reminded him of Bertie. The vase of flowers was a tiny oasis, pure and true, among the bedchamber's otherwise oppressive artifice.

Even though he'd already suffered one astonishing failure at the racetrack, Harry was less nervous about sporting events than he was social events. He'd ridden horseback before, he'd never once danced.

While he waited for Charles to iron his cravat, he practiced his dance steps and greetings in the mirror, bowing and extending his hand: "may I have this dance?" He cleared his throat, "may I have this dance?" No, he thought to himself. "Good evening. You're looking fetching tonight. May I have this dance?"

Charles smiled, eyes crinkling with the pride of an older sibling. "They won't be able to resist you, your grace."

Harry examined his slim limbs and the baby fat that rounded cheeks. "I'm the youngest bachelor here. The women call me, little sparrow," he sighed.

"Who doesn't love sparrows? They're charming creatures."

Charles brought him his cravat. It was green.

"I can't wear this," he said, shaking his head. "I'm still in mourning."

Charles ignored his protests. "It belonged to your father. He had the tailor create a dye to match rolling green hills of Somerset. He would have wanted you to wear it today. In honor of Somerset. In honor of him."

"It's poor etiquette."

Charles shook his shoulders. "You are more Victorian than Queen Victoria herself! Wear the cravat. It brings out your eyes."

♞

Navigating Warwick House was like making his way through Dante's Inferno. If Harry's bedchamber was purgatory, the ballroom was the last circle of hell. The walls were punctuated by nude sculptures and violent, sexually charged allegorical paintings. He had no place to rest his eyes that wasn't filled with debauchery and sin.

Men were conversing on one side of the ballroom and women on the other. Harry pulled out his lucky coin and recited the greeting he had been practicing all afternoon. "May I have this dance, may I have this dance, may I have this dance..."

The music started but nobody moved.

That is until Louis entered the room. Harry almost didn't recognize him. He wasn't in his signature red but a brilliant blue tailcoat.

Without hesitation he crossed the floor and extended his hand to the most beautiful woman in the room. He didn't even ask her to dance, he simply nodded and she obliged.

Then the other men traversed the ballroom floor.

Frederick, in breeches trimmed with ribbon, chatted up a coterie of debutantes, and tried to decide between them.

Like a hunter, Roy picked a girl who was separated from her pack of friends.

Harry froze. He knew he had to go over there but his legs wouldn't budge. All of these bodies in an enclosed space, touching and breathing on one another, only made him think of one thing: disease.

Lady Finnes was sitting on the settee enjoying the music when she spotted him. "Little sparrow!" she called.

He walked over and bowed at the waist with his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Lady Finnes."