Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER XVIII

"Alice: How long is forever?

White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second."

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Fifty-nine minutes.

Fear was beginning to give way to excitement.

Harry went to Frederick's bedchamber after dinner and the Viscount lent him a lace-trimmed nightshirt that he procured in France. It exposed the collarbone and knees and was the most scandalous article of clothing Harry had ever laid eyes on. He categorically refused to wear it but when the Viscount argued that it would allow Louis to kiss his neck and thighs, Harry quietly slipped it beneath his arm.

In his own bedchamber, he rang for Charles and sat at the vanity. Curiously, his bottle of rosewater was on the ground by his boots. He picked it up and rested it next to the mirror, where he discovered a note. It was from the Duke.

See you soon, dearest one.

♞

William unfastened Louis' breeches. He was about to take the Duke in his mouth when Louis placed a hand on his head and stopped him.

"No, I want to fuck you."

The footman scrambled to his feet and began taking off his clothes. He turned around. Louis wondered why he was being so modest, when he noticed that the boy's shirt was old, likely a hand-me-down, with holes that had been darned more than once. He then folded his shirt and pants and placed them on the chiffonier in that careful way the poor treat all their possessions, because they had so few.

Louis undressed and threw his clothes to the ground.

♞

Forty-seven minutes.

Charles arrived to prepare Harry for bed. Instead of allowing his valet to wash him, Harry grabbed a rag from the basin and began fastidiously washing himself, every crevice, even between his toes.

"You'll scrub your skin off!" Charles exclaimed. He fetched a fresh rag, dipped it in the soapy water and gently washed Harry's back.

When he was done he wrapped the Duke in a Turkish towel he had warmed by the hearth and reached into the wardrobe to retrieve his nightshirt. Harry pushed his way to the wardrobe and handed him the new nightshirt he received from Frederick.

"What is... this?" He cleaned his glasses with his handkerchief to get a better look at it.

"A gift from the Viscount Greindl. Do you like it?"

He held it up to the candle. "It's obscene."

"It's French!" Harry chirped.

His valet removed his towel and carefully slipped the nightshirt over his head. The sight of his young master in something so provocative made him blush.

He picked up Harry's clothes from the chair and began folding them.

"Do you think I'm handsome?" Harry asked, adjusting his nightshirt and posing in the large gilt mirror.

Charles put a hand on his hip. "You're the handsomest boy in all of England!" he snapped, affronted by the mere suggestion that Harry may not be handsome.

His was hardly an objective opinion. Harry searched his reflection in the mirror and hoped that Louis would find his appearance pleasing.

Charles folded Harry's tailcoat over his arm. He would bring it down to the servant's hall to be washed and ironed. A dozen others exactly like it hung in the wardrobe.