Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER XX

"The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again."

― Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby

Four years earlier Louis stood at the stable door at Somerset watching Harry comfort his mare. Now Harry was at Warwick watching Louis do the same.

Louis didn't see him come in. His eyes were closed, his cheek resting on Bertie's snowy muzzle as he stroked her crest. He was dressed casually in his riding breeches and a billowy white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

A piece of straw snapped beneath Harry's boot. Louis startled and lifted his head.

Bertie's ears were down in a relaxed pose and she nosed Louis' chest, urging him to continue petting her. Harry realized that she had now belonged to Louis longer than she had belonged to him. She trusted him and he adored her. Why would a Duke who owned some of the finest horses in the world be so attached to Harry's small carthorse? It perplexed him.

"I came to say goodbye," Harry said, stepping closer.

Louis did not respond.

"Actually, I came to ask for your forgiveness."

Still, no response.

Harry approached them and scratched Bertie behind the ear.

Louis' expression became sly. "You've forgotten how she likes it." Roughly, he removed Harry's glove and rested his hand on the tender spot behind the mare's ear just as Harry had done with him four years earlier.

Emboldened by the Duke's touch, Harry said, "I know that you didn't bed your footman."

Louis was surprised for a moment that Harry had found out, then shrugged.

"Why didn't you?" Harry asked.

"You know why."

An awkward silence fell between them.

The mare's large black eyes blinked at one Duke and then the other.

"You're good for her," Harry said. "Better than I was. I made her weak, you make her strong, a champion, just like you said you would."

Louis resisted the compliment at first, fussing over her bridle, and then said, "She is the gentlest and sweetest mare I have ever had the pleasure of training. You nurtured these qualities in her because they exist within you."

Harry's chest swelled.

Suddenly his valet's fretful cries rang outside the stable. He had to go.

Louis extended his hand and called a truce. "Friends?"

Harry took it keenly. "Friends."

As he turned to leave he said, "Duke, it's rather lonely at Somerset. I should like to have something to look forward to. Will you promise to write me?"

Louis hid a smile. "I'll write you," he agreed.

"I shall check the post every day for your letter!"

Outside, Charles collected him the way he did when Harry was a small boy and late for tea. He threw a cloak over his shoulders and they shuffled along the grass back to the carriage as his valet scolded him for delaying their journey.

Harry wasn't paying attention, he was thinking of his future letter from Louis. He was already desperate to read it and it hadn't even been written! Perhaps the post would reach Somerset before he did and a letter would be waiting for him when he arrived.