Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

BONUS: FREDERICK & ROY

"Of all the noises known to man, opera is the most expensive."

―Molière

Roy dashed up the steps of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. He was late. He wasn't supposed to attend Don Giovanni. Opera didn't interest him in the least. His schoolmate Louis offered him box seats. The Duke had made plans to attend with his latest conquest, a Harrow boy he met at the same theatre a few months prior, but, true to form, Louis was distracted by yet another boy, a Spaniard he'd met en route to London. Louis never could resist a boy with dark curly hair.

Normally, he wouldn't ask Roy to take his place but this Harrow boy, the Viscount Greindl, had the tendency to get into trouble and he wanted the Earl to keep an eye on him.

It took a small fleet of footmen to dress Roy for the occasion. He was sixteen and growing at the rate of knots. He sprung up another three inches that year alone. Both his trousers and tailcoat had to be altered mere hours before the overture. His broad shoulders threatened to burst through the seams at any moment.

An usher guided him to his seat. The theatre, a round structure adorned in red velvet and gold mouldings was as crowded as it was ornamental and made him feel as though he was crammed inside a pill box. The sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments reminded him of all the boring nights his mother and father took him to the playhouse in Pembroke. He couldn't recall a single performance where he didn't fall asleep.

The Harrow boy was already seated in Louis' private box, pale lips moving as he carefully read the program. Roy examined him before he sat down. He was fifteen but looked about twelve, with golden hair tucked behind his ears and skin as fresh as cream. He lifted his blue eyes and met Roy's gaze.

Roy immediately removed his hat and smoothed his dark hair. "Good evening."

"Where's the Duke?" he asked, his serene expression transformed into a tiny scowl.

"He is unable to attend, I'm afraid. He asked that I escort you instead. I'm Roy—"

"—Frederick," the boy extended a limp hand with a large sapphire ring. "You're late."

Warily, Roy shook his hand and sat down beside him. That's when Frederick noticed his pin.

"Eton!" he gasped. "My reputation will never recover."

"Louis also attends Eton," Roy reminded him.

"Louis is Duke, he can attend a fucking orphanage for all I care."

What a delight this boy was.

Though this was the Duke of Warwick's private box, he often offered the seats to other nobles, dignitaries and close friends. Behind them sat imperialist Lord Dalmeny and his soon-to-be wife wearing a choker with so many strands of pearls it looked like she might asphyxiate.

They were flirting openly and rather than sit in silence, Roy thought it prudent to make conversation with Frederick.

"So, what is Don Giovanni about exactly?"

Frederick glared at him. "You mean you've never seen it?"

He shook his head. "Is it a comedy?"

Frederick looked behind them to make sure Dalmeny and his fiancée hadn't heard.

"DON'T embarrass me," he hissed.

This was going to be a long evening.

Frederick opened the program and entertained a more nuanced discussion about the production. "Luisa Cappiani is playing the role of Donna Elvira tonight. She trained with Josephine Fröhlich in Vienna. They say if you listen closely you can hear Fröhlich's bel canto in Cappiani's aria."