42 • Pious pt. 2

The pub proved easily distinguishable, given that its door was, firstly, propped open by a small canon, which James guessed to be a stage prop; and secondly, it was kept open by necessity. The comings and goings of patrons seemed nonstop.

By the time they arrived at the entrance, a huddle of people had practically taken roost. One glance at William, however, and the herd moved forward, unclogging the flow of human traffic. James could then take in the pub’s environment, at which his eyes widened. The pub’s one door and the nature of the cramped alleyways did not do justice to this interior.

“This place is massive!” he exclaimed with a following look at his partner. “This is amazing!”

William laughed breathily, giving his waist a push to urge James over to the bar. If nothing else, the watering hole was a reliable venue at which one may stand and get their bearings. William practically lifted James onto a stool that became vacant upon their arrival, claiming it before two other people converged on it. William poised two fingers at the barmaid and wedged himself between James and his neighbor to wait.

James sat with his back to the bar, eyes absorbing everything. The pub had a second floor, which enabled a balcony to look down around the room. From where he could see, there did not seem to be rooms up there; more like a whole other pub stacked atop this one. A cacophony of glassware confirmed another bar upstairs while people yelled up and down to one another. In the middle of it all, hung a few brass chandeliers, tarnished beyond finery, but the tallow stems were white, tall, and loyally trimmed.

James’ head jerked a little when William lifted his hand to take the cold, glass stein. An ominous crack ran down its side, but only dewy condensation kissed James’ fingers. “Thanks! It’s cold!”

They both glanced back at the barmaid’s violent chiseling in an icebox. William leaned in close to say, “I reckon she’s a valuable asset in a fight.”

“She’s amazing!” A laugh burst out of William at the sight of James’ absolute glee. “What do you think they use the ice for?”

“The wine, perhaps,” he guessed, before drinking his beer and mildly grimacing. “Or watering this down.”

James laughed and traded their glasses. “Mine’s from a newer barrel. Take it.”

“I don’t mind,” William said, but took the beer and placed a hand on James’ shoulder. “Let’s move upstairs.”

James followed William this time, keeping a hand on the latter’s jacket so he might look upon the dancers in the center of the floor. He had not expected the pub to be the dance hall, merely a preliminary meeting place, but it pleased him to have such practicality. Well, as practical as a stuffy room constantly flowing with far too many people than a building ought to hold, but nevertheless, it was the exact charm James had wished to—

His eyes locked upon two men dancing together before he even realized what he was seeing. Two men dancing together! Flamboyantly dressed! James’ gaze latched onto the maroon jacket catching the light in a rich plum, curled hair from hot wands. His partner wore only his blue, paisley waistcoat and shirt, both open to the air. James felt himself flush hot at the sight of his chest and the spattering of dark hair.

He gripped William tighter until they ascended the stairs. James all but ran to the balcony to find the men again. “I think those are the actors!”

“I think you’re right,” William said over the music and noise. “A proper Romeo and Mercutio. Or perhaps Romeo and Paris.”

“You think?”

William faced him with a new, proud smile and a nudge with his knee. “You’ve read Shakespeare?”

“Ugh, who bloody hasn’t?” he whined, earning William’s mirth. “Why do you think Shakespeare?”

“Their garments. Characters at odds with one another often dress in contrasting colors. And see the red jacket’s shoulders? It’s more in the Renaissance fashion. I reckon some time-sensitive propaganda is at work there. Theatre always does love making clever statements and discussions with what we see. The script may give our ears one lesson, but our eyes see something entirely elsewise.”

“So beloved Romeo is one of us with his dashing blue waistcoat, then? He’s looking more and more like a privateer, the way he sheds his clothes.”

“Don’t make me carry you out of here.”

William had successfully caught James mid-swallow, after which he rasped, “William, I should think you’ve become absolutely possessed! Who gave you this manner of speaking?”

It was then that James realized William had been leaning an elbow over the banister, and as he spoke, rolled his body to slouch fully over it. Relaxed, undignified, and downright mischievous. “Do you not like it? Too much?”

James knew his complexion matched that red jacket downstairs by how William’s glossy, mirthful eyes wandered his face. His smile under that gaze made him look drunk, on alcohol or James—the latter had to breathe, for goodness sake. “I need more warning, you unfair cock.”

“Consider yourself warned.”

James muttered another complaint under his breath while he combed his fingers through his hair, hiding his eyes and then lifting the tresses off his flushed skin. For a semblance of decorum—or perhaps self-control—James returned to the subject of theatre. “Jane’s been wanting to see a play while we’re here.”

“Shakespeare?” William offered, but James knew it to be a tease.

“Heavens, no. Jane would like it, perhaps, in which case you’re more than welcome to take her to something without me.”

“Without you?” William almost barked, as if the idea were either just shy of or downright dancing with lunacy. It brought an odd sense of pride to James’ heart before William moved to, “What would you do while we attended a playhouse?”

James lifted his beer to help ensure his face did anything but reveal his intentions regarding a ring, of all things. As if William would just know by the set of his lips, the widening of his eyes, the movement of James’ throat.

“I’ve been so preoccupied with Jane’s wedding that I’ve forgotten my father had errands to do as well. I might spend the day with him. He could use the reprieve from worrying about me.”

William’s eyes widened briefly around a laugh. “What would he say to all this?” He gestured at the space around them.

“I think he would be wholly unsurprised.” James flashed a grin. “He used to live in the city, for a time. Would probably have something grandiose to say about youth, and wax about the romances only explored during nocturnal hours.”

“He takes his duties as a wicked old man with agreeable relish.”

“Ha ha! Yes! But you’re the wicked one for neglecting the romances of which he would be referring.”

William’s eyes never left him despite James’s wandering the room, watching the dancers as another song started up. “Tell me about them, then.”

James’ head swiveled back to him like a playful scolding in and of itself. “Walking at night. Smelling the air that hides during the day. Different creatures, different songs. If you’re lucky, a hand to hold in a wooded space. A laugh to share in the street. The way light moves differently, wiggling with the newfound space the same way the stars twinkle.”

“You’re making me want to take you outside. We’ve only just arrived.”

James leaned forward a little to accuse, “Do you ever walk around that great big house of yours?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you know where the uneven spots of grass are? Where are the easiest trees to climb and where to avoid because of insects?”

“There are no areas to avoid, because my gardeners intersperse insect-repelling flowers and herbs—”

“Alright…” James tried to curtail.

“Every tree is perfect for climbing. Hardly recommended, but perfect.”

“I understand—”

“The grass is safe enough to run barefoot and not have a care or concern for a twisted ankle or scraped heel.”

“I’ve really unlocked something here, haven’t I?”

“Could even swim in the waters,” he finished with a smile in the face of James’ false annoyance. “Shall I describe those too?”

The latter took the opening to remark, “When do you run around barefoot?”

“With you. When we have a bottle of wine and a blanket to set somewhere on the grass.”

James could not find it in himself to argue with that. William’s smile softened as if to not hold anything against him. “When do you swim?”

“In the dead of summer, when it is the only way I may touch you as long as I want.”

James’ head bowed, if nothing else than to try and diminish the smile, blush, and whatever else warred across his features. “Entirely unfair.”

William chuckled and released him with, “You were wanting to dance?”

“I’m all right just being here.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind, if a woman were to ask you.”

James understood what William offered, and shook his head. “You came. That’s enough.”

And it was, enough, to be in the center of the noise with him. James hoped William felt what he did: how the vibrations in the air and under their feet rattled the dust and clutter in one’s chest and mind. Unlike the balls of Meryton and Netherfield, they held anonymity here, which coincided with a lack of obligation or necessitation.

They were nobody with nothing to do at all. James wondered if William knew, if he had ever been allowed an evening of nothing.

“You, however, might be fending for yourself soon.”

William cast wide eyes at him over his stein. “What do you mean?” he said roughly around his rushed swallow.

James made a face. “You’re the handsomest man in the room. There are probably eyes watching the progress of your drink before they ask you to dance.”

William looked down at himself and said with incredulous honesty, “An out of fashion jacket and no unscrupulousness to be seen? Hardly a catch.”

“The actor downstairs bares enough of his scruples for us all,” James teased, sipping his own beer.

“The actor upstairs,” a new voice crooned surprisingly close.

Their heads turned, but nothing could have prepared James for the jut of those hips and the rotation of blue-wrapped thighs sauntering toward them. James wiped condensation from his palm to catch the hand being outstretched to him. “Bartholomew Holdenstaff, gentlemen. Bartie.”

“James,” he chuckled. “I was just saying to my counterpart how he was likely to join the dancers soon. He thought it unlikely given his state of dress.”

Bartie laughed, a loud melody directly from his chest. “Everyone knows I stole these pieces from my playhouse. You will only be compared to a thief, and the irony is, a naked one. You are?”

“William, sir. A pleasure.” They shook hands and James observed the scrutiny in the actor’s eyes.

“You have money. Your teeth betray your jacket.”

That wiped James and William of expression so thoroughly that the former’s guffaw startled Bartie. “I apologize,” James giggled, coming up from how he had doubled over. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard such a thing.”

Bartie smiled. “Perhaps you have money too, lest you would know the pain of a toothache alongside an empty wallet.”

“No, no, I witnessed a nasty little man break a black tooth out of my uncle when I was young. Needless to say, it scared me into controlling my sweeter desires. For the most part.”

“Those vile little hammers and forceps,” Bartie commiserated, earning an amused smile from James. This close, he could now see the actor’s makeup, or what remained of it, after so much sweaty exertion. His cheeks had been stained pink while his hairline and beard smudged with white. The black around his eyes persisted around lacquered, whiskey irises. “If I may say so, neither of you will suffer from want of a partner. You put me and my roguish nose to shame. Have you never met with a drunk or stolen the time from an overzealous lover?”

William chuckled with James, who said, “I am from a humble village well outside of London. The exact sort of rural charm where ne’er-do-wells seek to take advantage. I may be pretty, but they meet with me, sir.”

Bartholomew’s jaw dropped with theatric enticement. He slid sideways to lean on the banister beside James. “I demand your stories, James.”

The man in question exchanged a glance with William. “They’re hardly worth telling. Nothing more than typical bastards who got surprised when the only son of five defended his sisters.”

“Four sisters! Ah, how blessed. I have seven.”

James’ mouth flattened. “You’re joking.”

“Three more than I ever needed,” he confirmed. “The meanest women you’ll ever have the punishment of acquainting.”

James snorted, “That’s not particularly kind.”

Bartholomew scratched his waxed beard, maintaining its stage-ready shape. “All the sweetness descended to me—oh, and the littlest one. I stole her away to join me at the theatre. Cerise!”

Neither James nor William saw exactly for whom he had called, but as they waited, Bartholomew explained, “You’ll understand why. Mulatto half-sister. Love her to bits but there was no dowry to speak of by the time she opened her eyes.”

“A what?” James repeated, looking to William. “Sorry, I didn’t catch what—”

He saw her gown first. James could not be sure how he did not spot her sooner, as blue as Bartie with thick ribbons the same red as the other actor’s jacket. James could not help but stare at her face.

“It’s a Spanish word, dear boy,” Bartie was saying. “It means half.”

“Good evening,” she held out her hand. Her voice was the smoothest, deep yet light, tone on a woman he had ever heard.

“My name is James!” he took her hand with a bit more enthusiasm than he met. “Are you all right? Would you like a drink?”

She and her brother stared at him, her hand still held by James until Bartholomew guffawed. “Yes, please! Let us worship in the house of libation, indeed. Come sit with us. We make a point to reserve this corner from the fat drunks who do nothing but sit and stew and make the place smell of their farts.”

Cerise smiled at her brother going to the bar, her dark eyes returning to James as he released her hand. “I’m sorry! I meant—it’s hot—your gown—not, um—”

“It’s all right,” she assured. “I’m the first you’ve seen, I suppose?”

James moved his stein to his other hand, holding his face with his cold hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m always rude but never this stupid.”

She replaced her brother’s position beside him and slid her arm around his. James reached back to grip the front of William’s jacket, via which she guided them both to the table set in the corner, out of the way of people looking over the banister or attending the bar. “You haven’t offended me at all, James. Your reception of me has already been exponentially kinder than so many. May I know your companion’s name?”

The man answered himself as they all took seats around the scuffed up table. “William, Miss…Holdenstaff?”

“Correct,” she said, elegantly crossing one arm over the other while the latter’s fingers made a platform for her chin to rest. “My father and Bartie’s are one and the same.”

“I’m so sorry,” James repeated while her brother descended upon the table with a bouquet of glasses and a bottle of wine. He lined them up and used a knife to carve off the wax sealing the bottle. “We needn’t talk about this if you are uncomfortable.”

“Summer time is when I am most comfortable,” she said, placing her hand over the foot of a glass to steady it under her brother’s pouring. James stared momentarily at the pink contents, instead of red or white. “Everyone begins to look a bit more like me and I stand out less.”

James poured the last of his beer in William’s stein, providing him with a full beverage so he did not need to accept the wine. Bartholomew left the bottle next to his empty, waiting glass. He gestured with an open palm and said, “Help yourself whenever you tire of the ale, your lordship.”

James spat and coughed on the wine. Bartholomew chuckled over his glass while his sister struck his chest and onlookers gave them curious and affronted looks.

“Bartie.” Cerise gave him another whap! on his belly.

“Sherry,” he caught her hand and kissed its back, “I’m only teasing them. Allow me my fun.” To James, he elaborated, “I know exactly who he is. When I’m not practicing sonnets and lines, I spend my time with the far more politically adept. His father was a part of the rift in the House over abolition. Quite the scandal, until the tide of history began making itself abundantly clear. France helped a great deal with that. We’re not quite there yet, but the Darcys have been quite the outspoken rebels of convention. They’ve become downright popular for it. Why else would I introduce my sister to you?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Cerise diverted James’ gaping expression and William’s calm contrast, “one of the breaks in his nose was caused by me.”

Her brother sniffed through his crooked nose and leaned forward to have his elbows on the table. “What do we owe the secret pleasure, sir?”

James’ head swiveled, dumbfounded between him and William. “My home nearly burnt down the other day, and the city is about to be hotter than a canon. My aspirations are the same as yours. A beverage and good company.”

That raised Bartholomew’s thick brows as well as his glass. “Condolences.”

“Hold on!” James clipped. “How have I not heard any of this till now?”

“I’ll put that off to ask first,” Bartie declared, “how do you two know each other?”

“My sister’s marrying his best friend. Charles Bingley.”

“Oh!” Cerise put a hand on her chest before squeezing his arm. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” James laughed, bashful and sincere.

“And thank you for answering so honestly,” Bartie said. Something seemed to leave the table, then. A pretense or tension as the actor spoke naturally; his voice lifted out of his chest and receded in his throat, nasally when he did not put on airs.

James shrugged. “It will be in the papers eventually. Won’t take much to place two and two together.”

“When is the wedding?” Cerise inquired, her tone wistful.

“In a matter of weeks. We’ve only just come to London for several errands in regards to it.”

“Your first time here?” Bartie voiced.

“No. My aunt and her family live here. We pass through as often as we can.”

“You must actively neglect politics if you have not heard the rumblings from Westminster.”

“Bartie,” Cerise scolded again. “Nobody wants to discuss such things in their leisure time.”

Her brother gave her a dull look before he poised at James, “She hides her fury impeccably well. Thus why she is Juliet and I am Mercutio.”

James sent a wild look of Ah ha! to William, who laughed and explained, “We were guessing who your costumes were for.”

“Yes,” Bartie hummed while looking around, “that bastard, Romeo, is here somewhere. Her ribbons match his jacket, of course.”

“Of course,” William crooned with a smirk at James.

Bartie, ever observant, asked, “What are we missing here?”

James sighed, “Please take no offense, but I despise Shakespeare.”

Bartholomew’s eyes widened as his sister narrowed in on him. “I beg your pardon—?”

“Oh, good heaven,” Bartie prayed, gulping his wine. “Never mind politics, you just unleashed a special hell. You know, Sherry, since we have a member of the Lords here—”

“No. What do you mean you despise Shakespeare?”

“I believe Romeo could do with a good nose break, himself,” James defended easily. “He forgets Rosalind in an instant and clearly gave her his brains, because he spares none for Juliet.”

“It’s a tale of love at first sight!”

“Lust at first sight.”

“It’s fantastical, I’ll grant you, but the foundation of the story remains that love perseveres through adversity.”

“If Romeo truly loved her, he would have made better, less selfish decisions.”

“Classically speaking, he is younger than any of us are in this very moment.”

James opened his mouth, but he felt William’s hand on his knee beneath the table. “I daresay all of us may equally relate to the foolish decisions of a fifteen year old. But we may also agree that children playing an adult game did so poorly.”

James relented, “I will agree on the verity of poor parenting on both sides of the match.”

Cerise picked up, “I will defer that, and raise you to the language at hand. What say you to the style with which words and syntax tell the story?”

Her brother pressed a spiral over his temple. “We’re going to be here all night.”

James smirked and replied, “I think he is entirely quotable in theory and an absolute imbecile in practice.”

“That rings most strongly of bitterness, James,” she declared sternly. He grinned, seeing exactly what promoted her for such a leading role in the first place. “And a certain hypocrisy.”

“Why? I read the words and don’t fawn over them as scholars do? Are they not also two-faced in how they praise the play but sniff the company like a gutter instead of a stage?”

Bartie leaned in to say, “We could really be picking Darcy’s brain instead of arguing over a dead poet.”

“Don’t begin with me and poetry,” James began. William chuckled quietly beside him, enjoying his beer immensely.

“I, for one,” Cerise announced, “do enjoy the writing of poetry over the reading of it. And—” she stood with a firm grasp on James’ wrist, “I enjoy dancing the most of all.”

Her brother huffed with a hurried wave of his hand. “Go forth, Juliet. Be the sun in the room, and spare two of us, at least.”

James only grinned up at her. “I defy you, stars.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she was smiling. “You can’t lose a game if you don’t play the game. Get up, sir.”

James sent an apologetic look at William, who appeared far too busy smiling at him to mind.

Upon the dancing space, Cerise stood opposite him, but not before introducing him to her Romeo. He shook James’ hand with relish and clapped his back before the dance swept them and their partners together. To James’ mortification, Cerise drew the man into their discourse, but he only laughed and said, “I don’t argue over anything. I show, I display, and I prevail. Come to our show! We can arrange for seats to be reserved. How many would you like? Tell me now before I am too drunk.”

James decided he greatly liked this Romeo, and drew him and Cerise back to the table afterward. Bartholomew had taken James’ seat next to William, who sat entirely focused on him, chin in his hand. James drew Cerise close and pleaded, “William’s turn, if you would be so kind?”

She grinned, and successfully flabbergasted the man by clasping his wrist next. James lifted his hip on the other side of the table, drinking his wine and observing his beloved being dragged away.

* * * * * * *

James burst out of the pub laughing and being pulled back by Romeo. “Take this! Show it to the box office, they will let you in any day you wish. Do see us!”

“I never learned your actual name, they’ll think me a fraud!”

“It’s Romeo!” both Cerise and Bartie yelled before they moved aside for William to join James in the alley, the latter blinking through too much wine.

“Really?” he processed with a wondrous look up at William.

The man only smirked and put an arm around James’ shoulders. “Come on, you.”

“Is this all right?” he piped, despite leaning probably far more of his weight on William than he intended.

“I wonder if there was not something special in the wine, after all.”

“No, no,” James slurred and then descended into giggles. His grip on William’s jacket remained firm. “But it was sweet. And a little sour. I liked it.”

“I can tell. There are stars in your eyes and summer in your cheeks.”

“Sorry…hope you know the way to the hansom. I’m a terrible ally at the moment.”

“I’ve got you. The park is just this way.”

“I suppose nobody will give the drunk and his compassionate friend two looks. Ha!” He clapped a hand over his loud bark of mirth before it pitched entirely into uncontrollable laughter.

Indeed, they did not, however when James began to turn down the wrong street, William pulled him back with a solid grip on his jacket and shirt collars. James made a little whoop! of sound at being so easily manhandled before a quiet, “That’s a little bit thrilling.”

“Stay focused.”

“Right. Ooh!” They emerged upon the main thoroughfare, and James spread his arms out like wings. Their driver was easy to find, petting one of the horses while smoking a hand rolled cigarette.

He chuckled at seeing James. “Need a hand?”

“Thank you, no,” William answered, and James climbed into the hansom with relative ease.

“I think I did that all right?”

“I’ll feel better once I get you behind secure doors.”

“Are you being cheeky?”

The hansom threw him back as it rocked forward, eliciting a slew of drunken laughter despite James’ best efforts.

At such a late hour, they went directly up Darcy’s stairs instead of the Bingleys’. James made a point to thank the man for waiting so long in the park, and under such an irregular order from his employer.

“James,” William tried to curtail.

The driver simply chuckled. “I appreciate it, Mr. Bennet. Appreciate it immensely. Good evening to you both, if that will be all?”

“Yes, thank you,” William dismissed. James could not know where the driver went, but he soon had someone else to talk to.

“Papa?” he blurted at the kitchen table. The man sat with three candles about him, reading with his customary pencil in hand.

He gave his son a long, direct look before laughing deeply in his chest. “Do I get a story or would you prefer to retire?”

“William can sleep,” James dismissed, making his way to a chair.

“William can get some water,” the man answered for himself.

Mr. Bennet chuckled, “Yes, please do. Dearest only son, how much have you had this evening?”

“I shared two bottles with friends,” he scoffed but insisted, “Would you like to hear about them?”

“I’m all ears.”

James fished the paper Romeo had given him out of his jacket and let it fall where his father could read it. “I’ve as good as gotten us tickets to a play. Romeo and Juliet. I met the actors tonight!”

Mr. Bennet peered at the paper and recalled, “The last time I took you to see this play, I carried you out in tears, vowing to dismember Romeo for his foolishness.”

“Yes, because I hated him.”

“You were no more than seven years old.”

“My opinion has not changed.”

A restrained cough drew matching grey eyes to William trying not to laugh and spill water. He set a tall glass in front of James and took the seat next to him. “James had quite the debate with Juliet on this night.”

“Oh, she’s lovely, papa! So smart—like Mary, if Mary talked more, and with more charisma.” He paused to rub his eye and ask William, “What did Bartie call her? At the start?”

William’s hand overlapped his on the table. “Mulatto.”

“I see,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice tired but easy. “She must play a very good Juliet. I’ll happily see this play, if you’re up for a second try, Lizzy.”

“I’m eager to see Bartholomew’s Mercutio. I like Romeo—whose name is possibly, actually Romeo? They only laughed at me and I was too drunk to understand—but I can’t guarantee I won’t finish the play just as livid as before. They know this.”

Mr. Bennet laughed. “Then we may give them an honest critique afterwards. I’m glad you hit it off so well with…what is Juliet’s name?”

“Cerise,” William provided.

“I was surprised,” James admitted, “and I’m certain I made an imbecile of myself, but she is very kind.”

His father only smiled with a silent tap on James’ glass, inducing him to drink more. “I shan’t be surprised at your new acquaintances. I only withhold incredulity over why you have not run away to the theatre before now.”

“I could never, papa. A director or sponsor would throw me out the moment I decided something was too—too…stupid to abide.”

“Shame,” Mr. Bennet smirked. “You have the face and ferocity for theatre. The romanticism.”

“You know I can’t stand poetry, papa,” James moaned behind his hands holding his face. “Cerise made me dance thrice over to argue over the particulars of language.”

William intercepted, “You hardly did less than encourage her, quoting along as you did.”

“It’s good to know my lessons sank in somewhere,” Mr. Bennet chuckled.

James frowned, his tired eyes scanning the table for clues before he asked, “Is everything all right at the Gardiners’?”

“Everything is loud and boisterously well,” he reassured, “but it has been a difficult night for the youngest. Jane, bless her, has stayed to help your aunt. Once things settled, however, I imposed on your housekeeper, William, to let me in.”

“She knows any of you are welcome here,” he disregarded.

Mr. Bennet finished, “Though here I am wasting perfectly quiet sleep. I hope my son has not obstructed whatever plans you have for which sleep might be a requirement?”

William smiled and shook his head. “Nothing I may cancel or reschedule. I enjoyed tonight, reluctant as I was to do so.”

“Then I will be the first to march on to bed. Shall I keep track of this?” He held the theatre reservation.

“That is probably for the best,” James admitted and weathered his father’s fingers raking over his damp scalp. After his footfalls faded up the stairs, James voiced, “Are you smug?”

William refilled the glass and drank after he asked, “Over what?”

“Getting me to see a play.”

“I did nothing. I know for a certainty, that I have never been more fond of you.”

“What? Why?” James laughed.

“I defy you, stars. Never in my life have I been so pleased.”

“Well…you actually like Shakespeare.”

“I like you even more.”

“Did your university companions worship at the throne of the bard?”

“Don’t be unreasonable.”

“Alright,” James apologized. He peeked at William, who felt his gaze and silently inquired. “After so many taunts…I had hoped…but some other time.”

“Some other time,” William agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. “A time when our pleasure will not be outdone by a headache.”

James gaped at him, indignant. “Two bottles with friends! I’m fine!”

“Kiss me, then, and let me taste you.” William leaned close like a challenge.

“Unfair cock,” James purred over his lips, and kissed him with the slightest preamble before he slid his tongue between William’s lips. Kissed and tasted William’s clipped moan, spiced with beer before James tasted his own rosé back on his tongue.

“You have the temerity to deem me unfair,” William murmured, “when you scare me, enthrall me, and provoke me to such ends as I could never predict.”

“If you’d said no, I would’ve resp—”

“I know,” William hushed, large palm cradling James’ face. He let his head be supported by that hand, let himself be kissed on his brow, his temple, and hair. “I enjoyed tonight. I’m glad you danced with Cerise. I’m glad I danced too.”

“I didn’t want to push you to dance with me even though Bartie and Romeo had.”

“I know, Lizzy. It’s all right.”

“Are—Are you all right? With Bartie knowing who you are?”

“Yes, I think so. He and I talked a long time while you were otherwise engaged with Cerise.” He paused to exhale a breathy laugh. “I believe he is smarter than he lets on. He trusted us both with his sister…and I do wonder if he and Romeo are not rather like us.”

James snorted into William’s hand. “Romeo and Mercutio, how fitting.”

William took James’ head in both of his hands to plant a loud kiss directly on his mouth before he rubbed the latter’s spine. “Let’s move to the bed, before your neck has reason to ache.”

James let himself be drawn out of his chair and tugged upstairs. He slid naked under the sheets, where he slept soundly with William’s breath on his shoulder, the soft hair of a thigh on his skin as it pushed underneath his own.

James awoke to the curt rhythm of knocking, and recognized his father’s distant baritone as he groggily maneuvered one of William’s robes around himself. Vowing on a bath and the immediate cleaning of his teeth to remove the taste out of his mouth, James made his way to his father before he stopped when another replied. Frowning, he peeked into the room, only to be instantly seen by none other, than Charles.

“Jamie! Good morning! I’ve just come from Jane—”

James absorbed this and came to the conclusion that he had slept through a sensible breakfast hour.

“—I’ve been informed there is a matter of emergency regarding a ring? The crucial detail being secrecy from William? I love it. Where shall we begin?”