A Wager of Love: M/M Historical Romance (8 page)

By the time that he had finished the poem, Laurie had finished undressing, and settled in shirt and drawers onto the bed beside his friend. “That’s very suited to you.”

Gilbert gave him a warm smile at the comment, evidently pleased by it. “I am fond of it.”

“I think,” Laurie said to him, “that you have lost already.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.” Reaching over, Laurie took the book, finding that it was a collection of love poems from different authors. “You and your love poetry. I have never met anyone with such a passionate nature as yours, Gilbert. How can you not believe in such things as love when you so fervently desire to…” Laurie gestured at a page in the book.

“Be thine—forever thine?”

Laurie blushed. “Yes.”

“But I am not, am I? Though I would everything resign—all I have, or all I hope for.”

“Not mine?” Laurie asked, hesitant whether to believe that Gilbert was speaking, specifically, of him.

“Not anyone’s.” Gilbert sighed, laying his arm above his head on the pillow. He looked languid and decadent, a young  Dionysus reclining, better suited to a field of violets.

Gilbert’s eyes closed, and Laurie watched him resting. His dark lashes splayed against his cheek, lips soft and red as ever, and Laurie wondered how his mouth might taste.

Shutting the volume of poetry, Laurie set it to the side and blew out the lamp, laying back and listening to the soft stir of Gilbert’s breath until it lulled him to sleep.

A
s they approached
Laurie’s family home in Somersetshire, they were delayed for some short time by a flock of sheep that milled around the carriage in a great woolly storm until they were driven on and the carriage could move again.

The house itself stood, surrounded by more sheep, on the edge of a pond. It was a handsome old manor of cream stone, with all the doors and windows standing open in the warm summer breeze and flapping their long linen curtains out into the sunshine. A butler came out to greet the carriage, directing the young gentlemen to where the family was dining in the garden.

They found Laurie’s family at tea in the garden: mother, father, Laurie’s sister Elizabeth, her husband, and their young daughter. The family reacted with delight to see them, and the little girl ran across the lawn to greet them, gazing up at them with wide eyes and tugging at Gilbert’s coat tails. She had hair even paler than her mother’s, and Laurie wondered if the child would grow up to be as tall as her mother, or as clever.

Gilbert picked up the child and set her on his hip as they walked over, returning her to her mother.

“Mother, Father,” Laurie said, “may I introduce Mr. Gilbert Heckwith. Gilbert, my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Aberforth. My sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Brook, and her husband, Mr. Alfred Brook. The littlest one is Miss Sarah Brook.”

“A great honour to make your acquaintances,” Gilbert said, and bowed.

“Oh, Laurie!” said Mrs. Aberforth. “You should have told us that you were bringing a guest. We simply haven’t a spare room. He shall have to share with you.”

“We shan’t mind that, mother,” Laurie assured her, leaning over to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I imposed on Mr. Heckwith that he must join us, for to remain longer in London would have rendered us both sick and silly.”

“And,” said Mrs. Aberforth, “of a certainty, you missed your dear mother.”

“It was my most driving motivation,” Laurie assured her, reaching to snatch one of the pastries yet uneaten on the table. “I do hope my dear mother is well?”

“She is,” answered Mr. Aberforth, “and your dear father also.”

“I have never known my dear father to be otherwise,” Laurie said, with fond playfulness.

“And you, Mr. Heckwith,” Mrs. Aberforth said. “Will you join us? There is plenty.”

Additional chairs were brought into the garden, and a lively conversation set up. Gilbert charmed the family easily with stories of London, and presented his friendship and adventures with Laurie as entirely innocent and consisting mostly of playhouses and literary discussion, in addition to Laurie’s saintly efforts to increase Gilbert’s church attendance.

The family lingered together through the afternoon for conversation, and then after supper for games of cards.

“You have a lovely family,” Gilbert said, when they retired at last to Laurie’s room.

“And lively,” Laurie groaned, casting himself upon the bed.

Gilbert shut the door behind them, looking around the cozy room, which was maintained as for guests while Laurie was in London. “I envy you.”

Laurie sat up at that, reminded all at once that Gilbert had only an aunt and a cousin for family. “I’m sorry, Gilbert. I spoke without thinking.”

“It is no matter,” Gilbert said, going to the window to gaze out upon the darkening sky and the pond below. “Rather than your sympathy, Laurie, I would have your mirth.”

Laurie smiled and rolled onto his belly. “You have that often.”

Gilbert drew the curtains before he began to undress. “And more than mirth?”

“What is more than mirth?”

“Joy, I suppose. Or love.”

“Then you shall have those, too.”

That drew a grin from Gilbert, who hung his jacket and waistcoat over the back of a chair. “Shall I? And your maiden kisses?”

Laurie sat up indignantly. “What
maiden
kisses? I am no maid.”

“No?” Gilbert said, teasing scandalously. “So I have mistook you. Are you wedded and bedded, then?”

“I, sir, am a gentleman.”

“But are you a maiden gentleman?” Gilbert asked, drawing off his shirt and casting it alongside the rest.

“What can you mean by that?”

“Have you,” Gilbert asked, crossing the few steps between them and lifting Laurie’s chin with a finger, “been kissed?”

Laurie blushed at the flirtatiousness of the touch and drew back. “I am not going to respond to that.”

“Forgive my teasing,” Gilbert murmured, stepping away. “But you must admit that while you told me that you’d never longed for a woman, you did not say if you had ever touched one.”

“I haven’t,” Laurie admitted.

“And so, your lips are blushing maidens,” Gilbert said, all mirth again. “Untasted by man or maid.”

“No, then,” Laurie said, eyes lingering on the way the candlelight lit Gilbert’s form in colours of honey and gold. “You shall not have my maiden kisses.”

“A sorrow,” Gilbert said, and dropped onto the bed near him. “Then I shall die unkissed.”

“Truly?” Laurie asked, sitting up and resting his arms upon his own crossed legs as he watched his friend.

“If we only count such kisses as are meant to be amorous, and not kisses of friendship or any other.”

Laurie’s tongue caught briefly between his teeth, wondering if Gilbert meant that he wished that they should kiss amorously, or if it was merely more of his eternal teasing. He decided upon the latter, which was easier to accept. “Granted,” he said at last.

“Then, lo: unkissed.”

Laurie shook his head with fond mirth and grabbed a pillow. “I shall kiss you,” he said, dropping the pillow onto Gilbert’s face and getting up to undress.

“Ravished by a pillow!” Gilbert complained, laughing. “Oh, my sweet maiden lips! What man shall have you now?”

“You are incorrigible,” Laurie laughed.

“May I never be corriged,” Gilbert replied. His tongue moved briefly across his lips, and Laurie watched it.

Swallowing uncertainly, Laurie turned away.

“
I
have a wager with Gilbert
,” Laurie explained to his parents as the family met for breakfast, “on the nature of love. He doubts that it exists, while I insist that it does. I thought you might aid me in making some argument as to the strength of love.”

“I am,” Gilbert said, as he buttered his toast, “quite eager to be proven wrong, I assure you.”

“Well,” Mrs. Aberforth said, thinking about the question. “Love is rather a lot of work, that’s certain.”

“Patience and compromise,” added Mr. Aberforth.

“May I ask, then,” Gilbert said, “you are indeed in love and do so continue?”

“We are,” Mrs. Aberforth said, with a smile toward her husband, “and do.”

“How do you know?”

Startled by the question, Mrs. Aberforth pursed her lips in thought, glancing briefly to her husband. “Because he makes me smile. Even when I am frustrated with him. Even when there are troubles to overcome. It lightens my heart to know that Erasmus will be ever at my side.”

Making a sound of interest, Gilbert turned his head toward Mr. Aberforth, evidently expecting him also to provide an answer. Laurie nibbled at his toast to hide a smile, enjoying the perplexed determination his parents showed in response to Gilbert’s forthright questioning.

“On account of my trust and respect for her,” Mr. Aberforth said. “I would be lost without her good sense, and I find myself in constant admiration of her kindness, generosity, and economical management of our estate. I am proud to call her wife.”

“Well, Gilbert?” Laurie asked, smiling at him with triumphant pride. “What will you call that, if not love?”

“I have no word nor explanation,” Gilbert said, returning the smile with friendly warmth. “My cynicism is mute in the face of their attestations.”

“Then you will concede?”

“I will not.” Gilbert’s eyes glinted with challenge. “Not yet, Laurie, though I confess I’m getting closer. I will, however—pass the kippers?” Interrupting himself, Gilbert nodded down the table to where Elizabeth sat by the fish, and received them gladly, speaking to Mr. and Mrs. Aberforth as he did so. “—continue to observe your relationship while I’m here, if you don’t mind. I have…” Gilbert hesitated, pausing with the tray of kippers in one hand and the serving spoon in the other. Taking a breath and serving himself, he resumed. “I have never had the leisure to examine a relationship that could reasonably pass for love. I would be much indebted to you both if I might make a study of it.”

There was a pause in the group, an awkward moment of silence as they all processed Gilbert’s suggestion that he had never seen or believed the demonstration of
love
amongst his own family. Laurie wondered how young Gilbert had been when he’d lost his parents, and resolved himself to ask.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Aberforth, with a kind smile. “It would be our pleasure.”

“Laurie,” Elizabeth asked, with the smile that Laurie recognised as his elder sister’s particular brand of scheming playfulness. “What is it that you win, if you triumph in your wager?”

“We have not set certain terms,” Laurie said. “Although Gilbert has threatened that if he wins he shall require me to learn Italian on the basis that he finds it essential that I should read Dante.”

“Among others,” Gilbert said.

“And so that I might order breakfast,” Laurie added. “If I win, I have not yet determined what I shall demand as forfeit, although I have sworn that I will see him sick with love, so I may indeed use the forfeit toward that goal.”

“Oh, mama,” Elizabeth said, smiling brightly. Laurie’s eyes narrowed at once, knowing that Elizabeth was not naturally a whimsical person, and that whenever her tone took on whimsy it indicated some manner of planned mischief. “The Peregrines’ party is in four days. We must impose upon Laurie and Mr. Heckwith to attend.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Aberforth said, and nodded encouragingly at Gilbert. “Yes, you must. It will do you both good. I don’t know about you, Mr. Heckwith, but our Laurie can be so terribly anti-social.”

“Laurie, anti-social?” Gilbert asked, casting a teasing grin toward his friend. “Who would have guessed such a thing? We would be delighted to attend, and I must indeed see to it that Laurie dances. He has claimed that he loves dancing, but I have yet to see him demonstrate such affection or ability.”

“Then we shall certainly have him dance,” Elizabeth said, laughing. Laurie glared down the table at her, which discouraged her none whatsoever, and only set Gilbert to laughing as well.

A
fter breakfast
, Laurie and Gilbert took along a picnic lunch from the kitchens and a couple of Gilbert’s books, and made their way along the stream and through the meadows and forests that bordered it. They left the Aberforth’s land soon enough, and continued on through lands owned by the crown, finally choosing a shady meadow and spreading forth their blanket.

Laurie lounged across the blanket, idle and careless in the warm sun and secluded meadow. Gilbert took a seat next to him, crossing his legs and leaning forward on his elbows to study Laurie’s face.

“You seem comfortable,” Gilbert said with a smile.

“And so I am. Read to me, Gilbert.”

“As you command.” Gilbert reached into the picnic basket and drew out one of the books. “Shall we continue the symposium?”

“Yes.” Laurie stretched out his arms above his head, yawning. “Speak to me of love, Gilbert.”

Settling into read, Gilbert opened the book and resumed. In Gilbert’s honeyed voice, Agathon spoke poetically on the subject that the goal of love is beauty, and Socrates debated with him to the conclusion that love is driven by the conscious need for good not yet possessed. Diotima from there expanded the discussion to the conclusion that love should transcend physical beauty and attain the love of moral beauty, of wisdom, and of the ideal form of Beauty and Love, which Alcibiades exemplified with a story of himself and Socrates. He spoke of how Socrates had been the only true and worthy lover they ever had on account of how even when they had slept beside each other Socrates had made no sexual attempt, and Alcibiades found this was the example of true love.

The symposium ended there as the characters dispersed, and Gilbert shut the little book with his translation.

Laurie propped himself up on his elbows. “Is that the end?”

“Yes.”

“That’s love, their conclusion of love, and they all accept it?”

Gilbert’s smile twitched. “It’s a philosophical treatise, Laurie, not a faithful account. If there was such a party, and such a discussion of love, it certainly was not so orderly or so driven to a single conclusion. Plato may have made the whole thing up. So, you find you disagree?”

“I think that Alcibiades and Plato himself may be in love with Socrates and satisfied with a love that is only intellectual, but if I were in love,” Laurie said, “I would want both wisdom and passion.”

“As would I,” Gilbert said. “If I did want a love which was based only upon philosophy, I should become a scholar and take up loving only books and dusty old professors. But for my own sake I would rather feed love on kisses and all manner of earthly pleasures.”

Laurie laughed, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm day and the light breeze that ruffled his hair. “Base and lustful pleasures?”

“Every lustful pleasure that has ever been enacted, and perhaps I shall invent a few new ones of my own.”

Laughing more, Laurie sat up and reached for the picnic basket. “You will require a lover who is tolerant of such invention.”

“I shall. They will need already to be tolerant of me and my eccentricities, so it shall simply be the extension thereof into matters of the boudoir.”

Spreading out the basket’s portions of fruits and cheeses, along with that morning’s fresh-baked bread, Laurie poured the wine.

“Gilbert,” he said, as he sipped and nibbled, content to lazily enjoy the day and the summer in his friend’s company. “Aside from love, you’ve said nothing to me of your plans and aspirations. Will you be a dandy forever?”

“I don’t know,” Gilbert said, turned serious by the question. He bit into a plum and immediately made a face. “These are sour.”