"I'm sorry," Marcel said in a low voice as Henri-André and his party of guards and courtiers moved off.
"No." Gilbert turned away as well, trying to find a small sitting room or antechamber where he could have some quiet. "My father's right. I've been ridiculous and childish about this entire thing. I should have been pleased, since the beginning, to be married to someone I know, someone I like and trust."
He found himself moving back across the sitting room towards the study where they'd kissed. He hesitated but then pulled the door open and slipped in, Marcel right behind him.
"I need something a lot stronger than wine," Marcel said. Gilbert found the bottle of scotch on a side table by the desk and brought it and two tumblers over to the settee where Marcel had settled himself. He sat beside Marcel and poured several fingers into both tumblers. Usually he didn't drink anything this strong, but he picked up one of the tumblers anyway and downed a swallow.
"Easy." Marcel reached for his own. "Your father will not be pleased if you're falling down drunk for the announcement."
"Something happened while you were gone," Gilbert said. "I had an affair with a man, a soldier, named Tristan." He looked over at Marcel, who was watching him, his expression far too calm but with an edge of anger and something else he couldn't place. What he was going to say next was not news to Marcel. "You already know."
"I do." Marcel took a sip of his own scotch. "Gregory told me."
"Of course." Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair where it was escaping its ribbon. "I'm sure everyone is talking about it. I thought I loved him—I did love him—and I thought he loved me. And I was happy." He stared down at the glass in his hands. "A few months later, I walked in on him having sex with Lord Fabien, of all people." He laughed without humor. "Anyway, I confronted him. We had a fight, or at least I fought, and he laughed at me and told me to my face that he'd been sleeping with dozens of people while we'd been together. We'd never discussed that at all, you see. If we had, if we'd agreed to sleep with other people I would have understood, but we never had, and I thought …" He took another sip of scotch.
"He told me I disgusted him. That he would never choose to sleep with someone as ugly as me. He said the only way he could tolerate it was by sleeping with better looking men on the side, handsome men with sculpted bodies. Not like mine. He told me he only wanted me for my position and title. And I told him he wasn't well placed enough to ever have either, and now he definitely never would. And he …" He tailed off, realizing he'd been bending slowly forward as he talked curling in on himself. "Then he punched me, walked out, and I never saw him again."
"He hit you?" Marcel was sitting straight now. "Does Charlotte know he hit you?"
Gilbert shook his head. "Of course I didn't tell her all of it; just that he'd cheated on me and said he only wanted me for my position. I wanted her to send him away, not kill him."
"And you don't want this marriage?" Marcel still looked angry, but Gilbert knew it wasn't at him.
He twisted his fingers together. "I don't love you the way you love me." It hurt to say, which was unexpected. "But I can't be part of a marriage just for my title where my husband sleeps with other people." Gilbert was shaking now, and Marcel looped his good arm around Gilbert's shoulders and pulled him close.
"I know you're not him," Gilbert said, voice muffled against Marcel's shoulder. "I know you're nothing like him, and I know I have no right to ask you to give up happiness with others for me, but I can't … not right now."
Marcel hugged him tight. "I want to promise you that I'll be faithful and do everything to make you happy in this marriage," he said. "But I'm not going to do that. I can't and won't promise you forever when you can't promise that back to me. I'm not willing to close myself off like that. But," Marcel pulled back and looked down at Gilbert. "I can promise to take it slow, for the engagement and first few months of the marriage to be about us, and then we can talk about seeing other people. All right?"
Gilbert nodded. It was a generous offer, more than he deserved, and it made the knot in his stomach loosen and begin to unravel although the fear was far from gone. "All right."
Marcel hugged him one last time and then pulled away, standing. "It almost time for the announcement."
Gilbert stood too, with a bit of sway.
"Careful," Marcel said with a grin. "Here." He bent his silver arm at the elbow and held it out to Gilbert. "Take this and lean on me."
Gilbert took the offered arm and leaned against Marcel's side a little. He tried not to lean too much, though; he wasn't that drunk, and Marcel probably couldn't take both their weight at the same time.
The two of them made their way arm-in-arm back out into the ballroom and towards where Henri-André stood with his escort.
"Ah, there you are," he said as they approached. "Good to see you've kissed and made up." His voice was dry, and Gilbert squinted at him while Marcel threw him a sharper look than he probably should have.
"Everyone, may I have your attention?" Henri-André raised his voice to a bellow, and the hall went silent, like a ripple spreading out from where they stood. "It makes me enormously happy to announce today, among such a gathering of friends, the engagement of my beloved youngest son, Gilbert André XVI Lord de Blois, to Lord Marcel de la Mont de Anges, the Marquis de Montespan."
Everyone was looking at them now. Gilbert felt Marcel's arm go around his waist. Marcel was solid and warm at his back, his presence both comforting and supportive.
"A toast," Henri-André said. "To the happy couple."
*~*~*
The suit lying on his bed was gorgeous, white and gold of the royal family, embroidered with the little purple star-shaped flowers of his own bloodline. Gilbert smoothed his hands across the fine silk. Their wedding was planned to be simple. They would be married in the royal chapel with only those related to him and Marcel in attendance. It would be the smallest, least elaborate of all the royal weddings of his generation. He was the youngest son, though, so Gilbert had never expected the days of royal balls and parties that had been thrown when Philippe had been married.
Silk whispered under his palm. His tailor had outdone herself—generally Gilbert didn't much care for clothing this ornate, but even he could see it was a beautiful suit. Marcel would approve. Gilbert let his hand fall as guilt churned in his gut. Marcel. They hadn't spoken more than a few words since the Christmas ball.
Pressing his lips into a frown, Gilbert turned and headed out of the bedroom and to the sanctuary of his study. He did not know what to do about Marcel. It made him feel helpless and incredibly stupid just thinking about it. All these years, and he hadn't realized that Marcel felt the way he did.
He poured himself a glass of brandy even though he usually didn't indulge when he was alone and took a long swallow before settling behind his desk. His gaze was drawn to the king beetle in its case. Marcel had gotten that for him, years ago for no other reason than he had known Gilbert would love it. He was such an idiot, why hadn't he been able to see it? Setting his glass aside Gilbert pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until he could see bursts light in the darkness behind his eyelids. He should have known that Marcel felt the way he did, just like he should have known that Tristan's feelings weren't genuine. What did it say about him that he was such a poor judge of character, especially when it came to those closest to him?
Not only was he an idiot, but he was a selfish idiot. The guilt was back in full force now, and Gilbert reached for his glass of brandy. He must have been out of his mind to ask Marcel what he had at the Christmas ball. How could he think to demand fidelity when they both knew he did not love Marcel the way Marcel loved him? How could he prey upon Marcel's feeling like that?
He needed to talk to Marcel and apologize, but the more time passed, the harder that became.
Well, good
. Gilbert grimaced at himself and took another swallow of brandy. Now he could add coward to his list of faults as well.
A selfish, cowardly idiot who couldn't tell when his own lover was using him to socially better himself or that his best friend had been in love with him for years. He should stick with entomology, which at least he was semi-competent at.
Why did Marcel love him? Marcel, of all people, who was so gorgeous, intelligent, and charming he could have anyone. Gilbert was so used to thinking of himself, when it came to him and Marcel, as the clumsy, bookish best friend not, not …
He took another swallow of brandy finish off his glass.
When Tristan had approached him, flirted with him, touched him, he'd thought it was a miracle. Finally there was someone who was able and willing to look past his squashed features and imperfect body. He'd been so naïve when he was usually so level-headed. Intelligent and practical—that was what people usually praised him for. But he'd been a fool, wanted to so badly believe, because a man as beautiful as Tristan had never smiled at him like that before.
Except for Marcel.
Gilbert felt like banging his head against the top of the desk. He needed to get away from the palace for a while. Maybe he should relocate to the country estate he and Marcel would share. Not that he expect Marcel to be there often, since his studies and teaching would keep him in town. The country air might do Gilbert good, though, and there was enough land adjoining the estate for him to take nice long walks through the woods.
Someone knocked at the door, and Gilbert looked up surprised. It was later in the evening than he was used to expecting visitors. Unless it was Marcel. Gilbert's hands began to sweat and he clenched them into fists. He wasn't expecting Marcel, but that didn't meet anything; Marcel was used to dropping by unannounced.
"Come in."
Indeed Marcel pushed the door open and stepped into Gilbert's study. His eyes went from Gilbert to the now empty glass of brandy on the desk in front of him.
"I'm sorry I hope I'm not interrupting."
"It's fine." Gilbert stifled a sigh and stood, the alcohol in his stomach made him feel pleasantly warm but not as relaxed as it usually did, more was the pity. He gestured to a large leather backed chair, briefly wishing there was somewhere in the study for the two of them to sit more intimately than on opposite sides of a desk. Still, maybe it was better this way. "Sit."
Marcel settled into the chair without comment. He looked tired, Gilbert thought, a little worn in a way he wasn't used to seeing Marcel look. It made guilt rise up and sour his stomach again.
"It is good that you came by," he said, steeling himself for what was likely to be an unpleasant conversation. "I have been meaning to speak with you privately. I need to apologize for my behavior at the Christmas ball, for my behavior since you returned, actually. This entire affair, I've handled it poorly, and you have borne the brunt of that. With my father announcing this match so soon after the disaster that was my relationship with Tristan, I have been not myself and too often I have taken it out on you. I particularly had no right to ask you to keep yourself from taking a lover once we are married."
Marcel looked like he wanted to object, but Gilbert wasn't about to give him to space to do so. He had to apologize for this, even if Marcel brushed it off as nothing, or forgave Gilbert easily, Gilbert still needed to say the words.
"I had too much to drink that night and took advantage of both your friendship. The way I acted was beyond selfish." Time to be brutally honest here. "I would have most likely never have brought it up if I did not know that you felt the way you do for me. I know your feelings would make you less likely to say no."
Although it was a testament to his self-respect, that Marcel had refused to promise.
Marcel sighed, running the fingers of his good hand through his hair. "The Christmas ball was neither of our finest hours. I am hardly going to hold it against you. We should both try to move on."
Gilbert very much doubted that was possible, and he also hated that Marcel could be so forgiving. It should have made him feel better, but instead it only made him feel worse.
He did not want Marcel to forgive him so easily, did not want more proof of how Marcel felt, what he was willing to let Gilbert do and say that he would never have allowed from anyone else. It made Gilbert feel small, dirty, and very much not worthy of Marcel's affections.
"I—" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry, but it's late, was there some reason in particular you came to see me?"
"I wanted to discuss our future plans," Marcel said, wincing a little, although whether it was at what Gilbert had said or something else, Gilbert didn't know. It did nothing to sooth his nerves, however, or loosen the knot of anxiety in his stomach. "I have also not spoken with you in some time, and I didn't want you to feel that I was ignoring you or avoiding you intentionally." Marcel looked tired again. "Things have just been busy preparing for the wedding, and I am still setting my affairs in order after being out of the capital for such a long time."
"I didn't think you were avoiding me." Gilbert was lying; he knew perfectly well that Marcel had been avoiding him, even if Marcel's reasons for doing so were understandable. "I'm planning to start moving my things out of the palace and begin arranging things at the estate. It will take some time, I believe, but I want to have my laboratories and work space in order before spring at least."
Marcel nodded. "I think I will need to stay in the city for a while longer, perhaps a few months after the wedding."
Gilbert swallowed, torn between wanting Marcel to accompany him to their manor house in the hopes of working through the tension that now lay between them and being glad that he wasn't because Gilbert felt in need of space at the moment. Things between them had been easy once, not so painfully awkward, or at least they had been for him. Who knew what their relationship had been like from Marcel's perspective.