Noble Hearts

by Jerry Cole

  He had not felt alone at first because, truth be told, he had never had much company. He was used to not having anyone around. But Theodore’s absence was different. It was like a house with only three walls, like a cake with a slice removed, like a tree with no branches. There was something obviously missing, and it amplified the isolation Edmond had so happily endured the rest of his life.

  Edmond had thought that coming home would relieve some of the isolation he felt internally at least. Let him relax. But even relaxed, he was still alone. More than before.

  Before meeting Theodore, Edmond felt more alone in the company of people who he could not connect to. Being physically alone was easier than being emotionally cut off. And yet, now he had met Theodore, Edmond felt physical isolation just as keenly as he used to feel emotional isolation. There was no winning any more, it seemed.

  As the bath water grew cold, Edmond stood up. If he were going to sit around feeling sorry for himself, he might as well do it in relative comfort.

  As he dried himself off, looking into the mirror again, he wished there were someone by his side, or waiting in his bed. Someone to make him feel like his unattractive body, mediocre face, and melancholy personality were enough.

  The room seemed even bigger than before. He was not sure if it was, compared to his guest room at the Elridges' house or compared to Theodore's room. But it felt big enough to share. He did not have the energy to get dressed, so he covered himself with a robe and retired to an armchair in the corner, where he could look out across the whole room, picturing how Theodore might live in it, imagining a life where Theodore could be his wife. Edmond could easily picture Theodore, full of energy, rushing about to get them both dressed, laughing at Edmond’s laziness, reassuring Edmond that his soft belly was just perfect, clambering onto Edmond’s lap...

  Edmond was drawn from his daydream by a polite cough.

  Mrs. Hubble stood in the now open doorway, holding a tea tray. She said nothing. She simply walked in, set it down, and sat opposite him. "Who is this lady?" she finally asked.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Theodore didn't like being left alone with his thoughts all that much. It felt as though every second alone was another second of torment. His thoughts were not always kind to him, and other people’s presences gave him the chance to dismiss those unkind thoughts and focus on the beautiful aspects of life instead.

  Theodore felt like a different person when he was in company. He felt like a weaker man when he was alone, like his brain was not in control of the rest of him.

  He liked being relaxed, being someone fun and interesting. He didn't like the loops in his mind. The loops were, right now, telling him that Edmond was simply being polite, that there was no love for them to share, that Edmond had merely wanted to part on good terms. Theodore knew this could not be the case. It was not the sort of man Edmond was. And yet a wave of anxiety, familiar even though Theodore had not felt it in years, began to chew at him.

  Theodore had not always been such a carefree, happy person. As a child, especially, he had trouble escaping his own head. His uncle had helped with that. Uncle had been the one person who seemed to understand that Theodore’s mind was a trap for the young boy.

  “You may watch the ball, if you would like,” Uncle said with a smile. “Stay up on the staircase and look down. There is much to learn.”

  Theodore had been confused by this offer. Such a public gathering was terrifying to the boy. But he also felt that spike of curiosity drawing him to accept.

  Theodore had been petrified that he would have been discovered and made a fuss of. This happened far too often. Some middle-aged woman, or elderly gentleman, or younger child, who happened to be an esteemed guest of Uncle’s, would spy Theodore lurking in the corner and proceed to pester him until he felt as though his heart were about to explode.

  He never knew how to behave. He never knew what to say or do. And, when pressed to a point where he curled up in the corner, on the floor, and wept, he would be told he was ridiculous. Only Uncle was understanding of Theodore’s pain.

  But from the stairs, Theodore could peer out between the iron banisters and watch the guests dancing, all the while unnoticed. He could see how they behaved with one another, how they spoke, how they touched and evaded each other in this strange performance of social graces.

  Theodore could also see his Uncle work his way through countless missteps and errors. And yet it didn’t matter. Seconds after a faux pas, Uncle was dancing so happily, laughing so merrily, as though nothing at all had happened. Theodore was beginning to realize it was something other than callousness. Something other than true expertise. It was about stepping up and carrying yourself with dignity no matter what had taken place. It was a skill, true, but it had very little to do with learning every appropriate social action and much more to do with acting as though you were above them.

  Theodore realized how powerful such lessons were, but only when it was too late to thank the old man. His uncle had taught him so very much about hiding secrets. So many lessons he used in his daily life and passed onto others. In many ways, Theodore saw a reflection of himself in Edmond. He saw a scared and confused little boy who had simply not been allowed to grow up the way Theodore had been encouraged to.

  Uncle held Theodore's hand and squeezed it. "Sometimes, we need to put things to the back of our minds and relax."

  Theodore was glaring down the garden at the other children, who had tripped him into a mud puddle. He then looked to his bare knees, dirty and bloody, his socks stained, his shorts torn at the hem.

  Before he could stop himself, Theodore was crying again. But nobody told him to stop. Nobody told him it made him less of a man, or even that he had to be a man yet. Theodore just stood there, crying into his sleeve. Uncle stood by Theodore’s side the entire time, until the boy was done.

  “I am sorry I am so weak,” Theodore gasped through hiccoughing breaths. He sniffled. “I should be stronger. I need to become a man.”

  "Men have weaknesses, but we are not supposed to show them. So, we learn to hide them instead, and hide them well," Uncle replied. “You are no less of a man for possessing a weakness or ten.”

  “Even you have weaknesses?” Theodore asked, in slight awe.

  Uncle chuckled. “Am I so good at concealing my flaws? Of course I have weaknesses. I am a man. I am fallible.”

  Theodore contemplated this for a moment.

  "I don't know how to hide anything," Theodore said with a sigh. "I am just too weak."

  "No, you are a boy. You are learning," Uncle said. “Our world demands that you become a man. Nobody is born one. You are doing well.”

  Theodore smiled as he recalled how obvious his uncle’s flaws had been from that point onwards. It seemed a little bitter and petty, perhaps, but from that day Theodore spent much of his time looking for the flaws in those around him, making himself feel better about his own flaws by discovering the weaknesses of those above him. It had been a valuable lesson on many levels.

  But a memory came with that lesson. A memory of his uncle introducing a new gardener, who never seemed to do any gardening at all. A gardener who spent many hours in Uncle’s company, who was all but secret from other guests. Theodore had, as a boy, believed the gardener to be a close friend. Now he saw more than friendship in the bond those two men had shared.

  It all made sense, though. His uncle was like himself. His uncle had taught him a thousand ways of being a better man, but never judged. His uncle had told Theodore every way of hiding his true nature. His uncle had encouraged him to question authority, even that of the church.

  "It is up to a man to decide what he ought to put his faith in," Uncle said. “There are hundreds of faiths and thousands of gods, and, thus far, not one has paid me a visit to tell me to follow them.”

  “Then, is the church wrong?” Theodore asked.

  “It is not right,” Uncle replied. “Until some greater being steps down and tells me how I ought to
lead my life, I am not prepared to accept that a man can speak on behalf of gods.”

  Theodore pursed his lips. “I see. Does it matter if the rules they give us come from gods or from men?”

  "We live too little to let other people rule our lives, I think," Uncle explained. "Hide things from them, but why live the way they say? You may not believe it, but I could have as little as five years, and no more than twenty, left in my life. It is more than half over already. Why should I spend those years in denial and misery?"

  “Then why do we hide this from people?” Theodore asked.

  “Because most people find it easy to follow the rules of the church. And they take it most personally when you suggest that their nature is no more acceptable than yours,” Uncle said with a grin. "You can be whoever you wish to be, behind closed doors. If nothing stops you, then maybe there is simply nothing wrong with it.” Uncle laughed now.

  It had all made sense to Theodore. Then, and even now. But now it made even more sense. Uncle had experienced those same desires Theodore now felt. And, without ever explaining it to Theodore, Uncle had passed along the strength needed to live out those desires when the time came. The time had come.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Edmond felt the days as harshly as Theodore. Each day felt like it dragged out a little more, and after five days apart, he felt like the world was standing still. It was so cruel, that all this weight would be pushing down on him, forcing him toward something he had always been told was a sin.

  If he could manage to sleep, he would spend every day asleep, all day long, until these feelings went away. Much to his frustration, sleeplessness seemed to be one of the main symptoms of what ailed him. He spent every night awake, mulling over his desires and needs in ways that left him feeling sullied.

  On the fifth morning back home, Edmond could scarcely hold his eyes open, much less eat. Mrs. Hubble had, of course, noticed.

  "You haven't touched your breakfast today either, Sir," she said, concern clear in her voice. “If you will continue as you are, Your Grace shall lose weight.”

  Edmond wanted to say that he was lovesick. Lonely. Stressed. And, of course, furious at all of reality. But he was not sure that honesty had a place in times like these.

  "I am sorry, I must have picked up something during my travels," he explained. "I have no appetite at all."

  "I shall send for a physician," she replied with a worried smile.

  Edmond was about to tell her not to worry but stopped himself. Perhaps there was some physical aspect to his ailment. It would be nice if the physician could offer him something to at least allow him to sleep. “Thank you, Mrs. Hubble,” Edmond said, standing and, somewhat slow and clumsy from lack of rest, staggered into the drawing room, where he all but collapsed onto a lounge chair. This house felt so dull and empty. And, even so, it was asphyxiating.

  He felt absolutely rotten. More ill than he had felt ever before in his entire life. He knew that it was because he was not eating or sleeping properly. But he could not make sense of why that was happening. Never before had he experienced such an unwillingness to live in the core of his bones.

  He knew he was not actually ill in a way that medical science could get to the root of. But he had to say something to Mrs. Hubble. She had been like a mother to him, and he felt that perhaps he was like a son to her too. He did not want to let her down or turn her away. She was, at the very least, his only friend.

  He stared out the window and listened to the clinking of plates a room over as she cleared the table. He had offered to hire more staff, but apparently, she was happy with five maids and doing the rest herself. Needed to keep busy, or else she would lose her mind, or so she said.

  Edmond was starting to think there was a little logic in that. Staying busy. He needed something to keep himself out of his own mind.

  “Here,” Mrs. Hubble said, walking in with a tray. “At least a nice hot coffee ought to invigorate you, Sir.”

  Edmond smiled. “Yes, that sounds excellent.” He sat upright properly again and began to pour himself a cup of coffee, before Mrs. Hubble could insist on doing it for him.

  "I think I know what it is that ails you, Sir," Mrs. Hubble remarked.

  Edmond froze, his arm tensing, causing him to spill some coffee. “You do?”

  "You are love sick," Mrs. Hubble replied, cleaning up the mess. "You need to address that, take it off your conscience. Or else you might waste away to nothing.”

  "How might I address something that can never be?" he asked her, trying to stay calm and yet raging inside.

  “If I might suggest-” she began.

  “No, you may not suggest a thing!” he snapped right back. “You know nothing of what ails me, of the hurdles I would need to even overcome to see hi- her again. And I do not believe there is anything I could do to quench this fire before it consumes me whole. You are a foolish old woman who has no business offering counsel to an Earl.”

  As he realized how horrified she looked, the hurt in her eyes, it was too late. He could not take back what he had said, nor how he had said it.

  "I am sorry, Sir," she said. "I overstepped my boundaries. It will not happen again."

  He wanted to apologize back and admit his errors. He also knew it was his duty to remain composed. He grit his teeth and sighed. “I hope not. I must handle such affairs on my own.”

  “I understand, Sir,” she replied, bowing in a low curtsy before pouring him a cup of coffee. “I shall leave you to wait for the physician, if that pleases Your Grace?”

  He nodded and waited for her to leave the room before sighing and taking the cup of coffee to his lips. Perhaps, if what he told her were the truth, she could have helped.

  Life was not so simple for him. It was not such a simple situation as one of unrequited love, or of love beyond status. Perhaps if she knew the truth she could help him also. It was not to be. She could not help him without his awful secret being known to the one person who had truly cared for him all his life. He could not risk that.

  Edmond knew that it was love sickness. That much was true. And it made him want to die. There was no way out of it. There was no way to indulge it. If this would last him his entire life, then it hardly felt like one worth living.

  But rather than give into melancholy, he knew he had to at least attempt to resolve the problem. Even if there were not a solution, perhaps it would be more tolerable if he endured his pain with the person who had caused it. He needed to talk to Theodore. To try and do something about his aching heart.

  Edmond did not make any plans to return to Theodore. Something kept him from doing so. Fear. He was still afraid.

  ***

  Edmond awoke to Mrs. Hubble placing a letter on the bedside table. She was beaming. "It looks like your lady's handwriting," she said.

  Edmond sat up and nodded. “Could I have a pot of tea?” he asked.

  Mrs. Hubble nodded. “It is on its way, and so is some warm water for Your Grace to wash with.”

  Either last night’s insult had already been forgotten, or she was putting it to the back of her mind in order to present as professionally as possible. Whichever was the case, Edmond knew that she had been insulted by worse and recovered sooner. He still felt bad about it, but he wouldn’t bring it up again if she would not. Hopefully eventually they could both leave it behind them.

  As she left, Edmond sat up and rubbed his eyes before reaching for the letter.

  He was in a haze but assumed it must have been from one of the noble women he met at the Elridges' house. The handwriting was decidedly feminine, but also somewhat familiar. Edmond yawned.

  It had been the first proper sleep Edmond had enjoyed since his return, and he was reluctant to move from his bed yet. Even sitting up and reaching out, left his arm and chest cold and he pulled the blankets closer about himself as he opened the letter. It was from Theodore.

  Edmond laughed loudly. Of course, a tutor would have elegant, dainty, feminine handwriting. It
was beautiful. Edmond was invigorated as he began to open the letter, not giving himself enough time to worry about the possibility of its contents being negative.

  “My good friend,

  How glad I was to receive your letter, I believed you had quite forgotten me. It was a breath of fresh air in my dreary life. Not to be melodramatic. I am so glad that my friendship is reciprocated, and I would also like for you to know that I love you as equally as you love me.

  I suppose that we cannot discuss much in writing, but I look forward to your next stay at the Elridges' house. Sooner, rather than later.

  Your friend,

  Mr. Theodore Smithe.”

  Edmond felt his face flush and his heart race as he read the letter over and over. Yes, they were meant to be together, in one way or another, whatever the conventions of the day said. He was not sure if he could act against those conventions, regardless of his feelings, and yet he felt it was more possible. Simply reading Theodore’s brief letter was enough to tell Edmond that there was a glimmer of hope for their love to survive.

  “I ought to write back,” Edmond mused, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope, placing it in his bedside table where it ought not be disturbed. “And yet, what should I say?” he asked himself under his breath, sinking back into the pillows.

  Edmond knew what the appropriate reply would be. He knew that he was not supposed to behave like some lovestruck girl. He felt like one, though. To respond with some curt, polite, civilized letter felt almost callous. He would need to find a middle ground. Or simply order the carriage to prepare for a journey to the Elridges’ home.

  One thing was for sure: he was thirsty and hungry again. There was a flush of life in his body, and he needed to make use of it whilst it lasted. The basin of warm water was brought up by the maid, and he ordered her to inform Mrs. Hubble that breakfast would be needed. After a wash and a cup of tea, Edmond felt much better, and headed downstairs for something to eat.

  "Who was it from, then? Your lady?" Mrs. Hubble asked with a smile, pouring him a cup of tea as Edmond started eating some toast and marmalade.