by Merry Farmer
Niall hummed in agreement and applauded distractedly as Professor Carroll took the medallion Ian had been so keen on out of its box and looped it around Blake’s neck. Blake smiled modestly at the audience and bowed a few times, but Niall could tell he was in hell. He glanced to his father, acknowledging the man with a somber bow, but as far as Niall could tell, he avoided looking at his fiancée entirely.
As he turned to hurry off the stage and back to his seat, Blake’s eyes met Niall’s. Blake nearly stumbled over the hem of his robe. His smile vanished entirely for half a second before he plastered it back into place. Only then did Niall realize his own expression was as hard as iron. It matched the steely feeling in his chest. He glanced away, pretending to focus on taking his seat again, and kept his gaze averted until he was certain Blake was seated and not looking at him. Once the dean resumed his place at the podium to announce other awards, Niall peeked at the back of Blake’s head.
He continued to stare at the back of Blake’s head, eyes narrowed, through the rest of the interminable ceremony. Try as he did to hate Blake with everything he had in him, he couldn’t. He loved Blake as passionately as ever. He felt every one of Blake’s impassioned I love you’s, scrawled messily on a crisp piece of paper, as intensely as he knew Blake felt them. But there was no point in it anymore. There was no use dreaming about what would never be either.
The second the ceremony was finished, Niall rose from his seat and bolted up the aisle, dodging fellow students, faculty, and the family of graduates as he went. It hadn’t dawned on him to wonder whether his father had come to the ceremony, though it would have been a stretch for anyone in his family to make the trip. It seemed only fitting that he was alone in what should have been a moment of triumph.
It was his intention to break away from the auditorium and to leave the building before anyone he knew could stop him, but he was thwarted almost immediately, the second he stepped out into the spring sunshine.
“Cristofori,” one of his English professors stopped him before he could bolt. “Congratulations on a truly excellent play last evening.”
“Yes,” one of the university’s administrators stepped up to join the conversation. “I haven’t seen anything so entertaining in years. You and Lord Stanley were absolutely spiffing playing opposite each other.”
“Everyone involved enjoyed themselves,” Niall said by rote. It was too late to run. He was trapped in what he knew would be an endless round of conversations and congratulations.
He chatted with everyone who came up to shake his hand and ask about his future plans as best he could. John and David joined him, silently offering their support and helping to deflect the conversations Niall didn’t feel up to. But from the moment Lord Selby, Mr. Cannon, and the rest of Blake’s family stepped out into the sunshine, Niall’s attention flew mostly to them. He tried turning away when Blake walked out of the building, Miss Cannon latched to his arm like a barnacle, but a professor stepped up to the conversation he was having about the London stage in such a way that forced Niall to stand with Blake and his adoring fiancée directly in his line of sight.
Annamarie Cannon was the sort of wealthy, artless Dollar Princess who didn’t care that she was stepping on every rule of social propriety Great Britain had. She simpered and fawned all over Blake, turning Niall’s stomach. Worse still, Blake looked like an absolute block of wood as he stood there, letting her make a fool of him. His smile was tight and his shoulders tense, and even though Niall was yards away, he could tell that Blake’s eyes were absolutely dead.
“Is it true that Joss Hanover from the Royal Swan Theater has offered you a contract to write three plays for him?” one of the men talking at Niall asked.
It took every inch of Niall’s will to drag his gaze away from Blake so that he could answer the question. “Yes, it is,” he said, unsure which of the four men staring expectantly at him had actually asked the question.
“You’re going to take him up on that offer, I assume,” another said.
“I would be a fool not to,” Niall answered.
He was distracted again as Ian charged out of the theater, making a beeline toward Blake’s group. Niall’s gut squeezed in dread at the pure venom in Ian’s expression.
“You cheated.” Ian was loud enough for everyone on the lawn to hear him, let alone Niall. “I know you did. You cheated to win that medallion, just as you cheated to win everything else.”
“Excuse me.” Niall broke away from his conversation, sending a wary look to John, then marching toward the confrontation. He should have left well enough alone. He should have let Blake deal with what he had coming to him without help. But goddammit, he loved the man, and even though he’d been painfully rejected, he had to help.
“I beg your pardon,” Blake said, blinking fast, face coloring. His eyes grew wide and he visibly sucked in a breath when he saw Niall approaching.
“That medallion should be mine,” Ian growled. The Cannons and Blake’s family looked alarmed at Ian’s vehemence. “You weren’t even going to sit that exam until I mentioned it to you.”
“Ian, don’t,” Niall warned when he was close enough to join the group. “It isn’t going to do any good.”
“You know I should have won that prize.” Ian turned to Niall as though appealing to him would change everything. “You know I love Miss Cannon a thousand times more than he does.”
“Oh!” Miss Cannon gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth.
For one, glorious second, Niall thought he saw love in the young woman’s eyes. His heart balanced on edge, praying that they could play out a drama of another sort and Miss Cannon would fly into Ian’s arms, refusing to marry a man she clearly didn’t love. He prayed she would let Blake go so that the two of them could work out the impossible after all.
“Young man, I’m sorry that you’ve been disappointed,” Mr. Cannon said, stepping in and resting a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “But my Mimi told me she wanted to be a duchess, so that’s what she’s going to be.” He beamed at his daughter.
Miss Cannon glanced between Ian and Blake for a moment, looking as though she might burst into tears, then grabbed Blake’s arm and sank into his side. “It’s for the best,” she told Ian.
Niall swallowed the bile that came to his throat. He met Blake’s eyes for a moment, but didn’t know whether to be encouraged or revolted by the helplessness he saw there.
“Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked all the same. He had to give Blake one last chance to set things right. They could still have a future together. This didn’t have to be the end.
“Of course, he has something to say about it,” Lord Selby said, chuckling. He moved to Blake’s side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “He has to say that he’s very happy with the way things have turned out.”
Niall’s gaze dropped away from Blake’s, landing on the scarab medallion around his neck. It really was beautiful, all things considered. The scarab was onyx and its carvings were inlaid with gold. Perhaps Ian was right and it was worth more than Professor Carroll thought it was after all. Not that it mattered. Like everything else precious about Blake, it wasn’t his to have an opinion about anymore.
“Congratulations,” Niall said, head lowered, not meeting Blake’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He turned and walked away, too hollow even for tears. The only thing he carried away with him was an ache in his chest that he knew would never go away.
“Give me just a second to say goodbye to my friend,” he heard Blake say behind him.
Niall thought about speeding up so that he could get away before Blake caught up to him, but it would only have drawn attention. All he could do was stop and wince, then turn to face Blake as he approached.
“Did you get my letter?” Blake asked, breathless and looking almost frightened as he faced Niall.
“I did.” Niall swallowed hard.
“And?” Blake bristled with pent-up energy.
Niall shrugge
d. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to—”
“This isn’t over,” Ian said, barging into their painful moment, full of fury.
Niall huffed a breath and rolled his eyes before breaking into a bitter laugh. He and Blake would never have the chance to close the book on their affair with all these interruptions.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Niall said, stepping away.
“So have I,” Ian agreed. He glared at Blake. “I won’t let you get away with ruining my life like this.”
“Your life isn’t the one that’s been ruined,” Blake said with acute feeling, voice shaking. The deadness in his eyes was too much for Niall to look at.
“I will win in the end,” Ian said. “Just you wait.”
“I’m done.” Niall took another step back. “I can’t be a part of this anymore. It’s over. Goodbye, Blake.” He turned and strode away as fast as he could.
“Niall,” Blake called after him, but there was no way Niall was going to stop.
A few people tried to waylay Niall as he marched back to his dormitory, but he ignored them, rude as it was. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, not to be congratulated and not to talk about his plans for the future. As far as he was concerned, the future was an endless stretch of bleak loneliness. He knew, deep within him, that it didn’t matter how much success he had or how many accolades he received, the best part of his life was already over. He knew love meant more than riches or success. And he knew he would never have it.
He threw off his academic robe as soon as he reached his room and set to work packing his suitcase. If he hurried, he could catch a train out of York and be in London by nightfall. He threw everything he cared about into his case, intent on leaving the rest of it behind. He wanted to take as little with him as possible into the life that waited for him.
He only hesitated when he snatched up the bundle of stationary he’d bought to write his letters to Blake. There were still a few sheets of paper left. He stared at the blank pages in his hand, wondering what to do with them.
The answer came to him with a painful jolt. The only thing he could do with them was use them.
He sat at his desk and took out his pen, setting it to the page. Every tragedy needed a final act. Every story came to a conclusion eventually. He poured his heart out onto the page, saying everything he didn’t want to, everything he dared. If he got it all out, maybe he could leave it behind him. He needed to purge his soul and leave his emotions behind if he ever hoped to start over.
As soon as the letter was written, he folded it and stuffed it into an envelope. He scribbled Blake’s address, then threw the pen down, determined to leave it behind as well. He leapt up from the desk, put on his coat and hat, and grabbed his suitcase in one hand and the letter in the other.
“You,” he said to the first hall boy he saw once he reached the dormitory’s ground floor. The boy had delivered several of Niall’s letters in the past. “You know where to take this?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said.
Niall handed him the letter along with a large coin. “Then deliver it.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy gaped at the amount he’d been given.
At least one person would come out of the whole, sordid affair better off. He plunked his hat on his head, not looking back as he marched out of the dorm. His future was ahead of him, and it was a future without Blake.
The Chameleon Club – 1890 – The Present
“So that’s it?” John asked as Niall finished his story and sagged back into his chair. The tea was long gone and only crumbs remained of the scones. “That’s how you left things?”
Niall nodded somberly. “I didn’t see Blake for ten years after that.”
“But you saw him last month in Leeds,” John said, as though organizing the details of the whole, sorry tale in his mind.
Again, Niall nodded. “Briefly. He fetched me, Jewel, and Wrexham from the train station and took us to our hotel. He wanted me to go with him to Selby Manor to meet his children.” The words felt strange on his lips, bittersweet. He cleared his throat. “And to say hello to Annamarie.”
John made a sound of sympathy. “I trust you said no.”
“I would rather stick this fork in my eye,” Niall muttered, toying with the silver fork at his place.
John hesitated a moment before asking, “Do you think he told Annamarie he’d invited you to visit?”
Niall heard a different question behind John’s words. John was asking whether Annamarie knew about him and Blake. “She found out somehow,” he sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know whether it was a confession or if she stumbled across the truth. Whatever it was, she took the children and left.”
“You have to go help him,” Mr. Oberlin blurted. Niall had forgotten John’s new assistant was sitting there, listening to the entire story. “You still love him. You have to help him.”
“I think you should too,” John said, slightly more circumspect. “To honor what you once had, if nothing else.”
“What did we have?” Niall scoffed. “According to his letter, he’s spent all these years thinking it was ‘the folly of youth’.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“We all have to tell ourselves things to make it through each day,” John argued, like the lawyer he was, though his voice and expression were full of tenderness. “Think of what he had to endure in his position. Think of his children, his son, the heir to his title.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about his title,” Niall seethed. It was the bloody title that had made things impossible for the two of them to begin with.
“But you care about him,” John said, his voice as soft as ever. He rested a hand over Niall’s as it splayed across the tablecloth. “I know you care about him. I knew it back then, and I know it now.”
“He hurt me, John.” Niall’s voice shook with emotion. “You have no idea how badly he hurt me.”
“No, I don’t,” John agreed with a nod. “Nor do I have any idea how much hurt Blake has endured as well.”
Niall was silent, not knowing how to reply to that truth. All he could think about was how changed Blake had been when they’d seen each other briefly the month before. He could only see the heartache in Blake’s eyes when he’d turned and walked away ten years ago. He could still feel the warmth of Blake’s skin against his, still hear the sounds of his sighs and singing, still taste the musk of his cock. He still wanted Blake, in spite of everything.
And apparently, Annamarie didn’t anymore.
“I don’t know,” he said, letting out a heavy breath and bowing his head. “I just don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” John said, giving his hand a squeeze. “And you know what you have to do now.”
Chapter 11
“My beloved, my heart. I am devastated. You have utterly destroyed me. I love you more than I love the air I breath. I love you more than the feel of sunshine on my face. I love you more than the food that nourishes me. I love you more than any word I have ever written.
“You are the air I breathe. You are the heat of the sun. You nourish me and give me life. You are the inspiration that fires me and makes every moment livable.
“And now you’ve ripped all that away from me.
“If I could forget the sensation of your body tangled with mine, hot and wet with love, I would. If I could forget the taste of your mouth and your skin and your cock, I would. If I could banish forever the sound of your laughter and your whispers, the sweet words we exchanged deep into the night and the promises we made to each other, they would be gone forever from my memory. If I could forget the way you made me feel that I was loved, that I was safe in your arms, that I was precious, as I felt in my soul of souls that you are precious, I would walk away from everything and be happy.
“But I know I won’t ever be able to forget. I won’t be able to break my heart away from yours. I won’t be able to remove you from every fiber of my being or see any
thing but your smile when I feel joy. If I’m ever able to feel joy again. Love like ours only comes once in a lifetime, but ours has been wrecked like a ship dashing against a rocky shore.
“It didn’t have to be this way. We could have chosen another path.
“I love you with all my heart, but I will never be able to forgive you. N.”
Blake lay on his back in the middle of the nursery floor, staring at the faded, dog-eared page in his shaking hands. His throat squeezed impossibly tight and his eyes burned, though after all of the unmanly tears he’d shed in the last few weeks, he didn’t think he was capable of shedding any more. That didn’t stop his eyes and his head from hurting.
He lowered his arms, letting Niall’s final letter—the one that had been delivered to him after the graduation ceremony, after Niall had walked away and left him to his gloomy fate—fall to his chest. The rest of the letters Niall had sent in that glorious month they’d had covered him like a blanket of paper snow. In the back of his mind, Niall’s sensible voice murmured, “You shouldn’t keep reading them like this. Paper is fragile, and they’re already falling apart.”
It was true. He’d read Niall’s letters over and over in the last ten years, so many times that he’d been forced to repair most of them with bits of linen and paste. They looked bandaged and broken now, the white paper long since faded to yellow. But they were all he had left of the only happy time in his life. Perhaps they didn’t look like snow as they covered him. Perhaps with all the bits of linen they made him look like a mummy lying in a tomb. It seemed fitting. He’d been dead for at least ten years now.
