Chapter One
Thomas Fitzroy awoke and looked around himself wearily as the faint streams of sunlight broke through above and below the window and illuminated the room. He would have felt better if as soon as he awoke he had not remembered what day today was.
It was “courtship day”, as designated by his parents. He had turned twenty-two last month, and despite standing to inherit his father's title and become Baron Fitzroy one day, he was yet unwed. They had been seeking a woman suitable to be his wife since he turned nineteen, and a whole parade of eligible, beautiful, intelligent, talented, blue-blooded young ladies had since paraded in and out of their home. Any hot-blooded heterosexual young man would have fallen head over heels with all of them and struggled to pick from the veritable bounty of buxom young beauties.
Thomas had the opposite problem. None of these women were attractive to him. In fact, no women were attractive to him. The very idea of marrying a woman, touching her, becoming one with her flesh, siring a child... He shivered and sank back under his covers, wondering if his parents would believe him if he claimed to be ill again. He had gotten through much of his start of adulthood by playing the part of the sickly young man who could not go out much. But his parents were tiring of this game and their arranged dates with these women were becoming more aggressively enforced. He sighed. He would have to get up and see them.
Looking into the mirror, he looked a mess. More so than usual. A night of tossing and turning had forced his dark hair into a thousand cowlicks, all pointing different directions. Great purple marks hung under his brown eyes. His usually slim face seemed sallow and gray. He had not been anticipating the day.
After a quick wash, he got dressed, fixed his hair back with a few swipes of wax, and applied cologne liberally all over. He had learned a short while back that many young women coughed uncomfortably and left early if you smelled as obnoxiously pungent as they did.
“Good morning, Mother,” he greeted as he walked into the front room for breakfast. She was, as always, reading. Baroness Fitzroy was a fairly round woman who had, through reading so much she was rarely exposed to daylight, retained much of her youthful looks, only developing a few expression marks in the shape of her usual disapproving scowl.
“Good morning, Thomas,” she replied, not looking up from her book. “I shall get a servant to pour the tea in but a moment. I am not quite ready yet.”
“Delilah is not yet here either,” Thomas mentioned, looking around for his younger sister.
“Oh, she will be here on time I am sure,” Baroness Fitzroy said, still reading.
Thomas sat down at the table and served himself a piece of toast to help him last until it was time for breakfast to officially begin.
His father was, as always, conspicuously absent. When he was younger, Thomas had been told this was because his father was a big, important, busy man with many business contacts, friends in high places, and therefore, many letters to read and write. As an adult, he had found out that his father simply disliked women, disliked children, considered all unmarried youth to be children, and believed that a pint of scotch in his study was a preferable breakfast to eggs and cold cuts with his family.
Not that Thomas himself minded. His father was an overbearing, angry presence of whom he held few fond memories.
“Are you ready to see Claire after breakfast?” Baroness Fitzroy asked, turning the page of her book.
Thomas nodded, then, realizing she was not looking at him, replied, “Yes, Mother,” and continued eating his toast.
“I know you do not always get along with the prospects we invite round, but this girl is just right for you. You will simply adore her.” The Baroness was nodding to herself, as though attempting to convince herself of her own correctness. She did this every time Thomas met another young woman. She insisted this was the one. She persuaded herself it would work out. Then, when it didn't, she would decide the girl had not been good enough for Thomas anyway, that the next one would be better.
After breakfast, Thomas sat and waited in the drawing room. A servant sat by the window as a chaperon, in case anything untoward were to happen. Seeing the servant there and thinking of the reason for his presence made Thomas chuckle bitterly. He wished he could just tell them that there was nothing to fear from his presence. It was like worrying that a cat might eat the salad plants out of the garden.
It was not long before a young woman in a loose fitting, slim dress, with her hair done up high and tight in braids, made her entrance. She smiled politely and curtsied. He stood and bowed. She moved to sit down beside him on the sofa. He got up and moved to an arm chair.
Here it goes again. The same formalities. The same dull small talk. The same disinterest from him. She did not seem particularly interested either. She was more interested in news that a soon-to-be-Duke was in town.
“He is simply to die for,” Claire said with a slight sigh. “Of course he has been accused of some... indiscretions. But a man of his status is bound to have enemies.”
Thomas nodded politely.
“And I mean you no offense at all when I say this, but I really have no intention of marrying a mere Baron when a Duke is on the table... You know he has been unwed for over a decade? I am not sure how he evades the ladies, but I am sure when he lays eye upon me it shall be love at first sight!” She fanned herself slightly with her hand to add dramatic effect.
Thomas nodded again. “I suppose you have a plan to meet the man, rather than simply to hope he will 'lay eye upon you' some day?”
“Actually, there will be a ball held by him tonight,” Claire explained. “I would very much like to go.”
“I suppose you would require an invitation...” Thomas began.
Claire shook her head vigorously. “No, of course I have an invitation. Why I am... me. The trouble is that my parents will simply not allow me to attend unescorted. They believe it is unladylike and that I might get up to some... unladylike activities.” She smirked knowingly. It seemed she either saw him as harmless already, or she was one of those high-class girls used to everyone saying 'yes' to them all the time.
“And I suppose you want me to be your escort, and then leave you to engage in your unladylike activities on your own?” Thomas asked.
“Precisely,” Claire said. “And it will do you some good as well. I hear you seem to have no intention of marrying, despite your parents' best efforts. Going out with me for a night could be reassuring to them.”
Thomas paused. “I shall consider it,” he said eventually.
“Please do,” Claire insisted. “I would appreciate it very much.”
Thomas was not really one for balls. He loved them, but that was precisely the problem. He adored being seen, being out in public, talking to people, eating good food, dancing, and generally living the good life. But all of this drew attention to him. And that meant that sooner or later he would be discovered. He could be caught looking at men for too long, or his lack of interest in his dates may be called into question.
He had heard rumors that some of the more esteemed men in society did get away with seeing other men and laying with them, but he was never sure what to make of that. It was more likely than not jealousy, and even if it were not, it was not as though he were important enough to do the same.
No, Thomas had to bite his tongue, and secretly hope that his parents would pass away before they forced him to marry some random woman and give them a grandchild.
Naturally, his mother loved the idea of him going to the ball with Claire. It made her eyes light up that he even suggested it. She still clung onto her denial, almost as fiercely as she clung onto money and a ridiculous delusion that her own romance was fiction-worthy.
“I suppose I do not have to go,” Thomas began, already wanting to back out of it and scolding himself for even bringing it up.
“Nonsense. It will do you some good to get some fresh air,” Baroness Fitzroy insisted.
“The ball is indoors,” Thomas replied.
“In which case a change of air,” she continued, “and a change of scenery too, which would do you so much good. You are ill and indoors so much anyway that true fresh air may be a shock to the system. We need to build you up with a little outdoor time and a little time visiting and attending events.”
Great. He had mentioned one ball and now she was thinking of sending him to events. Plural. He shook his head. “Let us begin with the one,” he insisted.
She nodded. “Of course, of course. I am simply pleased you are giving Claire a chance. You will love her in time, I am sure.”
Thomas nodded. “Of course.”
After a few minutes of awkward silence, he headed upstairs to his room and got out of the stuffy coat and waistcoat he had worn for the morning. He did not understand how women survived in their clothes. A tight waistcoat was bad enough, but a corset would have been hell.
Looking in the mirror, Thomas wondered why he had to be the way he was. He had tried everything. He had done everything right. He went to Sunday school as a boy. He confessed his every sin. He ate well and heartily. He drank red wine. He hunted. He did everything a man did. He did everything to invite God's love. He did everything to heal himself. And yet he still felt no desire for women. He still felt that sinful arousal build up when he looked upon the strong bodies of other men.
He could not halt it no matter what he did. He had at one point gone months using cold water and even ice to calm his passions, only to give in and masturbate at the window whilst watching the gardener clipping a hedge with his shirt off. He had attempted to look upon the naked female form in paintings and anatomy books, to retrain his mind, but they did not look right to him. Their small, soft, plump bodies were the opposite of sexual.
He still remembered his first crush. At Sunday school, of all places, he had sat beside another boy, Eric, who he had been friends with for many years. He must have been around ten years old when he first noticed the beautifully deep green of his eyes, the way his delicate hands held his pencil, and his uplifting laugh.
Thomas had made every effort to spend time with Eric. After Sunday school, they would go and play together by the river. Over the course of the week he would visit Eric's house. He felt elated and at peace with himself. And then one day he spied Eric standing outside a sweets shop with a girl. Their parents were inside and the children had been made to wait by the door. They were talking and laughing. Eric kissed the girl on the cheek. Thomas avoided his friend for several days, unsure what to make of this development. He felt betrayed. He hoped the girl was a relative of Eric's. He wanted to confront his friend about the whole situation but... over what? What right had he to decide how Eric should behave in public?
He knew he was jealous of the girl, but he did not quite understand what about. At the time, he had hoped it was just the folly of youth, some misguided sense of kinship or fraternity. But as he grew older, there was no denying it.
Puberty hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly he was noticing other boys and men in a very different light. Their shape, their faces, their voices, the way they moved... Everything about the male sex slowly became more and more inviting. At a time when all his friends were beginning to bond by eyeing the girls around them and trying to pass subtle comments about their figures, Thomas found himself growing distant from them.
He could not relate to that world. He had attended Sunday school for long enough to know they would not relate to his. So instead, he withdrew, lost friends, and watched them from afar in much the same way they watched girls from afar. All the while knowing they would get their taste of the fairer sex eventually, but that he would never get a taste of what he desired.
All he truly wanted was to be loved. Then he could love himself too. But how could he be loved when, according to all he had heard and known, he was an abomination?
His father had never shown any care or consideration for anyone in the house, and Thomas did not expect he would begin now. At least he felt that he would not disappoint his father, if only because the Baron was already so deeply disappointed in his son's lack of masculinity that even discovering him to be homosexual could not make him any less impressed.
And his mother... She still seemed to see him as a naive, frail little baby. He had always been her baby. And as he grew older and developed, both physically and mentally, she had originally held high hopes for him. But he had disappointed her too. She had been unable to bear another child after Delilah, so instead, she retreated into her books and tried to sustain the delusion that someday Thomas would be an ordinary heir to his father's title.
Of his whole family, only his little sister, Delilah, actually paid him attention or seemed to care about him and what happened to him. Only she spoke to him with any respect, listened to what he had to say, and saw him as a man in his own right. And even she expected him to someday marry one of the young women his parents brought home for him.
This ball. This ball would be another painful stake in his sore heart. He would be forced to sit and watch all those couples dancing. To see so many handsome young men, dressed up and presenting, knowing that they were aiming to attract only the attention of the women. Not to mention this Duke... no, soon-to-be-Duke.
Thomas was no fan of greater nobility, if only due to the attention they attracted. They either brought out the worst in people, or the worst of people went out to meet them. Either way, the noise, the snide remarks, and the actual fighting which accompanied any visit from true nobility was almost enough to put him off going.
But at least he would be getting out the house.