How irresponsible, thought the Duke. It was an impossible dream—for Blair, and for him.

He wondered when exactly it was, when leaving the house made him so scared. His chest would tighten, his brow would sweat, and his hands would shake. He would ball up his hands, dig his fingernails into his palm, but despite the tension, the pain, he shook nevertheless.

Once, when he was at a market, buying something, he dropped his coins, and then, scrambling down, he tried to pick them up, but his fingers had no strength. He had felt his face flush before he simply stood up, the shillings forgotten, and walked away with clumsy steps, feeling the eyes of the world looking at him, taunting him.

It had started years ago, now that remembered. When his family, his parents and younger siblings, looked at him during dinner. Their eyes were always so awfully cold, so depreciating, so horrible!

November was ending, and December was coming. He woke up to the chilly air and Fleming's knock at his door. He stood up from his bed, shivering in his nightgown, and Flemings laid out his daywear and began to dress him.

Flemings was nearing his sixties, a quiet and considerate man who never pried into the duke's matter, but he was growing more feeble by the day. Soon, he'd have to look for a new valet, and head butler, but he didn't like the old ones. What was his name—Morgan, yes, had a haughty attitude, and Peter had a reputation for seeking out prostitutes in the back alley on his days off. Maybe one of the younger footman, Ethan, the one Blair mentioned, or even Douglas.

As much as he wanted to avoid it, he would have to face upcoming changes. He had to start leaving the house.

He went downstairs, and saw Blair sitting there. Some days had passed since he showed him his painting room and they made the wager. Emmanuel had been thinking about it for some time. He peered at Blair, who was obviously comfortable under his gaze.

"I thought of what you said last time," he started. Blair looked up, surprised.

"I've also thought over what I said last time, and—and I still won't take it back." A flush spread over his face, and the Duke almost reach out, but stopped himself in time. He thought he was so awfully innocent, so awfully kind.

He didn't deserve him.

"Suit yourself."

He seated himself down across him at the dining table, and Blair followed. The two ate breakfast in silence, then after they finished, the Duke spoke.

"Today we won't continue with the story."

"Why?" Blair frowned. "Is it because of me?"

"No." The Duke sipped at his tea, then stared at his reflection. He looked old, he thought to himself. His hair was shaggy, messy, and always falling before his face. He had a youthful face, but there was a solemnness, a tiredness, that showed. He bit his lips.

"Blair, would you want to go outside?"

"I don't understand," Blair responded. "If I want to, I will ask for your permission."

"No, it's not that." Emmanuel went over the dialogue before finally saying it. "How do you feel about going somewhere outside—together?"

Silence greeted him. He couldn't tear his eyes from the teacup. He waited, then suddenly started blabbering on by himself.

"We could go watch a play at the Royal Opera, or take a train to London and shop, or visit the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park, or the Albert and Victoria Museum." He took a deep breath. "So, what do you say?"

"What do I say?" Blair thought about the costs, and frowned. "But why?"

"Why? You can buy new shoes, your current ones are quite worn out."

"I think I'd rather save the money than waste them on clothing.

"Well, you're a writer, aren't you? They would be good references, and you could do with some new clothing, hat, too, and they would be a nice inspiration for me, too, as a painter." The Duke cursed at himself. He had never felt so—so unsettled. So fidgety.

"It sounds expensive, and I don't usually use references when I write—"

"Oh!" Emmanuel stood up and slammed the table. "For Lord's sake, Blair! Can't you just agree and come along? I'll pay for all the expenses! Consider it an early Christmas!"

Blair stood there in shock, jaw hanging open. He had never seen Emmanuel so flustered before. Had he upset him?

He wanted to mention that it was only November, and Christmas was more than a month away, but knew better to, so he replied, "Yes." He had no other choice.

"Very well, then." Emmanuel cleared his throat, feeling ashamed at his outburst. "Next week we will go to London, then. Then we can go to an opera or ballet, you can choose, then one of the exhibitions before it becomes colder."

"We are going to all of them?" Blair asked.

"Why, yes."

Blair walked over, until he saw Emmanuel's face. Then he stepped into his field of sight and called his name.

"Emmanuel."

For the first time since their conversation, he turned to him.

"Yes?"

"Tell me the real reason, please."

Emmanuel thought of the first day they met, how Blair talked about his sculptures and paintings, eyes sparking and smile bright.

"I simply thought it would fun going with you." He smiled, gently, and it wasn't a lie. He truly wanted to see that sight again, that expression oh his face. Blair looked serious recently, and Emmanuel didn't want him burdened by listening to his story.

Blair didn't speak. Emmanuel looked at him, and realized Blair's ears had grown red. Blair looked at the floor.

Emmanuel had forgotten Blair wasn't used to this type of thing. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. The two men stood there in silence, then Emmanuel cleared his throat again.

"I need to water my camellias. You can do what you wish for the day. Make sure to get rest, as we will set out early tomorrow."

"Yes," Blair whispered, and the Duke left the room.

***

A week passed passed, and the night before the acclaimed day, as Flemings helped Emmanuel get ready for bed, Emmanuel pranced around the room, thinking about what to wear tomorrow. He didn't want to look too gaudy, so purple and red were out of the question. Black looked too old, and brown didn't suit him. Dark blue could do, or grey. He turned to Flemings.

"Flemings, tomorrow I will be going to London with Blair. What should I wear?"

"It'll be cold, so maybe a coat, my lord."

"Yes," Emmanuel replied, "but what about inside?"

"Indigo would be nice, sir."

"Very well. Lay out my dark blue suit and grey trousers."

"As for your hat?"

"The black one would be fine. You can choose my neckwear."

"Yes, sir." Flemings went to his wardrobe and gathered the things, then spoke again. "I'm very glad for you, it seems that hiring Mister Blair Millais has improved your mood."

"It has?"

"Yes, sir. You smile much more often, and you talk to me, even, now."

Emmanuel smiled. "Maybe it has. Thank you, Flemings. You can go now." Flemings bowed his head, and then left the room.

The next morning, Emmanuel went downstairs to see Blair in his shabby brown sports jacket once more. However, he had to admit there was a certain charm to him dressing in such casual clothing. He looked boyish, young, and didn't remind him of the bluebloods he was associated with, to his disgust.

Blair, too, was fascinated at Emmanuel's new outfit. The coat was a beautiful midnight blue, like Eleanora's eyes, and he had combed back his long hair neatly, and later, after breakfast, when he put on his top hat, he had looked mature. Sophisticated.

Together, neither of them voicing their thoughts, they set out.

Emmanuel's heart raced within the first few steps, but he spoke of nothing. Straightening his spine, he continued to walk. He looked at Blair, smiling, humming to himself.

"Have you—have you ever been to London?" he finally spoke, and Blair turned to him. He beamed.

"Only once, with Eleanora, when we were younger. We had went to see a circus; there were equestrians doing trick-riding, people doing acrobats and juggling, and some exotic animals. We had brought chocolate there, at a stand. It was the most delicious thing I ever had." Blair's eyes softened. "Eleanora had wanted to go again."

Emmanuel looked away. He had almost forgotten in the midst of his happiness that Blair had been through something so painful recently, but Blair quickly laughed.

"Imagine what she would say, seeing me walk side by side with a duke like you now." Blair looked over at Emmanuel, smiling. "Im sure she would be happy for me. That was the kind of girl Eleanora was."

Emmanuel smiled back. He wished, more than anything, he could erase the sadness in Blair's smile.

After a while, when they reached the town, they hailed a brougham. Emmanuel felt the driver's eyes on him and prayed he didn't recognize him and wouldn't speak to him. He asked him to bring them to the train station in a low voice. The driver nodded.

Once in the carriage Blair looked out the window, giddy like a child.

"Look at the people! There's so many people. We must be nearing the train station. I wonder how London is. Last time we went there it felt like there were thousands and thousands of people. We saw so many rich people, too, dressed in dresses with ridiculous bustles, impossible to sit in, and men with diamond tie pins and gold cuff links. Look, Emmanuel—"

Blair turned to the Duke, and saw how pale his pale was. No, he wasn't simply pale. The Duke wheezed, struggled to breath, and his white knuckles, which was clutching the lapel of his coat. He bent forward, and Blair caught him.

"Emmanuel? Emmanuel! What's wrong?"

Emmanuel looked up, and panted heavily.

"I can't—I can't!"

Blair looked at the man, green, and lips chapped, veins bursting in his eyes.

"Emmanuel! Tell me, what's wrong?"

"I'll be fine," he choked out, "Just—please, just hold me. I'll be fine."

Without giving it another thought, Blair hugged Emmanuel, like they had once, Emmanuel's head leaning on his shoulder again, and the two men in the carriage embraced each other tightly, and Emmanuel felt safe. Since setting foot from his house, he finally felt safe, in Blair's arms.

He finally felt like he was at home again, the familiar smell of camellias on both of them, and the softness of his tweed jacket like petals on his cheek.