One
LONDON – DECEMBER, 1840
London in December was one of the most miserable tortures Howard Bradford could think of. The skies were grey and constantly seemed to be leaking moisture onto the washed-out city. The streets were churned pools of stinking mud. The people who were forced to endure the conditions all seemed to be wrapped in layers of damp, grey wool, giving everything the appearance of exhaustion and stagnation.
It was nothing like Italy or Spain, or any of Howard’s other favorite continental haunts. In those places, the sun always seemed to shine down with grace and favor on the colorful landscapes. Even outside of the intensity of summer, flowers bloomed, waves lapped against tawny beaches, and nubile young men with their tanned skin and dark hair always seemed to be ready with a smile and a wink, and often much more.
Howard let out a resigned sigh as the carriage he’d hired at the coaching inn pulled to a stop in front of The Chameleon Club. He would be done with wretched London shortly after the holidays, so it did not matter how gloomy the place was now. He already had passage booked to sail for sunnier shores a fewdays after Christmas. The Italian lads he’d left behind after his last sojourn for pleasure had written to let him know they were hungry for his return—their words, not his—and he was equally ravenous to be welcomed into their heated embraces.
All he had to do to exchange the dreariness of London for the excitement he craved was to wait things out through the interminable holidays.
“Bradford, you’ve returned,” Howard’s old friend, Cecil Mackworth, Viscount Thurleigh, greeted him as he stepped into the marble entryway of the club.
Thurleigh, along with his lover, Austin Haythorne, was one of the founders and managers of The Chameleon Club and The Brotherhood, the organization of men who loved other men that had come into being a few years before, thanks to the bequest of Howard’s old friend and occasional lover, George, Lord Wilmore. Thurleigh and Haythorne had dedicated their lives to providing a safe haven for men like them within a Park Lane estate that had once belonged to George, and to looking out for the legal and material needs of men who might otherwise be targets of England’s barbaric laws against their sort.
Those laws were another reason Howard preferred to spend his time on the continent, where attitudes were more relaxed.
“I have returned,” Howard greeted his friend with a hearty handshake as two of the club’s valets saw to his trunk. “I have traveled this beastly country from tip to toe, from shore to shore, charming landowners into throwing their lots in with the coming railroad, I have made my fortune, and now I am more than ready to retire in glorious, hedonistic splendor someplace far warmer and more inviting than London.”
Thurleigh laughed and pivoted to slap Howard’s back and lead him toward the side hall that stretched the length of the grand building. “I hope you are exaggerating and that you do not truly think England to be such a horrible place,” he said. “It isChristmas, after all. We are at our best just now. The streets and buildings are decorated cheerily, carol singers can be found at nearly every crossroads to warm and improve one’s mood, and here at The Chameleon Club, we are preparing for our first ever Christmas ball.”
Howard laughed, appreciating his friend’s ability to see the brighter, happier side of everything. “A Christmas ball, you say?” he asked, hearing the low din of dozens of people in the house’s grand ballroom-cum-dining hall even before he and Thurleigh turned and stepped into the magnificent room.
“Absolutely,” Thurleigh replied with enthusiasm. “It was Austin’s idea. The Brotherhood has grown so much in the past few years, and I will agree with you that this winter so far has been drab and cheerless. That is why we have plans to bring cheer to our members ourselves.”
“You seem to be doing an admirable job so far,” Howard said.
Indeed, in amongst the club members who were dining or simply seated at the tables scattered around the room chatting and visiting with each other, there were a few dedicated teams who were hanging pine and ivy garlands or placing potted flowers from a hothouse at various spots. Someone sat at the piano in the corner as well, playing light music as if they were rehearsing for the dance that was to be.
All in all, it was a far more pleasing scene than Howard ever would have expected to find in London in the winter.
“Everyone is working diligently,” Thurleigh said with a pleased smile as he glanced around the room. “Austin and I have been beyond gratified to see so many who share our vision of a society that protects each other pitch in to help.”
“I am not at all surprised,” Howard said, taking in the full extent of the activity and patrons of the club. He’d been a member almost from the beginning, and he knew at least half of the men who were present. All of them had run into trouble atone point or another, but The Chameleon Club gave them all a vast sense of safety that the rest of England simply did not offer them. “You and Haythorne have created something magical here.”
“It is not only us,” Thurleigh said. “Every man who has joined The Brotherhood has helped to make it greater and more complete in its offerings. You might be surprised how many members of the Metropolitan Police, how many judges and solicitors, and how many men of regard and influence now belong.”
Howard chuckled. “I would not be surprised at all,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed the company of quite a few of them myself.”
And he had. In fact, Howard was aware that he had something of a reputation as a lothario. He could not have cared less about his reputation, though. He’d made a point of leaving all of his many lovers deeply satisfied and feeling as if they were valued and had been given a treat. He cared for each and every one of them, in his own way. He simply did not think that he needed a companion for life, as Thurleigh and his Austin, and so many of the others did.
“Are you stopping for long?” Thurleigh asked, bringing his attention back to Howard.
“If the club has room for me,” Howard answered.
“We have plenty of room,” Thurleigh said. “I’ll set you up in one of the suites on the second floor for the length of your stay with us. How long do you have before you depart for your continental adventures?”
“A fortnight,” Howard said, grinning at his friend. “And I would be happy in a garret somewhere if no suites are available.”
Thurleigh laughed and slapped Howard’s back. “That is a lie if ever I heard one. I’ve only ever known you to be a man who enjoys his luxuries and comforts.”
“Tell that to the South Eastern Railway,” Howard said with a smirk.
Thurleigh chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll see to your belongings. Have a bite of dinner before the kitchen help takes it away, and feel free to join in with the decorating, if you are so inclined.”
Howard was definitely not inclined. Despite the fact that people often commented on his resemblance to Father Christmas, what with his white hair and thick, white beard, he did not care one whit for Christmas.
He did care for company, though, and as soon as Thurleigh left him, he scanned the room to find someone who might be just the sort of company he would enjoy after his long and wearying travels.
